After dislocating my finger, I'm forever grateful for my kids' love and concern
Photo: Freeimages.com – Adrian, Canada
I was 4 and I’ll never forget.
Our gazes locked. A kindergarten classmate; her eyes, red, swollen. Tears streamed down her face.
I felt something. You know the feeling. Starts in your heart, works its way through your throat, eyes, rolling like the surf crashing toward shore.
I cried. Because . . .
Being only tough and strong prevents boys and men from discovering their authentic selves
Photo: Freeimages.com – Josef Faustbeck
Take it like a man.
How often have you heard this expression? Or maybe one of its cousins: Man up. Don’t be a sissy. Be a man. Don’t cry.
When I played university football, emblazoned at the top of our dressing room, in huge, black lettering, read the words: INTIMIDATE AND DOMINATE.
I . . .
(Even if it hurts)
Photo: Freeimages.com – Mignonne Meekels
Maybe I don't want to stop this feeling
(Even if it hurts)
ball of emotion
how do you elicit this
bass to treble
crescendo of love
hard to detach
maybe i don't want to
stop this feeling . . .
A morning in Urgent Care reminded us to slow things down
Photo – Freeimages.com: Jacque Stengel
The pain must have been excruciating upon impact. I cringe at the thought of my seven-year-old's collarbone snapping.
The call came in at 11:03 a.m. The school secretary said he fell playing soccer. They put his arm in a sling; after tears, he returned to class. She said he seemed okay. Nobody . . .
Posted in: emotions
She fostered a love of reading and writing through her diary
Photo: Freeimages.com – Sue Anna Joe
When I was a kid, Mom encouraged me to keep a journal. "Aw, do I have to write?" I often complained.
She said I'd thank her as an adult.
My mother documented her experiences and viewed things from my kid perspective. The diary, sometimes written in the second person, was like a pre-internet blog.
She . . .
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction
Newton's third law:
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
I use this as a reminder in coping with my sons' sibling rivalry. Usually, it starts over something silly (at least it seems that way to me). Whether it's a water bottle, soccer ball, video game, it doesn't matter. The argument is basically the same. One kid . . .
My sons and I enjoy a professional development day together
Hear the swish-swish of their snow pants as we walk home from drugstore. Sun, so bright, reflecting off snow. Younger likes to hold my hand still, sometimes. Older walks ahead, blazing a trail on slushy sidewalk. We laugh, waddle, joke. Feel like a new dad, all over again.
Silver jet streaks above, double contrails painting . . .