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Daddy Daydreamer

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

Bedtime rituals keep me connected with my kids

We may engender a bit of clinginess, but I'll gladly take it

Eldest 3 hours old

When my eldest son turned seven and we celebrated his birthday, I found myself daydreaming. I thought of the day he was born, returning from the hospital on a hot, sticky August night. My wife and I lay in bed and stared in joyous wonder at this newfound life we created. So small, so beautiful – so dependent.

She breastfed him, held him and . . .

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January 07, 2016

Explaining the value of school to a kindergartner proved harder than I thought

I felt conflicted forcing my child to attend school

Kids getting on school bus

“Daddy! I doan wanna go to school!” my youngest, aged 5 at the time, desperately pleaded. “I wanna stay home wit' you!” he sobbed, eyes reddened by salty tears.

“You have to son, it's your job.”

“Why, Dad?”

“To learn things. To make friends,” I responded nonchalantly.

“But I have friends already. And you teach me things. Why do I . . .

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December 23, 2015

What’s wrong with declaring my occupation as stay-at-home dad?

I am the economic equivalent of a zero

Dad and boys at BMX park

This essay originally appeared in The Globe and Mail on April 30, 2015.

As a stay-at-home dad, I am the economic equivalent of a zero.

This revelation came to me at my local Costco where, upon checkout, I am often asked to apply for their new cash-back credit card. Usually, I politely decline, preferring to leave the crowded store with my . . .

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December 10, 2015

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