I wish I embraced Taiwanese culture as a kid
Rejecting my ethnicity exposed a childhood insecurity with being different
“Dad, why do you look different from us?” my son asked, over dinner.
“Whaddya mean?” I replied, glancing at some stir-fried bok choy.
“You're darker than us,” he said, comparing my skin tone to his and his brother’s. “Why is that?”
“Um,” I stuttered, “the ingredients that A-Kong and A-Ma made me with . . .
Boys' Night
A poem
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!
. . .
Posted in: bedtimemovie nightpoetrypokemonrituals
I wanna be a stay-at-home dad and a writer when I grow up
Helping my son write is quality time together
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, . . .
Posted in: kid storiesrobert munschstay-at-home dad
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
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 . . .
Posted in: bullyingdisciplineplaygroundracism
Fuzzy Bunny and the Case of the Missing Seaweed
A story by youngest, as told to Dad
Plot developed by youngest, age 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."
. . .Posted in: fuzzy bunnykid storiesseaweed
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 . . .
Posted in: disciplinesneaking outteenagers
Campfire nostalgic
A poem
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,
. . .
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