Tag: Parents

  • Apple Pickin’

    Apple picking is hokey, corny, and a sad excuse for city people to play farmer. We drive way out to the country to go to a “farm” and then pay to pick apples, which half of them will rot in our homes as we try to figure out what to do with 10 lbs. of apples.

    I have a fraught relationship with apple picking, but after nine years of it, I have come to love this part of our Fall tradition.

    The first time I went a’pickin’ was when the kid was a baby, and the “farm” was this almost amusement-park-of-a-place why out in the sticks of New Jersey. It took like thirty minutes to get into the place, the parking was so bad. The line for tickets was long, and then when you got in the joint, all the trees had been picked over. (There were pony rides!) And leaving the place took an hour. It was like leaving a rock concert, but with way more produce. I felt silly being there, like I was being conned.

    The next time I went was when my parents came to visit New York, and were staying upstate, as they were traveling in a motorhome. My wonderful wife found an orchard not too far from where my folks were staying. That was a way more enjoyable experience. It wasn’t crowded, lots of apples, a large orchard to wander around, and most importantly, the kid had a good time. With the exception of the Covid Years, we have gone back to the apple farm year after year.

    And as each year goes by, I start looking forward to it, more and more. It has become our tradition, and an activity that we can yardstick our year, and also gage how much the kid has grown and changed. It’s also the gateway into Autumn for us, as the drive takes us out of the City and into the woods of small town upstate. The changing leaves, and Halloween decorations sprinkled about every corner. Maybe it wasn’t as cool as it was last year, and the leaves were more yellow than any other color… but Fall had arrived for our family.

    Which also included the dog.

    (The dog was totes ready for some apple pickin’)

  • Parent/Teacher Day

    It’s Parent/Teacher Day and my kid’s school!

    You know who’s excited about Parent/Teacher Day? My daughter! She dressed me up for it. She wanted me in a sportscoat, and I was happy to oblige her. Instead of having this meeting at night, which I feel is normal for most schools, our school decided to hold this meeting in the day, so the parents could see the kids… you know, in their natural environment?

    For the record, anytime the Parent/Teacher Meeting comes up, I tell the kid that if she’s good, she will get pizza for dinner, and if she’s bad then it’s poison. Then she saw that episode of The Simpsons, and now she gets my joke. She also thinks I’m not that original.

    The meeting was fine. The kids were well behaved, and I like the kid’s teachers as they do a very good job, and the kid loves them. We were shown the progress they have made in their subjects, and what we can do as parents to help them with their school work. All in all, it was a cute hour to spend at her school.

    As I was leaving the school, just walking down the street, I had one of those moments where it washed over me how much “parent” defines my life. Most days I don’t feel like a parent, more like a pretend parent making it up as I go. I am aware that most other parents feel the same way, and in fact, the world is made up of half-assed adults faking their way through parenthood. (It really is a wonder that human civilization has developed as well as it has, being that everyone is faking it…) But on a day like today, I felt like “I am parent,” instead of “I’m trying to be a parent.” That doesn’t mean I feel confident as a parent, just that “I am” one.

    Does that make sense?

  • Short Story Review: “Ambrose” by Allegra Goodman

    (The short story “Ambrose” by Allegra Goodman appeared in the September 30th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Annie Collinge for The New Yorker

    I’m paraphrasing this, but John Lennon said the best way to become a good song writer, is that you first have to write a lot of bad songs. I think that applies to any artist; to make good art, you have to make a whole lot of bad art first. That doesn’t mean that the bad art only serves the purpose of getting the artist to their good art. No, bad art can help in so many ways. That was one of the thoughts that went through my head while reading “Ambrose” by Allegra Goodman’s effectively touching story.

    Here’s a way too short synopsis: Lily is a sixth grader who is writing a story, about the Princess Ambrose, while also dealing with the difficulties of her parent’s divorce. Elements of Lily’s life work their way into the world of Princess Ambrose.

    What Goodman’s story just smashes are the little details. The way Lily decorates her notebook that contains the story, her parents concern, the words and phrases used by grownups talking about kids, and the way Lily sees her parents sitting together when they haven’t in a long time. I appreciated how Goodman approached Lily’s struggles by never belittling them, and though the school might have over reacted, the adults in Lily’s life take her seriously. But my favorite aspect was that Lily’s story wasn’t particularly good, in regard to originality or grammar. Lily creating a “good story” really isn’t the point so much as Lily discovering, maybe subconsciously, that the issues of her life can be expressed and dealt with in the art she is creating. I felt that was a very honest and authentic way to dramatize the creation of this writer, showing us how important it is that she writes this story, even though it isn’t very good. I think lesser writers would have made Lily’s story epic, and original and well written… and that would have missed the point.

    My only criticism of the story is the ending. Not the climax, which was handled very well. No, I’m talking about the last nine paragraphs. After giving us a nice honest moment between Lily and her mother, the final scene is in Lily’s dance class with an odd fitting “deus ex machina” of a substitute dance teacher. This felt tagged on, as if to give Lily a win in the story, or to end on a button. I found it distracting because the story was taking us to a place where Lily, and her parents, are all learning that this life together will be difficult, but they will face it as a family. Just didn’t sit right with me.

    That’s not to say that I’m not recommending this story. “Ambrose” is sweet, and moves with an airy confidence that is charming. Goodman makes Lily a very interesting, and intelligent kid who is going through a time in her life which makes everything a challenge. This isn’t life and death drama, but Goodman shows how impactful moments in a six grader’s life can be.

  • In Demand Primary Caregiver

    The goal over the past few days was to get the kid healthy enough to head back to school on Monday. That meant sticking to the medication schedule, no missed doses, and staying hydrated and getting enough sleep. The kid hadn’t ran a fever since Friday, but there still was a cough. The advice from her doctor was that if the fever was gone for 24+ hours, then she wasn’t contagious and she could return to school.

    Mission accomplished; The kid returned to school this morning.

    Unfortunately, there was a trade off, and that was the wife got sick. Not as bad as the kid, but low fever, body aches, and general exhaustion. That poor gal has been doing her best to rally, but honestly, she just needs to rest. I have her back in bed, curled up with a blanket, and I bring her coconut water, and toast.

    All the while, I need to keep my ass clean and healthy. Somebody has to keep this home running.

    And that is my job. I am a stay at home parent; stay at home dad; primary caregiver. And I do enjoy it. I didn’t think I would be here, and nor do I know how long I will get to be here. Two incomes would make our life easier, and though blogging and writing short stories for online magazines is one most lucrative side hustle out there, the financial windfall has yet to break my way. Putting a coat and tie on, and going out in the world and earning money still might be in my future.

    But at this moment, where I am right now – I make sure people get out the door on time, and the bills are paid, and meals are planned. Lunches get made, and the kid gets dropped off/picked up. I get time. Time to be with my wife, and time with my daughter. I get time to write little ditties like this, and see if someone out there might find this a little funny.

    I’m not blessed. Just lucky.

  • The Kid’s Soccer Tryout

    I mentioned last week that the kid was invited to try out for her school’s traveling soccer team. In case you missed it, my daughter was very excited about this invitation, and wanted to start running soccer drills as to be prepared. I was equally excited to help out, and we ran soccer drills four days in a row, about an hour a day, to get her ready for the Saturday tryout.

    The kid was all psyched up, and ready to go. I was her kit man on this Saturday, as I had her cleats, towel, change of clothes, and water. The soccer field was attached to a school on the East side of Harlem, and on the walk over, the kid was telling me all the strategies she would deploy to make a good impression on the coaches. No matter what happened, she told me, she was going to do her best.

    When we made it to the school, there were about 28 to 30 girls that were there for the tryout. The coaches called out the names, the girls went in the gate to the field, and we the parents were left on the outside of the fence to watch.

    The coaches broke the girls up into teams of four, and had them play short ten-minute games. What I found odd was that, none of the coaches were paying very close attention to the girls. And when I say “paying attention” I mean they didn’t seem to be evaluating anyone’s skills. None of the coaches had clipboards, or anything to take notes. They just, kind’a, watched the kids, encouraged them to play and have fun, and every ten minutes, told the kids to take a water break. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting out of the coaches, but being that I am not a soccer coach, I reminded myself I should trust the people who are the coaches; I’m sure they know what they’re doing.

    Anyway, from my observation, the kids all just ran after the ball, sort’a clumped around it, and kicked wildly. There wasn’t a whole lot of “team” playing, so much as it was just kicking the ball at the goal, no matter who or what was in the way. Passing was rather non-existent.

    That’s not to say that there were two very talented girls out there. Like, heads and shoulders above the skill of the other kids. These two girls could dribble, and spin, and fake out, and kick – like really smash the ball. Like, we all knew they were making the team.

    As for the other girls, including my kid, they all had a blast out there. Just running, and kicking, and laughing, and screaming. They were having fun, and as the tryout wore on, maybe that was what the coaches were looking for – who is excited to be out there and playing.

    But I did keep some stats on my kid. She took five shots on goal, scored one goal, and -are you ready for this – passed the ball to an open player and got an assist. I was impressed. As far as I could tell, it was the only assist of the afternoon.