I REMEMBER - My Sons & the Fraternity House

...that when my boys were small and we were a fraternity house...they were always being ornery, as all boys are meant to be. They always got lectures [extended lectures] from their Dad [me] as Dads are meant to do.

My oldest, Ian, finally figured it out and instead of arguing with me, right after the beginning of one of my finest extended lectures, would cut me off and say- "You're right Dad, it won't happen again"[it always did, but that isn't the point]. That would put a halt to the perfectly logical argument I had prepared, hoping, that at the end, he would say just that...but he would beat me to the point and I was done.

His two brothers, Nick and Dustin hadn't figured it out yet, and my career as a lecturer was able to continue. Older brothers have a certain responsibility and whether they like it or not, they burn [literally, sometimes] the path their younger siblings follow.

Sometimes, when he did stuff that was cool [to his brothers, not necessarily to me] they would be his pack of lemmings and try their versions of whatever it was he was doing. Sometimes, when he was doing something stupid and not cool and got in trouble for it, his brothers [it is easy to appear smart when your sibling is getting in trouble for being stupid...just ask my sister, Sharon] would learn a good lesson by NOT repeating his actions.

All parents know that when there are three teen/pre-teen boys in the same room with each other and there is no noise, something [usually bad] is going on. Stumbling upon one of these moments, I overheard [back in the day when I could still hear] my oldest son giving advice to his younger brothers: "Listen to me, do you really like Dad yelling at you? He just goes on and on and when you fight back, he just starts all over again. All you have to do is say 'O.K. Dad-I won't do it again' and he will have to shut up". At that moment I was stunned and a bit proud of him as an ally in the family responsibility program....until he continued...."you don't have to stop doing it, you just tell him you won't and he will stop the lecture".

They all turned out to be good guys and I am absolutely confident it was a result of the 100+ decibel wisdom I imparted to them before they figured out how to push my mute button.

I REMEMBER- The Shoe in the Pasta

...when my sons (Ian, Nick, Dustin) and I were living in a small apartment in midtown Sacramento about 1995. The boys were 10, 8 and 6 years old. It was often like a small fraternity house with house rules that wouldn't work in any other circumstances. This one particular night, because of time constraints (baseball, karate or soccer, etc.), it was going to be a skillet hamburger-helper dinner with no plates. Everybody would gather around the skillet with a fork...kind of like camping out, but with indoor plumbing. There is no way you can put three pre-teen boys in a cramped little kitchen and expect them to hold still, with instructions to don't move, don't touch-tease-punch-kick, blah,blah,blah your brother(s). You can ask it. You can demand it. You can yell it. You are not going to get it. This is what you get instead: Dustin (8) decides to show off his best Ninja fighting style moves [this is the part where I need to share that, as the smaller, younger brother, you ALWAYS get to wear perfectly reusable hand-me-down clothes from your older, bigger brothers].

So, the one-skillet hamburger-helper dish is almost done. The four of us are gathered around the stove, forks in hand. Although somewhat hoarse from yelling to "stop fooling around", I managed to squeak out one last warning, when Dustin gave one final high kick and the almost-the-right-size hand-me-down tennis shoe flew off and in as much real-time slow motion as real life can get, arched its way slowly to the ceiling and yes, came crashing down right smack in the middle of our one-skillet hamburger-helper dinner. Sauce flew in all directions, mostly on me, but a good helping on the stove, the walls, the floors, etc.

Time froze, the boys froze and slowly turned to see if my head would actually spin completely around before I turned into an alien from Hell, punishing all living things in my path. Actually, there is a high spot on the pain threshold that is somewhat pain-free, humorous and surreal.

This was one of those moments. Like I was in a dream-state, I slowly removed the sauce covered tennis shoe, dropped it into the sink and announced "Let's eat." The four of us consumed that dinner in complete silence in about two minutes.

No one complained. No one spoke. No one laughed....until almost the end and the " I guess Dad is not going to kill us after all" relief kicked in and as they stared at my sauce covered face...everybody started to laugh. We must have laughed for at least 10 minutes.

Classic moment....one of my favorite stories...perfect for most parents and really perfect for single parents.

I REMEMBER...Kidnapped

...my mom [Grace Margaret Chiles Welton] telling me about the time I was kidnapped. For about two minutes. I was really young, maybe not even walking and was with my mom in a clothing store while she tried on coats. She had set me down on the floor and I was playing peek-a-boo in the coats on the circular clothing rack in front of her. 

Apparently, I had crawled out the other side of the rack and a strange woman picked me up and headed out of the store. My mom looked up in time to see me waving bye-bye at her over the woman's shoulder as she went through the front door.

My mom dropped everything and chased after her through the door and down the street screaming bloody murder for her to stop. About a block away the stranger set me down on the sidewalk and ran away.

There is nothing scarier than losing your child. She probably never tried on coats ever again without holding me with one hand.

I lost my oldest son [Ian Robert Welton] for about three minutes in a mall when he was about five. I had him and his younger brother [Nicholas Gerald Welton] with me and was trying to retrieve Nick as he walked away into a big crowd. I turned around and Ian was gone. I totally freaked out.

Normally, I disliked the fact that their mother dressed them in matching outfits [quote from Nick when they were all dressed in little sailor suits: "Why does Mom always dress us up like cops?"]. At that moment it came in handy, as I was yelling at everybody in the mall that I had lost a little boy that "looks just like this one - but taller, pointing to Nick."

At that moment I heard above me "Hi, Daddy" and looked up to the top of the escalator and coming down towards me was Ian. He had gotten onto the escalator going up and wasn't tall enough for his head to stick above the railings, so I couldn't see him from where I was standing.

A parent has two emotions in moments like this, one to whack them on the bottom for leaving your side and one to hug them for joy and never let go. So, you mash the two emotions together, sweep them up and hug them tightly, while telling them that "you scared me to death and don't ever do that again!"

Then you go out for ice cream, even though it is almost time for dinner.