Damn Good Joe

The world lost a damn good dog on Monday. I can't cry myself out. I have never lost anything that I loved so dearly. I guess I'm lucky that in almost 40 years, my biggest loss so far was a dog. I guess I should count myself lucky to spend 15 years with such a great animal. But the only things I feel right now are sadness and the temporary numbness that your body grants you right before it sends the pain signals again.

In 1998, I was finally on my own. The Marine Corps had forced me to live in tight quarters, never alone for a minute, for four years. But they didn't pay me enough to build up a savings account, so when I got out I lived with roommates and then with my parents. Finally, after 18 months of civilian life, I had saved up enough for an apartment. Within a month of moving in, I was ready for a dog.

The humane society had setup a puppy adoption on the sidewalk of a shopping plaza. I went down there just to look around, and I wanted to be picky about the dog I adopted. I was thinking of a boxer or a bull dog, and wanted to name it Chesty after a famous Marine General. I know: cheesy.

I can't tell you why I stopped stopped to look at Joey. I don't remember much of that afternoon. All I can say is it felt right. We made a connection, I paid the tab, and took him home.

Joey was enthusiastic and fearless. He sniffed my apartment down and pee'd on every tree in the yard. Twice. I was tired, so I called him into bed and we took an afternoon nap together. Then we went to my parents house to show him off, and he was instant friends with my parents dog (who I eulogized on this blog here.) It was the perfect first day.

A few weeks later I brought a girl home for our second date, and she instantly fell in love with Joey. And of course he fell in love with her. He never had an enemy, and really loved the ladies. I had my doubts, but he insisted I keep her around. Her name was Rachel.

I remember one day that Rachel wanted me to go to her family party where all her cousins and aunts/uncles/grandparents, etc would be gathered. I spent every second I could with Joey, so I took him along. The cousins were playing baseball and wanted me to play. My team was batting first, and soon I was up. I told Joey to sit-stay (he was usually obedient.) I got a hit and ran to first. When I ran, Joey ran. We were both safe at first. Next batter gets a hit, we both run to second. Rachel's family thought it was hilarious. We scored, and eventually played center field together. That was Joey in a nutshell: having fun and making friends.

Nobody could poop like Joe. He was infamous for quantity and quality. We would take him to a dog park or to my parents and bet on if he would poop 3 or 4 times in the space of a few hours. When my parents moved into a new house, he ran around the new huge basement and then laid a massive poop on a carpet scrap. He's lucky it was on the scrap and not on the newly installed carpet--or did he plan it that way?. After I married Rachel (Joey's idea) we bought a house. We brought him over to to check it out. He ran around the backyard for a while peeing on everything. Then he came into the house to sniff around...and to lay a massive poop in the center of the living room. Rachel swears she can still see the dent it left in the hardwood floor.

One day Rachel's sister ended up with an abandoned puppy that she couldn't keep. Rachel took one look at the puppy and insisted we take her in. I was skeptical, and let Joey decide. Joey let the little Cujo jump all over him, bite him, take his bone, and bark in his face. Then he licked her silly and gave me a nod. She stayed. I'm pretty sure Joey regretted that decision, but he would never admit it. Nina turned out to be crazy, selfish, messy, and loud. But she was his sister and he remained loyal to her. I have a picture of him licking and snuggling her moments before I took him to the vet, 14 years after adopting her. In his last few months, she was confined to a cage at night due to some accidents she was having, and I would find him in the morning in front of her cage, keeping her company.

Sometimes I am not as patient as I should be. Joey had his quirks that would really get me upset because no matter what how loud I yelled, he was still quirky. I'd feel guilty later and apologize to him, and he always forgave me. He was quick to forgive, but he didn't let his guard down. When he saw my temper rising, he avoided me. He trained me to use something other than anger when communicating with him. It took years, but I'm finally making progress. Sometimes Nina would cross a line trying to dominate him, or would try to take his food and he would bare teeth and back her off.

He put up with a lot of shit, but he wasn't a pushover. He drew his lines and stood his ground when it mattered to him. Joey was true to himself in a way that I may never emulate. And all the while, he was this humble, patient, generous dog who everybody loved. He always wanted to play, but he didn't push the issue when I was dog tired. He always wanted affection but if you told him to go lay down he would, and wait patiently for your love to come to him. He always wanted what you were eating, but he didn't beg. He would give you the saddest eyes you've ever seen, as if he had never eaten, but he wouldn't make a big thing of it or be disobedient.

Rachel and I had a child. Like the puppy, our first child wanted to climb on him and chew on him. He would just lay there and let her climb and drool. When she got bigger, she wanted to ride him. That wasn't going to happen, but he was gentle about it. He didn't run off or nip or buck. He simply laid down, let her bounce on his back till she got bored, and then gently disappeared. Nina was nowhere to be found during any of this. She learned to hide, slink away, and stay scarce.

Rachel and I had a second kid, and this one was all boy. He had a strong grip from the day he was born, and would pull tails and ears and fur. Still, Joey was a good big brother, always gentle and usually available for the abuse. Eventually, the boy grew up into a kid who understood how to play with a dog properly, and they were soon buddies.

On New Years Eve 2004, Nina got spooked by fireworks. She hopped the fence and ran off. We looked everywhere for her that night and couldn't find her. We kept looking for her day after day, without any sign from her. Joey obviously missed her, despite the fact that she took up space, attention, and food from him, and tormented him daily. We finally found her after two weeks, and when I brought her home there was a lot of excitement and tears. But no one was happier than Joey. He tried to lick all the fur off of her, and they fell asleep that night forehead-to-forehead. He could have been excited while she was gone because he had the house and the food and the attention all to himself, but instead he was happy to have his nasty sister back. That's Joey: All heart.

Joey had some nicknames. "Joe-dog". "Jose" (the Mexican in-laws came up with that.) "Jose-Martin" (I don't know how that came about.) "Butts-and-guts" (Joey filled out a little because he was half chow, and he was always hungry, so Rachel came up with that. There's even a song.) "Senor" (another mexican thing.) "Patches" because when he shed, his Chow undercoat would come out in clumps. Sometimes his sister was "Itchy" and he was "Scratchy", like the Simpsons cartoon. In the last two years of his life, he developed this panting habit that was loud and annoying. The vet said it was normal, but I would often ask him to stop. We joke that it sounded like a train, so when he started up his panting, I'd ask him to pull the train into the station. The panting earned him the name "Huff-and-Puff" (which sometimes turned into "Huffelpuff" after we read Harry Potter.) I think a nickname is evidence that you have personality, and it means people care about you. Obviously, Joey had a lot of personality and a lot to love.

Joey used to run with me. A few years ago, he started falling behind on runs. I was sad to lose a runnning partner, but he obviously had a lot of life left in him so I didn't think much of it. Last year, it got to the point that he couldn't walk for more than a few blocks. That's when I went into denial.

He started to have trouble standing up on the hardwood or tile floors, but that was where he preffered to lay. I bought him a top-of-the-line dog bed that he could easily get into and stand up in, but he preffered the cool, slippery floors. That, and his sister kept stealing his bed instead of using her own.

And then one Saturday morning, he couldn't get up. He kept trying, but his back legs just wouldn't push. So I helped him up and led him to the back door. He seemed okay, but when he had to step down to get outside, he stumbled like a drunk. He took two steps onto the deck and emptied his bladder. It was the most undignified thing I had ever seen, and I immediately snapped out of my denial: Joey was in bad shape. I carried him back into the house and tried to feed him, but he wasn't hungry. Joey not hungry? Oh shit.

I cried like a baby, right then and there. I couldn't hide it, and I couldn't speak clearly to explain to my wife what was wrong. All I could do was cry for Joey. I immediately made an appointment for the vet, but it took a while to compose myself enough to leave the house. My son went with me. The vet looked him over and diagnosed advanced arthritis. He said there wasn't much he could do, but would try an anti-inflammatory and a pain-killer. He also said that even with that, we probably only had a few more months. When he left the room, my son asked me what the vet meant, and I had to explain that Joey would soon be put to sleep, and how, and why. I explained that in the wild, his lack of mobility would have already killed him, but that we are able to prolong his life a little longer. But I also explained that for Joey's sake, we would have to end his suffering when there was nothing more we could do for him. All that time, I was crying.

The medicine helped a little. Joey moved around a little better. I followed up with the vet and asked if more medicine would help, but the vet sadly shook his head. I went online and tried to find anything that would give us some hope, but everything I read said that we were doing all we could do. Even surgery wouldn't help and would only cause more suffering for the animal.

And one of the articles made it clear: it is more for selfish reasons that we would delay euthanasia at this point. Once the animal has lost a significant quality of life, it isn't fair to them to keep them around. I thought I was delaying euthanasia because that was the right thing to do. But I came to realize that the Joey who was once so full of enthusiasm and affection was now a very inactive and sometimes irritable guy. He still ate his share and would let you cuddle him, but his heart wasn't in it. A couple of times recently I laid on the floor to cuddle him and he tolerated it for a while, then got up and went to be alone.

After a month, he went in for a followup and they noticed that the anti-inflammatory was doing damage to his stomach and kidneys. They took that away and left him on just the opiate. He started needing help to stand up several times a day. It was clear what needed to be done. I started researching euthanasia options. The research allowed me to delay the decision.

I finally made the decision, but couldn't make the appointment for several days. In the middle of the work day last week, I went down to my car and called the vet. We made the appointment, I hung up, and then I cried. That sucked. I went home and told the family. We all cried. That sucked. But then we all went to work on making Joey's last days as great as they could be. Everytime I walked past him, I said his name and gave him a pat. I brought home treats and let him eat whatever he wanted, though his appetite wasn't quite there. On Sunday, I threw a party for him. The kids made signs for him, and we had balloons, and he got his own hot dog.

That last night, we all cuddled around him. I was planning on taking him to the vet alone, but the whole family wanted to be there. It was a school day, but this was more important. A great dog was going to leave us. Their brother and best friend. They understood the whole thing and were ready for it, so I said they could be there.


That morning, I had to help him to his feet. I carried him outside to the grass, and let him enjoy his yard one last time. We sat around the living with him and I told the kids stories about a younger, faster Joey. The dog who kissed Rachel for the first time before I had a chance. The dog who tolerated a naughty puppy and two curious toddlers. A dog who plays baseball, and swims like a champ, and poops like no other dog. And then it was time to go.

I called him to the car. He took his time, and I let him. He sniffed, and he stalled because he never liked car rides. But I didn't force him. I let him come to the car on his own, and I lifted him in. In the parking lot at the vet, I set him down and let him take his time walking in. I hoped that it gave him some dignity to be able to walk at his own speed, on his own legs, into the vet.

The staff made sure that we understood everything. Then the vet explained that she would take him in the back, prep his leg and put in a catheter and then bring him back to us. She led him out, and we waited. After a few minutes, we heard huffing and puffing outside the door and knew it was our dog. Rachel joked that the train was pulling in. We chuckled a little, and encouraged him to come on in.

There was a blanket on the ground for him to lay on. The vet went to get the final injection while we spent a last few mintes with him. My son gave him a biscuit. we all pet him and told him the sweet nothings that came to mind. The vet came back in and asked if we were ready. We had been saying goodbye for days, so we couldn't be more ready to see him finally at peace.

It happened way faster than I expected. She slowly pushed the plunger and he suddenly relaxed like he was going to sleep. He let out a final sigh, she listened to his heart, and said, "He is in Heaven now." It looked like he was asleep. It was a dignified end to a life well-lived. We were then left alone with him.

We cried. Holy shit did we cry. My son, in mid cry, remarked that he had never seen me cry so hard. We didn't want to leave, but we new that eventually we had to. I don't know how long we stayed, or how we decided to leave. But eventually we left him there alone on that blanket in the examination room for the vet staff to deal with.

It was hard to drive home without crying, but someone had to be strong enough to get us safely home. Once in the house, I cried some more. And then I cried some more. My daughter was ready for school, but my son sat with me on the back porch and we cried together and talked about life, and death, and dogs, and medicine, and Joey. And I think we cried a little more. Then we cleaned our face, I took him to school, and I went to work.

I kept it together at work, and got through the rest of the day. Then I went home and cried a little. I went numb, watched TV, ate dinner, worked a little, and got into bed. And then I cried again.

That night, I had trouble sleeping because I wondered how they dealt with the body. We left around 10 am. Did they carry the body out while the waiting room was full of people? Did they gently lift him onto a cart? We paid extra to get his ashes back. How did his body get to the crematorium? Was it treated with dignity throughout the process? How would we know we actually got his ashes, and not just some random ashes?

This morning I woke up numb. I thought perhaps I was cried-out. But after everyone had left, as I was preparing to leave, I look at his food dish sitting there and I cried hard. I made gutteral noises I had never made before. Everytime I thought I was done, I started crying harder and couldn't stop. It was 20 minutes before I had enough composure to leave the house.

While driving home tonight, I cried a little. I talked to Joey, and told him how I planned to honor his memory. When I pulled into the driveway, I remembered how he would be at the fence to greet me on most spring days like this, with his curly tail wagging and his multi-colored toungue hanging out and a smile on his face. I cried again.

My son and I ran some errands, and played some tennis. And then I sat down to write this, and I have cried a hundred times while writing. I miss that dog so much. I know that I made the best decision for him, and that ending his pain was the best thing to do. I know we had a fantastic life together, and that he lived longer and with more vigor than most dogs. But I still can't get over the fact that I can never cuddle him. Never see that dog face looking up at me without any judgement or resentment. Never call his name and hear the click-clack of his nails on hardwood. Never hear his huff-and-puff to remind me to let him out or feed him. Never come home to find the one person who was always glad to see me and always had time for me--even if I didn't always make time for him.

Joey, you were the best dog that ever lived, and I didn't deserve you. But I am honored that I got to spend so many years with you. My days were brighter with you in them, and you trained me to be a better man. I will never forget you, and I will always strive to be more like you. Thank you, buddy, for being the best friend I could ever ask for. I love you.

Letter to Kate DiCamillo

Dear Ms. DiCamillo,

Thank you for your books. I have been reading them to my kids, and I couldn't have chosen a better author's work. We started with The Tale of Desperauex and followed it up with Because of Winn Dixie. Last night, we finished The Miraculous Adventure of Edward Tulane. We will soon be looking for your other works, and eagerly await a new book.

I loved Despereaux. It was a story that any age could appreciate, and I appreciated the way you introduced a few rare words and explained their meaning with both a definition and then an example in the story. You are not only making my kids smarter, you are making me smarter as well. Thank you.

A few days later, I was reading (alone) about Da Vinci, and the author described Da Vinci's dark/light contrasts as "Chiaroscuro". I found elsewhere that chiaroscuro can be used to produce depth and dimensions in light. To transpose those concepts from art to your story made so much more sense, and I have to tell you how impressed I am by the layers of your story. I am sure that if we reread the book again we will be pleasantly surprised with details and ideas that we missed before.

We went to the movies to see The Tale of Despereaux, and I was sorry to see how they changed your story. The kids were disappointed, too. I understand the need for small changes to translate a story from book to film, but I think they unnecessarily changed the most valuable aspects of your story to "dumb it down" for the movie-goer.

Winn Dixie was a great read, and the underlying values that can be learned are exactly what I want my kids to learn. Thank you!

It is rare for me to cry. Every once in a while, a movie can get to me. I can only think of one book that made me cry before reading about Edward Tulane. That other book was a biography of Carl Sagan, and I cried when he had to say good-bye to his kids before he died prematurely. Your book made me cry twice. I cried about Sarah Jean, and then I cried as Abilene and Edward meet again. Actually, I almost lost it while reading the Coda. My kids had never seen me cry, and they didn't quite understand it, but I think it was a good experience for them. Now they know I'm not as tough as I pretend to be.

More importantly, the lesson of Edward Tulane is of the most important lessons in life (top three lessons, for sure.) It is also the most difficult to put into words, and oftentimes our actions are not enough to teach this lesson. Unfortunately, many people must learn this lesson the hard, just like Edward.

The antique doll had a great many stories to tell, didn't she? With that much time on earth and that many cracks in her china, she must have a treasure trove to pull from when she needs to remind herself that she has been loved, that she has loved, and that life can be really good if your let it.

I can't help but wonder where Bryce went. I wonder what lesson Bryce can teach us? When he is forty years old, is a successful and generous man (a Jean Valjean) or a miserable and bitter drunk reliving his father's life?

Thank you again, Kate DiCamillo. They tell me that reading to my children will pay untold dividends. I am sure that those dividends are multiplied when I am reading your books to them. May your muse continue to inspire you with great tales, great values, and great wordsmithing.

Happiness

Of course, I want to teach my kids everything I know: especially the knowledge I gained the hard way. But what if you could only teach them one thing? [Don't focus on why you can only teach them one thing, just humor the exercise and isolate the most important thing you know.

I found this aphorism from Michel de Montaigne that captures the one thing I think my offspring need to know:

The man who is happy is not he who is believed to be so but he who believes he is so. (Geary's Guide to the World's Greatest Aphorisms by James Geary, page 128.)

If I had known this principle as a younger man, I could have wasted less time and focused more on lasting happiness. The quick-fix happiness I sought in booze, girls, games, food, TV, and many other trivial pursuits did not return anything over time.

Imagine your happiness is measurable. Your happiness starts at zero, and you have a beer to push it up to a "1". After six beers, are you at a happiness level of "6"? Maybe, but there is a law of diminishing returns that applies here. At some point, you have one too many beers. The hangover itself will sap your happiness level, and that is in addition to any errors of judgement you may have committed while intoxicated. No matter what, you always lose the happiness that each beer brought. Beer/Food/Drugs/etc do not leave a residual happiness, they wear off.

Reset your happiness meter and lets try another exaple. Starting at "0" you turn on TV and find a new episode of your favorite TV show. Happiness level soars to a "10" while the show is on, drops to a "5" immediately after, and then registers a zero once it has left your short-term memory. If you were supposed to be doing something else instead of watching TV at that time, then the drop off will be steeper and deeper. TV does not produce a residual happiness.

Now a better way, in my opinion: Do something for a relationship that you don't feel like doing. Give a back rub, cook something that you don't like but that person does, listen to a boring story enthusiastically, or let them control the TV remote tonight. The happiness meter starts at zero, plunges into negative numbers for a brief time, and then slowly climbs to about a "2". Two years later, you recall a time when you did this selfless act and find that it still provides a residual level "2" happiness. If you can amass an impressive history of selfless acts, you will notice two things. First, they add up to a higher level of residual happiness (which means they cause your happiness to sit at a constant level "10" or higher, even in the darkest of times. Second, the object of your selfless acts will probably reciprocate, which both spikes your happiness and raises the residual happiness level.

My young kids can't really learn it yet. They have a lot of living to do before they know how true this aphorism is. Therefore, the best way for me to teach them now is by my example. I hope they see me working on my happiness, and actively choosing happiness. I hope that they intuitively choose happiness, regardless of what their friends say or what conventional wisdom has decided. I hope that they see the difference between short-term happiness and long-term happiness.

2009 may be a really hard year. If it is, I think I am ready to be happy anyway. I am hoping that everyone is surprised by how well 2009 treats us, and that happiness comes easily. If not, I plan to keep investing in those long-term happiness builders that I find with my kids, wife, extended family, charity, and self-improvement.

I hope your 2009 is filled happiness! Thanks for reading my blog.

Watch D.O.G.S.

I have been looking for an opportunity to donate some of my time, in addition to donating money like I talked about last time. Of course, finding a place to donate your time is easier than finding a job. However, I have found it twice as hard to find an opportunity that matches my skills, passion, and time.

Recently, I found an opportunity that was a perfect match. At my daughter's school, they have a program called Watch D.O.G.S., which stands for Dads Of Great Students. The idea is to have a dad, grandfather, uncle, or stepfather spend a day at the school, and their presence both adds to the educational experience and increases the security of the school. According to the official website:

WATCH D.O.G.S.® is the safe school initiative of the National Center for Fathering that was founded by Jim Moore, a concerned father who chose to take action in response to a 1998 middle-school shooting in Jonesboro, AR.

My day as a Watchdog Dad was fantastic, and I will be doing it again soon. Let me just say now that if you have any kind of fatherly influence on a middle school child, you should look into joining or starting a Watch D.O.G.S. group. Every man who participates will have more fun than they could imagine, the kids have a great time and receive a new perspective, and the teachers and administrators benefit from the extra eyes, ears, mouth, and hands to both educate the kids and keep them safe.

I began my day by receiving an official vest that identified my role. I was then asked to stand out in the parking lot to observe the kids arriving. I have been a parent dropping off and felt the frustration of having to queue and move slower than I'd like. I have also wished there were more adults, preferably police, present at the beginning and end of the day when kids are most likely to be shot, run-over, or kidnapped. It was gratifying to be a part of the safety net that keeps the kids safe.

After morning announcements, my daughter and I had our picture taken for the WatchD.O.G.S. board, and the girl got to wear a T-shirt all day to identify her as the kid of a Watchdog Dad. She then went about her day and I was given an itinerary to follow.

My first stop of the day was in a kindergarten classroom. The teacher was previously my daughter's teacher, so we knew each other. She sent the kids with me one at a time to the hall where they read a little book to me. It was interesting to me to see who had the book memorized, including the teacher's voice inflections and gestures. Some of the kids could sound out the words that they were unsure of. The best was one child who would recite the memorized sentence in the book and then offer her own commentary on the story. I was laughing, which only encouraged her embellishment. I can't wait to read her first novel.

Most of the kids were a little standoff-ish because I was a stranger, but they warmed up a little and read the book. However, there were two kids that were unwilling to read to me. They didn't look at me, and they either did not respond to my questions or they mumbled an answer. I wondered if they have more anxiety with strangers than most people do, or if they are used to dangerous and abusive men. It was difficult to see kids with so much to deal with at such a young age. I can't imagine how teachers who see that thing everyday are able to deal with the sadness and frustration that these kids made me feel.

And that reminds me of the kids I saw coming in after the first bell. A teacher was stationed at the front door to sternly announce to each tardy child that they were late and they needed to hurry to their classroom. The oldest kids coming in were in sixth grade and the youngest were kindergartners. I like the idea of teaching kids to be responsible and punctual, but I wonder how much responsibility a sixth-grader can take for their transportation to school, let alone a kindergartner.

More than one of the kids coming in were crying, and many of them looked unkempt or disheveled, indicating to me that the parents have issues of their own. I wondered if making these kids feel bad about their tardiness was productive, but I also see the value in making the tardiness an undesirable condition to be avoided. It is too bad the school can't do more to punish parents for tardy children, and hold parents responsible for more of their child's education.

Teaching my children to read, write, add, subtract, and act with morality and responsibility is a no-brainer for me and my better-half. Unfortunately, my wife and I find that many of our child's peers have been left without any training or worse, they have learned about sex and violence at a young age without learning how to spell their name, hold a pencil, or count to ten. A few of the children are left with not only a lack of fundamental skills but also a lack of English. They arrive in school with only as much English as they can learn from T.V., which makes the teacher's job that much harder.

My daughter was ready to read in kindergarten, but her teacher was prevented from spending time cultivating that skill because she was still teaching the alphabet to kids who apparently received more than enough calories at home, but not enough Sesame Street or parental tutoring. They could recite the lyrics to Snoop-Dogg compositions, but couldn't remember what came after t-u-v in the alphabet. I understand that there are all kinds of issues out there and I have experienced a few of them. However, I can't imagine how having kids wouldn't cause you to find a way to rise above your issues and give them a better future than you had.

After a long, hard day, I had an hour or two that I could spend with my daughter and a book. On the other hand, the teacher had my daughter for several hours (she also had the education and experience to more effectively teach reading skills.) I know that she would have loved to help the best students go farther, but she was limited by the weakest link in the chain. I certainly wouldn't want any child to be seperated as "slow" or "dumb" at such a young age, but I also can't help but wonder how much farther along my daughter would be if she had been challenged more, rather than waiting for the other kids to catch up.

Just to be clear, I don't want to paint my daughter as the star pupil. There were several students like her who had the skills and willingness to do more than was asked of them. A clear divide existed between the students who had been worked with, and those who had been left without instruction. Perhaps we need to increase access to quality pre-school, or just start slapping sense into some parents. I know, the former idea is more acceptable but the second option would be more satisfying.

Anyhow, back to the story: After kindergarten, I headed to fourth-grade where I was read to again. The kids were bigger and more skilled at reading, and the books were much more interesting. I could ask the kids about the books they were reading to test their comprehension, and I could explain concepts and definitions to help them comprehend more. It was very interesting to experience the contrast and see how much a kid learns in just a few years.

Throughout the day, I was greeted warmly and enthusiastically by many kids and adults, which is a great change from my usual day. In my career, I usually meet people who expect me to either fix sopmething or try to sell them something, and usually both. I work in an industry full of gruff, bitter, and burned-out people. Needless-to-say, it was a fantastic change to have everyone happy to greet me without any expectations.

After fourth-grade, I spent 30 minutes observing a kid use a computer to enhance his learning. This was a child who was obviously below his age-group's reading level and was working on phonics. I do not know if anyone is to blame for his difficulties, and it is none of my business. I am just glad that his condition was diagnosed and that he is receiving the extra attention he needs. In other school districts he may have slipped through the cracks, but here he is taken out of the class and brought up to speed with special attention by literacy specialists. Even better is the use of techonology; with a moderately-priced computer and internet access, these kids are getting opportunities that were previously unavailable. Using computers to take the place of instructors, you can get more attention and instruction to more kids who need it.

I got to go out for recess for the first time since I was in grade-school. It is still awesome to run free on a muddy field and play football with the boys, even when it is 30 degrees. I think more adults should experience recess again and be reminded of how exhilerating and liberating it can feel. If we could incorporate recess into our work day, like Spain incorporates the siesta, we would have more productivity and less heart-attacks I am sure. Rush-hour would be less tense everyday as well; we would be too tired and happy to honk or flip eachother off.

I got to eat lunch with my daughter and her friends, and that was waaaaaaay better than eating lunch with my friends. I was grossed-out just as often, but the topics of conversation were much more fun and uplifting. When you are in grade-school, everything is fun, funny, or new. Burps are great, trading carrots for a cookie is the bomb, and no one cares who Hillary Clinton is or whether gas prices will break $3. I wish I could eat at her school everyday; I am sure it would make my life more satisfying and I may squeeze a little more productivity into my afternoon.

When I drop-off or pick-up my kids from school, I will be more patient now that I have seen how hard it is to control the chaos. I have been critical of teachers in the past; now that I have seen a full day and all the issues that need to be addressed, I will be unable to criticize these heros. It is too bad that our society does not value our teachers more; we have no idea what we could get out of them if we spent more time encouraging and enabling our teachers, rather than criticizing and cost-cutting. Shame on us.

Originally, Watch D.O.G.S. was started to increase safety in our schools. As a Marine, I can confidently report that my presence made the school safer that day; luckily, that safety was not tested. Perhaps, just knowing that there is a dad at school everyday will prevent many unsafe thoughts from occurring to desperate minds. Failing that, it is good to know that there will be more eyes, ears, and muscle to prevent bad situations from being worse.

This is a program that everyone should be aware of. If you are a fatherly figure, you really should get involved. If you know a fatherly figure, please pass on this program. If the school does not already have a Watch D.O.G.S. program, it can be easily started-up by clicking here. This is a fantastic opportunity to give back to your community, spend more time with your kid, and have as much fun as a grade-schooler. If nothing else, it gets you out of work for a day, and that is always a good thing!

The Parenting Difference

I began to reflect on something Sunday at a sort-of family reunion, which included cousins and other relatives I do not see often, and do not keep in touch with very well. I have two cousins who were born in the same year that I was. All three of us are products of the Illinois public school system; though we were in different buildings, surrounded by different peers, and instructed by different teachers, our school experience was quite similar in quality, standards, structure, and environment. In other words, none of the three of us attended an inner-city or wealthy-and-privileged school district.

Cousin # 1 (C1) was born premature and has some minor genetic and developmental issues. He is able to function in society, care for himself, drive, and whatever else a "normal" adult would need to do. He certainly isn't stupid, but he does have "issues" that slow him down and are probably leading him down a dead-end path. He barely graduated from high-school, and he required a "special" program to get his diploma. He has a son, but not a wife. He shares custody with a young mother who also has "issues", depends on welfare, and who knows what else can be said about her.

C1 is a fairly nice guy. He is as good of a father as he is capable. He is as honest as the next person. He has fun, he works a job, he will help when asked. I would say his character is of average ethical makeup.

C1 has a habit of poor decisions. He has lost promotions and jobs. He has a son with a woman he does not like. He is not welcome in some relative's homes anymore for various reasons. He tends to waste money that he does not have, and his lifestyle has cost other people money. He has no plans to ever acquire a degree or skill that would improve his employment prospects and increase his satisfaction. He often scoffs at ambition, but that may be his way of facing something he cannot obtain.

Cousin #2 (C2) is currently unemployed. He was laid-off due to slowness in his industry, but there may have been other factors that include his performance. He has had trouble with substance abuse. He experiences debilitating depression and has been a suicide risk in the past. He has caused a lot of grief for a mother who already has enough grief in her life.

C2 also is of average character. He is a nice guy, and people generally like him. He has a sense of humor, is intelligent, and has moments of caring and sensitivity. He spent 3 years in college and has a valuable skill (Computer-Aided Drafting-CAD) that is usually in demand. He has some aspiration and standards, and it appears to most of us that he really would like to be a responsible, reliable, and self-actualized person. However, he can never maintain the consistency of discipline, energy, interest, etc...

To sum up the cousins: we have all three had our struggles, and failed to live up to any ideal, much less our potential. We are good guys generally, but we could be and do better. None of us are criminals, devil-worshipers, or tele-marketers. However, we have caused problems for ourselves, and made our lives more difficult than they needed to be. We have missed or passed on opportunities, or dropped out of programs that would have benefited us.

I hate to judge people; I hate to toot my own horn; I am risking a few paragraphs of sounding uppity and boastful here. As a father, however, this situation is important to me because I will do anything to avoid these three scenarios for my own kids, if it is up to me. As an examiner of my own life, I can say that I am the most successful of the three thus far. Can I make sure that my two kids exceed my experience, based on what I know of the three cousins?

I have a college degree, with several marketable skills. In addition, my Marine Corps experience is a plus for most employers. I have a solid marriage, a 10-year career, property, assets, and savings. Compared to many people whom I look up to, I am an underachiever based on what "could have been". However, compared to my cousins, I am the ideal; I am living the American dream. I have done well for myself and been lucky. How much was luck and how much was influenced by my parents (and others, including my beautiful wife) and myself?

C1 has demonstrated a stronger character than I have numerous times, so I tend to disbelieve that my character is the deciding factor. C2 is probably smarter than me, especially in mathematics and other detail-oriented fields. However, I have had one thing that neither of the other cousins had: a home with two stable parents.

All three of us have been exposed to alcoholism. However, my experience was VERY mild. C1 and C2 had stepfathers who were criminally abusive to their biological mothers and to them. C2 never saw his biological father; C1 had limited access to a father of limited capabilities.

I had a biological father who was home almost every night. I never knew him to hit my mother, but I often saw them kiss. I played catch and went fishing with my dad. If I did something truly wrong, I could count on my dad to explain what it was and how to do better next time in addition to discipline.

My upbringing was not "Leave it to Beaver". I have some emotional scars, I had some negative influences, and I did not get all the love and support I expected while growing up. I think my parents had more issues than many of my friend's parents. I think that some of my problems were caused by or handed down from my family. It may have been a cake-walk compared to my cousins, but I was not always satisfied with my home life while growing up, and I am trying hard as a parent to avoid many of the things that hurt me growing up. (Having said that, I now want to say that overall, I had good parents who loved and supported me, and I am grateful to them for what I have.)

C1 and C2 did not not see a lot of love. Their mothers had more issues than most due to the situation, which made their mothering less effective. The cousins did not have a safety net. They did not have an example of how to be a respectable man. They had less education in the "soft skills" of being a man. They had less support, less peace, and less guidance. There was at least one less person in their cheering section. They also stood out against the functional families around them, and they could do little but envy the people around them.

What is worse, they had extra people in their booing section. They also had this nagging suspicion that there was something wrong with them. The whole situation was out of their control for most of their life, but they were the ones left holding the bag. There was not, and is not, any way to convince them that they are okay despite the situation they grew up in. They seem destined to have problems.

I cannot judge anyone else's experience. There are valid reasons for divorce, and people make all kinds of mistakes. Believe me, I understand how life can turn out different than you intended it. That is why I make this disclaimer: I am not judging anyone except myself and my two cousins here. Your results may vary, and I can see the need for sensitivity and empathy in these situations.

Having made such a disclaimer, I think that the difference maker for us has been the fact that I had two loving parents in my home when I was growing up who supported me, challenged me, motivated me, and disciplined me. It was a bonus that they were my biological parents, but I think a loving and healthy step-parent can make a difference too.

I think there is a lot to be said about broken homes. A lot has been said; I know I am not breaking new ground here. I just needed to write this out for my own analysis: All three cousins have individual strengths and weaknesses, but are essentially equal. One of us has done well and has a bright future and two are headed no-where (or worse). I need to know that it isn't because I am better, smarter, genetically superior, or of a higher morality; my condition is more the result of the efforts, sacrifices, and love of my parents.

No matter how hot my future secretary turns out to be, the above lesson alone is reason enough to be faithful to my wife, in order to ensure the success and mental stability of my kids. It is also a reminder that, when I feel bad about my parental shortcomings or mistakes, I can take comfort in the fact that a loving, supportive home can overcome all kinds of mistakes and shortcomings.

I think my cousins are a warning for many people who would be about to make a big mistake. I wish that C1 could understand this better and begin taking steps to compensate for his own son. Even so, this is all about me. I am writing this lesson to drill it deeper into my consciousness. My decisions have a dramatic impact on the rest of my children's life. I could make a decision today could make or break my kids for the next 80 years. I need to approach my parenting with the humility and responsibility that that knowledge inspires.