A Dad's Letter to His Daughters

Love is an amazing measure

You can love many people

But you will never love two people in the exact same way

Each measure of love is unique to that individual

It should not be measured in how much or how little

It should simply be measured by that you do love

The main aspects of love are appreciation and caring

Combined it will always calculate you a unique measure of love

You only need one or the other, both are not required. But love is more fulfilling if both are present.

Love can be extended to anyone in your life; near, distant, familiar or even obscure.

If people love you, do you have to love them back? If you love someone, do they have to love you back?

No. Love shared by two people are always at two different measures.

You may love your friend enough to think of them as your best friend. That friend may love you back, but they may refer to another as their best friend.

Familiarity with someone should not be confused with love, unless that familiarity brings appreciation and or caring.

Infatuation is not love, not yet. More than likely though this is a transient or temporary love that could potentially dissipate to familiarity. But infatuation could also potentially grow into a very high measure of love.

You never know.

But when someone tells you they are “in love with you”, understand that their love for you is an infatuation.

People who truly love you do not say “in” or “out”.  They simply do love you.

So what is “romantic love”?

This is the most rewarding love, when shared with another.

This is the cruelest love, when the measures of love between two people differ significantly.

Romantic love goes beyond caring and appreciation – although caring and appreciation are the foundation of all loves.

Romantic love often extends to include passion, desire, commitment, and then contentment.

Romantic love most often begins as infatuation, which entwines the passion and desire.

This is the most dangerous phase of love.

This is the phase of love that requires the most courage.

This is also the phase of love that requires the most caution.

Because, as I said earlier, infatuation can end as quickly as it begins.

And should the end of infatuation occur for the other party before it occurs for you, the pain can be devastating.

And should the end of infatuation occur for you before the other party, I urge you be honest and polite as you dismiss it. Be kind.

But be cautions of the desire and the passion you feel in this early state. Acting to aggressively may well have very severe penalties.

I implore you as someone who loves you and wants only the best for you, that when you feel the strong passions and desires of infatuation, please employ patience and restraint. Not forever. But until you at least gain an understanding of how transient – how temporary or how potential the prospect of feeling commitment and contentment from this love appears to be.

Do not waste your passion and your desire on temporary infatuation. It is dangerous. And potentially costly.

You will know love when you feel it.

And you will recognize romantic love when it blossoms from infatuation.

And you will know when infatuation ends

And you will know when true love takes over as you desire to commit to that love and quite content to do so.

Loves will come.

And loves will go.

Some will pass quickly.

Others will endure a lifetime.

It is important to be honest with those that you love about your love

But it is even more important – and a prerequisite to your own happiness – that you be honest with yourself about your love for others.

Too Cool For The Stones

I had the Rolling Stones playing on the radio this morning in the Jeep.


I was driving my two lovely young daughters, ages eleven and nine, to school on my way to work.

The song was Honky Tonk Woman, and the school is only two and a half blocks from our house. My two little princesses could easily walk – but every morning – even beautiful warm spring mornings like this morning – I drop them off on my way to work.

It's two and a half blocks out of my way.

Now I like this song. Who doesn’t like a good Rolling Stones song? At home – the Stones are littered all throughout my playlist that we listen to downstairs playing pool and hanging out, and they seemed to like it – sometimes they even dance to it.

But this morning, as we approached the front of the school – packed with kids milling about waiting for the bell to ring, my eldest Alannah asked from the back seat of the Jeep …

“Dad, can you turn that off, we’re almost there”

“Huh? Why? Don’t you like the Stones?” I asked.

“Daaaad … please … c’mon”, replied Alannah in that eleven year old diva ‘no-you-di-int’ type of hip hop attitude.

Ashley-Ray, sitting in the front seat, reached over and pressed the on-off button – and the car went silent.

“Hey … what’re ya doing?”, I asked as I pulled the car over for them to get out and join a group of their friends. I reached back over – like any good father would do … and I turned my Stones song back on. And I turned it up just a bit …

“Daaaaad .. hmmmph …“,moaned both the girls. The car doors closed as my daughters rolled their eyes and explained to their friends that … well … their Dad just isn’t that cool.

And I drove off thinking … since when did the Rolling Stones become .. un-cool?

I know they are in their seventies now … but this was the original song.

“... she blew my nose and then she blew my mind ...” screamed my car radio as I drove away – now with the windows down.

As I turned the corner to get on the main street, I wondered to myself “What the hell happened?”

When did the Rolling Stones become un-cool?

Do they have to rename the magazine?

Now I will grant you, at the age of fifty, I am older than most if not all of my daughters' friends' parents. In fact, quite often when we are out – there inevitably is someone who will comment

“Isn’t it nice that your grandfather brought you out today.”

And all three of us get a kick out of that and we play along, so as not to hurt anybody’s feelings.

But this is the Rolling Stones we are talking about here?

Their music – their rock and roll has passed the test of time better than even the Beatles.

They are so cool they made Elvis look like Evil Kneivel without a motorcycle.

And the only guy who was cooler than Elvis Presley was Johnny Cash.

My Dad loved Johnny Cash. He never cared much for Elvis.

When my brother Paul and I were little boys in Jackson Michigan, younger probably than my two daughters now – my Dad would play his Johnny Cash Albums on Saturday nights – and my brother and I would dance around the living room – using the old top to a crystal whiskey decanter as a pretend microphone - and we would sing all the lyrics to all the Johnny Cash songs.

Even Cocaine Blues.

Early one mornin' while makin' the rounds
I took a shot of cocaine and shot my woman down
I went right home and I went to bed
I stuck that lovin' forty-four beneath my head.

Okay – that’s kind of violent – especially when you realize he sang it in the early sixties –

Dad loved Johnny Cash He never cared much for Elvis. And he never really got the Rolling Stones – they were a bit young for him.

“I don’t really like that boom-boom bang music” he would say.

I remember one time, Dad had an old Johnny Cash 8-track tape in the car that we would listen to … and we would all sing along to. And I remember him pulling up to the school one day to drop me off – while “I Walk The Line” was playing, and I reached over and I turned it off when we pulled up in front of the school.

Funny, I don’t ever remember thinking Johnny Cash wasn’t cool. I guess I thought I wouldn’t be cool if my friends saw me listening to Johnny Cash.

Huh.

I guess it makes sense after all.

You know what’s really funny? My little girls like Johnny Cash too.

Only I don’t think they know all the words to Cocaine Blues.

Cheers or Jeers?

My girls are playing a lot of softball this year.


Fast pitch – with base runners that steal second and third – and line drives and double plays – and some really good pitching.

It’s good stuff.

It’s finally their first year of real ball.

And my girls seem to be catching on nicely.

But they still have that age old problem of keeping their head in the game?

Young minds wander, I guess.

But how do you snap them out of it?

It’s so easy to stand in left center field with your hands on your hip and your glove by your side wondering what Justin Bieber is up to, or what you should wear to the sleep over the next night.

I’m talking about my daughters now, not myself.

Just to be clear.

But both girls have stepped up their play considerably this year. Ashley cracked one all the way to the fence that drove in two runs in a close game – and Alannah continues to surprise everyone as she continues to be in the right place at the right time to make a big play.

And Alannah has also shown herself to be a pretty good pitcher.

But they both still slip into that la la land mindspace when in the field during a game.

And then there are the dugout cheers.

Girl’s softball is full of cheers – coming from the dugout. Very long cheers that are almost complete songs – and our team seems to sing them the loudest …

“She stole on you, she stole on you
While you were picking your nose, she was hot on her toes, and she stole on you
What a disgrace …. Right in your face .,.. yeah she stole on you ….”

I don’t care for that one much. But the other teams sing it to.

They must put out a CD or a song-sheet of girl’s fast-pitch dugout cheers because no matter where we go play – both sides are singing the same things. And there are enough of these chants to last an entire six inning game.

It doesn’t seem very sportsman-like, does it?

I’m all for rooting on your players – but these chants cross a lot lines to many in the sportsmanship category.

But then girl’s fast-pitch does seem to bring out the wannabe future pop-stars in these girls.

Sometimes I hear my girls singing these chants around the house, and I interrupt them and say “that doesn’t sound very nice”.

“It’s softball Dad! You’re not s’posed to be nice”, replies which ever daughter I interrupt.

“Nice, no … but calling the other team a disgrace doesn’t sound good. In fact it would just tick them off, donchathink?”

“So?”

“So they will try harder”

“So?”

“So if you tick them off and they try harder and they beat you, you look stupid”

“Every team does it, Dad”

“The Tigers don’t do it”

“They’re boys, Dad. This is girls’ softball”, they reply.

Thank goodness they don’t sing these in the big leagues. Could you imagine if the pros sang chants in the dugout during a pennant race?

“Hey there hey there number four, you say you don’t use roids no more
But I just saw your trainer stick – a needle in your butt real quick …”

True, boys don’t do it. Boys go out and show you. They don’t chide you in a sing-song format – they just whisper it in your ear when standing on first – or at the plate. Perhaps this is a difference between boys and girls?

This year Alannah made the All-Star B-Team for Turtle Club. There are three tournaments coming up in July, one out of town I believe – that she gets to play in. I’m very happy for her because she wanted this so bad, and I know that making such a team will take her to the next level of play – just from the experience of playing against real quality teams.

I hope she pays attention.

I know she will be leading the cheer chants from the dugout.

I’m certain they’ll be chanting from the same chant-book. All the old familiar ones.

But what do these chants say about sportsmanship to little girls? I think it says it doesn’t matter. And I don’t like that very much.

After all, they will all be wearing the big Turtle Club TC on their hats – and their green and yellow uniforms will say Turtle Club across the fronts. And their names will be on their backs.

And they will be singing about disgraced nose picking catchers when they steal a base.

Look, I am all for teaching kids to have a competitive spirit in sports and play to win and not get a trophy or ribbon just for showing up, I really truly am.

“Hey number seven, I like your sox. I’d like to get some, do you still have the box?”

No, that’s not what I’m talking about at all.

Girls, cheer your team on. Root for them with all the air in your lungs – but there is nothing to be gained by belittling the other team while you do so. Plain and simple – it’s just wrong – and it teaches everything I try to teach my own girls not to do. It undoes what I do.

You might as well just chant:

“Hey number six, we think you suck. When I hit it at you, you better duck”.

Good grief.

A Championship Season

Summer officially arrived in the opening minutes of this fine Monday morning.

So I am taking the day off work in remembrance.

Although I must say it has felt like summer here where I live for the last month or so.

The barbecue has been going full blast since the last week of May.

The pool has been opened and in full use since the last week of May.

The baseball has been fast and furious now for several months.

And yesterday was the last day of Turtle Club little league t-ball baseball.

I guess they never heard the expression "boys of summer".

And yesterday – my little girls of summer – along with their other ten team mates – won their league championship.

The "Speedy Pinkies" win the 2010 Turtle Club League Championship for Senior Girls T-Ball
bottom (left to right) Kayla, Avery, Alannah, and Olivia
top (left to right)  Ashley-Rae, Breanna, Jordan, Kaitlin and Emily.

Both my daughters – Alannah and Ashley-Rae – played for the pink team – sponsored by a local Doctor Mary Buchanan – her name taking up two lines on the back of their shirts above the number. The classic Turtle Club logo across the front in black.

And the Brill Girls contributed their share of offense and defense in route to this championship. Of course I am a proud papa – so take my praise of their play with a grain of salt if you wish to.

I wouldn't blame you.

Who knew T-ball could be so exciting?

I guess you had to be there.

But there is a thrill to watching a child stand at the plate – bat in hand – lining it up with the ball – the bat a bit to heavy – the ball a bit to high – and the first couple of attempts resulting in a teeth tingling clank as the metal tee is knocked out from under the ball by the aluminum bat – only on the third try to see the youngster connect with the ball and send a line drive through the gap that results in the runner on second coming home to score the go-ahead run.

And there is a thrill to watching young children just learning how to field a ground ball cleanly and throw it on an arch to first – then to see the young first baseman extend their glove in a self defense motion – head leaned back out of the way with eyes half shut in anticipation of the ensuing pain they are expecting – only to see the surprise and victory on their faces when they realize the ball trapped itself neatly inside their little glove – with secondary care as to whether the little batter beat the throw to first base or not – the play was successfully completed!

It's surprisingly exciting – and even more so rewarding when it's your own child now catching and throwing with proficiency – after spending hours in the back yard tossing pop flies and ground balls to them – helping them learn the right way to hold their glove when a ball is above their shoulders or below – and insisting their throws be aimed at your chest.

The hardest part of the skill of catching a baseball to teach a young child – younger than the age of ten – is to not catch every ball with the glove pointing at the ground – how the glove is really an extension of their hand – and is something you wear – not that you hold onto in hopes that a ball will fall into it – you have to reach out to the ball flying in the air and snag it in your webbing – instead of hoping it will merely hit the mitt's webbing and lodge itself there for you.

Then there are the rules of the game – not all of which are learned in t-ball.

Rules like you have to tag the runner when there is no force at the base you are playing – and what scenarios constitutes a force out. Try explaining to a little catcher that they have to tag the runner at home because while there are runners at second and third – first base sits empty because the last play got the runner at first.

Rules like the batter is automatically out if you catch their batted ball in the air – before it touches the ground – and if the runners on base go to the next base, you can throw to the base they just ran from and force them out because the runner never tagged up.

In yesterday's game such a play did occur – the ball hit on a line at the pitcher – who in self defense held up their glove in protection – only to find it lodged in the gloves webbing – and the stands full of over-anxious parents screaming "throw it to first!" – which she did – and the first baseman indeed caught her throw – doubling up the little runner who did not understand she could not run.

In the dugout my youngest daughter said to the coach "my daddy says that's called a dubba play", to which the motherly coach smiled and said "your daddy's right, Ashley-Rae".

That made my day.

My Father's Day.

The little team of twelve little girls ages seven and eight – sporting pink jerseys and black shorts – sang chants from the dugout like "fans fans in the stands, when you gonna clap your hands?" and other sing song works of poetry worthy of a boot camp marching cadence caller.

Every parent in the stands rooting for every little girl on the field. But rooting just a little louder for their own little girl – and hollering instructions from behind the backstop as each comes to the plate.

"back up a bit"

"watch the ball"

"swing hard"

"straight through"

All while the coach at first or third base is pantomiming a swing – pretending to hold an imaginary bat – showing the movement they want the youngster to mimic at the plate.

Clink – as the tee falls to the ground and the ball falling as well.

Swoosh – as the bat swings over the ball – over compensating for the previously missed attempt – the young batters body uncoiling to the point near falling down.

Crack – as the bat meets the ball

Hooray! - as the fans explode in the celebration of the youngster's success

"Throw it to second!" – as the other team's fans instruct the little fielder where to throw the ball

And the resulting mix of cheers and groans as the play is either successfully completed with the runner out or the play fumbled and the runner found to be safe.

It's really quite magical.

But their favorite part is after the game – when they gather in a corner of the outfield – each team in their own corner – and the coolers containing the after game snacks come out – juice boxes or freezy pops and granola bars passed out – and they sit in the corner and share the experience of the game – and how fun it was – and how good they played – like a bunch of adults playing beer league softball sitting around a pitcher of draft beer in a pub after the Tuesday night league game.

But yesterday's game also included trophies – each little team lined up along the first and third baselines – names announced over the loudspeaker – and the awards distributed proudly to each little girl who ran up to take theirs – holding them up for the world to see – for the world to acknowledge them.

Acknowledge them as champions.

And then they had freezy pops.

Almost Time for the Boys - and Girls - of Summer

Summer can't be too far off in the future.

We are already talking baseball, so summer must be close at hand.

Yes, I know we are still two months shy of spring.

Saturday, I took my two little girls Alannah and Ashley-Rae to the infamous Turtle Club clubhouse to register for the 2009 season.

Alannah is excited for ball this year. "This year I get to hit from a pitching machine", she explained. Rookie ball starts the season hitting off a tee, then progresses during the season to taking pitches from a pitching machine.

Ashley-Rae just yawned.

Ashley showed little or no interest in playing ball last year. Her only interest lay in "when do we get juice boxes and hot dogs", and "can we play in the park after the game". Although she did become fairly adept at catching her ball glove in her cap last year.

So when I announced this year that Alannah would play ball and Ashley-Rae would instead try her hand at gymnastics or dance – I was stunned at her response. She cried and cried and demanded that she wanted to play ball too.

So Ashley-Rae is playing Jr. T-Ball.

I expect that during this week, we will get a call or email from each of the girl's new coaches to explain that Winter Clinic's - which take place in the gym of a local elementary school - will be starting in a week or two.

So baseball is practically here.

And then there is the Detroit Tigers. The object of my affection and attention from February spring training until hopefully the first week of November.

Saturday they held Tiger Fest at Comerica Park. I didn't go (although I would have loved to) because I had to sign the girls up for Turtle Club baseball.

Tiger Fest sold out. A new closing pitcher was announced. Old and new faces spoke about what happened last year – a dismal last place showing when they were supposed to break all kinds of records on their way to the World Series ; and what is expected this year – a strong team with slight re-arrangement, who hopefully will rebound – led by the recharged starting pitcher Justin Verlander – to a team in contention for the post season this year.

How will 2009 pan out for the Tigers?

Personally, I think they could be anywhere between great and awful.

It all depends on how they come out of the gate this year. Last year they started the season by losing their first seven games.

It depends on the starting pitching returning back to the form of 2006 and 2007.

It depends most of all the ability for the bullpen to close out the later innings and shut the door on the opposition in the ninth.

It all depends on who stays healthy.

It all depends on whether bats heat up.

It depends.

But if there is one thing positive a summer-loving person like me can possibly say about January, it is that in January there is always hope. This year is still next year.

And I can't wait for next year to get here.

Those bums can't play any worse than they did in 2008.

I would say that the Tigers making the post-season is as likely as Ashley-Rae really enjoying Jr. T-Ball.

It's not likely, but I would sure be thrilled if it happened.

The First Day of Turtle’s

I always start to get a little anxious in January. Stir crazy.

Pitchers and catchers are scheduled to report to the Detroit Tigers spring training camp in mid February. In Lakeland Florida – where it will be nice and warm for those multi-million dollar arms and bats and gloves.

And that’s when spring would start, for me anyway.

That was until this year.

This year, my little girls are playing ball for the Turtle club.

Hey, laugh at the name all you want, but the Turtle Club is known far and wide for raising great traveling teams and running solid little leagues. The Turtle club is a club to be wary of. Named Turtle’s because the facilities – comprised of ten to twelve diamonds - sits along the Turtle creek.

Alannah will play T-Ball, and Ashley-Rae will play something called Blast-Ball. I didn’t know there was a level below T-ball.

My hope is that my girls enjoy playing ball this year, and so they can grow up as players in this organization. They can learn all that I learned from playing ball. Like teamwork. And learn the fundamental skills that will build their confidence.

Build a confidence that will carry over into other aspects of their lives.

I was not that surprised when we received a call – an automated voice message – instructing us that Alannah’s team was to start practice on Saturday, January 26. After all – I had taken them both in to register with the Turtle Club a couple of weeks before Christmas.

“These are some serious Turtles”, I thought to myself.

I looked outside. The ground has six inches of snow cover, more to come that night, and the next day.

It’s January.

We arrived at the gymnasium. The room was full of six and seven year old girls. They all had running shoes and ball gloves. Some had hats. Some wore uniforms from years gone by. Years of Blast-Ball experience I guess.

Alannah wore her T-ball uniform from two years ago, with the huge Canadian Tire logo on the front and the number ten across the back. And her rival league shirt was noticed

Alannah had played T-ball two summers ago, for the South Windsor Fastball league. And that was very good – but it started in April. The last week of April. And the kids - boys and girls - all ran around, and had to be told every time that you run to second base after you run to first base. The accomplishment at the end of game was to get a juice box. Every game ended 40 to 40. Every kid (ten in all) hits every inning, and the last hitter runs all the bases. So there were ten runs every innings for both teams – for four innings.

And that was just fine.

This is where Alannah learned most of her glove-hand skills; such as how to put hr glove on her head, how to pick up sand and stones in her glove like an hourglass, how to catch butterflies with her glove. And of course, how to throw your glove in the air and catch it.

T-ball was secondary to having fun.

The Turtles might be a bit more focused than her previous team. But after watching the coaches run the six and seven year-olds through the drills in the gym, I saw that their primary goal is to let the girls have fun too.

I was very proud of how Alannah did this first day. She moved side to side well, catching the ground ball in her glove each time, stopping to turn and throw to the glove of the coach. But then she would do a spin and fall down – looking to see who would laugh at her joke.

In the batting area, she hit the ball hard off the tee, on a line into the net in front of her, just like my dad would have taught her. But then she would hit her helmet with the bat and stagger dazed like one of the three stooges – again looking to see who would laugh at her jokes.

And the coaches were great. They let her have her fun, but then they explained nicely that she didn’t need to make people laugh right now. She could do that later. And she smiled and said “ok”.

I think the Turtles will teach them that playing ball is more fun than catching butterflies and balancing the glove on ones head. Or hitting ones self in the helmet with the bat for a laugh.

I like this group. I am excited about the girls playing this summer. I can’t wait.

I am usually tempted - when I become fond of groups like this – to jump right in and help – to offer to volunteer – take on some responsibility. And I will avail myself to these guys if they would have me. But there seems to be a tried and true method to this group. A process that they have found success with. I think I will watch this year, and participate as a parent, to learn their process. Or maybe if need be I could umpire.

I don’t know.

But this year is not about my participation with the Turtle Club. This is the year that my girls will fall in love with baseball.

At least I hope they will. What do you think, Dad?

A Christmas Morning Story

As this Christmas approaches, now two days away, I wanted to share with you my favorite Christmas Morning story of my family from years gone by.

The year was 2003. And we had just moved into a tiny house near the foot of the Ambassador Bridge in Windsor.

Darlene and my bedroom was at the front end of the house, and across the hall our two little girls shared a bedroom. Alannah was just to turn three; Ashley-Rae was one-and-a-half. The living room was the next room over, with the tree tucked into the corner.

I do not remember the presents we had for the kids that year. I do have the tapes, and I just recently converted them to DVD. But I was not thinking quick enough to capture this specific event on the video camera.

Darlene and I had stayed up late Christmas Eve, down in the basement wrapping. We finished about 3 AM and snuck all the presents upstairs, and quietly placed them under the tree. And then we went to bed.

We woke up to cartoons on the TV at about 6:30 AM. And we rolled over, looked at each other – and gasped “Oh NO!!”

You see, up until then, we had contained the movement of our children by those child-gates – the ones you wedge between the walls of a hallway or door jam. But this morning there was no child-gate between the girls and the Christmas Tree. And we both realized it at the very same moment!

We rolled out of bed and ran around the corner into the living room. The TV show “Big-Comfy-Couch” was on, and Alannah was sitting in the middle of the floor watching intently.

There was ripped open wrapping paper all over the floor. On top of the paper were the gifts – everyone’s gifts. Well mostly everyone’s gifts, all unwrapped. Luckily Alannah had come across a box of chocolates for her Uncle Glenn. They were opened – the little papers all around the floor, and Alannah turned to smile at us with that special “chocolate ringed mouth”.

I am ashamed to say – we were mad. For that initial instant I yelled. Quickly I and Darlene realized that there was nothing to be mad at, nothing at all – but ourselves. We did not barricade the tree. We did not give either of the girls instructions.

We screwed up.

It was hilarious.

I kept the girls both occupied, while Darlene, with some type of miracle gift-wrapping skill – like superman in high-speed – she wrapped the presents back up.

And we resumed our Christmas. And we watched Alannah open all her gifts again. She must have thought she got twice as many presents – because of all the unwrapping she did.

And as we all remember – it’s the actual unwrapping process that we all enjoy so dearly.

Now as the girls are 5 and nearly seven, we no longer use the child-gate. Life has indeed gotten easier.

As we approach this holiday season, I and my family would like to wish you all a happy holiday season.

And I would like to thank all of you who have sent me the wonderful emails over the last year. It is that kind of feedback that really makes this writing site so much fun for me.

Who knows, maybe my Christmas wish will come true this year, and I can start writing professionally.

The problem with that wish is that it might come true.

Merry Christmas to all.

Breakfast With Santa

I am back in Toronto again.

It is cold and snowy; much more so than Windsor.

Another week with the new team interviewing sales staff about their roles, gathering requirements, and sleeping in the local hotel.

I will admit it is enjoyable. The people are great. The food is great.

But it is not home.

At home, the Christmas trees are up, one upstairs, and one down by the fireplace and pool table. Outside the lights are up and twinkle through the windows at night.

And at home, it is snowy. But not like here. It may have already melted. I may still need to put those golf clubs back in my car.

At home my daughters are bickering – about who gets how many Hershey’s kisses from the little Christmas house. It is a small house with 31 doors – one for each day of December. My mum sent it up for the girls last year, and we thought it would be a great annual tradition. Until the first time the girls beg to open the doors, and bicker over who gets the red ones. Then we remembered why we questioned this tradition last year.

Last night I called home. Ashley, her mum and grandma went to an event called “Breakfast with Santa”. Ashley answered the phone.

“Hewo?” said Ashley-Rae, my five year old who can’t say “R”s or “L”s.

“Hi Ashley, it’s me” I said. She squealed and told everyone I was calling.

“I sat on Santa’s knee, Daddy” she said quite proudly.

I remembered the event was that day. “Oh, yeah, what did you ask Santa for?” I asked.

“nuh-in, I told him a joke.” She replied.

“You did, what joke did you tell him?” I replied – stunned at the twist.

“Why is Rudolph’s nose so red” Ashley asked.

“Why”

“Because it’s cowd” she answered, and laughed so hard I had to laugh to.

I spent the night in my room, a very nice room, looking out the window at all the lights of the houses below, the cold winds blowing and the few houses with fireplaces puffing smoke out the chimneys.

And I thought of Ashley’s joke. And I laughed again.

I bet you Santa laughed. I bet he went home that night and told his wife about the little five year old girl who didn’t ask for something, but instead told him a joke. I bet there was more than a "Ho Ho Ho"

I can’t wait to call home tonight.

Calling In Fatherhood

The train was rocking gently as we roll through the black of an Ontario November night.

The seafood dinner was actually good, and the white whine served mini round glasses had put me in a very relaxed state.

Heading home. Finally.

It had been a very long two weeks. The first of training, the second chock full of tedius interviews with our Toronto office as part of a large scale requirements gathering study.

I didn’t find out about the second week of travel until midway through the first week.

I had kept touch with home frequently with my handy dandy cell phone. And things were not going all that great. And it sounded like things were getting worse.

One of the two Grandmas was staying with Darlene to give her a hand. The Grandma would get the kids ready for school each morning and take them. I think that is the toughest part of my day, waking up and getting the girls to school. So I certainly appreciated the Grandma’s frustration.

“Hello?”, would answer the grandma as I called each evening.

“How is it going Grandma?” I would ask.

“Who is this?” would say the Grandma.

“It’s me, Fred” I would say.

“Oh Fred, what a day ….” The Grandma would start. And I would hear the long list of all the day’s frustrations, why my girls are horrible little monsters, and her apology for having to break such news to me.

Finally Darlene would come on the phone. The frustration clearly in her voice.

“The girls miss you … ”, she would state unnecessarily during the conversation.

“Grandma was crying … ”, was also commonly mentioned.

“Tell them you’re never traveling again …” would be expressed at the end of the conversation.

So I would hang up the phone feeling pretty powerless.

Some people travel much more frequently than I do. I remember my Dad for stretches of time, only being home for the weekend. I don’t know how he did it.

Perhaps this is a cell-phone accessibility problem? In the old days, one would simply make a single call from the phone in their hotel room.

I carved the Halloween pumpkin with the girls last Sunday morning, just before leaving for the second week. Leaving after spending only the Saturday at home.

Alannah and Ashley-Rae drew the face on the front of the pumpkin. Mean eyes with big fanged teeth growling at you. The finished product was declared to be “beautiful” as we packed up our tools.

Then I left by train for a second week away from home.

I thought of that face all week while I was away. “Were they painting a portrait?” I thought. “Of the faces they see on adults?”

I hope not. But maybe?

I have to travel back to Toronto the first week of December.

I have had a week of celebration and good-byes this week. As I transition from a team now departing to a new team just starting a new type of project, I am excited. And I need for everything to go right.

But these phone calls home just don’t help.

Maybe I should just get a Blackberry.

Wishing Traditions

Yesterday, coming home from work with the girls in tow, we had a surprise on our front doorstep.

The Sears Christmas Wish-Book was waiting for us.

The surprise was that Sears still publishes a catalogue. I personally haven’t seen one since at least the rise of the Internet.

But then I wasn’t exactly a member of Sears target catalogue audience until recently.

I picked up the two-inch thick tome of available wares up and gave it the quickie thumb-flip through. It was just like I remembered:

Furniture
Clothes
Tools and Appliances
Yard and Patio

and Sporting Goods

and Toys.

The memories came flooding back. The weekend mornings of me and my brother Paul lying on the floor of the living room, carefully scrutinizing every product entry that fell within the boundaries of the toy and sporting goods sections of that colossal encyclopedia of what the world had to offer.

Ok, we scrutinized the boy’s toys, and flipped quickly past the girls stuff.

The action heroes, the hot wheel sets, the helicopters and planes that really flew.

Then we would review the sporting goods section, where all the ball gloves and bats, tents and various accessories were listed.

And I would start my list of things to ask Santa for.

I was pretty organized from the beginning. I would start at the first page and list everything of interest, and the page number. I would then proceed through the section until all pages had been indexed.

The first draft was usually several pages long.

As the time grew closer and closer to Christmas, I would continue to refine my list – scratching out those items that would not make the subsequent cuts.

In the end, I had a three-quarter page list. And I would present this final draft to my parents as my list for Santa. I was keenly aware that Mom had a direct line to Santa.

A slight sadness fell over me. It is only August. Okay, it's the last week of August. But still - “Did the Christmas Wish-book used to come before Labor Day?”

After I finished my quick thumb through, I called Alannah and Ashley-Rae into the living room. I sat them on the couch with me, and I introduced them to the Sears Christmas Wish-Book. And I explained to them:

“This is a wish book. This is a book for wishing from.”

“And the wishes come true Dad?”

“They might. They might not. But this is a book that shows you all the kinds of things that the world has to offer.”

“Everything in the world is in that book Dad?”

“No, but it’s a start. A pretty good start” and I turned the page to the sporting goods section. I showed them the ball gloves, and basket ball hoops. I showed the pool table section where they listed various types of accessories.

“Boooor-ring!” exclaimed Ashley-Rae.

“Isn’t there anything in there for kids, Dad?” asked Alannah with big hopeful eyes.

“Why yes, I believe there is some kid stuff in here too,” I replied, flipping to the first of many pages showing various 5-6 year old girl stuff.

As I walked down stairs to the family room, both girls sat in stunned awe looking at all the dolls, and doll houses, and games and toys. In a few minutes I heard the awe change to shrieks and could hear the pointed fingers slapping the page where they found something they like, and saying “I want that!” – “No I do, find something else!” … echoing through the house.

And I thought to myself … “What have I done?”

I’m anxious to get my hands on the Wish-Book myself. I will flip to the Tools, Yard and Patio sections.

And the Sporting Goods section.

I better go find some paper, before the girls use it all.