The Rock Wall

It's not often that a parent feels like they've really got it nailed. That they said the right thing, did the right thing... all those things that are important to create a next generation that's more evolved, more competent than we feel. 

Not that I feel like a fuck up as a parent. On the contrary, I think I'm doing a decent enough job, but it's so easy to hold the mistakes you make against yourself. The times you lose your temper, that you don't put enough effort into storytime, that you express just a little more dissatisfaction than is necessary. These moments add up, and part of parenting is grappling with the question: is it adding up more for your child... or for you?

I'd like to think it's the latter, but you don't know. Because, if it is the latter, maybe moments like today won't make the impact on Z that they had on me.

We had an evening at the park. Me, Z and L. It gives me no end of pleasure just how much Z wants to spend time with L, although there's no question, that brings up certain concerns as well. How much attraction is too much? How much intimacy? What should that relationship be like? As it plays out, it's absolutely wonderful, but I just want to be cognizant that both of them - all of us - are treading in previously uncharted waters (for us, at least). 

Z was climbing a rock wall. Not the typical park rock wall for kids, with its plastic hand and foot-holds, blazing like neon signs for where to step. Rather, this newly designed park (ironically, it's always been known to Z as "New Park") installed a faux-rock climbing wall. With gritty hand-holds and grooves, which really force children to figure things out on their own. 

Z failed to figure it out the first time, getting halfway up before calling plaintively to be helped down. A while later, he climbed to the top, but then realized that was quite a predicament - the pride of accomplishment was replaced by the fear of the unknown. Dad needed to scale his way to the top and one-arm Z down to another father. Crisis averted.

But, Z being Z, the first thing he did was climb right back up. This time, when he got to the top, I warned him not to crab-walk to the same place he got stuck last time. So he didn't. He made it halfway down the other side of the wall, my pride surging, until I needed to lift him off the remaining section. 

But, Z being Z, he wasn't done. Another trip to the top, and this time the allure of the crab-walk was too much for him to resist, even though I specifically told him this would end badly, and that I wasn't going to rescue him. I muttered to L that I knew where this was going, and I wasn't sure what the parenting response should be.

He did it anyway. And, predictably, he got caught exactly where I said he would. His eyes welled with tears, and he asked me to get him down. I told Z that this is exactly what I warned him of, and I couldn't help him. He looked right at me and said, "But you're a hero". If that isn't a moment that both swells and crushes your parenting instincts, I don't know what is. 

So I told him that I couldn't help him. He got himself into this mess, and he had to figure out how to get himself out of it. I helped point out areas that would be easier for him to cope with. He carefully - and oh-so-dangerously - shifted his body weight around, and skittered down an edge that he could easily fall off, but which led him to a slightly lower outpost... only 8 feet high, rather than 10. It was one of those scary parent moments, but one that I knew I couldn't rescue him from (unless things got legitimately dangerous for him), because all I'd be doing is proving that he can call on me for anything... even when he is the one who screwed up. Instead, I was trying to teach him that when you screw up (even in such a self-consciously belligerent way as he had just proven), it's often all on you to figure out how to solve the problem. 

And he did. He made it to the 8 foot outcropping, and... Z being Z, jumped off into the sand.  A perfect landing, incidentally. When he landed, he was clearly proud of himself, but I quickly got down on one knee and said, "Z, tell me... who was the real hero?. He beamed, and said, "I was", and ran off, excited just to be a kid.

The moment probably passed for him, unremarkable and forgotten. For me, it might be a moment that I'll treasure for the rest of my life. 

"When am I going to be a big brother?"

This morning while driving to work, I mentioned to Zach that my best friend's son, who is a year younger than Zach, is going to be a "big brother" soon. Our friends are going to have their second child.

Zach asked me when he was going to be a big brother.

I couldn't answer him, because tears started pouring out of my eyes. Zach pressed me for an answer. As I gained control, I tried to explain that mommies and daddies need to be together to have another baby, but that since Momma and I weren't together, it was probably going to be a long time before he is a big brother.

If ever. And by the time it happens, he may not want it anymore...

Reality as Imagination

Zach is coping with the loss of family stability in his life, in so many ways, even though he's doing a marvelous job of retaining his happiness, openness and personality. 

While taking a walk tonight, Zach turns and says, "I won't want Momma to died". I immediately stop, go down on one knee and ask Zach if he needs a hug. "Zach, Momma's not going to die. Why are you afraid she's going to die?". "I just don't want her to die". I give him a big hug, reassuring him that she's not going to die. 

Ironically, later that night, Zach wanted to look at pictures of Momma as a little girl. We're paging through a photo album, and then come across photos of her own mother, who passed away around 9 years ago. Far too young to die, of a freak blood condition that was left untreated by a hospital, leading to her very unnecessary death. Zach hasn't really heard much about her up until this point, but of course, I had to address the fact that she had... died. Thereby invalidating exactly what I had been telling him an hour earlier, saying that Mommas don't die. Because sometimes they do. My own mother died when I was 6 1/2. 

Driving home, Zach then said that he wanted Momma to be a little girl. "I want Momma to be a little girl, and I'll be a little boy, and you'll take care of us". I asked him if he wanted this so we could all be together. "Yeah... actually, I want you to be a little boy and me to be a little boy, and Momma will take care of both of us". Clearly, Zach was trying to work out a way in his own head for all of us to be together. If it can't happen in real life, he would prefer to imagine an alternate version of life where we are a family again.

He also said that he loves me even when I’m a potato that’s being cooked. So take that for what it's worth.

Working out his feelings

Children are much better communicators than adults, and are also far more thoughtful or reflective than we probably give them credit for. I spend a lot of time watching my son in the rear view mirror as we're driving, and you can see it in his eyes - that he's really chewing over something, trying to figure something out.

Little kids are also able to make strong, tangential, thematic connections between seemingly unrelated subjects. We were watching the movie "Enchanted" the other day, and there's a moment where a 10-year-old girl is saying to the princess, Giselle, that she never got to go shopping with her mother, who died. Now, my ex is not dead, but Zach gets very serious and somber for a moment, and looks at me and says, "I miss my mommy when she's not here". Smart kid.

There is the amusing side to this precocious insight, too. Apparently while being driven to pre-school today, she asks Zach, "how are you doing?". He answers, "I have to work out my feelings".

I pray that he'll always keep working out his feelings. That will save him a lot of heartbreak in the long run.

Smart kid, indeed.

Young Love, Marriage and Mormonism

My son, Zach, married this morning. To two women.

Ella and Tala. He's either a Mormon, or a total stud.

Need I mention that my son is 3? Ok, 3 1/2, he'll tell you. Zach made sure to explain to me that, "We held hands and got married. But it was just pretend". Thanks for the clarification, Zach.

Needless to say, he's gotten his first marriage out of the way, which at this point in my life, I commend him for. I hope that the tattered ends of this marriage do as little damage to him as mine has done much. He deserves it.

I asked Zach who officiated said ceremony, though I didn't think to inquire about caterers, florists or placecard settings. Instead, Zach told me that a kid named Oliver tried to edge in on the proceedings, creating some emotional havoc between the happy threesome.

"But Tala and Ella didn't want to marry Oliver", he insisted. Zach didn't want to marry him either. Apparently he wasn't in the mood to share.

I don't know if he even grasps what marriage is. He obviously understands the dissolution of the relationship between mommy and daddy, but does he know that mommy and daddy are "married"? That they will someday be "divorced"? (I still haven't yet bought one of those helpful books of dinosaurs divorcing, because who better to associate with divorce than extinct meat-eaters who once ruled the earth?)

I recall my own first wedding. I was six. I married Katrina. We walked down the "aisle", between a row of kids, and some kid probably mumbled something about us now being married. Then we went over to the chain link fence to find out if we could kiss for the entire rest of recess. I think our lips actually stayed locked that whole time, and didn't do much else. I subsequently remarried in fourth and sixth grades, which I think was the peak of my appeal with girls. I'm pretty sure Zach's appeal will last longer...

Maybe it's a good thing to get the first one out of the way. Maybe the second time is meant to be better. My second marriage was with Rebecca, a 4th-grade brunette who towered over me by a good 2 or 3 inches. Maybe it was even 4. Remember that age when the girls all shot past the boys? Yes, I remember that time. Unfortunately for me, the guys largely picked up on the slack... I didn't. But I've long come to terms with the genetic hand dealt me; it's not a big deal to me, though now that I am suddenly "single" again (shudder...), I realize and hate that it actually still is a big deal. My ex never cared... maybe there will be others.

Back to first marriages... Why can't we learn the necessary life lessons when we're three, or six, to avoid all the heartbreak, anger and resentful discussions over who gets what picture frames and bedding sets?

Three year olds are much better communicators, frankly, than adults. They feel something, and they say it. Adults don't do that. They hold it in, build up anger and misunderstandings, and eventually explode or implode. A 3 year old would never do that. No, they would speak their mind, just as Zach did today, saying "Oliver, I don't want to marry you". You tell that boy, Zach. Don't marry him. You got the girl (well, girls, actually), as I knew you would. Destined to be a little heartbreaker.

I just hope he takes some of the lessons from today and learns from them. I wonder if he asked for a pre-nup.

No Bears, oh my!

Took my son on his first camping trip. Since he's only 3 1/2, we kept it close to Los Angeles, winding our way through the Angeles National Forest above La Canada to a gorgeous, mountainous area called Buckhorn. Bear country. Fir and pine trees all over the place, the hillside littered with the carcasses of long living, recently dead redwoods. A stunning place.

Zach was an absolute trooper, helping put up the tent as much as he could, laying out his new dinosaurs in the dirt and doing everything I asked of him. Pleasantly, we met a family of three with their 20 month old up for the whole weekend. Zach became the quick big brother to Jack, who he insisted on calling 'Jack Jack' throughout. He had his first smore, which was like Bubbles' heroin need on "The Wire". Needless to say, he was hooked. After the whole experience, Zach insisted his favorite part of the trip were the marshmallows. Then demanding an answer on his second favorite thing... marshmallows. Requesting insight into his third favorite... marshmallows.

I still think he had a good time, though.

The Buckhorn campground is filled with warnings about bears. They're indigenous to the area, and prevalent, and it's not uncommon for them to raid a camp in search of a free meal. This makes them fairly harmless, because they've been domesticated by the easy access to food. For better or worse, however, we never saw one. Zach couldn't decide if he was happy or sad about that turn of events. Honestly, neither could I.

The entire trip was great, although Zach became painfully aware of the difference between our campground and our neighbors. Zach and his daddy, and Jack and his daddy... and momma. Late at night, Zach sobbed in a way that seemed WAY too mature for his years, saying "A kid should have a daddy AND a momma to take him camping, like Jack!". It broke my heart. Because he's right, and he doesn't have that. If he ever does have it again, it'll be a weird merging of families and people, that one of the real mommas or daddys can't take part in or understand. It broke my heart, and his.

Late that night, I sat around the fire with the parents - two very nice, sweet people - who generously were passing around the pot pipe, and learned that the mom's parents separated when she was 3. Lots of similarities there. But the takeaway was that she admitted that it crippled her relationships with men until very recently in life, and she was probably pushing 42 or so. And she was a counselor and spiritual healer, so not one out of touch with her emotional side. Of course, sometimes it seems the therapists are the most screwed up, but she certainly seemed to be pretty well-balanced.

In the midst of the natural wonder, the starry night, and the wonderful time spent with my son, it was almost as if I could hear bears rustling through the undergrowth.

The Sensitive Child

Sometimes my son's sensitivity blows me away. Maybe it's because he's so much a "boy" - rambunctious, laughing, climbing, all of that stuff. And he does all of that well. He's into superheroes at 3 like nobody's business.

Then again, he recently balanced that out with a touchingly sweet (and amusing) observation about himself: "Daddy, I want to be a girl". "Why do you want to be a girl, Zach? You're a boy, and a wonderful one at that". "But I really, really LIKE girls!"

Zach has the ability to straddle both sides of a personality, in a way that I really admire, and wish I could be more like. He's so emotionally open, and emotionally giving, that it's a constant inspiration to me. I'll confess that I don't know kids very well, in general (though I know my son through and through). But he often says and does the most amazing things, in terms of being "present", and being concerned about people and their feelings.

Today he had a playdate with his friend Vir, who is moving to India in three days, out of Zach's life forever (though Zach doesn't fully grasp that). They're playing together, and Zach stops and asks, "Vir, are you having a good time at my house, Vir?". Vir says he is. Zach thinks for a minute and he says, "Vir, I'm really going to miss you, Vir". Vir just smiled his big, infectious smile, but didn't respond; he's a bit younger than Zach, so he may not be mature enough to respond in kind to that.

It just blew me away though, just how much Zach wants to connect with people. He's constantly reaching out to people, often in ways that are socially uncomfortable. He'll tell a total stranger to watch what he's doing, or tell them about his new Spiderman shoes. Yeah, kids do that kind of stuff, but Zach has this way of trying to include everyone, and be a part of everyone's lives, that's just heartbreakingly beautiful and tender.

It's part of what makes the marital separation all the more painful, because it flies in the face of Zach's very most basic character traits: inclusiveness, connection, openness, and love.

That kid has so much love. I pray he never loses that, and it terrifies me that he might.

Kids Can Be Salieri Too

So I titled my blog after that feeling you can have where you've got it all together, you've got it figured out... and just as fast you can feel awash in the crowd, lost despite it all... the Patron Saint of Mediocrity.

And while Zach is my Mozart, even he has his Salieri moments.

Yesterday was his first soccer practice. 3 1/2 - 5 year old class. Well, Zach's just 3 1/2, and he's never going to be a big kid, so he's probably sized closer to 3. He's also wicked athletic, and he did a good job learning the soccer drills, started trapping the ball on sporadic occasion, etc. Though admittedly he grew restless at times. C'mon... he's three.

But when it came time for a "game", it was another story. The coach picked the two oldest kids to play with, against 12 other kids, and Zach's age and speed was exposed. Coach rolled the ball onto the field, and Zach was the first one to it. And he tapped it, and before he could tap it again, the inevitable swarm of 4 year olds descended, taking the ball like a pack of bees and running in random directions, the ball careening ahead of them. Well, Zach didn't understand the whole notion that you're supposed to take the ball away, and none of the kids could grasp the concept that you're not supposed to take it away from your own teammate, but there you have it.

Zach had a meltdown, sobbing and crying that "I can't get the ball" and "They took it from me". It was so sweet and heartbreaking, because he both didn't understand that basic concept of futball, but that it was also painfully true that he wasn't going to be able to get the ball back - the other kids were too much bigger and faster. Most of the kids averaged between 4-4 1/2 I'd say, and that's a huge divide. Just like Zach's 2 1/2 year old friend Spencer can't physically keep up with Zach, Zach couldn't match their size and speed. He really felt like Salieri.

Coach and I agreed that Zach should move down to the smaller kids class, where he'll be on the flip side of that age divide. Maybe then he'll be the one with the ball... maybe he'll feel like a Mozart.

Where Does It Go?

The developmental stages of a child are just mind-blowing. Every time period brings something new and exciting, and it just keeps getting better, blah, blah, blah. All truisms, all cliches, yes.

But there's this subtle difference between seeing your kid do something you've never seen them do before - climb a tree, slide down a pole, open a jar, whatever - and one of those moments where you see in 1080p HD how it's not just these physical and intellectual changes, but these titanic shifts that reveal an internal life and imagination that's just stunning.

I was picking Zach up from day care (he starts pre-school in 2 weeks - such a big boy!), and when I pulled across the street, I saw him in the play area, marshalling his two friends, Ella and Vir. He was explaining that Spiderman has a "worst enemy". Mighta been Sandman, mighta been Electro, I don't know. But he was so passionate about it. It mattered so much, and he explained a game that they absolutely HAD to play involving Spiderman and his worst enemies. And his friends were riveted, really listening, and really envisioning it too. Then they ran around in circles, yelling "escape!" over and over and over.

So it's clear that the shift from active play, to imagination, to truly creating other worlds is taking place right now. In fact, it's all he's interested in at the moment - fantastical creatures and other worlds - that it's apparent that his mind isn't just growing and developing... it's expanding.

How remarkable is that? Doesn't it feel like there's a natural inflection point in our own lives, where our imaginations stop expanding? Like our brains just have to focus on the existing, the coping, the succeeding, the loving, the working? What about seeing other worlds? Zach sees other worlds in his mind right now, and I don't think he really did 6 months ago. Sure, he did a lot of amazing stuff, but it was somehow more contained, more linear.

To watch that is utterly captivating and inspiring. I sat in my car, watching from 30 feet away, the moment only ruined by Vir spotting me and saying, "Zach, your daddy's here". Zach looked my way, lit up, and yelled "Dan!".