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- Decomposition is Age 40

...about fifteen years ago, Lise and I were newly married and she was still getting adjusted to an instant family when she inherited my three sons (wow, what a great name for a TV show...must work on that) along with me. I was about 46 and Lise was 36.

My mom [a school teacher for most of her life] was a big fan of "educational toys". She had supplied some great tools to read to the kids. At bedtime for the boys [about ages 10 -Ian, 8-Nick, 6-Dustin], we would pull out books, etc. for reading calm down time.

This particular night, the boys were all tucked in (very cool set-up I made - a stacking bunk bed for the older boys with a roll-out bed for Dustin that fit under the bottom bunk during the day) and we were picking out the reading story for that evening. We chose a science game. It was a series of questions appropriate for their ages.

The question and answer that stopped the game and brought down the house was this:

"At what point in the life cycle of living things does decomposition begin"? While Ian and Dustin mulled it over, Nick (8) waved his hand wildly in the air.

" Ok, Nick, when does decomposition begin?"

"I know, I know! At age 40!!!!!!!"

I never felt so old....Hell, I was six years into decomposition...no wonder. I, however, can now attest (15 years post event) and share with the world that there is indeed Life after Decomposition!

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.