Category: Adventures of Being a Dad

Money Talk

I knew what they were doing when they went into their bedrooms. My sister’s guessed but didn’t catch on until much later. 
I didn’t listen in but I awaited with baited breath and watched for minutes on end for the moment they were done and the door knob began to move. My parents always discussed money matters behind closed doors. If the van broke down, if all three kids needed school clothes, if the dog was ill, if dad wanted to buy a 6-Disc CD changer, if a holiday bonus check was light, if the rent was being increased or if my dad lost his wallet again…my parents would retreat into a closed session in their bedroom to deliberate. 
Sometimes loudly. 
All I could do was wait to hear their answer to the problem which usually would mean taking something fun away from my kid-sisters and I. My wife and I manage money different and there are very few secrets when it comes to funds at Casa Torres. I wonder then what the Ramblers think on the occasion when our bedroom door is closed.

A Cherub came Home

A cherub came home. 
He was plump and a little wrinkly as I carried him past the threshold. 
For some time his cheeks so pinchable, arms squishable and when he laughed his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly. 
Fast forward a decade just after I picked him up at the airport from his first summer trip. His 5’1″ frame strutted into his home and shocked his mom for a moment. He’s now taller than some adults. Traded the wrinkles for long lean legs and arms. 
His sweetness remains. 
He has not but one care. 
The cherub is gone and 
morphing to debonair.

Digital Parent

While sitting here at the Real Estate office this morning I found myself going about the usual routine. I had my coffee by my side, the Monrovia Weekly had been read, I had already traded pleasantries with the agents in the office and the computer was on so I could get to work. As usual I started with email and I found that most was inconsequential…then one caught my eye. It’s uniqueness was glaring. My son had emailed me and now I was staring at this note on the screen where he asked for some homework help. I’m transfixed by the account-avatar he chose (his current favorite animal) and how much punch his one sentence digital note is making on my analog heart. 
He’s starting to live in a brave new world. I better be a good guide!

What will I miss

The retirement strategist shared with all the small business owners this morning some helpful data about days-sans-work and planning for them. 
He lost me for a moment I’ll admit. 
When he mentioned the statistical gap that says that it is likely that I will die several years before my partner does my mind began to wonder of what I’ll miss. One day her hands will turn really wrinkly and I may not get to massage them. Will it turn out that like my father I’ll miss hearing the coos of my first grandchild? It’ll be a shame not to unleash my inner curmudgeon at the Thanksgiving table and then take a nap right after. Then one day it could be that I’ll be just a picture on the wall and some people may tell tall fond tales of the handsome young guy I used to be. 
I snapped back to real time just as the presentation ended. I’m thinking about this stuff a lot late. Could it be it’s because my 30s are coming to an end this year?

Life Aquatic

I could not wait to get into the water so I ignored my mother’s order to walk and not run towards the surf. 
This was the early 80s and unlike kids today I did not have to wait to apply sunblock or unload a myriad tools. No, all I had to do was open the car door and jet out towards the water with my parent’s yells become less loud with every rushing step. I stuck to the shallower part of the beach for some minutes allowing the frothy water tickle my toes. This made me shiver. Eventually I stepped further into the beach and started to really size up the waves breaking up ahead.
I must have taken a step to far before I realized I was out of my depth and instinctively turned around to head to dry sand. Too late, a big heavy wave pulled me towards it and heavy water pounded on my shoulder and head like a hammer. The next sensation was the pressure at my back pushing me into the depths while my scream let out a hundred air bubble out. Next came the sting of a rock hitting my knee and the feeling that this would never end. Somehow I found footing and I raised myself enough to get some air. That’s when the next wave hit and I was plunged back into the fear. Finally I felt a tug at my hand as my dad fished me out. 
When I cleared my eyes I saw him standing there with the water barely lapping his shins. He asked if I was okay. I told him I was. 
Years later, right before he died he retold me recounted his memory of that day. He said he thought I’d be okay in life because moments soon after this happened I was once again chortling out belly laughs while in the surf while occasionally keeping an eye on the breaking waves.

Battle of the Bulge

I’ve gotten soft about the belly. I work out, I try to eat right, I most certainly attempt to lay off the wine but this hasn’t made much a difference to my waist line. I realize this most when I make the effort to fit into my old fitted shirts and the buttons struggle to maintain their position in the outlined slots. Therefore, like my father before me, I will transfer some of my older clothes post haste to my son’s closet. 
My only hope is that my fashions will still be in fashion when he’s ready to look dapper in them.

Saying No and other Tragedies

It is a great displeasure saying “no” to my children. Especially when the matter concerns money. 
Whenever I do it (ie this am over Book Fair funds) and their face crumbles before my eyes I sense a betrayal of my youngest self who promised to NOT let my children go without wanting. I know I’m in the right. I know I have lessons to teach. I know the relativity of their pain. I know what they need or don’t need. I know I love them. None of that assuages the displeasure of issuing a warranted “no”. 
It has to get to get done though I hope giving a hearty hug on our way to school will ease our pain.

Hugging it Out

At drop off today the kids as usual moseyed off to class without even giving a good bye or look back. That’s typical. As I started to plug in my phone’s headset so I could listen to the latest biography a scene reached my eye. A husky big man was embracing a boy with all his might. They swayed as they hugged and even from my far off spot I could tell this exchange meant a whole lot to the two. Eventually they had to peel away from one another and the boy (who could not have been older than 10) heading into campus. 
The big guy in his gray pants and crimson sweater waited and watched his boy get lost in the throng of kids. Funny that he didn’t look like the “hugging” type when I had a change to give him my full estimate. 
My assessment matters not…he got his love for the day and I ached a little for not getting mine.

Look About Town

We began our walk back home after dining at local spot. Heading east this evening, the cold that has gripped the valley broke earlier today and made it nice enough to enjoy Monrovia’s air without a sweater. 
Along the way we passed a set of stores and within them a colourful assortment of folk. 
There was the man who own the Locksmith store who seemed like he had lost his keys. A white haired woman focusing on an iPad while a young boy near her concentrated on his fingers at the violin. They resided together inside the Music academy. The intent young lady filing at a woman’s nails at the furthermost corner of her shop. I spotted no lawyer lawyering at the law office but I’ve heard he does exist. The smell of asada tacos from the Mexican joint competed with the aroma of fish tacos from the spot that sells those big shrimps. Both places had their staff quite busy. 
Soon we were leaving the downtown and would be greeted by a row of Crafstman houses and others so I decided to look back one more time at the Boulevard. My last memory was the sight of Venus in the sky and the crescent moon that seemed to be smiling down on our All-American town.