Reading Green Eggs and Ham

One of my favorite books of all time is by Dr. Seuss.

'Green Eggs and Ham' is a book of pure genius.

I had bought our copy for my youngest daughter Ashley-Rae's birthday when she was no more than two. I had bought it to read to Ashley and Alannah at bed time. And frankly I bought it more for my own selfish pleasure because I enjoy reading that book out loud. The rhythmic cadence, and the opportunity to inflect cartoon-like exaggerated emotion as the main character is persistently harassed by Sam-I-Am to eat that plate of green eggs and ham, chasing him across the country side by car and train, and finally into the bottom of the sea to finally achieve his objective.

It's simply a lesson in persistence.

Last night at bed time, I let Ashley-Rae – who is now more than 2 – she is now five, pick the story of her choice from volumes piled high and wide across her personal library of beaten up story books. And low and behold, she pulls out the orange covered "Green Eggs and Ham" book.

I opened it up to read. But then I stopped.

Ashley-Rae had proven she can read certain words and such before. But sometimes you did not know if she simply memorized the words of the story and recounted her memory back to you, or if she was truly reading.

"You read this time", I said as I held the book for her and put my finger under each word.

"Sam-I-am", she started. "That Sam-I-am, that Sam-I-am, I do not like that Sam I-am".

I knew Ashley-Rae was indeed reading to me as she paused for a second on each word to figure it out.

As we went along, she stumbled on a few, such as "would" or "could", but she figured them out and carried on.

And that is the beauty of this book. A beauty that was, until that experience last night, lost on me. Dr. Seuss was such a genius because he would introduce a new word or two every page. Then he would repeat that word over and over again so that the word becomes known – learned – by the new reader.

"Would you, could you in the rain? Would you could you on a train? "

Halfway through the book, Ashley-Rae had learned a wealth of new words that she knew as soon as she saw them. But the genius of Dr. Seuss is even more dazzling by the way he takes what would normally be such a mundane, monotonous method, and he makes it fun.

Giggly.

Ashley-Rae ended her reading - "Thank you, thank you, Sam-I-am". Ashley turned to look at me with the realization that she had just read a complete book, a literary masterpiece in my mind, from cover-to-cover.

All by herself.

And that beautiful little smile poked up from the sides of her mouth, her eyes got real big, and she gave me a great big daddy hug. Then she scrambled out of bed, and all around the remaining corners of the house to tell Mommy, Alannah, and the Grandma what she had just accomplished.

And I know that she now has the confidence to do it over and over again. She will pick up books to read so as not to look at the pictures, but to actually read the words. And Ashley-Rae will now like reading. She will enjoy it.

I have always known that there is no more fun book to read aloud that 'Green Eggs and Ham'. But until last night I did not understand the true genius behind the book, or the reason that educators herald the book as a treasure.

But now I do.

And Ashley-Rae has been given the greatest gift in the world. The confidence and desire to read.

And that is the best gift I could ever receive.

Thank you Dr. Seuss.

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.

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.

Raymond and the Seven Dancing Princesses

My youngest daughter is about to turn five years old.

Because of the schedule of events, we had her birthday party last Sunday. Ashley-Rae invited about ten kids. And six showed up. The parents of two announced their coming the morning of the party.

Therefore there was a flurry of activity before everyone arrived at one o’clock.

The attendees were 5 little girls and one little boy, and Alannah and Ashley-Rae of course. That makes eight kids all together.

The theme of the party was “Barbie’s Twelve Dancing Princesses”.

Ashley-Rae loves anything to do with Princesses. But she especially loves Barbie’s Twelve Dancing Princesses.

When I ask Ashley what she wants to be when she grows up, she says “a Princess”.

So I have to find her a Prince I guess.

The little boy was Raymond. Raymond is a tough little boy. I think that of all the little boys I know who are not in our family, Raymond is my favorite. Maybe because his name is Raymond - like my Dad.

Raymond is about three feet tall, and two feet round. Raymond is solid muscle. And Raymond does things his way.

This may not sound like your typical prince. But he is.

Last year, there was an older boy who picked on Alannah and Ashley-Rae at the daycare they went to, This boy was older than Raymond. And bigger too.

Raymond stood up to that boy. And he protected my little girls. They love him. And I do to. I go out of my way to let him know he is my bud.

So here is a yard full of twelve dancing princess stuff. And Raymond is running around like a bull in a china shop. My china shop.

All the games that we played, Raymond won. All the swimming in the pool was stifled by Raymond splashing like a crazed seal. And every five minutes, one of the little girls came to me crying that Raymond did … something … that bothered them.

”Well, let Raymond know that it bothered you” I told them. They did and Raymond said “I’m sorry” each time.

When it was cake time, Raymond put on his Princess party hat without even a second thought. And he commenced to banging his fork and screaming “WE WANT CAKE” – over and over again, until the seven little girls chimed in with him.

When it was time to open presents, Raymond was right there beside Ashley-Rae. He gave her his presents first. There were three wrapped presents in his gift. They were coloring books and crafts. And for each one he helped her when she needed help unwrapping it. And he explained what each craft would make. Very proudly.

When his presents were all opened and he finished explaining to Ashley-Rae what everything was, Ashley looked at Raymond and said in her five year old voice – with her pretty eyes fluttering her lashes and a sweet smile.

She said “Thank you Raymond”. And she kissed him on the cheek.

And that was the first time all day that Raymond didn’t know what to do.

Summertime Moving

It’s the first week in July, and it just doesn’t get any more “summer” than this.

It’s great.

In Windsor, we savor every second of summer.

It is still early enough in summer that you have a clear blue sky, with a big yellow sun.

The haze doesn’t come for a couple more weeks.

I love summer.

We are almost complete moving into our new house. Our dream house. And today is the first day that I can sit and enjoy the place. Poor Darlene had to go to work today.

Poor Darlene. She has busted her butt harder than anybody else.

Today the girls and I will spend most of the day out in the back yard – swimming in the pool.

That ought to wear them out.

The best part about this house is that the neighborhood is chalked full of kids. Kids - kids - kids. Lots of kids. Lots of kids who are five and six years old.

Finally the girls can play with kids in the neighborhood. They can go over to a friend’s house, knock on the door and say “can Mary come out and play?”

They just have to make the friends now.

We still have stuff at the old place. It is amazing how much the movers didn’t move. How much they didn’t move for six hundred bucks.

Nothing behind the bar

No clothes packed in Wardrobe boxes.

No closets packed in little boxes

Nothing from my workshop – not even the Christmas decorations

Nothing from the outside shed – I had to haul my lawnmower myself

Nothing from the back yard – like the teeter-totter or the girls bikes.

And the whole time they weren’t moving that stuff, they were complaining about how hard the work was.

They were clearly stoned.

“I’m sorry”, I would say over and over, “perhaps you need to find a different profession”

“Nah, moving is in my blood. Can’t nobody pack a truck like me” replied their leader

“Where is my lawn mower?” I asked having heard his self-proclaimed skill.

“Oh – it’s still at the other place. Nothing but small stuff there”, should be easy for you.” He replied – “If you want to pay us for a second load we could …”

“Ahh” I said deciding if this was a fight worth having. “

He was stoned and exhausted, I could probably take him.

I went to the old place the next morning with Dar.

We spent the next days hauling stuff in our Jeep and Sebring.

Next time I go car shopping, I’m getting a truck.