I don't see it.

I'm constantly told that Clara is the spitting image of Elysha. 

I don't see it. I've never seen it.

People are always dumbfounded when I say this. But my explanation is simple:

When I see my daughter, I see a little girl who loves to read and draw, still calls me "Daddy," skips joyously across the lawn, and makes a mess of every room she occupies.   

When I see Elysha, I see a beautiful, funny woman who I can't take my eyes off who I always want to make out with regardless of the circumstances.

Of course the two never look alike to me. 

Right?

She's studying volume.

I went to bed at 3:30 AM because Elysha went to bed early and didn't make me come to bed with her, so I stayed up all night writing and drinking A&W root beer.

Then Clara woke me up at 5:20 because she sleeps like her father, which is to say not much at all. She sat on my bedside, shook me awake and said, "Hey Daddy, we started a new math unit yesterday. Want to know what we're studying?"

I did not. I had been asleep for less than two hours at that point and had hoped to sleep until 6:30 AM. 

Not surprising, she told me anyway. 

It's 11:30 AM as I write this, and I'm a little tired, and it's all their fault.

Setting goals is almost always important, except in this case

After being tucked in for bed every night, our five year-old son, Charlie, sits in bed, reflecting on his day before assuming his customary and bizarre sleeping position (on his face) and going to sleep.

This is something he started doing on his own more than a year ago. One night, before the lights went out, he decided that it would be good to think back on this day and consider all that has happened.

Kind of remarkable.

Recently, he explained this to one of our babysitters as she was putting him to bed. She was impressed, too. "Do you think about tomorrow, too?" she asked.

"I can't," he said. "I don't know what we're doing tomorrow."

"Maybe you could set some goals for tomorrow," she replied. "Make some plans."

Charlie thought about it for a moment before answering, "I think I want to talk about poop more." 

And reader, as my wife, Elysha can attest, he did.

Just in case that his decision to be reflective each night made him sound like some soulfully advanced, hyper-mature kindergartener.  

Not so much. 

A moment of honest-to-goodness terror

Clara, my nine year-old daughter, early this morning:

"Dad, I'm kind of upset. I don't have any..."

Then she took a sip of milk, leaving me hanging for a moment, waiting for the next word. And in that moment between the word "any" and the next word, my brain fired off:

"Oh no, what's wrong? She doesn't have any what? Friends? Fun at school anymore? Self confidence? Self worth? Does she have no joy in her life? No parents who understand her soul? No reason to live?"

Then she finished her sip and continued. 

"...loose teeth."

"What?" I asked.

"Loose teeth," she repeated. "I don't have any loose teeth right now. I wish I had at least one."

Happily, thankfully, blessedly, I was able to laugh at her for this ridiculous complaint and move on with my day.

But for a second there, my whole world nearly came crumbling down. All things nearly took a backseat to my daughters desperate plea for love or attention or friendship or whatever. For a brief moment in time, the world became very dark and I struggled to see any light. 

She has no idea how much influence she has on my general state of happiness and satisfaction, and I hope she never does, or she'll have me in the palm of her hands. 

Kids say funny (and not so funny) things

In the playscape at McDonald's, Clara is playing with two little girls and having a grand old time. At the height of their joy, the father of the two girls shouts, "It's time for church, girls! Let's go!"

As the two little girls put their shoes on, one of them asks Clara is she has to go to church, too.

"No," Clara says. "We don't go to church."

Charlie, sitting next to me and eating pancakes, whispers, "Thank God."

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After seeing a black and white picture of Starbucks hanging on the wall in a Starbucks, Charlie asks Elysha if the world used to be in black and white. 

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Clara asks why women's bathing suits have to cover their chests but men's bathing suits don't. 

Just a T

Driving to dinner last night, Clara looked out the window and said, "Aw! Look at the pretty T!" 

My poor, confused, Jewish daughter...

Brand new weapon of mass destruction

My daughter, Clara, has weaponized our cats by pointing the laser pointer at me, thus creating two unstoppable, relentless, feline missiles. 

I had no idea that she was such an evil genius. All she needs now is a volcanic lair and some red-shirted henchmen. 

My daughter's art features an unusual and unexpected element

We were thrilled to find our daughter's piece of abstract art was hanging at the front of her school, in a position of great prestige. 

Then we noticed the top right corner of her piece, which appears to feature two cocktails. 

Anytime an alcoholic beverage appears on the work of a third grader, you have to wonder what is going on at home. 

It should at least give pause. 

But I almost never drink, and Elysha and I don't drink in the home or even at restaurants when our kids are with us. Clara has never seen her parents drinking cocktails. and as far as I can tell, she's ever even seen a cocktail, except she apparently has.

If so, where? And why has she placed them so prominently in her work of art?

Brothers in name only

Just because our cats are brothers doesn't mean they are anything alike. 

One cat licks walls and faucets. 

The other one is learning math. One his own. With an abacus. 

My son loves his mother and sister AND NO ONE ELSE.

Elysha Dicks and I took the kids to an evening program at their school last week. While making our way to the gym, we passed some of their work hanging on the walls, including this bit of writing and art from my kindergarten son. 

I looked at the top of the paper. 

"One act of kindness I can do is..."

Notice what Charlie chose as his act of kindness?

"Tell my mom and my sister I love them."

Mom and sister only. What did his teacher think when she saw this?

Charlie's dad must be a real jackass.
That father must be pretty awful for his son not to include him on this assignment.
Does Charlie even have a dad?

Thanks, Charlie. Thanks a lot.

My kids first paying gig and my first paying gig were very, very different

My first paying gig, as far as I can recall, was in 1991 when I performed as the stripper for a bachelorette party in the crew room of a McDonald's restaurant in Milford, MA. 

I was unexpectedly paid $100 for the unexpectedly humiliating experience.

You can watch me tell that story here:

Since that day, I've worked extensively in the gig economy. 

For more than 20 years, I've worked as a wedding DJ, performing at close to 500 weddings. I've also worked as a minister, marrying more than two dozen couples and performing a handful of baby naming ceremonies. 

Six years ago, Elysha and I launched Speak Up. Since then, we have produced more than 75 storytelling shows and showcases throughout Connecticut and Massachusetts. 

I routinely get paid to tell stories, speak inspirationally, and teach storytelling, public speaking, and writing in venues all over the country. Theaters. Libraries. Universities. Middle and high schools. Corporations. Nonprofits. Bookstores. Churches and synagogues.

Most would consider my writing career a part of the gig economy. When I sell a piece to a magazine or online publication or sell a book to a publisher, it's not like I've been hired by a company in the most traditional sense of the word. I've entered into a temporary employment agreement with a publication that may or may not continue beyond the initial job.

This month I will be paid to perform as a standup comic for the first time. 

But it all started in 1991 in that crew room when I took off most of my clothes and was paid to do so.

This is why I was so damn proud of my kids when they informed Elysha and me that they had  prepared a puppet show for us. In addition to making the puppets out of paper and straws, they also produced tickets for the show. 

"25 cents," Clara said. "Per person," she emphasized. 

Clara and Charlie collected our money at the door and performed hilariously for us, whispering directions to one another and sometimes whipping up forgotten puppets on the fly.

Sadly, they are more artists than business people, because they left their quarters on the table and forgot all about them.

But I didn't. I grabbed those quarters and tucked them away for safe keeping. This was their first gig. The first time they were paid to perform. Perhaps they will not go onto a career onstage as their mother and father have, but maybe they will find their way into the arts someday in some capacity.

Someday down the road, when they can appreciate it more, maybe on the evening of their first professional performance, I will give them back their quarters and remind them of the night they performed for a paid audience for the first time. 

It's a night I will never forget.

There was a time in this country when Dads knew more than kids

My kids were watching a TV show in the other room. I heard one of the characters in the show mention that they were going to explore the Mariana Trench. 

"That’s the deepest place in the world," I said. 

"As far as humans know," Clara shouted. "Over 90% of the world’s oceans are unexplored! There could be a deeper spot that we haven't discovered yet."  

"Yeah," said Charlie. "And it’s located in the midnight zone, where no sunlight ever gets. So who knows what's going on down there. We can't see!"

I'm living with a bunch of nerds.

Our boy watches Star Wars for the first time

My son Charlie, age 5, watched episodes 4, 5, and 6 of Star Wars with me and Elysha over the past two weeks. 

It was quite the experience. 

Though he knew almost nothing about Star Wars, he owns about a dozen action figures and received a Millennium Falcon for Christmas this year. He knew there were good guys and bad guys, but that was about it. He had sadly realized just a couple weeks before that the movie's title is Star Wars and not Star Whores. 

He was primed for viewing.

He loved the first Star Wars movie, originally titled Star Wars when I sat in the aisle in The Stadium in Woonsocket, RI back in 1977 to watch it for the first time.

Today it's titled A New Hope, and although George Lucas has tinkered with the film several times over the years, it's just as great as it was when I watched it as a six year-old boy.

The first picture was taken as John William's opening began and the famous Star Wars scroll appeared. He was saddened at the death of Obi Won Kenobi and shouted with joy when the Death Star was destroyed. 

When I told him that the next episode was titled The Empire Strikes Back, he said, "Uh oh. Doesn't sound like the good guys are going to win."

It was a tough movie for him. The Rebellion struggles throughout the movie, but what was most upsetting to him was the discovery that Darth Vader is Luke's father. The second photo was taken as that information was revealed for the first time.

He was genuinely upset. Confused, too. 

A day later, he asked me in a hushed tone, "Dad, will you ever turn to the dark side?"

I realized that this was the first time Charlie saw a father behave badly. It shook him to the core. 

Later, he said, "Dad, I think Darth Vader will turn back to the good side."

Of course, he was right. In Return of the Jedi, Darth Vader sacrifices himself in order to save his son's life and kill the Emperor. Charlie cheered again but was saddened to discover that Darth Vader was dying.

"But he's good now. Why does he have to die?"

Later, Luke cremates Vader's body. Charlie asked what was happening, and I explained that some bodies are buried and others are burned into ashes. Charlie said, "You'd better not burn me."

He has all three movies available to him now on his iPad, which is unbelievable to me. I watched that first film in a theater so jam packed that I had to sit in the carpeted aisle, and then I didn't see the movie again for more than a decade.

He has them at this fingertips.

He's watched A New Hope a couple times since that first viewing and still cheers when the Death Star is destroyed. I suspect that he may go back to Return of the Jedi at some point, too. 

But it might be a while before he returns to The Empire Strikes Back. Charlie prefers to live in a world where fathers never turn to the dark side and the good guys triumph in the end. 

Who can blame him?

Stop getting older, little girl.

Today is my daughter's ninth birthday.

As I write these words (at 5:40 AM), she's standing about seven feet to my left, listening to the music of Grace Vanderwaal and, in her words, "enjoying an early morning Grace Vanderwaal dance party."

The cats are sitting on the counter, watching her dance. Transfixed by this not-so-little-girl move across the kitchen floor.   

If only I could freeze these moments forever. 

Watching her dance on her birthday morning reminded me of this tweet and photo, posted by a high school senior in 2017 on her last day of school.

Killed me. 

"My dad has been peeling oranges for my lunch since kindergarten & on my last day of high school I got this instead."

It's a wonder I get anything done

I was writing this morning. It was quite early. The sun had yet to rise. Words were flowing. Paragraphs were forming. Things were good. 

Then my daughter, Clara, age 8, appeared at the table. Early. The sun still wasn't up. 

Her very first words of the day to me were these:

Clara: "I know Hawaii became a state in 1959. Right?"

Me: "I guess so?"

I had no idea. Maybe? Why are we talking about this at 5:42 AM?

Clara: "And before that, Hawaii was a United States territory. Right?"

Me: "Yes. Definitely."

I knew that one. 

Clara: "But my American Girl book says that Hawaii was the only state in America to enforce laws about people staying in the state, on the island, during World War II. And they were the only state had blackouts from 6:00 PM until 6:00 AM, too. So the Japanese couldn't see them." 

Me: "Okay..."

Clara (rolling her eyes): "But World War II happened in the 1940's, Dad. If Hawaii wasn't a state until 1959, why does the book say that Hawaii was the only state doing those things during World War II? It wasn't a state during World War II."

My response was perhaps a little less than what she hoped,  

Me: "It's not even six o'clock yet, Clara."

Not great. I know. Her response was better. 

Clara: "That's not an answer, Daddy."

And there you have it. The end to the writing that morning. 

Penguins were mating at a little girl's birthday party

My daughter Clara, age 8, was sitting at the neighbor's dining room table with about half a dozen other kids, eating a birthday cake that was originally shaped and frosted to look like a penguin. 

Between bites, she turned to the little girl beside her and asked, "Do you want to know how penguins mate?"

My eyes widened. I looked across the table at the other adult at the table. Her eyes were wide, too.

Clara said, "The male penguin goes out, and if the female penguin takes it, it's kind of like they're married."

If the male penguin goes out? If the female penguin takes it?

I didn't ask. I don't want to know.

Bad boy and breakfast companion

His sister wasn't ready to eat breakfast, but Charlie wasn't alone. His furry pal kept him company as he devoured Cheerios, strawberries, and mango. 

It's moments like these that allow me to forgive and forget the bag of oats that he tore open and spread all over the kitchen floor last night. Or the moment he leapt upon my head and clawed my forehead, not understanding the meaning of 1:37 AM. Or the scarf he stole from Elysha's closet, brought downstairs, and attempted to pull through the cat door and into the basement, where he undoubtedly has a hidden storehouse of other pilfered items.  

He's a bad kitty, and there are moments when he makes us crazy. After living with children for almost nine years, Elysha had to childproof her first cabinet yesterday just to keep him out. 

He can make life difficult at times. But he's pretty great, too. 

My kids were sweet and lovely this week. Don't try to tell me otherwise.

Oftentimes Elysha and I see or hear our kids do something and can't believe what just happened. 

A few from this week.
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I picked up Charlie, who is five years-old, from his hip hop class on Tuesday. From the waiting room, I heard his class end, then Charlie and a couple kids lingered for a bit before finally emerging into the waiting room.

"What were you doing?" I asked.

"Just chillin' and being funny, Dad," he said.

He's five. I'm still not cool enough to say words like that.
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Yesterday morning, I managed to snap a photo of Charlie and Clara saying good morning to each other. Clara had been awake for at least an hour (she's like her Daddy) but Charlie had just ambled downstairs:

Thank goodness for the speed of a photography on phones today.

Later on that same morning, Elysha sent me this text:

We see these things and hear these things and often want to pinch ourselves. We're so blessed. 

Just in case you're a parent of a child who is older than my kids and you suddenly feel the need to jump and say something like:

"Just wait until they become teenagers," or "Enjoy these moments now because it only gets harder," or "This is all well and good, but start saving for college because it will be a fortune" or "They won't always love each other like they do now..."

Don't. Stop. Silence those stupid thoughts.

It takes a special and unfortunate breed of cynicism to try to spoil moments like these for proud parents with your assurances of possible doom and gloom.

It also takes a special and unfortunate breed of myopia and self-absorption to assume that the future path of every child will be exactly the same as your child's own path.

Sure, there will be times when our kids are decidedly less sweet and more challenging. That was true three days ago, and it will be true three days from now, too. But we choose to embrace the beauty of these moments whenever and wherever we can find them and not sully them with anyone's inexplicable and incessant need to rain on our parade.  

Our kids were lovely and sweet and funny this week. That is what I am choosing to hold in my heart. 

Just the kind of conversation I want before sunrise

Nothing to see here.

Just a pre-sunrise conversation with my eight-year old daughter, Clara, about what the word "stillborn" means, followed by a flood of tears over the fate of Elizabeth Adams, the stillborn daughter of Abigail Adams.

I love parenting.

Earning his keep

This cat pushes everything he can find onto the floor. He's broken bowls and glasses and picture frames. He's toppled laundry baskets off counters and shoved laptops of tables.   

He eats our plants.

He has found a way to open kitchen cabinets and climb inside. Once inside, he pushes the contents of the cabinet out and onto the floor.

He is a bad kitty. A menace. A four-legged wrecking ball.

But he allows the kids to man-handle him. Drag him across the house. Aggressively cuddle him. He doesn't fight it or flee. He simply submits to the smaller people of the house.

He makes them happy.  

 So I give him a pass on all of his misbehavior. He's found the one way to make up for all of his transgressions. 

Barely.