Meg's up!

Dad Entry #200

Megan is so tall and skinny she's like a giraffe. She seems so, at least, around other eight-year-olds. Meg's bestie Izzi is also very tall. I play softball with Izzi's dad, a big fella who can crush the ball. We hope our twin-tower daughters are the next Misty May and Kerri Walsh (perennial beach volleyball champs), but with different uniforms. The Brazilian teams, for crying out loud, wear thongs. I mean I've never noticed myself, I've only heard about it. That's not why I watch beach volleyball. Seriously. Should I stop digging? Anyway, for sure I think big mesh jerseys over long baggy shorts would be perfect for Megan and Izzi, when they're in the Olympic gold medal match on worldwide TV.

Yesterday, a lemon seed in my iced tea reminded me of a fearful thought I had as a kid: If I swallow this seed, will a tree grow in my stomach? I wonder what youthful, fearful, fascinating thoughts M 'n' m are having. Do they think about aliens, ghosts, or genies? Stuff in the attic? Superpowers? Talking animals? Time machines? I remember at my Grandma's house in Clemons, Iowa, I encountered a piece of candy called a 'Dinosaur Egg.' I was younger than Megan - and not very bright even then, apparently - because, yes, I was suddenly curious and excited and a little bit afraid, and certainly not because I thought the 'Dinosaur Egg' was a confection.

So 200 times now I've put pen to paper, or fingers to keys actually, and scribbled, even if poorly, bits and thoughts about my kids and how much I love them, although the latter is sort of indescribably enormous, especially in mediocre prose. I know my writing here is like my parenting, which is imperfect, sometimes barely so and other times egregiously, but certainly not without effort and fulfillment. It would be nice if someone appreciates all this rambling nonsense down the road. Maybe if M 'n' m have their own offspring? Holy shit, am I talking about grandkids already? Strike that. Withdrawn. :)

Dad Entry #199

I'm disenchanted with kids' sports right now, probably because I'm the baseball coach and we've lost three games in a row and none of them closely. Michael's team is off to a rough start and I can only blame myself. A few coaches in the league are supremely annoying, which is a price I won't pay, but most of the dads have class and their teams are even gingerly beating us like a drum. We must do better. Michael's doing his part; he tripled in his last game which means he crushed it way past the outfielders. There's no fence and Michael's no Rickey Henderson. He's pretty big and, to be blunt, he's slow as shit. (I love the appropriate cliches: He's like January molasses rolling uphill. Is there a piano on his back? Is he running in place? Is he pulling a plow? We could time him with a sundial. He's like a turtle in a windstorm. And so on.) Michael says his (protective) cup really bothers him. He says he needs a bigger one.

I was looking over a pile of graded homework the kids brought home. I try to review it with them when it's fresh, but sometimes it accumulates. They are both great students and I'm unsparing with my compliments, lavish to the point of dulling the impact of praise, I'm afraid. But I express and emphasize another perspective, also: I'm adamant they're doing a great service for themselves, first and foremost. It's a valuable gift to their future selves, and the 'proud parents' part is just a happy bonus. I even dropped a nifty Buddha quote on Michael, which I know he appreciated: "As an irrigator guides water to his fields, as an archer aims an arrow, as a carpenter carves wood, the wise shape their minds."

Megan had her First Communion last weekend. Everything about it was beautiful. We celebrated with family and friends, and she received numerous generous gifts. It's a meaningful and powerful ritual to me, given to us by someone whose life, mission, and message are also meaningful and powerful to me. He's undeniably famous, as well, and he's been a celebrity for a really long time. If you prefer to look at it that way :)

I believe it...