My last post showed what I'm thinking when my girls are doing great in a gymnastics meet. This post shows the other side. I wrote this a month ago, after one girl qualified for the MN State Championships, and one did not...and after the daily early-morning training started to get to me...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm a gymnast dad...
I cheer, "Go! You can do it!" before their event
"Way to go!! Good job!!!" after
I keep quiet 'during' so I don't distract
I keep score...
I shout encouragement at event warm-up
If they're sitting by an exit door I'll walk to get a drink so I can whisper good vibes in their ear
But...
Inside I feel completely helpless
They bobble, I get worried
They fall, I wince, and hope the video doesn't pick up my whispered curses
My internal dialog constantly debates the cost/benefit analysis
...on family
...on income
...on free time
Is that cost worth this performance?
I second-guess the whole commitment
I want them to be rock-stars
...when they're not...when they struggle...I get mad
Not at them, but frustrated they didn't do better
Usually one does better than the other
...which is most of the time
I hate that
I feel great for one, terrible for the other
I end up falling into spiraling frustration
I don't push them
Quite the opposite: I ask if they want to quit...to their face
I ask if they love it
...because if they don't, well, it's back to the cost/benefit analysis
What do they say?
They LOVE it!
They love everything about it
"Gymnast" is their identity
They're working harder than I've seen anyone work at their skills and fitness
I'm amazed at their dedication of daily wake-up for 2 hour before-school training
Their time management for homework, fun, family, training is outstanding
They are becoming young women of character
I'm finding it is worth every penny for them
Me?
In theory the early wake-up is good
2 hours of uninterrupted focus on work
I just don't know if I can sustain it...
I'm so completely tired
Fatigue has set in
It affects my health, mood, outlook...temper
maybe there's something else lurking...
Midlife? Loss of purpose? Lack of worth?
(Maybe I should take up gymnastics)
I feel inadequate...especially at the meets
I'm bombarded by the constant noise of the crowd and floor music
I fumble through conversations
The parents around me seem so much more 'with it'
They're living their dream job, engaged in their kids, balancing it all
They talk, they laugh, they plan outings
Me?
I keep quiet...
I keep score...
I cheer for my girls...
I pray for their safety (oh God, I pray they don't fall on their neck)
At our girlies latest gymnastics event, I heard a lot of "good luck" messages read over the PA just before our girls meet. These are personal messages parents write to their little competitors, then some lady shouts them into the microphone (in a surprising monotone delivery) in hopes that the gymnasts hear a spark of support. I suppose it's to encourage the young ladies to do the best they can.
Some examples:
"Good luck, Sally. We love you. Mom and dad"
Or
"Brittany, you're a rock star! We know you'll do great. Grandpa"
Of course being a HINTER, I feel these messages should be more impacting...something to give these athletes real focus to give their routines something extra. Basically, to help them find their inner HINTERmojo.
Therefore, I give you:
HINTERgrams - 2011 Edition
First, I'd start off with the basics:
"Sally, Good luck! ...You'll need it. Dad"
Or
"Lucy, let's hope that star in the East can pull off another miracle. Love Dad"
Then, I'd add some loving truth:
"Sally, you're just not that good. Get used to disappointment. Love Dad"
Or
"Lucy, your dog just died. Just thought you should know. Good luck!"
Next, I'd add some positive motivational themes:
"Sally, if you ever want to see your hamster alive again, get a 9 on floor"
Or
"Lucy, remember how sad I was when Nanna died? If you don't place in the top 3 the wounds will open again. Love you. Dad"
Finally, I'd wrap it up with a personal touch:
"Sally, while I'm still sober, I want to say good luck. I love you...at least today I do"
Or
"Lucy, if it weren't for your 'competitive calling', I'd be whipping down the interstate in my Nissan Roadster. You'd better do well today. Love Dad"
Of course, it's not only the athletes that need motivation. It's the judges. First I'd start with the must-have-been-an-honest-mistake:
"Dear vault judge: did you write 6 while meaning 9, or are you taking out your lack of life-purpose on my 10 year old? "
Then I'd utilize peer-pressure:
"Dear beam judge: I just Googled it 5 minutes ago, and I can score better than you. Those toes were pointier than the hat you wear!"
Finally, I would compose a message hand-crafted utilizing the finest skills from my years of education, communication, writing experience:
"Dear floor judge: Bite Me"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There you go. Use just a few of these HINTERgrams and you will become a better parent-spectator at any sport. Soon the crowd will cheer louder for you than the athletes...which, of course...is the goal of any parent.
Background:
To be honest, this song is a bit sobering to me.
Don't get me wrong. I love it. I enjoyed composing, recording it, and the images in the video are fantastic. I love how well my son played percussion and sang in it (more on that below). Most of all, I love how happy it makes me and my boy when we watch it.
But...
It also shows the amazing human I’m responsible for. This creature is creative. He loves exploring, loves experimenting, inventing, and loves collecting things (and, of course, putting them in his pockets). I've said before his brain is crazy smart, and his drive for immersed experiences, to passionately satisfy his curiosity, it all makes me worry:
1) That I'll suppress his true potential
2) That he'll rebel trying to show he's worth my praise
3) That I'll not guide him well enough to hone his skills/temper/passion towards his God-given purpose
When he was 3, I thought his smiles were because he LOVED pockets. He always stuffed his hands in his pockets and walk around. He loved stuffing whatever he found in them, and he especially loved pulling that stuff out to share what he collected.
Now, as he’s gotten older, his love for exploring, experimenting, collecting, and sharing has grown. I can't tell you how many times he walks through the kitchen matter-of-factly stating "I'm going to build a machine" or...even more scary...walks through with a hammer and saw without saying a word. His love for life, to find out how the world ticks, how so many amazing creatures and things can be discovered…well, it shows me that his love of pockets only represents his inner passion for life...and maybe his need to prove his worth to his dad.
I've said many times (thanks to Dennis Miller for the analogy) that my primary job in life is to guide my kids through the rocky shoals of youth...sometimes with firm direction...so that they can avoid the sharp rocks and hidden dangers that can wreck their life (but not too firm, lest they over-correct and slam into the far wall of rebellion). The goal? Get them to the open sea, watch their sails catch wind, and stand on the shore amazed as they maneuver through the rolling ocean with skill, passion, and success.
I only hope that with Jaxon...my very best is good enough. My fear is that while I'm guiding him through the sharp rocks of youth, and avoiding the under currents that could pull him under, he will see past the current to a unique adventure that, if navigated properly, will propel him past the dangerous passage and he will collect another life skill (and more character) that will be essential in the open ocean.
I love you, little man.
I will guide you through these narrow shoals of youth the best I can.
I know we will not see eye-to-eye all the time, but know that I love you deeply, and am already proud beyond words.
When the time comes, you will reach the open ocean. Your momentum from wise choices and experiences will propel you into deep waters. You will raise your sails, lower your rudder, and instantly cut into the wind to travel wherever you and your faith takes you.
I can’t wait to see what you’ll do…
…what you’ll discover
…what you’ll invent
…who you’ll love
...where you'll live
...what you'll collect
...and...of course...
...what you’ll pull out of your pockets to show me.
Whatever it is, I know I'll be amazed, impressed, proud, and filled with love.
And then?
We'll smi-----le. Because you ARE, and forever will be, a pocket man.
Recording Specifics:
When I get the itch to record a song, it usually happens fairly quickly. That was the case for this song. I originally wrote the first verse in 2007 and in August 2011 decided I needed to record it. I spent a few days adding verse 2 and the bridge based on suggestions from Jaxon.
As I was mapping out the song, I had planned on a solo, but it didn't feel right (I guess that means I'm old enough to let the song tell me what it needs...rather than my ego to show off). With no solo, I needed a way to make the last chorus unique. In a brainstorm, I decided Jack needed to sing it. But would he? I didn't know. He is VERY shy when it comes to getting a lot of attention. But as you saw in the video, he was very happy to ham it up. We decided that what he doesn't like is attention he did not initiate or seek.
As you heard, he did great!
He then asked to play percussion. He found music sticks, egg shaker, and tambourine in my percussion shelf. He laid them out on a chair and said "I want to play sticks in the beginning, shaker in the bridge, and tambourine in the last chorus and end."
So...he did. In ONE TAKE he kept rhythm, switched instruments, and monitored his own volume by looking at the recording track to make sure he didn't go into the red too much.
The end 'banter' was another brainstorm. Jaxon and I poured through his room for things he found in his pocket over the months, then I wrote the script. Turns out it was too difficult putting the items in time with the music stand, so we recorded that part separately (and slower) then I synched the video with audio in post-production.
Not only am I happy with the song and video itself, but I'm thrilled with the time I got to spend with my little pocket man.
Verse 2: Here's my toad, it's from a pocket in my pants Next to the frog, and my sandwich, and some ants I put my hands right into my pockets and pull out my gum and my sand I put my hands right into my pockets and smile 'Cause I'm a Pocket Man
Bridge: If it's shiny, Or slimy, Or sharp, round, fuzzy or tiny I put them into my pockets, cause they're useful when I'm playing around Some day I think I'll empty my pockets out But right now I stuff more in to keep things from jumping out!
Verse 3: My name is Jack, and I got pockets in my pants I put stuff in, into the pockets of my pants I put my hands right into my pockets and pull out whatever I can I put my hands right into my pockets and smile... 'Cause I'm a Pocket Man
In this dream I took a risk and booked a vacation to Gatlinburg, TN. I'm sure it was a dream, since our last vacation was to Disney World, and in real life I would worry the family would find this vacation underwhelming.
In this dream we drove 16 hours over two days to get there.
On our way out we drove to Indianapolis on day 1 (took us 10 hours with a stop in Cincinnati), and finished the trip on day 2 (8 hours). I'm sure it was a dream since all 4 kids did not complain, had fun, and generally found things to do in those 18 hours.
In this dream we awoke to the Smoky Mountains and went horseback riding.
After, we got a treat, went exploring, and then hiked through the Roaring Fork trails. They all found hiking sticks to bring home. I'm sure it was a dream because my girl's dream is to go horseback riding and all the kids were loving every moment...and no technology was involved.
In this dream every morning greeted us with beautiful fall colors in the mountains.
We were able to truly relax, have morning tea, and gaze at the rainbow-colored mountains...and the occasional black bear (yup, curious and hungry creatures). We swam in an indoor/outdoor heated pool surrounded by colors and enjoyed the outdoor hot tub even in the rain. I'm sure it was a dream because the most expensive special effects team in Pixar could not have generated more brilliant colors in the mountain trees.
In this dream we went to Dollywood, a big amusement park filled with big coasters, great food, and fun music.
I'm sure it was a dream because one of the rides had disappearing people! We waited in a long line for Blazing Fury, then, when ride returned, one of our girlies blurted out, "Where are all the people"? Turns out a mechanical problem shut down the ride and they evacuated those in line. At least they let us finish our ride. Oh, and I'm also sure it was a dream because I don't think the kids will even remember the amusement park day unless asked. Sure they had fun on the coasters, cars, log ride, river raft, bird show, and ropes course, but all of that was overshadowed by the immersive experiences of the hiking, horses, and exploring
In this dream we had perfect weather.
When we walked the trails, the sun beamed through the tree canopy...creating highlights only found in the highest of budget movies. The leaves gently fell onto the trail like a movie set...after all dreams let you transport instantly. Even the storm covered the mountains in a mist more stunning than the latest cinematography could create. I'm sure it was a dream because even my oldest boy's favorite kind of weather showed up late in the week...cool, cloudy, and misty. Certainly no where in real life could this variety of sun, mist, warm, cool, breezy, calm be mixed with the variety of terrain it highlighted.
In this dream we drove 16 hours over two days to get home...with an amazing side stop in St. Louis.
We stopped in Nashville for an hour but was not impressed...which is kind of a nightmare for me as I've always wanted to roam Nashville. St. Louis, however, exceeded all expectations. I'm sure it was a dream because the weather was perfect, the arch was cheap to ride up, and the family got to relax in another beautiful american city.
In this dream the family machine ran smoothly, was highly refined, synchronized, supportive, and glitches were quickly fixed.
Certainly there were moments of bickering, but they usually resulted in finding a remedy that could be applied several times throughout the week. I'm sure it was a dream because on the drive home, after many miles, fatigue was getting the better of me...and my oldest, from his own inner core of discernment, came up from behind me and gave me a big hug. It moved me so much that he would make me feel better with a hug. Certainly only a dream would conjure up that life-long-I'll-never-forget-it kind of highlight.
In this dream I thought that this was one of the most fulfilling vacations our family ever had. But, of course, I'm sure it was a dream because everything was so perfect, our family was so engaged with each other, and our memories so rich that it was well beyond anything a real vacation could have ever offered.
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Curious, though: If this were all a dream, how do I explain the hiking sticks in the back of the van? Or the photos? Or the sore muscles?
Who knows. I guess I'll just sip my Smoky Mountain Moonshine and ponder the mystery...
It was supposed to be a short jaunt to a waterfall inside the Smoky Mountain National Park.
The drive to the trail was breathtaking...
The kids were excited...even the oldest...as it reminded him of Canada. We jumped out of the car to hike to Rainbow Falls. I had packed 2 bottles of water. All 5 had their hiking sticks foraged from the last successful .75 mile hike 2 days before.
Just 5 minutes into it, I hear, "Hmm. I wonder if the whole trail is up hill?"
It never occurred to me that hiking to a waterfall would be up hill. After all, the point of a water fall is to see the water...falling. And to do that you want to be at the bottom of the falls.
So we hiked...
and hiked...
and hiked.
Now at this point you need to know we are not hikers. We love nature, love to explore, but we do not hike multi-hour trails. My past explorations took me to 5 different continents for work, but all walkabouts were within a city, and essentials like water, bathrooms, wifi, and coffee were all available at a moments notice.
Not so in the Smoky Mountains. Whoever runs them assumes you're playing iwth the big boys. If you're going to drive along the roads, there are no barriers between you and the 100' cliff...and if you're going to hike along the trails, there are no 'rest stops'.
It's you and nature. survival of the fittest. Did I say I am not among the fittest?
The first 30 minutes was really great. We followed the mountain stream and saw many stunning sites. All 6 of us were skipping along and taking some photos of the adventure.
The second 30 minutes...reality set in. It was constant effort to climb the trail up-up-up. To make the trail not as steep, the trail tacked back and forth. This was nice for keeping pace (set by our twin gymnasts...much more fit than the rest of us), but it also made the distance longer. I've explored cities and parks before, and always seem to make good time, and at the beginning of the hike when the sign said "2.6", we figured it was not going to take much time at all...maybe 40 minutes.
At the end of the first hour, we meet a couple going down and asked how much farther. Surely based on our estimates we had walked at least 2 miles.
Their response? "Well, you're about half way there".
Impossible. In suburban 'feels like over 2 miles'. But we were making about 1 mile an hour up the trail...traversing rocks, roots, and an occasional slip and fall. After we heard that, they must have seen despair because they said "but there's a couple of 'small' falls before you get there"
Third 30 minutes: youngest falls again and splays out yelling "I AM SO DONE!". We fell done, too. Hearts pounding, sweat pouring...I know it's only been 90 minutes but up hill the whole time not knowing how close the goal is...we became disheartened. The trail is tacking away from the stream so we know we are nowhere near our goal.
Another couple pass, and say there is a bridge with small falls 10 minutes up. We now have our goal. The last bit is hard until the trail tacks towards the distant stream.
Hope.
Then we hear water. Lots of it. Hitting rocks!
We come across a beautiful rocky falls and a small wooden bridge the crosses it.
We've made it!
Well, sort of. You see, Rainbow falls was another grueling 40 minutes up the mountain. We made a critical family decision...that has become a pattern for our lives:
We renamed the falls. "New Rainbow Falls".
Just like that, we reached our goal.
We played...
We climbed...
We rested...
and...we posed. (future band album)
We must have frolicked in New Rainbow Falls for an hour. The water was freezing but completely refreshing. The rocks were challenging, but the eddies and pools were fantastic to wade through.
After fully satiated, we gathered ourselves, and walked down.
Now we became the 'experienced'. Others asked us, "Are we at least 1/2 way there?". Our response? "You have another hour. However, we newly renamed the small bridge falls 'New Rainbow Falls', and we think you will enjoy that destination just as much as we did".
All that we encountered smiled. I think they, like us, got more than they bargained for with this hike, and having someone give them permission to set a realistic goal that wouldn't kill them was delightful to them.
As we reached the bottom, we were exhausted, but I felt extremely proud of our family. They pushed through some very tough moments, and got to enjoy a wonderful waterfall experience.
Oh, and just as we were leaving, we heard in the distance a comment from someone we met on the way down, "Yeah, ...we reached New Rainbow Falls...enjoyed it so much...then returned".
Looks like we put our mark on the Smoky Mountain lexicon.
I love this family.
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How about you, have you encountered a challenge that ended wonderfully?
I have four children, which makes me an expert on fathering (quick, read the next sentence before the flaw in that logic surfaces)
In addition, as a Hintermeister, I have an extra-special something that helps in my fathering...I call it the HINTERmojo. It would be a shame to keep this power a secret, so I'd like to give you my "Ode to Children" that you can use to become a HINTERfather on your own.
But be warned, we do NOT want this power to be released into the general population, so I have encrypted this "Ode". The normal text is what the 'masses' will hear you say...and the italicized text is said in your head, or under your breath preferably as you glare with your HINTEReyes at your kids. This will immerse you in the secret HINTERsauce that will truly make you a fathering expert.
~~~ Ode to My HINTERchildren ~~~
My Darling Children
...which right now stands for DARn-Louder-than-a-traIN-annoying-little-$*#%!-I-missed-what-captain-picard-was-sayinG!
I love you more than life
...Life cereal, that is. But, add fresh raspberries...and a drop of honey, Hmmm, I'd have to think on it
The moment I learned I would be a father, I cried tears of joy
...and fear, anguish, pity, and betrayal. I mean, the Health teacher explicitly said it only happens when Coke and kissing are mixed. I haven't had Coke in years!!! And the missus and I were just getting started in our travels. Lousy educators...I blame them (well, OK...and the jetlag...and the European air...and the gardens...and the 2 hour bullet train to Paris...and...)
When you arrived, you took my breath away
...mostly from nausea and light-headedness...you looked kinda gross. And what a grueling day! I had to sit in a hospital chair for 21 hours...STRAIGHT...and that was pre-iPhone. The anguish can not be compared! At least the missus got drugs and a bed...she was so lucky
As I watch you grow, my heart overflows
...but not my wallet. If I knew how much friggin' money you'd cost me, we might have turned to pet gerbils for love and purpose. They're .034% the cost to feed, they run around naked, and they don't take over my home theatre when I want to watch a movie. Sure they poop in my hands...but so did you until you were three.
I can't believe how blessed I am
...as in the wholesome replacement for a curse word. Example: "Where is that blessed kid!?!" or, "That was a blessed stupid stunt you tried to pull!", or, "These are marshmallows, not a blessed snack...nor ammo!"
What an amazing gift you are
...but a new Nissan 350z Roadster is an amazing gift too...and I could have bought six of them instead of what I spent for sports and braces and clothes and food. Oh, and the Roadster doesn't talk back...unless you count the sweet tones of open-road engine hum...which is quite different from anything that ends in "...hate you Dad!"
One day, you will be out in this world on your own
...Amen, but still sucking money from your patriarical teet, I'm sure
People will see a loving, happy, shining spirit
...which came entirely from your Mom. If they see a moody, shallow, "Nonsense...those shoes will last another year with the proper amount of duct tape!" spirit, that'd be from me
My hope is that the world will look upon you and smile
...cause that's what I'll be doing in MY home theatre
Throughout your life, a part of my heart will always be with you ...I just hope it grows back. I've heard the capacity to love grows, but my new guitar just arrived and I've got a lot of lovin' to do
As long as I am alive, I will always be proud of you. I love you ...which is sayin' something...especially after the "power drill incident" and the "nice chat with the police officer" episodes
Amen. ...Now, plug in that guitar, click 4, and lets rock this joint! There's always room for a metal family band, right?!?
I had just brought my oldest home from getting his appendix out. As usual, the outcome was great. My quippy comment to a friend was, "Hospitals been beddy beddy good to us" (thank you vintage SNL memory)
Then I stopped...this was nothing to take lightly.
Our hospital adventures have truly been good experiences, but they could just have as easily turned very bad. Case in point: While I was waiting for my boy to recover from surgery, a mere 10 feet away from me was a family waiting for an "end of life". The husband/father/grandfather had taken a turn for the worse, and the wife/grandmother was sitting with her daughter and son for the final word.
The nurse came rushing in, "Come now. He just stopped breathing...this might be it".
And they rushed away.
...just like that...for them, it turned very bad.
That was the closest I have come to a bad hospital experience...and I have to ask myself: Why do we seem to always have good hospital adventures, while others have had bad
Even the fact we call them "adventures" points to the positive outcomes.
Why? Is it to teach me a "Right-place-at-the-right-time" life lesson?
When our first-born was born in distress (that's medical-talk for NOT BREATHING), he was revived and spent the night in the NICU. The next day, as he was nicely recovering, they discovered Group B Strep, which resulted in a full 2 week stay at "Hotel Mayo" (complete with $1925/hour baby care). Later they would tell us how lucky we were that he was born in distress...because it forced a longer stay...which let them discover the Group B Strep. It could have been very bad if it was not diagnosed so early.
Why does it turn out well for us? Is it to teach me the "Thank God you live next to the best medical facility in the world" lesson?
When our twin girls were born, our li'l 4 pounder was put in a bun warmer her first day to keep her temp constant, then was diagnosed with a heart defect. After 2.5 months of not thriving she had open heart surgery (by a doctor who's done over 1000 of them). Now at 10, you'd never know...except a scar that I feel she wears as a "Don't MESS with me...I've already been through worse" attitude beacon.
Any possible answer comes up shallow...except, "I don't know, that's just how it turned out"...which is shallow.
Is it because I'm living such a righteous life? Hardly. I am a very poor example of living right.
Is it because of the awesome medical care? Definitely, but is that the only reason? I know the doctors are awesome, but I know they're NOT batting a thousand.
I know I'm supposed to say "It's because we've been very blessed", but I have a hard time with that answer. If I'm blessed with good, then does that mean someone else is cursed with bad? What about those that are better believers than me that have had to deal with the very bad? If they're cursed with bad, then it doesn't make sense at all that I'm blessed with good.
So I ask again, Why? Is it to teach me, "There are more important things in life than work" lesson?
When I was in Florida teaching at a conference for work...I got a call that the ultrasound docs wanted us to come in to discuss our yet-to-be-born 4th child. They saw something...a cyst, a something...and wanted a closer look. Oh, and they said that this raises the chances of a chromosomal defect (Downs Syndrome). After more tests, and knowing that regardless of the results we'd love him, we waited the last few months...and were introduced to a perfectly healthy, happy boy.
And now with my oldest, who was in the deep of Canada a few weeks before his appendix attack. That could have been very bad. But it wasn't. It was very good.
Why do we always have happy hospital visits?
And...
...and what happens when a visit goes bad?
...because at some point it will.
Is that the end of any residual of my happy persona? Am I strong enough to get through a bad visit?
I've heard all the sermons on "Why does God let bad things happen to me", but to be honest, they make it sound like I should look forward to bad things...that I should be more worried if nothing bad ever happens to me. Is God handling me with kid-gloves? Is my faith so fragile that Jesus doesn't dare allow a very bad? If so, I should write a book about it: "Fragile-ize Your Faith! The secret guide to long-lasting health of your loved ones".
Is it just dumb luck? That doesn't sound too Jesus-ly.
I don't really have a good answer. Just lots of questions.
Why?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. Throughout this writing, I've been tempted to knock on wood...or laminate...or any striped material. I guess that illustrates my see-through faith? I get this superstitious feeling that by even bringing this topic up, I risk backlash. Is that messed up or what?
