The Parent Trap

It’s not everyday I get to help my third grade daughter with her spelling.

But it is every week.

She has a vocabulary test on Fridays.

And that means Thursday night we get to study.

Together.

Now I realized way before I could spell Foxworthy that I am no longer smarter than a fifth grader.

Third Grade spelling, that's different.

Breeng it on!

Eleven of the 15 words on my daughter’s list this week had four letters or less.

And I’m excellent with four letter words.

Her words were SO easy this week, I decided to bring a little extra challenge to this party.

I asked her to spell CROP, which was on her list.

Then I asked her to spell CRAP, which was not.

I asked her to spell SOCK.

On the list.

Then SUCK.

Not on the list.

I asked her to spell SHOT.

Then I .... stopped.

We both smiled.

That’s always the goal.

But the bottom line is my seven year-old got every word right.

Even the bad ones.

Child Services, line 4.

Hey, I learned a long time ago that the parenting handbook comes in many different shapes.

And sizes.

And languages.

There are no rules.

Except the ones you make.

What I do in my house.

May not work in yours.

And what you do in your house.

Oh, puh-lease.

The goal I have as a parent is to always be there for my kids.

Thankfully unemployment helped me get a whole lot closer to that goal.

But the bottom line is you only get one chance at being a parent.

Or in the case of Octomom, 14 chances.

Hey, who am I to judge?

I can say without any doubt, I am a way better parent today than I was when this ride began.

14+ years ago.

It’s funny what a little age.

And a little Tequila.

Can do for you.

I have mellowed out quite a bit since becoming a dad.

Well, since becoming a seasoned dad.

The first few years were Rough.

With a capital R.

But now I have a plan.

I really try hard not to yell at the kids.

Believe it or not, they don’t like it.

I really try hard to be their friend.

Even though all the books tell you not to.

And I really try hard to make sure they know how I feel about them.

Every day.

I love all three of my kids equally.

Even though I tell each one of them that THEY are my favorite.

There is nothing better in this world than spending a day with the kids.

A baseball game.

A trip to McDonalds.

A night by the TV.

It doesn’t really matter.

It’s always special.

Very special.

Like last Sunday night.

I was watching the Raiders game with my 12-year old son.

Unfortunately I passed along my passion for the Silver and Black to my boy.

Now we are both miserable.

Midway through the first quarter, my seven year-old daughter came down to join us.

And she sat on my lap.

Special.

“Aargh me mateys” she said. “Where’s my pot of gold?”

“That’s my pirate mixed with a leprechaun.”

“I call it a Pirachaun.”

Special.

Not sure where that one came from.

Maybe it was the Raiders eye patch.

But something attracted her to the game.

Perhaps the 4-3 defense.

Or the wildcat formation.

Or maybe it was just sitting on dad’s lap.

No matter the reason.

She stayed for the rest of the first half.

Which is more of the Raiders than I can usually handle.

We talked about the game.

The teams.

And some of the players.

It was a great moment to be a parent.

But just when I thought I had made her a true fan, she fired this one at me.

“Why aren’t they playing flag football?”

“Violence is never the answer.”

Good point.

I said.

Realizing there was still a lot more work to be done.

Hungry Heart

I did something last night I hadn’t done in a long time.

Now there are a whole lot of things that I could write next.

And most of them would be true.

I haven’t gone to bed before Midnight in a long time.

I haven’t used a bench press in a long time.

I haven’t gone two days without dessert in a long time.

But don’t let my sense of humor fool you.

What I’m about to tell you is not funny.

Not funny at all.

Last night, around 10pm, I was walking home from Times Square... in the rain... when I came across a McDonalds.

Normally 10pm and McDonalds means I stop for an ice cream cone.

But believe it or not, I didn't have an appetite.

On the front step of the restaurant there was a teenage boy sitting on the ground.

He was holding a cardboard sign that included the word “hungry” on it.

I didn’t get a chance to read the rest.

If I were to guess, I would say he couldn’t have been older than 15.

Sitting in the rain, at 10pm, on a school night, holding a cardboard sign, in front of a McDonalds, asking for food.

I’m not sure why I decided to stop, this time, but I did.

Maybe it was a fatherly instinct kinda thing.

Now I realize that poverty is something that pretty much every city in this world is dealing with these days.

But in New York, everything is bigger.

You literally can’t make it through a city block without seeing somebody who could use your help.

Unfortunately, it’s so prevalent that you actually become numb to it.

It doesn’t matter if its a homeless guy sleeping on the sidewalk or one of his colleagues begging for coins.

We’ve been trained to just keep walking.

Sadly, I’m no different.

Sure, there have been times when I’ve dropped the coins from my pocket into the basket.

And there have been times when I’ve reached deeper into my pockets to hand over some paper.

But like many of us, I don’t do it very often.

For some reason last night was different.

I don’t know if it was the rain or the sign or the age of the boy, but this time I decided to stop.

I asked the boy what he wanted.

Without any hesitation he said, “a #2 with a Hi-C.”

You gotta like a man who knows what he wants.

For those of you who have not eaten at Mickey D’s since Super Size Me came out, the #2 is two cheeseburgers with fries and a drink.

I think it ran like $5.49 or so.

A small price to pay for a good deed.

Even though it was late at night, there were a bunch of people waiting to order.

So it took a few minutes to get to the front of the line and a few more minutes to get the food.

After I ordered, I looked outside to make sure my new buddy was still there.

Which he was.

With a few new friends.

Three of them.

All members of the New York Police Department.

I could tell through the window that they were not only talking to the boy, but they were searching him too.

It was about that time that I walked outside with his food.

By this point, the boy’s hands were behind his back.

Handcuffed.

Before I could say anything, the police told me they would give the boy his food in about five minutes.

When they got down to the police station.

I couldn’t help but ask what happened.

I was told it was illegal for the boy to panhandle....

...in front of McDonalds.

In front of this McDonalds?

In front of any McDonalds?

Isn’t that exactly where you should be asking for food if you are hungry?

Within seconds the boy was headed for the van which would take him to his next resting stop.

As I walked away, he thanked me.

And so did the police.

I was walking around, just a face in the crowd
Trying to keep myself out of the rain
Saw a vagabond king wear a styrofoam crown
Wondered if I might end up the same
There's a man out on the corner
Singing old songs about change
Everybody got their cross to bare, these days 

        “These Days”

            Bon Jovi