Identity (again)

Long time readers (Hi, Becky!) know I've written a lot over the years about how I define myself.  And recently, how this blog really should have a new name, because I rarely "stay-at-home-dad" much anymore.  But with all the marketing we've done with that brand....the t-shirts, key chains and billboards....I guess we'll just leave it.  We certainly do still have our everyday adventures!

10 years ago,  when asked what I do, I would say meekly, "I stay home with my kids."  Followed quickly and more assertively with, "but I used to be a computer programmer.  That's what I went to school for and that's what I did for the past 12 years!"

But recently when asked the dreaded "what do you do?" question, my response was quite the opposite.   "I work at a bank."  I said quickly to get it out of the way.   "But I used to stay home with my kids!"   It came out proudly...Almost trying to cover up the fact that I had any other job too.  That I would ever think of leaving my kids home alone to head to work.

So, what do I do?
Ask me again in 10 years....

Fourteen

Fourteen is an interesting age. Getting more independent and mature every day, but still a growing and learning child.  Some days, like yesterday, are an amazing combination of everything.

On the one hand, my mature independent daughter will be traveling to New York City with the High School band next year.  (New York City!!!). We got an information packet in the mail yesterday.  To an overprotective (see Marlin from 'Finding Nemo') dad like me, this is a very scary thing.  And to make matters worse, she was not overly excited that my wife expressed interest in joining the trip as a chaperone.  A little too independent and mature.

On the other hand, my little girl curled up on the bed after school yesterday and spent hours watching episodes of 'Arthur' on Netflix. That was our daily routine when she came home from kindergarten many years ago....grab a snack and turn on PBS kids.

So here we are....stuck somewhere in the middle of growing up and staying young.  If we're lucky, she'll keep doing both.

Just yesterday was forever ago.

One of the things I have a hard time with is that things that happened "just the other day" for me, were in fact, a lifetime ago for my kids.  Nowhere is this more apparent than with my kids' friends.

"Hey, there's your friend Sally."  I say while shopping with my daughter at the grocery store.
"Who?" She'll ask not really interested.
"Over there....you went to her birthday party in kindergarten....remember?"
"Oh...she looks kind of familiar, I guess."

So I've spent eight years thinking my daughter and Sally are best friends, and they really don't know each other at all.  That afternoon at the birthday party is a vivid memory for me, but not even a vague recollection for her.

My son plays trombone in the 7th grade band.   There is one other boy trombone player in 7th grade.  That boy came to our house at least twice back when they were both in 1st grade.  And now, my son does not even know his name.  After their last concert, I quizzed him on it...and he failed.

I'm not sure if this makes me feel old, overly sentimental, or just confused.  How do I know what they will remember and what gets lost with the passing years?  And at what age do the years start passing at the same rate for kids and parents?

Identity

This may turn into one long ramble...but stay with me and we'll see where we end up...and I'm sorry if I get too churchy...

This has nothing to do with kids, or stay-at-home parenting, but I've written before about how I've had a hard time with how to define myself since I quit my "real" job.  And how I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

While I have a decent job now, bank teller is not my final destination.  A couple of weeks ago, a job opportunity came up that seemed like a great fit for me.  I applied, talked to some people, and let myself think it was going to happen.  But then came the "thanks but no thanks" email...which led to self doubt...and me on Saturday morning praying....and saying things like "I don't even know who I am."

I don't go to church every Sunday.  Mostly because I am lazy.  It is hard enough to get the family up and going during the week, sometimes we let that go on Sunday mornings.  For the most part, I am comfortable with my faith...even though I would have trouble expressing exactly what I believe. Last Sunday, we all got up and went.  On the surface it was so the kids could check one more sermon note off the confirmation requirement list....but now I think it was for me.

During the sermon, the pastor talked about identity....and he asked if we ever question who we are or let ourselves be defined by our jobs.  He was talking to me. ( I mean really...was he in my bathroom the day before listening to my whiny prayer?) He explained that our identity comes from our relationship with God....a relationship that is very one-sided....nothing we do can change that relationship.  It all comes from Him.

So here I am today...still working at a bank....still looking for somewhere else to be the next stop on my career journey....but not asking who I am.

Encounter with a Star Wars fan

Many months ago, a woman and her young son (probably about four) came into the bank.
He was immediately drawn to the cup on my counter that holds pens.  It is a Star Wars cup with pictures of characters from all the movies.  He told me he knew Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker...and he loved Darth Maul even though he was a bad guy...and Boba Fett was really cool and Obi-Wan Kenobi...

He loved that cup.

We chatted about the movies as I helped his mom with her banking.  I learned that he watched the movies daily and wore Jedi  t-shirts almost every day and had a Star Wars themed birthday party. I told him about all the toys I had and all the times I've seen the movies and about the giant posters in my basement.  He was very excited to talk with someone that seemed to love Star Wars as much as he did.

But then the banking was done, and the mom took him by the hand and led him out of the bank...still chattering away about characters and space ships and the power of the force.

And that was the end of that....or so I thought.

Last week I was working in the drive-thru lanes at the bank.  A women I did not recognize pulled up and sent in her deposit.  When she saw me, she got a huge smile and said, "I'm the mom of the Star Wars fan."  To be honest, I would not have remembered her if she had not told me...I had not thought much about that day since last summer.  She continued, "He will be so sad that he missed you.  Every time we drive by the bank, he points and gets excited and tells me 'That's where that man works...the one who likes Star Wars!'  He always asks when we're coming back."

I'm not sure why, but I can't stop thinking about this.  An encounter that I had forgotten about, was apparently very important to that little guy.  How many times has something similar happened....for good or for bad.  We have a seemingly small meaningless conversation with a stranger and move on. But they remember.

There could be much worse things to be remembered for than loving Star Wars.

Makes me wonder who else out there remembers me...and why.

Who Are The Winners At The Middle School Cross Country Meet?

Last fall I wrote about my daughter's middle school cross country experiences...
(see here to read that.)
And I wrote more about cross country two years ago...
(see here to read that.)

This year I'm loving middle school cross country even more.  I'm trying to sort out exactly why I enjoy it so much.

It is not because my daughter wins the races...or is even competitive, really.  She normally finishes near the back of the pack.  Today she came in 32nd place among what I would guess to be about 40 8th grade girl runners.

It isn't because her team is winning every meet.  I don't know the official totals from today's meet, but I would guess the River View Middle School team was 3rd out of 3 teams.

It isn't because I'm reliving my glory days through her....I never ran cross country or track when I was in school.  In fact, I hated to run and tried very hard to avoid it.

I think I like that it doesn't matter if she wins.  Or if her team wins.  There is no score board, and I would guess that 99% of the people leave the meet with no idea which team won.

It is totally cool that so many kids are there running the best they can.  Some are super fast, some not so fast.  In fact, I've been surprised by how many not so fast kids are running in these races.  It's really cool.

I know there is sort of a backlash in some circles against the "participation trophy" philosophy in some youth sports programs.  "What's the point of recognizing everybody and not just the winners?" they would argue.  "They're being rewarded just for showing up."  I would argue that every kid out there...every kid that makes it to the starting line is a winner.  Let's cheer as loud as we can for the kids that finish 1st, 5th, 15th or 50th (like my daughter).  Let's make them all feel like winners.

It is not at all unlike the handful of 5k races I've been in.  Certainly there are always super fast athletes that make the 3.1 miles seem like nothing more than a warm up.  Then there are the countless others, like me, for which the starting line is the victory and the finishing time is merely a minor detail in the story.

I hope my daughter keeps running.  And keeps cheering for other runners.  And keeps feeling like the winner that she is.

School Open House Night

Tonight is open house night at my kids' middle school.  One is in 8th grade and one in 7th.  In my day, that was known as Jr. High.  I'm sure I will find myself saying things like "When I was in Jr. High...."  or "In my 8th grade science class...." as if these thing are relevant to my kids.

Funny how time works.  In my head, Jr. High was just the other day.  I have many vivid memories that seem like they could provide meaningful insights for my kids.  On the other hand, when I was in Jr. High, if my parents had tried to tell me about when they were in 7th grade, they might as well have been describing that it was like coming over on the Mayflower.  Nothing they experienced in school could possibly have anything to do with me.

I remember where my locker was in the long line of skinny yellow lockers.  And my gym locker too.
I remember where I sat in 7th grade English class.  When I gave my speech on Nathan Hale (and how all the members of Duran Duran got more votes the Nathan Hale for the Clear Lake Jr. High Hall of Fame.)...and my instructional speech on how to make a phone call...and wrote my short story "Purple Duckula."
I remember where I sat at lunch everyday.  And where I stood during the Jr. High dances...and all the girls I was going to ask to dance...but instead stood along the wall all night.
I remember art projects...and how I was the only boy in my 8th grade art elective class.
I remember carving the number "2" into my Trapper Keeper...and what that number meant.
I remember getting the Chicken Pox...and giving the Chicken Pox.
I remember making a battery powered car in science class that I name "The Awesome Auto."
I remember.....

All of these thing just happened the other day, and I'm sure my kids could find them useful as they make their way through Middle School.

This is what I looked like then....haven't changed a bit.