Category: Family

The boy has been exhibiting certain behaviors of late that both the Wife and I, the Wife more so, have been trying to correct. Unfortunately, we haven’t had as much success addressing the issue as we’d like, so yesterday I sat the boy down and had the following conversation with him.

Me: Look, I’m not really sure how to say this, so I’ll just be blunt, OK? Burping and farting are two of the funniest things there are. Possibly the funniest.

the boy: (starts giggling)

Me: (continuing with straight face) There’s just something about those two things that make them hysterical. There’s no point in me denying that simple truth.

In fact, my brother and I used to have farting contests growing up.

the boy: (still laughing) Who would win?

Me: Sometimes he would win, sometimes I would. But they were always hilarious, regardless of which of us was the better farter.

the boy: You mean like, who had the stinkiest?

Me: The stinkiest, the loudest, the most, whatever you can think of.

But that’s not really what’s important. The point is, I’ve fouled my fair share of air and am in a tough position getting upset about the occasional fart or belch in my presence.

But, you have to understand that there’s a time for burping and farting, and a time to be discrete about it.

the boy: (talking through a large grin) What do you mean?

Me: I mean there are a lot of times when its not appropriate behavior. When you’re with your friends, hanging out, whatever, I mean, OK go for it. When there aren’t any parents around, sure. What’s the harm, right?

But when you’re around family and other adults, it’s really an impolite thing to do and you should excuse yourself or try to keep it quiet.

the boy : You mean like an SBD?

Me: (grinning) Sort of- if they don’t stink you’re fine, but if they do then everyone will know you did it anyway. And you can never be sure when they will or won’t stink. The idea is to be discreet and either go to the bathroom or something, do your business, and then come back. You can try to sneak them out, but if someone says something funny you’ll end up laughing and it’ll blast outta there, so that’s kind of risky. So, it’s best to just quietly excuse yourself, you don’t even have to tell anyone why you’re going. Just go and do it and then come back when you’re done. No harm no foul. Well, sort of.

the boy: Did your sister used to fart?

Me: (grinning) Well, I can’t really speak for her, but you could ask her on the sly the next time you see her, OK?

the boy: (nods, grinning)

Me: Anyway, so around the dinner table, or during family activities, it really is impolite and you need be better about it, OK?

the boy: (still grinning) OK, Dad.

All in all, I thought it went pretty well.

So the boy got a bit of a treat, courtesy the brother yesterday. Someday, if he remembers, he may even come to appreciate the opportunity for just how unique it was. He got to go out on the 50-yard line of the game during halftime while the brother was honored with his jersey being retired.

We started up in the stands and the boy was plenty curious about the game. He wanted to know which team he was supposed to root for; what endzone they were trying to score in; how long the game was and on and on. He maintained interest until one of his cousins started playing Angry Birds on a cell-phone. Hard to compete with that I suppose.

But with about 10 minutes to go in the 2nd quarter, I told him that there was going to be a surprise. He immediately wanted to know what it was, but I just smiled and said it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told him. He tried a couple of guesses, but I wouldn’t acknowledge his guesses and he gave up trying.

The media guy came up to get us with about 5 minutes remaining in the half. In this case, “us” consisted of myself, the sister, the Mom and Dad, the brother’s fiancee, the boy, a former teammate and a current football buddy. As we walked down to the stairs that would let us on the field, the boy turned and asked with a smile “Is this the surprise?” I nodded in reply.

So we stood on the home sidelines waiting for the half to end. There were pictures taken and handshakes and high-fives and all. The team mascot strutted by and stopped to give the boy a high-five. But mainly, he kept a low-profile, preferring to watch and take it all in. I suggested he turn around and look up at the stands (probably about 30,000 in attendance), but he wouldn’t lift his head to do so. Instead, he just turned with a sheepish grin and instead looked at my boots.

I asked him if he was having fun, but he apparently didn’t want to say anything either. Just more sheepish grins. He was watching the long-snapper warm-up and the players mingle around the bench in front of us. My brother and I are pretty good sized, but I tend to think the players must have looked larger than life to him all suited up.

Then the moment finally arrived. As we started to walk out, I had to nudge him a little as he dragged his feet. But right around the numbers, he saw his uncle leading the way and became more comfortable. There were some brief introductions and he heard his name announced on the loudspeaker; that resulted in a big grin on his face as he turned to look up at me. Then they were playing highlights from the brother’s career on the jumbo-tron, finishing with a live shot of us standing behind him on the field as he was presented with his framed playing jersey.

The whole thing ended with the brother holding up his framed jersey for the stands as the crowd gave him an ovation for time well-served. As we were walking back to the sidelines, I looked around a little wondering if this would be the last time I’d be on a field. When we got back to the sidelines, I said “You know, when you’re out there playing, you don’t even notice the people in the stands. You’re just worried about your teammates and the guys across the ball from you. What do you think, you want to be back out there someday?”

Another wordless grin. And then, a little nod of his head.

Then it was my turn to smile.

Since it was to be a bit cooler on Saturday during the campout, I suggested to the boy that he bring one of his heavier sweat coats. It’s basically perfect for Fall and early Spring temps and, having a zipper, I figured it would be easier to take off than a sweatshirt.

My suggestion led to the one spot of trouble the boy had. He couldn’t find the coat and started getting upset. The thing of it is, I could tell that he’d barely looked it, and I let him know as much. My boldness only served to agitate him more. By the end of it, I was ticked off because he’d barely put any work into finding it; and, he was ticked off because he couldn’t find it and I refused to find it for him. He ended up going with just a pullover sweatshirt.

Fast-forward to this morning. He’s getting ready to head out to the car so I can take him to school. Lo and behold, he’s wearing the very sweatcoat in question. I paused a moment and then said “Well, well- where was that?” His initial reluctance to answer was all the answer I needed. It had been on the coat rack all along. But to admit so would also be admitting that he hadn’t looked very well.

So he improvised: “I don’t know how it got there! I looked before and it wasn’t there. This morning it was. Really!” His statement that high-toned, defensive quality that kids get when they’re actively trying to obfuscate a situation.

Sigh.

I didn’t say anything. I just smirked at him. He didn’t particularly care for that. Eventually, he stalked out to the car in a huff.

The kicker is, we’ll replay this whole act again. It’s a matter of when, not if. Lessons are taught until they’re learned.

After the boy’s soccer game yesterday afternoon, we made the trek up to a Scout cabin for a Pack sponsored overnight campout. The facility we stay at is pretty good, as these things go. The cabin is an open room, about 20×40 with bathroom facilities (no showers) and a reasonable kitchen. Outdoors, the land the cabin sits on was donated to the Scouts and has a couple of nice hiking trails and a couple of campground spots nearby. It sits atop a hill, so the view is pretty good on Fall evenings. Our pack typically uses the facility because it’s low cost, high value and fun. Yesterday was no exception.

The boy and I didn’t get up there in time for the hiking, but he got a chance to participate in the various games of tag, manhunt, hide-and-seek and what not with all of his buds. Dinner was a pot-luck format with a campfire that followed. Once the lights out time started approaching, we herded the boys up into the cabin for board games and getting ready for bed.

Lights out is a rather misleading term in all but the most literal sense. They did in fact go out at 10, but the kids were by no means ready to go to sleep. We had to suffer through a period of them getting the remainder of their sillies out of them. Air mattresses were squeaking, flashlight were going on and off, fake snoring was prevalent, loudly blurted “I can’t sleep because there’s too much noise” were prevalent and, generally, other sorts of antics that occur at just about any slumber party.

The most ironic part is that all of the boys did fall asleep eventually, with a cacophony of half-snores, deep breathing, and restless-turners serving as testimony. Many of us parents, including myself, weren’t so lucky. The dawn didn’t exactly come quickly, but it did arrive and we were awake to watch it do so. The kids woke up rested and raring to go. In the meantime, the parents were hooking up to coffee feeds in the kitchen.

The nicest moment, for myself, happened on the ride home. One of the boy’s fellow Wolf Scouts had run into a pricker bush during the games yesterday. Poor kid caught his eyelid on a thorn and was, understandably, none to pleased with the circumstances. The boy, on his own, chose to walk with his friend back to the cabin (and away from the still ongoing games) to keep him company and make sure that he was OK (he was). The boy was telling me that on the ride home and said “‘Cause that’s what Scouts do, right Dad? They help each other.”

Well, that’s what they tell me. But it’s still nice to see it put to practice every now and again. Pleasant surprises like that make the long nights more bearable.

The boy seems to have decided that he really wants to earn his black belt. In order to achieve that he has to enroll in a what his school calls “Black Belt Club.” (Don’t start with the “No one talks about Black Belt Club jokes…) Aside from a means of getting a little higher tuition fee from the students, I think it’s a pre-screening method for those students whom really want to earn a black belt. To join the Club, a student has to write a letter of intent to the instructors explaining why they wish to earn a black belt.

To help the kids in writing the letter, the School provides a bunch of questions to answer. Following are the questions along with the boy’s answers (italicized). The answers are his own words.

1. Why do I want to be in the Black Belt club?

   Make me better at karate
   Learn more forms
   I want to be a black belt

2. What do I enjoy about martial arts? Where am I challenged?

   I enjoy the self-defenses and competitions/games
   I am challenged by sparring

3. What do martial arts do for my character and me?

   Helped me get better at stuff I used to not be able to do before I joined karate. I used to give up on stuff that was really hard, but now I don’t.

4. What does achieving a Black Belt mean to me?

   Means being able to protect myself, make me happy because most people don’t become Black Belts because it’s hard and it takes awhile.

5. What kind of person receives a Black Belt- in your mind- and how/why is that your goal?

   That person is willing to do extra practice
   Do his best/ try hard
   Has patience
   Helps me learn stuff so I don’t get scared or anything like that.

I had to help him understand what the questions meant, but the words above are his. The Wife will help him turn that into a letter eventually. I thought it was a pretty good effort for a 7 year old. I will say he focused more on the physical side of martial arts, as opposed to the mental aspects. In other words, his responses always started from the physical side. But I was able to make him understand that many of the question were more attuned to the mental side of the discipline.

It’s the weekend, which means the boy gets to play with his DS and on the Wii as well.

Sweet!

But the games he plays frustrate him and his coping skills are somewhat… wanting. Listening to his cries of anguish as yet another Mario life bites the dust, one would think he was undergoing some kind of exquisite torture. Well, I suppose he is, in his own fashion.

Sour!