The Education of My Kids - Fire

Yesterday,as the sun was setting and a cool breeze was blowing in from the West, I decided to start a small fire in my backyard.

My daughter, with her stuffed dog 'Pupper' in her hand, approached.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Making a fire?" I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Well," I thought for a second. "I guess it's because I like to burn stuff."

"Why?" she asked.

Again, I thought for a second.

"Because it makes me feel like a man," I said tossing a stick into the fiery embers.

"Oh," she said matter-of-factly. And walked away.

Socks! Dammit! Melting Snow! Shit!

So, we have this mudroom at our house.

I'm sure all of you understand the concept of a mud room, correct? In olden days, when you returned from the outside conditions from a hard days' huntin' or farmin' they would walk into the mudroom and strip off your boots, clothes, socks, etc.

Wife is happy her house is mud-free. Husband is happy that wife is happy. Kids are happy that the two aren't fighting.

Our mudroom is not only our mud room, it's also our computer room. Plus, it's connected to three different doors: the door to the garage (which also houses our trash cans), the sliding door to the backyard and the door to the front of the house. It also used to be our dog's room until he died last August. (sob!)

In any event, a lot of traffic comes through the mud room and I'm constantly hopping back and forth doing various things. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.

So, yesterday I stepped onto the linoleum floor and (BAM!) the melted snowy water started seeping through my sock and into my right foot.

I bit my lip.

Then, I searched for another dry spot on the linoleum and, like Frogger hopping across the lily pads in the popular 80's video game, I jumped into the air. I landed with a SPLISH. The melted snowy water started seeping through my sock and into my left foot.

"Dammit," I grimaced cursing the melted snow.

"Dammit," I hear behind me.

My head pops up and, with wide eyes, I do a 180-degree turn. My two-year old son is staring straight at me.

"No, no, no," I say walking over to my son, but step into a big puddle of melted snow, which completely soaks my already-wet right foot.

"Shit," I scream, but it comes out like slow molasses and sounds almost like 'Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiit'.

"Sheeeeeeiiiiiit," my son screams mocking my slow molasses speak.

"Dammit," I say condemning myself for saying 'Shit' in front of my son.

"Dammit," my son responds staring up at me with those innocent eyes.

I take a pause.

"No, Daddy messed up," I say to my son. "We don't say 'Dammit', we say 'Darn it', understand?"

"Dammit," my son responds with an evil smile. Then he runs away.

"No, no, no, wait," I scream and take another step towards my son and SPLOSH, my left foot steps into the same puddle of melted snow.

"Fuck," I scream out.

"Fuck," I hear someone scream behind me.

I twist around and see my three-year old daughter staring at me.

Beer, cigarettes, my kids and demolition derbies.

So there I was. Sunday night. Sitting there staring at Elmo's World with my two kids.

For some reason, my mind reverted back to grade school. It was summer or, to be even more descriptive, possibly Indian Summer. Late September. Early October.

Almost every year in my early childhood, my mom and dad would toss us into the car and drive out to St. Clairsville, Ohio, for the Belmont Country Fair where we would stuff our faces on elephant ears, funnel cakes, corn dogs and freshly squeezed lemonade.

Then, we would go see other fantastic attractions like crappy birdhouses at the 4-H tent, bulls eating hay at the farm tent and older kids busting balloons with darts for Van Halen mirrors on the midway.

On this particular day, however, we didn't come for the funnel cakes or the cows eating hay.

We came for the mother-fuckin' demolition derby!!!!

Now, I'm not sure of the chemical make-up of boys. Or why my brother and I enjoyed destruction as much as we did (or do). But, when we found out we were going to see the demolition derby the night before, we couldn't sleep. It was like Christmas in late August. To top it off, the fact that both our birthdays were in July, we had three Christmases (Christmasi?) every year.

And yes, the demolition derby was awesome. If you're a guy, you totally understand why. There's just something about 20 cars crunching, banging and slamming together that gets a guy really excited. It feels like you're in a fistfight against 50-some guys in a scunched up hallway.

And let's not even talk about the busted windows and exploding radiators.

It's almost as exciting as seeing a lady naked. Butt nekkid.

I said almost.

So there I was watching Elmo's World, staring at my son and daughter running around, doing a jig to the Elmo's World theme song and, in general, just having a good ol' time with life.

Then, for a couple minutes, I found an evil Grinch smile form across my face.

I have a son, and perhaps a daughter, who will wholeheartedly go see a demolition derby with me. And by wholeheartedly, I mean without question. And by without question, I mean forced.

Because, you see, my wife might not be interested in seeing a demolition derby, but goddamn it if my kid's aren't going to go with me.

We'll see. I just may get my youth back yet.

The Education of My Kids - Part 2

Last night, I was preparing dinner for my two kids, ages 1.5 and 2.5.

In any event, my daughter was playing with this annoying talking Elmo doll.

My son reached over for it and, in an instant, the Elmo doll flew into the air. In slow motion, it landed on the ground and bounced not once, but twice.

Immediately they both looked up at me with these puppy dog eyes. I guess they wanted me to pick it up or something.

I shook my head and said "No, no. We eat now. Play with Elmo later."
(NOTE: This is how I talk now)

The both started hopping up and down in their seats and howling like a couple of chimpanzees pointing at the talking Elmo doll on the floor.

Honestly, it was a fucking zoo.

"HEY, HEY, HEY," I yelled. "LET'S KNOCK IT OFF!"

The were both silent. I sort of felt a little bad.

I took a deep breath, pulled up a stool, looked them both in the eyes and gave them the following piece of advice....

"You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. No, you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometime, you just might find you get what you need!"

Hmmmm? Not too shabby.

I may have a future as a songwriter.

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The Education of My Kids - Part 1