I love browsing quote sites. Or, when I was back in the dead-tree book phase, browsing through books collecting quotes from lots of different people. Well, today, I ran across a great one.

“Setting a good example for children takes all the fun out of middle age.”

This is by a dude named William Feather, who [...]]]> by Richard

I love browsing quote sites. Or, when I was back in the dead-tree book phase, browsing through books collecting quotes from lots of different people. Well, today, I ran across a great one.

“Setting a good example for children takes all the fun out of middle age.”

This is by a dude named William Feather, who was a publisher and author out of Ohio starting late in the 19th century. And, really, he’s right, you know.

I mean, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve wanted to get out an egg and hurl it at something, or wanted to take out the old sawed-off baseball bat I used to keep under my car seat and just go to town on something, or take off my clothes and run starkers through the airport (yes, I do have anger and clothing issues. Why do you ask?), but I can’t because then I’d see three little dudes doing the exact same thing and that wouldn’t be good.

Especially the running naked through the airport. There are only a few of us who can pull that sort of thing off with panache and style. I’d hate for them to find out they’re not in the tiny minority.

But sometimes. . . Just sometimes. . . When I’m in a place where there are no witnesses and will be no consequences. . . Well, let’s just say it would be setting a bad example and leave it at that.

But, oh, it is fun. So very, very fun.

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Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. — Lewis Carroll

No. I’m not going to list them. I just love that quote. Plus, I love the contradictions that sort of thinking can lead to in most people. Most especially little dudes.

A couple of months ago, Speed Racer announced to the [...]]]> by Richard

Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. — Lewis Carroll

No. I’m not going to list them. I just love that quote. Plus, I love the contradictions that sort of thinking can lead to in most people. Most especially little dudes.

A couple of months ago, Speed Racer announced to the family that he no longer believed in Santa Claus. At the tender age of 10 years. It just about broke my heart. I thought all that kind of stuff, belief in the friendly phantoms of childhood, was behind us.

Turns out  I was wrong.

In the last week, Speed Racer’s lost two molars, both on his right side, one upper and one lower. They make for a nice gap, being one on top of another. His smile still makes everyone around him giggle, but now for different reasons.

Anyway. When he lost the second tooth, we figured it was time to put them into the hands of the Tooth Fairy. Now, when we started talking about that, I figured he was just going along with the joke. But first, I wanted to say we use a tooth pillow to store the teeth for the tooth fairy. It’s shaped, of course, like a tooth.

When it was time to put the pillow to use, we couldn’t find it. Speed Racer started getting frantic. I suggested he use a small zip loc bag to hold the teeth until they could be exchanged for the moolah.

“But, Dad,” he asked, “how will the Tooth Fairy find them if they’re not in the tooth pillow?”

And he sounded completely serious. Now, maybe because he knows how hard we defended the idea and reality of Santa Claus, he was just going along to get along, but I don’t think so. He really sounded worried.

I think it’s interesting that Santa has been thrown under the bus, but the Tooth Fairy is still hanging in there.

Maybe there’s still a little childhood left in there to be eked out of him. Wouldn’t that be nice? Certainly wouldn’t be like pulling teeth. (Oh, come on. You knew that one was coming.)

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If you go to a rock concert and you get upset that the dude behind you keeps singing along so loud that you tempted to ask him to be quiet. . . you might be a wrinkled neck. And, yes, I did actually think about it for a second or two. Then I quite [...]]]> by Richard

If you go to a rock concert and you get upset that the dude behind you keeps singing along so loud that you tempted to ask him to be quiet. . . you might be a wrinkled neck. And, yes, I did actually think about it for a second or two. Then I quite quickly and sincerely slapped my face, realized that I wasn’t, in fact, 83 and got on with enjoying the concert.

Sure the band, Cage the Elephant (see title of post), was great. Sure the venue, Amos’ Southend, was fantastic. But really, the most important question of the day was this: How was the crowd?

Smelly.

Well, all right, there’s more to it than that. As I watched the show from the second-floor balcony, I found that I was spending more time watching the back of the heads of Zippy the Monkey Boy and George of the Jungle than I was watching the band. I guess that’s the true mark of a parent: It’s not enough that you enjoy something, but to really get the maximum amount of joy out of it, you need to be able to see the little dudes enjoying themselves at the same time.

During the concert a real, actual, honest-to-gosh mosh pit developed in the crowd. As usual for this kind of thing, there was one really big dude whipping himself around the pit, flailing his elbows and knocking the stuffing out of anyone even nearby the mosh pit. And, of course, Zippy the Monkey Boy was right on the edge. I was quite proud of him though. I mean, nobody loves a good scuffle more than Zippy the Monkey Boy, but when this tornado or whirling limbs and sharp elbows and pounding knees started fighting nearby, he swiftly moved aside and made sure he was safe.

I guess there’s hope for the little dude after all. (Just kidding, Zip. Just kidding.)

The best part of the entire evening, though, came after the show as we were walking to our car. (And that was something to see. A minivan in the midst of all these young-punk beaters and muscle cars.) Both George of the Jungle and Zippy the Monkey Boy couldn’t stop talking about what a great concert it was. They kept comparing best moments, arguing about which of the three bands that performed that night was actually the best.

Typical of a first-time concert goer, George of the Jungle held up his hand, on which was marked the big black X put on there by the bouncers, along with a stamp from the club, and said, “I’m not going to be washing this hand.” I glared at him. “Erm, ah, all that much. I’m not going to be washing this hand all that much.”

And then, wonder of wonders, I got spontaneous hugs and thanks from both of them. Now that, dudes, was worth the time, the money, the effort. Spending time with my little dudes, doing stuff we all love and then getting a little love back from them.

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