Us: Perchance to Dream...

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Before we had children, Hope and I assumed our children would be awesome. What parent doesn’t? But thinking about raising a kid and actually engaging in the day-to-day tasks involved are never the same and reality tends to cause you to lower your expectations. Or at least massage the meaning of the word awesome. There are so many variables and areas that never occurred to us until they were staring us in the face. In that, we were like every other parent on the planet. One aspect that we assumed would be simple was putting the kids to bed. Yes, early on, it was easy because they would usually fall asleep in one of our laps and then you would lay them down in the crib, shut the door and wait for the next feeding. But when they got mobile and more aware was when things got interesting.

One thing Hope and I established early, which was different than a lot of our friends with children, was a set bedtime. This was important for a couple reasons, one being that they needed the sleep and were tired at eight p.m. and the other was that Hope and I were tired and needed them to be in bed by eight p.m. It allowed us to recharge our batteries and have an hour or two together. We also felt it was important to keep the kids to a schedule, our assumption being they felt some comfort in knowing that certain events happened at certain times. What we didn’t anticipate was the evolving routine of preparing for sleep.

As is common, the ebb and flow was dictated by the nature and personality of each child. William was a good soldier and was satisfied with one story, quick prayers, a hug, a kiss and an “I love you.” In fact, it was not uncommon for him to fall asleep during the story, which, hopefully, didn’t stunt his future prayer life. Laura, on the other hand, was a whirl of activity and processes. Between lining up baby dolls, getting the covers “just right” and agonizing over which story to read, she could wear us out. Add the fervent prayer time and it was a potential half hour of bed prep. Part of that was she was never sleepy, a constitution she absorbed from my DNA, and the other was she loved the attention. But we were strict and made her keep to the schedule. Since she and William are only 22 months apart, their bedtime was always the same so we had to take care of William first lest he be passed out before we were done with Laura’s rituals.

Jordan was also easy. As long as he had his thumb, he was content with a simple routine. The only issue with him was that he had to go to bed 30 minutes earlier than his brother and sister and that would annoy him. But it annoyed William and Laura even more when he got to stay up with them for one reason or the other, allowing Hope and I to do our part to continue the legacy of the privileged last child in the minds of the older siblings. And, honestly, it tends to be true, although I wouldn’t call it bestowing privileges on him so much as the parents are tired and, by the time you are wrangling full-time jobs and three kids, sometimes it is just easier to let things slide that you would never have done with the first (or even the second) child. I imagine there is enough information packed in that last sentence for its own blog post—duly noted.

Laura was also the queen of delaying going to sleep. She could not shut her brain off and relax so she would always make several trips out to the living room under the guise of needing to ask us a question. A typical conversation with her went like this:

Laura: “Can I ask you something?”

Us: “Sure, what do you need?”

Laura: (blank stare)

Us: “Go back to bed.”

My favorite response was one I learned from a comedian. Whenever any of the kids would wander out after being put to bed and inform us that they could not go to sleep, I would always respond with, “Yes, you can, I have seen you do it before,” to which there is no response and they would return to their room. I do not always recommend parenting via Def Comedy Jam but at least this one time, it worked for me.

Us: Laura’s Two Dads

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There are truisms in this life that cannot be argued against, regardless of race, nationality or creed. One of those truisms is there are major differences between raising girls and boys. I have been blessed to have been given the charge of two boys and one girl, with Laura landing in the middle of the pack. We did not know the sex of any of our children before they were born so when Laura arrived, we were thrilled, satisfied our little family was now wrapped in a tidy bow with one child of each gender. And since they were only 22 months apart, we were still fresh off William’s infancy and were confident about adding another kid to the mix. Yes, we were naïve and silly, but we did not know that. Yet.

The first thing I did was start praying a very specific prayer, one I began during our first pregnancy just in case God blessed us with a girl. I asked God to make her confident and secure and that she would lack nothing emotionally, deriving everything she needed from her two dads—the heavenly and earthly ones. That she would be so sure of who she was in Jesus that not just any guy could sweep her off her feet, but he would have to be special and make the earthly transition from me to him easy and fun. And God answered. She grew up bold and confident and never had a date until after college. (I am sure there were days she regretted I ever prayed that prayer.) Alas, getting from that birthing room to today has been quite a journey.

When she was young, we did the typical dad and daughter activities—tea parties with stuffed animals, dancing to 70's music and listening to her tell me about any and everything. I have vivid memories of picking her up from a birthday party and asking the simple question, “Did you have fun?” and spending the entire ride home listening to every minute detail of the party, non-stop, until we pulled into the garage at home. Several times I stopped to get gas and she insisted I roll the window down so she could continue to talk to me while I stood outside at the pump. I know that comes as a shock to anyone who knows her today (insert sarcastic eye roll here).

But it was when she entered middle school that our relationship took on a different air. In general, middle school is evil. The colliding of hormones and insecurities has the ability to cause a lot of damage and I was determined to do all I could to prepare her for battle. She was comfortable enough with me to ask questions as she crawled through the minefield that is sixth through eighth grade and I was determined to be honest and talk straight with her. If she was aggravated that certain girls were getting attention and she wasn't, I would dig a little deeper and find out that those girls tended to dress a bit different than Laura. I would then explain what the guys paying attention to them were actually thinking when looking at those girls (or any girl for that matter).  I am not sure she believed me at first, but it didn't take long for her to become convinced. It was also at this time that I came up with one of my more memorable bits of advice: Bottom line, you will stay out of a whole lot of trouble if you just keep your pants on. Yes, it was initially greeted with an embarrassed, “Daddy!” but it has lived in infamy ever since. And it worked.

We continued to have good conversations throughout high school, battling all the usual demons of body issues, motivation, mean girls and school. And all the while we talked about Jesus and church and life. And as she got older, a great thing happened: the spiritual talks began to dominate and the topics got deeper. After high school she traveled the world and we continued our conversations via instant chat messages, talking our way through questions and experiences, giving me opportunities to share my heart and to learn about hers.

Yes, we are a lot alike, but I don't think that is the only reason we are close. Women are a mystery created by a mysterious God but He does create a special bond between daughters and dads. I embraced that gift and, even though there has been a lot of work mixed in with the joy, I am honored to be a representative of God in her life and I can assure you I have received more from our relationship than her. 

Us: Shift to Neutral

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One year into our marriage, Hope and I bought a brand new Datsun pick up. Actually, it was the first year they were called Nissan, which was really weird at the time but also a small way of looking like I was on the cusp of some new movement. The truck cost $6000 and we financed it at 5.5% interest for a whopping monthly payment of $150 per month. And I drove it for 18 years and a little under 200,000 miles. To the kids, it was “dad's truck” and, even though it only sat three across a bench seat, they enjoyed riding with me, running errands or getting picked up and dropped off at events.

I was driving with William one afternoon and he started quizzing me about shifting gears and why I did it when I did it. The truck was a four speed, the gearshift centered on the floorboard, right in front of the radio and air vents. As I tried to explain to him about acceleration and shifting the gears at certain speeds, I got an idea. When we stopped, I grabbed a small notebook of blank paper out of the glove compartment and drew the pattern of the gears with a Sharpie using lines, letters and numbers. The original illustration had long been rubbed off the top of the gearshift so I wanted him to get a visual of what I was doing. Eventually I took it a step further. I strapped him into the center of the bench seat and let him hold the knob on top of the gearshift and “help me” as I pulled and pushed, driving through town. He was thrilled and it helped him understand the process better.

After a few trips “helping me drive,” I decided it was time to let him take things into his own hands. I began calling out what gear to switch to and, using the hand drawn reference in the small notebook, he would pull and push and shift the gears to their correct spots. At first he was nervous but he soon gained the confidence of experience and we had a lot of fun tooling around town, driving together.

Then Laura discovered our game and insisted on getting involved. I held her off for a while, trying to let William enjoy his older brother privilege before having little sister crash the party, but she eventually got her chance. I made her go through the same learning process, holding her hand before cutting her loose to shift alone. Laura was not as calm and methodical as William, not even close, and she tended to show her excitement at the thrill of “driving” by laughing hysterically whenever she got the shift correct the first time. I have no recollection of Jordan sitting next to me, shifting and grinning, but that is probably because, by the time he was old enough to handle it, the air had broken in the truck and no one wanted to ride with me anymore. Even back then the kids had standards.

On the occasion of her birthday…

Jul, Hope and Laura—The Colle Women

Hope and I began praying for our children’s future spouses a long time ago. At first it seems a bit strange to look at your two year old and entertain the thought of who they may marry but we did. What solidified the virtues of doing this for me was, of all things, a song by Wayne Watson that was very popular during this time in our life. The song is “Somewhere in the World” and the lyrics struck home:

Somewhere in the world today
A little girl will go out to play
All dressed up in mama's clothes
At least the way that I suppose it goes

Somewhere in the world tonight
Before she reaches to turn out the light
She'll be prayin' from a tender heart
A simple prayer that's a work of art

And I don't even know her name
But I'm prayin' for her just the same
That the Lord will write his name upon her heart
Cause somewhere in the course of this life
A little boy will need a Godly wife
So hold on to Jesus, baby, wherever you are

Somewhere in the world out there
That little girl's learnin' how to care
She's pickin' up her mamas charms
Or maybe, swingin' around in her daddy's arms

Somewhere in the world to be
Through the future's not real clear to me
Theirs could be a tender love
Grounded in eternal love above

And I don't even know her name
But I'm prayin' for her just the same
That the Lord will write his name upon her heart
Cause somewhere in the course of this life
A little boy will need a Godly wife
So hold on to Jesus, baby, wherever you are

© Wayne Watson

So we prayed and today we celebrate the fruits of those prayers. Our oldest son’s wife, Jul, has a birthday today. She is perfect for him and him for her, an answered prayer in every sense. Legally she is my daughter-in-law but she has never been anything short of my second daughter and I wish her a glorious day. She deserves credit for being the first person to break into our family circle and even more credit for keeping the sphere seamless. Happy birthday, Jul…

US: Who You Going To Be?

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One of my favorite quotes from Corrie ten Boom is “Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.” That is a lot of truth in one sentence but it rings especially true when raising your children. As our kids were growing up, it was fun to watch them and try to pick out aspects of their personalities and guess a potential occupation when they grew up. William’s analytical mind and understanding of math might have led to a career as an engineer or architect. Laura was outgoing and confident so she could possibly excel in public relations. Jordan was athletic and social and we feared that combination’s final destination, but knew God could mold that into something worthwhile. And, even though it is fun to play that guessing game, there are no guarantees on what will finally pique their interest enough to motivate them to pursue a career.

What we never wanted to do was put any of our aspirations on to them in the area of livelihood. We knew what was even more important than how they eventually made a living was how they approached life spiritually. We figured that if we spent more time on their hearts and got them focused on their core spiritual life, whatever came out of that in regards to career would be God-centered and right. We took every chance we could to let them know this was a 24/7 lifestyle and that our expectations for them began and ended with wanting them to be persuasive examples of Jesus and to make an impact on the people around them. To be Godly and spiritually mature and to be able to effectively communicate what they believe in a loving way. And then trust God to bless our efforts and handle the results.

Just like every other aspect of parenting, this toil looked different depending on the child. William was always more reserved, very thoughtful and others-oriented by default. And, being our first child, he was subjected to the fumbling, yet earnest, efforts of Hope and I as we tried to put into action what we wanted to accomplish. To augment our efforts, God brought us help in the form of Roshad, the youth leader at our church, and he was very instrumental in shaping William’s spiritual walk, beginning when he was 12 years old. (FYI: There is a full blog post about our relationship with Roshad coming up in the future. Stay tuned.)

We joke that Laura was born saved. She bought in to Jesus early on and was always looking for ways to share and encourage people to join her. I have vivid memories of her marching over to our neighbor’s house on Sunday morning and asking them if they had gone to church and what did they learn. She was four. And she has been a spiritual locomotive ever since.

With that kind of legacy in front of him, it was not a surprise that Jordan was less enthusiastic when he reached an age of thinking for himself. The expectations were great and assumptions were set in stone. His hesitation was at times frustrating and forced Hope and I to do some adjusting on our own. We tried to stay consistent in our approach but a lot of the phrases and platitudes we used on his older siblings were not as effective with him. And that was not a bad thing. I will not downplay the tears, anger and hurt that occurred, but I will not state that it wasn’t necessary to bring him to the place he needed to reach. And throughout the years of his searching, we chose to love and encourage him as well as discipline and let him know when he had crossed the line. It was hard, especially not knowing if and when he would change. There are no guarantees and there were times I lost hope, briefly, and it is a scary thing to sense that all you have done may never be enough. You realize that you are just a conduit with very little power to force change. And you lose your temper and have to apologize and you pray you aren’t screwing things up even worse by getting in the way. And then God gives you another dash of grace and you dive back in and renew your efforts at loving him. And always praying.

Eventually God answered those prayers but, ironically, it was after he left our house and moved on to another environment. And that was okay with us because, even though the journey is an essential part of the story, the end result is the most important when it pertains to your kids. Obviously, all three are still having their stories written and will be for the duration of their lives, but I am grateful and never take for granted that God brought them to a place where they believed in that essential core and have chosen to nourish it. And the most incredible thing is the lives that have blossomed from that core are all very different, even though they come from the same source.

Us: Respect

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Our family is from the south. Both Hope and I have deep roots to this area of the United States and a lot of things we do and say reflect that. One of the requirements in our house was that everyone had to use the terms “ma’am” and “sir” as well as “please” and “thank you,” especially when addressing an adult. In our minds, this was strictly a show of respect to whomever you were talking to and, since it didn’t cause Hope and I any irreparable damage growing up, we assumed it would not hurt our children either. And it didn’t. There was some push back, even within our circle of friends—not everyone agreed it was necessary—but we felt it was important and insisted the kids comply. Besides, “yes, ma’am” trumps “yeah” in every situation I can imagine.

Speaking of respect, like all good Christian parents in the 90’s, we read Growing Kids God’s Way and even led discussion groups at our church with other parents about the book. Regardless of the fallout of the author’s methods in other books (namely Babywise) that practically cratered their ministry, we gleaned several procedures that we installed into our parenting arsenal that worked wonderfully. One was the concept of “the preciousness of others,” which is a fancy way of saying it is a good idea to try to think about other people occasionally and how what you are doing may affect those around you. Their favorite example in the book involves shopping carts and parking lots. According to them, the act of leaving your shopping cart in the middle of a parking spot and not returning it to either the store or a designated holding area is a highly visible act of selfishness. It tells the world that your time is more valuable than anyone else and you don’t care about any inconvenience you may have caused. Talking about this with the kids made it easy to transition to picking up after themselves at home and was our early attempt at providing logic to a request before resorting to the classic, “Because I said so!” To this day I still park near one of the buggy corrals in the grocery store parking lot, a habit formed when all the kids were in car seats and returning the empty cart was a potential parenting liability.

The other practical tip we gleaned from the book was the “interrupt rule.” The steps were simple: If mom or dad is speaking to someone and you, the child, want to ask us something, gently place your hand on my arm and quietly wait. This gave Hope and I a signal that we were needed and it gave us a chance to finish the sentence or thought we were engaged in before politely asking for a moment to tend to our child. This beat the option of one of the kids running up to us, repeatedly saying our name until we look at them, ignoring the fact that we may be involved in our own conversation with another adult. Of course, this put pressure on Hope and I to actually find a break in our conversation and tend to their need and not leave them hanging for ten minutes. When their palm got sweaty it was a sure signal that we may have waited too long.

The bottom line to all of this was we wanted to instill in our children some respect for other people. To help them realize that their actions affect others and sometimes in a negative way. And it is an attitude we have to work on to this day, with them and especially with ourselves. Let’s admit, being selfish is an unconquerable issue that will be in our way until we die. All we wanted to do was get them started thinking about it early and understand it is not a pretty character trait.

Us: Bicycle Built for Three

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One of the earliest rights of passage for a child is learning to ride a bike. The decision to take off the training wheels is not to be taken lightly because what follows is usually full of drama and fear. My three kids could not have been more different in this area and their personalities are reflected clearly in each of their tales.

William, the content one, decided to become training wheel independent because his friends were doing it. I can imagine his logic (and with William there was always logic involved) was, “Well, all my friends are doing it, they seem to be okay, guess I will give it a try.” So we took off the training wheels and began the process of learning to ride a bike. It was a slow process, William was cautious and needed quite a bit of encouragement as I held up the bike and he learned his center of gravity and balance points. But the progress was steady and his determination to join his friends eventually led to him successfully navigating the cul de sac and and becoming a full time member of his bike riding pack of friends.

Jordan was a different story entirely. He came up to me one day, requested the training wheels be taken off and, after a few “Are you sure?” questions from me, we headed to the road to begin the process. And it lasted all of ten seconds. I began behind him, hand on the seat, and started slowly pushing him forward and, next thing I know, he has taken off and left me behind. I waved and shouted, “Be careful” and headed back to the house.

Then there is Laura. I have not made a mistake in the order I am presenting this because she was third. Laura was content to ride her bike with training wheels and had no interest in taking them off, regardless of peer pressure or the occasional suggestion from us. I can still see her riding around in a circle, singing, laughing and ignoring the two extra wheels on her bike. But the day Jordan made his move to two wheels, something changed. She has written about this from her perspective here, but from my parental seat, it made me laugh. Once she saw her little brother jetting around the cul de sac for a few days, she decided it was time. I barely got out of the car one evening after work when she approached me and quietly asked if I would take off the training wheels on her bike. I looked at her and tried not to smile, and asked her why now? She said it was time and she “really, really wanted to learn this time.” So I unbolted the extra wheels and we walked to the end of the driveway to begin our first lesson.

Where William had calm fear, Laura's was palpable. She was very nervous and repeated over and over that I was not to let her go under any circumstances. I assured her that I was committed and would do all I could to keep her on the bike. We made several loops in front of the house, her consistently chiding me to not let go and me always assuring her I was there. Eventually, I sensed she was ready so I stopped and she kept going. Although she was unaware that I was no longer there, made evident by her continuing to tell me to not let go, she rode the bike alone. Sure, she was unsteady and when I finally shouted to her that she was actually riding the bike without me, the “really?” that escaped from her was a mix of fear and accomplishment. By this time we had an audience, kids and parents from the houses around us, and everyone applauded and encouraged her. She was so excited that she misjudged her circumference in a turn and was on a beeline to a large, brick mailbox. In a mild panic, she couldn't decide whether to try to steer away from it or to stop so she took the third option and ran into it. Her shouts of “I'm okay, daddy” and her willingness to get back on let me know, yes, she would be okay. And there was much rejoicing at Gettysburg Court.

Us: Date Night

Hope and I enjoy each other. As cliché as it may sound, we really are best friends. Even today, after 30 years of being married, we still enjoy sitting on the back porch and talking. As anyone with one or more children is fully aware, finding the time to talk with each other is a bit more difficult in the throes of child rearing. If you don’t force it to happen, it won’t. One thing Hope and I deemed necessary during this time was to have a date night every Thursday night. In our case, the word date was loosely defined as a couple of hours out of the house, together, regardless of destination or financial means. It was important to get away for a short period of time and see each other without interruption.

But there were impediments that had to be worked around. One was finding a person to stay with the kids while we were out and the other was finding the funds to bankroll the night, including paying said person who was staying with the kids. Our solution was to exploit poor college students with the allure of free use of the washer and drier (plus dinner) all for the privilege of hanging out with our children on a weeknight. Finding takers wasn’t as easy as we thought, but eventually God brought along the perfect person to fill the role.

My job at the time was with a start-up company that was creating interactive software for a new technology called compact disc-interactive. I was the manager in charge of the large art department, which included cell animators, computer and traditional illustrators and graphic designers. One of the interns that I hired to help us plow through the digital colorizing of the thousands of animation cells was Ron Nieto. Ron was not a typical college student in that he had served in the Air Force and was now back in college at Florida State, working to complete an art degree. He was also unique because he was earning school credit during his internship, as well as a paycheck, and, when I had to cut loose all of the interns, he was the only one I kept because he needed the credit to graduate. Maybe it was the raw desperation he showed in begging me to keep him around, or maybe it was my desperation in my search for a babysitter, but I eventually persuaded him to give our Thursday night “deal” a tryout.

And it ended up being a great fit. The kids loved him and he grew to love our kids. He got his laundry done for free and we even let him use our spray starch when he ironed in order to get the military creases in his undershirts. He took care of bath time, prayer time and bedtime. He was so good at it that Hope and I would consciously not return home until we were sure he had everyone down and out, even if it meant stopping by the bookstore to burn an hour after we finished dinner and whatever errands we needed to run.

It has been over twenty years since the first date night and we stayed friends with Ron. We were there when he met Eve, held their rehearsal dinner in our back yard, waited in the hall of the hospital when their first child was born and have enjoyed each other’s company ever since. All because a poor college student needed clean clothes and a poor married couple needed an occasional quiet dinner alone. 

Us: Driving Lessons

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There are a variety of ways our children are similar. That makes sense considering they were raised in the same familial incubator and with the same parental units. But they are also unique in many ways and that was never more evident than when we taught them each to drive. Since William was first, Hope took it upon herself to set some ground rules before he ever turned sixteen. As each of his friends gained driving privileges, she insisted they come by the house and take her on a drive around the neighborhood so she could assess their skills and determine whether we would let William get in the car with them. The first victim of this was a bit surprised at the request but, having grown up around us, decided it would be wise to play the game. He passed his alternative-driving test with ease. Others were not as fortunate but, after a stern word or two from The Instructor, they at least knew the expectations of driving our children around town.

William was also well aware of the expectations and adapted well, a first-born trait that he consistently displayed. I was always in charge of the initial education and we always started in a parking lot, practicing accelerating and stopping, parking and backing out—all the fundamentals before allowing them to drive on the road around live people. He was cautious, nervous, careful and observant as a student and he eventually morphed into a good driver after a slow start. Laura, on the other hand, was none of the above. The hardest part in training her was getting her to not look at you while she talked. For some reason she thought the adage that conversations had more meaning when you made eye contact should be strictly followed, even when driving through a neighborhood. Plus, she has an almost obsessive need to use her hands in order to speak and this caused a problem since the steering wheel is critical in getting the car to stay on the road. We eventually had to demand she not speak if she was behind the wheel. I do not remember William ever crying while learning to drive but tears always come to mind when I recount my time with Laura. She eventually pulled everything together and passed all state and Hope-approved tests to receive her license.

During all of this, Jordan was in the back seat, observing and taking mental notes, accepting the near death experiences with Laura in order to learn. He eventually claimed that we didn't have to worry about him because he would be the best driver of all the kids. Yes, part of this was Jordan being Jordan, talking smack as an art form, but it also is a microcosm of who he is. Since he saw driving as an essential gift of freedom, it was extremely important that he excel and get this part of life under his belt. When he is focused on something, he is a bulldog. The issue was always getting him focused on things that were important but didn't necessarily come up on his personal radar. This was not a concern with learning to drive. He was confident and used all of the lessons of his siblings to know what to avoid as well as what to concentrate on. As is probably not all that uncommon for a third child, he was the easiest to teach.

Through the ensuing years there have been wrecks and tickets and all the other expected sideshows with teenage drivers. Oddly enough, William, Mr. Cautious, has the most wrecks and Jordan the most tickets. Okay, that last part about Jordan isn't that odd. And Laura, true to her gender, has been stopped the most times by law enforcement but has never gotten a ticket. I am not sure what estrogen laced tips Hope taught her when she had Laura in the car but I obviously forgot to teach that to the boys.

Us: Extra Curricular

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Observing my grown children now at 21, 24 and 26 years old, it would be easy to guess their interests growing up. In simple terms, the boy's are musicians and Laura is a writer so they must have shown those interests early. If that were your guess, you would be wrong. I compare it to driving on a mountain road with a lot of winding, 180 degree cutbacks. A child will show and interest in something so, wanting to show support, we jump in and encourage them to pursue it by buying the equipment and the lessons. There is interest for a while and then, “Look! A pony!” Just like that we are on to something else. I am sure that a parent was the one motivated to start used sports equipment stores and the idea of band equipment rental.

William played one year of baseball, several years of soccer and flag football and a year of high school football. He also had drum lessons, played the tuba in middle school as well as bass guitar before taking his first guitar lesson in high school. Laura played a year of t-ball, a year of soccer, had ballet lessons and was a member of middle school and high school choir as well as involved in high school musicals. Jordan played several years of flag football and soccer and then, at 10, decided to give baseball a try and played that until his sophomore year of high school. He also took batting and pitching lessons, attended strength and conditioning training three times per week and had a couple of drum lessons when he was 12. As every parent knows, all of this represents money and, more importantly, time. Lots of time. It required many hours sitting in parking lots during lessons, standing on the sidelines through oppressive heat and freezing winds as well as the recitals, performances and tournaments. It is a big commitment and it will wear you out.

One Saturday morning I had to get Jordan to high school freshman baseball practice at eight. My parents were visiting and my dad accompanied me, wanting to see his grandson play some baseball. As we watched the team go through their drills, I made a comment in the form of a rhetorical question, not expecting an answer. “Why do we do this? We burn so much time chasing our tail, running to practice and lessons... for what? This is exhausting and Jordan probably won't play baseball past high school.” My dad said, “No regrets. We do it because we don't want to look back and say 'if only...' Your kids will find where they fit eventually but this is their way to discover. And there are a lot of life lessons along the way they can use the rest of their lives. Plus, this is your chance to build them up, support them, try to give them some confidence. Trust me, the world will eventually take care of beating them up and tearing them down. Enjoy it. They'll be on their own soon enough.”

And that is it. The drum lessons led to the tuba led to the bass that led to the guitar that led to a desire to lead his youth group that led William to decide to attend a college that taught him both music and Biblical principles that he will use forever. The ballet led to the choir that led to the stage that was always wrapped in relationships that Laura cherishes more than performance and that drives her writing and her recent forays into speaking and recording spoken word monologues. For Jordan, the sports led to the lessons and the training that led to discipline and focus that led to the desire to excel that led to a decision to pursue music after baseball was taken away that led to a desire to lead and attend a school that would shape him and bring all of the disparate threads together. All three journeys were different but, in a way, very similar. We, the parents, might have driven the van but God was working the GPS.

Day in the Life: My Sketchbook, Round Fourteen

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Us: Road Trip!

When I was child, our vacations consisted of driving to two different places. One was my grandparent's house in Oklahoma and the other was to my grandparent's house in Mississippi. It didn't matter if we lived in Florida, Georgia or Texas, those were our two destinations. Traveling conditions were rudimentary, but, since my siblings and I didn't know any better, they were accepted as fact and we made the most of it. This included unwritten rules for sleeping space: smallest kid in the back window, next in line on the floorboard, attempting to adjust to the axle bump with the oldest and largest granted the entirety of the back seat. This worked well for me because, being the oldest and biggest, it gave me room to stretch out while passed out from half a Dramamine which I had to take in order to be able to read in a moving car.

My mom always packed food for us in a Styrofoam cooler, which meant that all of our lunches were eaten at a rest stop. It also meant that one of us kids was always having to adjust the lid when it skewed enough to start squeaking and driving everyone crazy. We passed the time by playing “I spy,” the billboard alphabet game and the always exciting search to find all 50 states represented by license plates. And when the whining and poking in the back seat reached a crescendo, my dad always insisted on at least three rounds of the quiet game. When we were all still very young, we carried a small, blue porcelain pot to pee in. This served two purposes: it kept us from having to stop every 30 minutes and it also shamed you enough that we learned self control in order to not have to use it. Sandwiched between all of this fun was hours of staring out the window.

I contrast that with all of the tricked out SUV's and minivans today and I can only wonder what it would have been like to watch a movie or play a video game while traveling to grandmothers. And it reminds me of the time Hope and I rigged a VCR and a mini television in our van in an attempt to entertain our kids on a long drive to Washington, D.C. To keep the two separate devices from sliding around we used an elaborate weave of bungee chords and duct tape and hoped the kids wouldn't notice that Barney was not very purple when viewed on a black and white television. And that wasn't the only method we tried to make traveling a little more palatable. Our favorite, and most successful, plan was leaving in the middle of the night. This allowed us to get a few hours of driving in while the kids slept all over the back of the van and it shortened their day because we were always several hours into the trip before they woke up. The games we played were a little more sophisticated, but not much. We went through a Mancala phase and, when they could convince Hope to climb in the back with them, they all enjoyed playing card games as well.

Although we lacked the sophistication of today's traveling families, we did incorporate some changes from my days in the car. With more and cheaper food options, we tended to eat our lunches at fast food restaurants, although we still packed a cooler with snacks. We also took advantage of the taxpayer-funded rest stops and allowed our children to use a proper toilet. But we also busted out the billboard alphabet game and “I Spy.” Some things are sacred.

Us: Eating... Well

Going out to eat as a family can be fun and special but it’s laced with hidden pockets of chaos. Hope and I would sit in restaurants before having children, smugly judging the families dealing with out of control kids, always punctuating our critique with, “That will not be happening on our watch.” And then our watch happened and another world opened up to us. And it was not a place we recognized. Initially, it was easy. The combination of having the world's most content child in William and he being the only child for 22 months made for a mostly drama free experience in public. Right before he turned two we added Laura and, as explained in a previous post, taking everyone out at once became dangerous while she struggled to cope with her new life outside the womb and was hardly worth the effort. It was a time to introduce everyone to take-out and the joys of eating someone else's food in your house.

Eventually, Laura settled down, then Jordan was born and we began braving the world of restaurants more and more. Granted, we were eating at barbecue joints, sandwich shops and pretty much anywhere that kids could eat for free or, at the most, for a dollar, but that also meant that every other family in town was going to be there as well. And that also meant more kids than adults and a chance to witness every possible form of behavior—good, but mostly bad. And like dogs being inspired to join in when one of their neighborhood brethren decides to howl, the kids tended to feed off the energy generated in the dining room and the potential for disaster hung like a fog over every table. I often had trouble enjoying my meal because I was so concerned with my kids losing all sense of composure and joining the Lords of the Flies gathering by the round table in the back. So in order to bring some control over my group of food nomads and for me to actually appreciate a meal, I decided to set up something called The Restaurant Rules.

They were simple, not complicated by any stretch of the imagination, for one reason only—I needed them to be understood by small children with the attention spans of a ketchup packet. The rules were 1) no running around, 2) no yelling or loud talking (i.e. use your “inside voice”) and 3) no pitching a fit for any reason whatsoever. Consequences ranged from a withering stare (from mom) to leaving the establishment with a parent and sitting in the car until the rest of the family was finished eating (dad duty). We had a shaky start and we were tested, as is common, but after missing a meal while sitting in the car with dad once or twice, mindsets were altered and things settled down quickly. And it always “helped” that Laura considered herself an adult since she turned three and was more than happy to assist in policing the boy's behavior by shushing and adding her own version of a withering stare. The first few times we ventured out as a five-some, I would stop the car in the parking lot, turn to the back seat and go over the rules, slowly reiterating the ramifications if rules were broken, and end with, “Is everyone clear?” Once they all three verbally agreed, we would enter the restaurant. That exercise evolved into saying, “Remember, Restaurant Rules” as we were walking in and it finally became a simple, “Remember...” and they would mutter, “Restaurant rules, yeah, yeah.” Of course, by then they were teenagers so their lack of enthusiasm was almost understandable.

What never seemed to get adjusted was the cone of destruction that we would inevitably leave behind. From our view, the table surface always seemed fairly tidy. Most of the kid’s food was on their plate or in their hair, but at least it was contained. And then we would stand up, wipe everyone down, load up the bags and supplies and begin the process of paying and leaving. And I would make the mistake of looking back and discovering the floor around our table looked like a battleground. Cracker and bread shrapnel mixed with discarded vegetable ammo and utensils scattered in a messy circle, letting the world know we had been there. It was humiliating and it only got worse. As we began eating out with friends who had kids, the crumb explosion expanded and got deeper. But short of getting down on our hands and knees and cleaning it up ourselves, we were usually reduced to an embarrassed, “Sorry for the mess” comment to the woefully underpaid bus boy. Yes, our offspring were pigs but at least they behaved. And there really is some consolation in that.

Day in the Life: My Sketchbook, Round Thirteen

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