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Daddy Daydreamer

Boys' Night

A poem

popcorn

Boys' Night

When Mommy goes out
it is our favourite time,
for it is our time—
it is boys' night.

Crack open the chips,
turn on a flick;
what shall it be?

Doesn't really matter—
it is boys' night.

Daddy, sit beside me!
No, Dad, sit beside me!
Boys, I'll sit in the middle.
Geez, Dad, you're smart.

No . . .

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April 14, 2016

I wanna be a stay-at-home dad and a writer when I grow up

Helping my son write is quality time together

Timeline Grade 1

Youngest makes his way downstairs and asks: “Dad, can I help you?”

“Help me with lunches?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm done. I did them while I made supper.”

“What are you doing?” he inquires.

“I'm writing.”

“Can I write a story?”

“Sure!” I answer. He cuddles up beside me. “So, what do you want to write? You need a title.”

“Um, my title is The Name . . .

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March 31, 2016

When I take my children to the park, I can't resist the urge to discipline other kids

Disciplining other people’s children can be a dicey business

child climbing ropes

This essay originally appeared in The Globe and Mail on January 26, 2016.

Disciplining other people’s children can be a dicey business. I sometimes face this issue at our neighbourhood park, where I often take my kids after school.

I am a former teacher, so the playground is very familiar to me: It’s where a different type of education . . .

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March 17, 2016

Fuzzy Bunny and the Case of the Missing Seaweed

A story by youngest, as told to Dad

Plot developed by youngest, aged 4 at the time.

"S, are you sure you don't want to play outside?" asked Dad.

"I'm going to stay inside with Fuzzy Bunny," said S.

"Okay, I'll be outside with J," said Dad. "I'll check in with you every five minutes."

Draft story outline

S turned to Fuzzy Bunny and said: . . .

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March 03, 2016

The older I get, the more I become like my dad

It was the height of hubris to think I could outwit my father

“When are you going to stop sneaking out in the middle of the night?” my dad asked, poker-faced.

The gig was up.

When I was a teenager, in order to join my friends for some late-night debauchery, I had to circumvent our home security system. I couldn’t risk waking my parents by disarming the alarm and leaving through the front door. My only . . .

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February 18, 2016

Campfire nostalgic

A poem

campfire

Campfire nostalgic

We watched the shooting stars
and heard the loons call;
you poked at the fire
and we heard it roar.

Marshmallows, melted
chocolate on biscuits;
memories seared
into your mind, to
comfort you into old age.

Sitting by the campfire
staring at red hot coals,
smiling cheek to cheek:
my little man, always.

Will you remember the
. . .

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Posted in: campingpoetry

February 04, 2016

A motorist's racist comment frustrated me

Some bigots minimize their prejudiced behaviour with veiled remarks

Stop sign
Photo: Freeimages.com – Pat Herman

We sauntered along the sidewalk, mature trees overhanging narrow street, morning air already muggy. Aunty stopped briefly to chat with a friend. Built close to the road, their old Victorian homes foster interaction between neighbours.

“I'll meet you at the coffee shop,” she said.

My wife and I . . .

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January 21, 2016

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