So this isn't a real exchange...

... between Megs and me... yet. Josiah (Godfather and undefeated in professional MMA), I assume you're paying attention also. Very well. Carry on.

#276

I can still tuck Megan in, lay beside her, say nighttime prayers, then hold her hand and wait for it to slacken and for her breathing to even out in peaceful sleep. Then I slowly turn, slide, roll, lift, grimace, and attempt to free myself from the bed without any massive squeaks or groans from the box springs and bed frame. I always fail. I am too big. Megan stirs and whispers, "Goodnight, Daddy," and this ritual is one of the most favorite of my life. It will end soon for Meg and me, but I hold out sweet hope that I can repeat it with a granddaughter someday.

"There's strength in needing others, not weakness." From the movie "Burnt," which I saw on my way to Beijing (without 14 hour flights, I'm afraid movies about chefs go unwatched). On some deep level I know it's true - we are stronger expressing, embracing, living this need - but the grind in corporate America convinces me otherwise, as does divorce, joint-custody, and other things that scream vulnerability and exposure. But I'm grateful for friends and family. And I know I need them.

Being a dad has made me a better son. Only speaking for myself, of course, but a reverse look through the father/son lens was like a bullhorn. A different, and complete, emotional - and material - picture bloomed. It's like reading a putt from the place you'll strike it, naturally, but then walking to the other side of the green and reading from behind the cup, and all the slopes and bends in between that threaten your birdie. I still miss the putt, but for a glorious moment I look wise and skillful.

#275

Michael and I ate at 'Mexico Uno' last night and talked about Emily Dickinson. It felt like God was smiling at me, or 'The Most Interesting Man in the World' was smiling, at least, or whatever he does, suavely approving in voiceover narration? Nodding agreeably from the bar, while sitting next to a grizzly bear and shoulder-pressing two women in chairs? (I enjoyed a Dos Equis last night, also). There we were, two gentleman stuffing ourselves with greasy food and conversation, dripping salsa everywhere from chips and falling-apart tacos. It was great. We talked about poetry, the power of imagery, the force of language, how words are more than pleasantries and information; they can be momentous, calamitous, all-inspiring, all-inciting, arranged with passion and genius they can CHANGE THE WORLD! Whoa, I'm out of breath. I wish I had passion and genius. Michael's on his way, that's good. We talked about guy shit too, the War of 1812, Andrew Jackson, Tecumseh, British versus early-American warship-building, that sorta thing. I felt like a good father, like I do when Michael is composed in conversation with adults, or composed in the batters box with a kid throwing BBs at him.

By the way, 'The Most Interesting Man in the World' campaign is ending this month, March 2016, after running for a decade. In the final ad, he is a celebrated hero, of course, dashing, irresistible, perfect ('Just like Papa Mike' is what Papa Mike would say) being sent on a one-way mission to Mars. And the final words: "His only regret is not knowing what regret feels like."

Baseball season is here. The Pony draft is this week. It's actually an anxious and difficult night, after so many spring and fall seasons, as I know so many great kids and can't draft them all to a single team. But I learned long ago that the world is imperfect, or not fair, or I am imperfect, or something depressing. But hey, it's time for baseball.

#274

Megan plays her favorite songs through my car speakers using my phone (compliments of YouTube and Bluetooth). I'm curious what music is appealing to her, and often I like it too. So Meg was DJ'ing and put on something by 'The Chainsmokers.' Okay, I didn't love the band name (for a 4th grade fan) but the song was called 'Roses.' Fine. Then came the lyrics 'Smoke a little weed on the couch in the back room' and I had to overthink it. It's what parents do. Nevermind liberal views, legalization, medicine, hypocrisy, hazards versus alcohol, so on and so forth. I was annoyed because it seemed like stooping to me, like pandering, preying on an undiscerning demographic. Kids everywhere love this song. I'm sure of it. Mention 'weed' to middle-schoolers and they giggle. So it was decision-time in my Honda with Meg-Pie. I don't love people who abuse free speech, but I don't love book-burning, Footloose towns, or making mountains out of molehills either. And I noticed 'Roses' didn't carry on about 'sex this and sex that.' (That's probably on the next track.) So I didn't lecture my ten-year-old about drugs. Right then, bemoaning and banning 'Roses' would've only brought it more attention. Bang. (That was the gavel.) Case closed. What's next?

For the record, Megan finds new, favorite songs all the time. Her latest is interesting. It's more of a jingle perfectly titled 'It's Raining Tacos.' If you find the simple and literal refreshing (which I do on occasion, versus the incessant complexity I feel battered by elsewhere in life, all my own fault by the way) this song is for you! It goes like this: "It's raining tacos, out on the street. Tacos, all you can eat. Lettuce and shells, cheese and meat. It's raining tacos!" Awesome. I prefer these lyrics to the ones about 'weed.' Although I can't help but think there's a correlation. I mean, what unhigh, sober person writes a song about raining tacos? Since I'm no expert on drug use, that question is rhetorical.

"There is nothing wrong with loving the crap out of everything. Negative people find their walls. Never apologize for your enthusiasm." — Ryan Adams

#273

Recently, in a conversation about families, siblings, parenting and so on, a guy I work with grumbled about a childhood marred by sister-favoritism. He remembered and reflected with eye-rolls and head-shakes, and clarified that his father was the primary offender. I thought, oh shit. I also thought, opinion isn't fact, and then I thought but perception is reality; it's reality for the perceiver, plain and simple. And this is all stuff that's fluid, subjective, capricious, fragile, and kind of important. I think I just described everything in life that involves humans. Regarding my parenting of M 'n' m, I can say with a straight face, fingers-uncrossed, unevasively, without any surefire tells of truth-fudging, "I don't favor Megan." I don't favor her. Not at all. I am, however, more lenient, tolerant, coddling, fawning, kowtowing, beggarly, and spineless. But only at times. Most of the time. Always? Let's talk about sons. They are different animals. Michael's a boy, older, bigger, undemanding, less defensive and oppositional, more flexible about food and activities, less stubborn in argument, and, well, who do I favor now?! Nothing to be gained here, ending this paragraph.

I love my son. He's impressed me enough lately that I've found myself anatomizing his routines and habits, hoping to learn as only a witness can. (Reading about people who are good at things is interesting, but there's a BIG difference between that and living with them.) So I'm paying attention selfishly now, in addition to what's necessary and presupposed as a parent. Naturally, parenting has selfish components to it already – we get great purpose and fulfillment from it – but that's beside my point here. Michael is efficient, happy, not a big talker, unpompous, a straight-A student, a helluva baseball hitter, a first-chair cellist, a routine-driven early-riser during the week, a loyal friend, an attentive and affectionate son, an even better grandson, somewhat clean and organized, not high-maintenance, etcetera, etcetera. It will be difficult to avoid striving for a kind of brotherly rapport with Michael. It's way too early for that. I'm his father. I won't be the dad cracking beers and lighting bowls for my kids and their underage friends. We all know parents like that exist. I saw a few. But it's father first, friend second. It's also 'law-abiding citizen' first. Someday, however, I hope Michael and I have what Papa Mike and I have: we do things with his friends, we do things with mine, we do new and exciting things, we enjoy life as both father/son and friends/brothers. We've been called 'the Cox brothers,' in fact, especially during trouble like the altercation we had with Duke fans at the Iowa State / Duke bball game at the United Center. Some rude assholes pissed us off and we had to call them out. Speaking of grandfathers, I had two great ones, really cool, strong, smart, and interesting men. I miss them.

Megan's basketball season ended and I'm tempted to get sentimental. It was a solid season for Megan and one of my best coaching experiences. The girls were spirited and coachable and always fun. Our losses were tough and our victories sweet. I'm sad it's over.

Ryan Reynolds on parenting...

... quoted from Men's Health magazine. Ryan says:

"I'd walk through fire for my daughter. Well, not fire, because it's dangerous. But a super humid room. But not too humid, because of my hair."

"I love writing nursery rhymes for my daughter. Her favorites are 'Sunshine Cuddle Time!' and 'Everyone You Know Will Eventually Die.'"

"There's nothing better than spending an entire morning staring into my beautiful daughter's eyes and whispering, 'I can't do this.'"

"I still check on my daughter in the middle of the night and put my fingers under her nose just to make sure she's still breathing. Is that insane? I feel like it might be a little insane."

#272

Megan has asked for a puppy seventy-five million times. So far, no puppy, but my defenses weaken during hunting season. Also when Megan gets schmoopy-faced and pines for Tyrion, the family dog at Mom's house. I want Megan to whimper and yearn for Dad's house. I wonder what it feels like to be a sure-footed parent. Or at least one who doesn't worry about competing for a child's approval.

Michael is Megan's rock. It's sweet and it's strong, the bond. He's like her woobie (of "Mr. Mom" fame) except he isn't snugly. His presence comforts her. I've observed it for years and I'm grateful. With joint custody, Meggie needs a woobie, a rock, an awesome brother and she has one. He's perfect, except he doesn't hug her enough. Would it kill you to throw an arm around your sister once in a while? But perfection is dull. Megan loves him undyingly and he knows it; he knows he's deeply important to her. Even when she's dreadfully whiny and irritating, his retaliations are half-hearted. He's never mean. He's a rock, an anchor, a vital big brother.

Michael said, "There are tons of good police shows on TV now." Then he listed some, "Criminal Minds, Castle, Major Crimes, CSI, Law and Order." I said, "You ever heard of Hill Street Blues or Miami Vice or Starsky & Hutch?" He shook his head. "Pioneers," I said. "And Hawaii Five-0 is a remake." Then I walked away, smug, like I'd won an argument or something. I'm getting old and defensive about it apparently. Magnum, P.I. and Moonlighting were good too (before everything was good); I'll throw those in his face next time.

When my dad tells me not to worry about something, I believe him. Hopefully, I have this same calming influence on my son. Life knocks us around and it helps to have great cornermen.