Baseball Memories

That happened, and it opened the floodgates of reminiscing about my baseball past.

Once the cold winds of April blew themselves out, and that last gasp of snowfall melted, all thoughts turned to baseball. 

Where I grew up, we didn't have a soccer league to play in during summer and from May to late July, we ruled the baseball diamonds. It was a gathering place, a social event. Parents would meet and visit whilst us kids played ball starting with Mosquito all the way up to PeeWee.

I have many vivid memories of playing summer ball; My first game, where I earned the nickname 'Boomer.' Being part of many provincial teams and travelling the province. Our second baseman, Clay, always relaying messages to me from the coach because I couldn't hear all that well. One of our pitchers, Eric, throwing a perfect game. The last game with the only coach I had known at that point and feeling so disappointed we didn't win one for the Gipper. The odd way I would hold my bat: flat across my shoulders, hiding my face from the pitcher. The last season I played where we one the league championship.

I still smell the grass sometimes, and feel the shale under my cleats. I hear the snap of the baseball hitting my glove and the sharp ping of the aluminum bat when it struck the ball.

I mostly remember the teams we had, and the fun that we all had together. I never was one of the "cool kids" growing up, but being a part of the teams we had always gave me things in common with  everyone else.

And now, with P-Man growing older, it has occured to me that I really want him to build these kinds of memories too. I really want him to be a part of something that, no matter how well they ever did, he and his team-mates/castmates/group stood up together and faced all obstacles head one and never quit.

I want him to learn teamwork, perseverance, comraderie, and achievement.

And selfishly, I want to drive him to practises, sit in the stands and watch a part of me build the memories he will take with him for the rest of his life.

For now, GO JAYS. My butt is firmly planted on the bandwagon.

All Of The Cake

I have a bad habit of complaining about the time I spend with my son.

Not in a bad way, mind you, just complaining that I don't feel like I spend enough time, enough QUALITY time, with him every morning before I drop him off.

Our morning unfolds like this:

630-700 am - My little guy will whisper in my ear; "Daddy, are you awake?" or "Daddy, open your eyes." or "Daddy, GET UP!" At which point, I will grumpily roll over and pretend I didn't hear him, which initiates physical contact, mostly in the form of hand pulling or face slapping.

730-900 am - Breakfast, Paw Patrol, playtime, both of us in our underwear, usually. I will then mosey upstairs to take a shower, leaving him to watch Paw Patrol, and me hoping he is not wrecking something expensive downstairs.

930 am - This is usually the time we get our butts in gear and get ourselves out of the house.

Now, I start work at 1100 am, which isn't bad, but I do have to admit, that 930 - 1015 is not the most amount of time to do fun stuff together, so usually it's to a park for a bit.

Most days, I'll get home, and the squirt is in bed or near ready for bed, so I really need to take advantage of that time I have.

I know that my situation is not unique.  So many parent, especially shift working parents probably feel like they don't spend enough time with their children. I can't imagine the sacrifice of a soldier deployed, of an oil field worker, a long haul trucker, anything that keeps people away from their childeren for extended periods of time. I shouldn't complain, but I do.

I fall into the trap of needing to make every moment we have together a golden moment.

If we aren't doing some amazing things, did I fail?

Is just going to the park good enough? Probably, but I sometimes think we could be doing more!

Ive watched some youtube videos of some parents making videos with their kids. I tried that today, and boy, did I feel like I was completely unengaged in what was going on. Maybe that's a thing to do when he's older, but for right now, not so much.

I think I just need to calm down and understand that whatever time we have with our kids, moments, hours, days, if there are mostly smiles and laughter, it makes up for the time we don't have.

Just One Of The Cool Kids

At some point, my kids are going to realize that I am so uncool.

One day, both kids are going to wake up, come down stairs, and see pops on the couch playing video games in his underpants with a half drank cup of coffee on the table. I will flash my most winning dad smile and invite them to play Mario Kart with me. They will sigh, and politely decline. One will go for a bike ride. The other will read and pretend to not hear me call Bowser a bitch for shooting a blue turtle shell at me.

They will one day find out that dear old dad played Dungeons and Dragons pretty regularly, and that despite not subbing for years, still has a healthy love for World of Warcraft.

They will groan mightily when I wake them both up early to go to Free Comic Book Day with me.

They will sigh when I talk to them about how this year, it will be the Knicks turn to win a championship, despite winning only 10 games the previous season.

They will roll their eyes when I gently correct them that the grey Hulk was much weaker, but more cunning than the first green Hulk.

They will plug their ears up to the third knuckle when I decide it's time to listen to Iron Maiden on the way to school.

They will tolerate watching Star Wars, yet again, because dammit, these are how movies were supposed to be made. Practical effects. Not your fancy green screens.

Despite all this, they will know that their daddy loves them more than anything.

They might not like the same things I do. They might hide me from their friends when they come over to hang out, but they will know that being themselves is one of the most important things in the world for them to be.

Whatever they do, whereever they go, whatever make their hearts sing and makes their blood boil, if they love it and are passionate about it, then that's what they should love and hold on to.

Just as long as they make some time for Dad and some Mario Kart every now and then.

Everything is Magic, and Minion News!

P-man had been talking about it for weeks. I had made an offhand comment about visiting one of his Grandpa's at their work and riding a forklift.

I had completely thought he had forgotten about it until a couple of days ago when he piped up out of nowhere that we should go.

A phone call later, and the appoinment was set.  P-man would get up close and personal with a forklift.

Let me explain something to you guys.  P-man is obsessed, OBSESSED, like, unhealthily obsessed with machinery. Any machinery. All machinery. If it lifts, digs, pushes, pulls or flattens, it is aces in P-mans books. We will be riding around in the car going somewhere, and out of the backseat is the constant reminder that we are next to a:

"TRACTOR, DADDY!"
"LOADER, DADDY!"

"WHOAH, LOOK AT THAT TRUCK. IT'S GOT A FLATBED TRAILER!"

"DUUUUUUMPTRUUUUUUUCK"

When we arrived at the office where my dad works, I could tell P-man was excited, but seemed a little restless and apprehensive.

I'm not sure what it was, but when we brought him out to the warehouse where the forklift sat waiting for him, all nervousness, fear and trepidation melted away to be replaced by a look of abject wonder and awe.

P-Man spent about 5 minutes on the forklift, working the various controls to manipulate the blades, afterwhich he got really quiet.

"Hey, buddy," I said, kneeling down to his eye level. "Are you ok."

P-man placed his little hands in mine and whispered: "Daddy, I need to go to the car."

It didn't occur to me until later that perhaps his brain was having trouble processing what he just did. We have spent countless hours watching construction videos on YouTube. We have sat on the grass at playgrounds watching equipment working rather than playing in the summer mornings. He knows every piece of equipment there is to know. This is something that, to him, is something unattainable. This is like riding shotgun on Santa's sleigh. This can't be reality.

My God, I am so blessed to be witnessing these moments. Moments like these are the best part of being a parent.  Moments where our children exist in a moment where imagination and reality blend together to form an experience unparalleled by anything else.

There is magic in the world, and I am glad to see it in him.

P-Man, Grandpa and the Forklift

AND NOW SOME NEWS!

My wife and I are thrilled beyond belief that our new little bean is going to be a girl! I'm going to have learn all sorts of new things and play new games.  I can't wait.

Water Sports

It was a cool, albeit sunny Monday morning. P-Man and I had just finished breakfast, I was freshly showered and ready to go, and P-Man had requested that he and I go to his favourite playground, which he has named "The Wooden Park."

A short drive later, we arrived at the playground. Released from the car, P-Man gleefully kicked off his Ninja Turtle Crocs and raced into the sandy park.  First the slide (Whereupon I scrape every piece of skin off the back of my legs going down), then the swings (Not too high, daddy. TOO HIGH! TOO SLOW! DAAAAAAADDDYYYY! What, do I need a masters degree in pushing a swing?), then across the shaky bridge.

The whole time, P-Man is doing his very best Micheal Jackson impression; clutching his junk like it's going to fly away if he lets go. I mean, to paraphrase the classic film "Planes, Trains and Automobiles," Larry Bird didn't get as much ball handling in one game as P-Man does in a single playground adventure.

"Parker," I shout across the bridge. "Ya gotta go pee?"

"Nope," he replies.

"Then stop grabbing your wiener!" I say.

Thirty seconds later, P-Man grabs his package and bellows from the top of the twistie slide: "Daddy, I need to pee!

Thankfully, P-man is fully potty trained and understands the concept of peeing outside, but he hasn't peed yet this morning, and I know his bladder is probably full to bursting.

Down the slide he comes, hopefully not leaving a trail of piss behind him and off we go to find a place for him to do his business.

Luckily, there is a green shack at this particular park and behind it offers a small modicum of privacy for P-man to mark his territory.

Pants down, shirt hiked up, Daddy behind him at the ready to help, P-man grabs on and gets ready to tinkle.

"OK, dude. I want you to aim down towards the ground," I say, kneeling down to get on his level.

"Like this?" He asks, and points the end of his stuff straight up at my face.

"NO...AUGHGHTHGHHF" I bellow as a stream of hot 3-year old urine erupts from his penis and hits me square in my face. I'm talking full on, in the eyes, mouth and all over. I'm talking golden shower.

"STOP, OH JESUS, STOP!" I try to grab his shoulders to turn him away from me, but at this point his peeing is like a firehouse that's out of control. All over me, him, the wall of the green shack. I'm pretty sure that none of it actually hit the ground.

Finally the torrent of piss comes to an end.  I'm baffled at this point at how it was possible I've just been peed on by a three year old. I've been peed on by children plenty of times, but usually they've all been diaper age.  This is entirely new territory for me. I'm in shock, I'm dumbfounded. Most importantly, I'm drenched with my son's waste.

What else can I do but laugh about it? When we all chose to have kids, we signed on for everything.  Every adventure, every triumph and tragedy, every sick pukey day. Even the days where your son has clearly not mastered the art of the aim and pee, it's all in the contract.

I'm pretty sure this won't be the last time I get hit with a body fluid. I'm just glad I happened to have a change of clothes for the both of us in my car.

Guessing Second

Today, whilst dressing P-Man, we discovered a dead dragonfly on the couch.

I'm not even sure how it go into the house, but it had been there long enough to dry out and was perfectly preserved.

I told P-Man not to touch it, and ran to the kitchen to retrieve a piece of kleenex to pick it up and toss it. (Let's face it, becoming a parent has really de-pussified me, but I'm still not man enough to pick up a dead bug with my bare hands and toss it.) Upon returning, I discovered my little guy happily smashing the dragonfly into tiny little pieces with one of his Hot Wheels.

I'm not sure why I got upset, but I sat next to him and reemed him out for smashing it. I still can't figure out if I was upset for him smashing the bug, or if it was because he just didn't listen to me. Then I thought, "Who fucking cares? He's doing what he does. He smashes things. He does that sometimes."

Then it was: "Wait...he smashed that bug. Is he a sociopath? Is it bugs today, then puppies tomorrow before he graduates to humans?"

I've been finding lately that most of my parenting is 70% reaction and 30% analyzing my reaction to things P-Man does; did I come off too angry, too strict, too lenient, too forgiving, too babying?

I will sometimes lie awake at night and completely go over any myriad of sequences in my head and develop a gameplan for if/when a similar scenario presents itself.

I don't know if it's just part of being a parent, to always question the way you do things, especially if you impart the wonderful gift of comparing yourself to other parents you know. How would X friend react in the situation you were just in? Maybe I should be more like those dudes?! OH MY GOD!? MY FRIENDS ARE GOING TO JUDGE ME NO MATTER WHAT I DO! 

I've always been told to trust my instincts, but what if you yourself don't even trust your instincts? What if you feel like everything you do, you could do better next time? 

Is this what being a parent is all about? Making a decision on how to care for your child, then immediately contradicting yourself?

I'm pretty sure that there is no real answer to this question. I think it's a matter of just going day by day and going to bed knowing that you just did your best, and that you kissed your kids goodnight and that tomorrow is just another adventure.

Character Creation

Allow me to tell you a little bit about myself.  A little more in depth than that the little box on the right of the page can tell you.

Three years and three month ago, a little crazy bundle of energy (From here on out will be known as P-MAN was born and blessed my wife and I with the beginnings of the amazing adventure of parenthood.

I can't say that am the most easy going parent.  I will be the first one to say that I helicopter a little but more than maybe other parents.  I like to think that I am merely playing with my little guy, but if I am being entirely truthful, it's mostly because I can't bear the thought of him hurting himself. I think I'm getting better, but I still keep him in my peripheral vision when we are out and about.

My wife and I are expecting baby two in January.  We had been trying, and were successful on the first go around.  It's too bad, really.  I really liked trying for a baby. I never expected to get it right on the first go around.

I am the oldest of two children.  My sister, three years younger than I am, lives in Manitoba with her two children and husband.

I have always been a bit on the nerdy side. Gaming, comic reading, fantasy and sci-fi loving; I gravitated to these things early on in life. I  am not a supernerd, but I do hold my own in conversation. I definitely can't name all the Soul Gems on the Infinity Gauntlet off the top of my head, but I know at least three of them (Soul, Mind, Power(?)) I listen to metal music, though I look nothing like a metal head. I enjoy a good cry every now and then, and 

I am a videographer by trade, with some skill sets in editing and post production.  I have a pretty good job where I enjoy the work.  Like every job, there are a few things I could do without, but this is a positive post, so I'll leave that for another time.

I met my wife 7 years ago online.  We went on our first date for coffee, and I was hooked from then on.  I'm pretty sure I drive her bonkers, but she loves me.  That's the best part.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm going to try to use this blog as a dumping ground for my thoughts and adventures with P-Man and soon to be Baby Dos. Hopefully, I can foster some conversation from other fathers, obtain advice, suggestions, and some tips.

I won't get too heavy, but some posts might be. I'm not really a serious dude, so I'm going to keep the tone of this place as light as I can.

Thanks for reading!

So, why start a blog? Aren't there a million out there, especially parenting blogs?

I can guarantee you that it's definitely not my intention in anyway to take the blog world by storm and win accolades and adoration of the masses. (I mean, that would be pretty sweet too, though.)

Why will mine be special? I don't think it will be required reading to many folks out there, but if I can foster conversation between other fathers; first timers, single dads, widowed dads, old dads, new dads, adopted dads, and everything else out there that encompasses fatherhood, then that will meet the primary goal of writing these things.

Also, I think blogging will be a great way to organize my thoughts as I travel down the road of fatherhood.