In a strange way this echos for me as well. I say “strange” because the posts epitomize womanhood, yet I’m a man.

There were long nights that felt like those that fall on the arctic where I would hover over the crib to soothe the baby, swaying like a drunk man from the lack of sleep. From her post I remember the same sand burnt eyes, the same smells and how that baby smell is like no other. I even recall the same confidence and fear that somehow intermingle at that time in life.

There was a tenderness both in me and in others that eroded over time. People seemed kinder and gentler then, and even euphonised their snide and hurtful remarks about our already large family (if you call two children a large family) if not withheld them altogether.

A little older, there’s already a longing for those times. I play with thoughts and memories like a young boy’s wish to travel back in time or to another world altogether, but unlike that boy I know each moment is different and there’s no return. My children are a little older now, so there’s still some magic left in my house, but at my age – at their ages – the end of that tunnel is blinding; it strikes me with a disquieted remorse that only comes out in deep quivering sighs.

As a man there’s supposed to be a hardened-steel strength that masks these emotions in some supernatural science-fiction Spock-like manner… but it still shows. Our wrinkled and melancholy eyes from the years of laughter and tears betray us to those who look deeply. Other men, thinking they were wild and free, were blindly shackled to a hard loneliness that comes from being childless, or shirking their children, and hardens even more with age until all that’s left is bitterness or, if they’re fortunate enough to possess a kind heart, remorse.

I was bullied from Kindergarten all the way through High School. The bullying was directed by teachers – not just from other students or peers; Teachers were the main criminals. Who do you turn to when you’re six years old and your teacher is calling you names like “loser” and “a nothing – a nobody – that’s all you are and all you’ll ever be” in front of class. What about when you’re twelve and a teacher holds up a playboy in class, telling the girls that if they don’t look like that they won’t amount to anything in life? Or when you’re thirteen and your coach makes crude remarks about you in front of other boys in the locker room? What about when you’re sixteen and the teachers choose to look the other way while you’re getting the crap beaten out of you in the hall?

School is a crime against humanity. The system wreaks from the inside out. Although I don’t condone what happened at Columbine, those kids had enough. They talked and adults didn’t listen. When nobody listens, you have to make some noise… sadly, their noise was through bullets ending the life of others (both guilty and innocent of bullying). The big noise now is through Facebook announced suicides.

Although suicides are among people of all race, creed and color, the big craze now is in homosexual suicides. I can say from experience that this has been going on for decades and has only started getting recognition. When the other boys don’t know why you’re different, they just start assuming you’re gay and call you names and treat you accordingly. I was never gay, but apparently many guys in my class thought otherwise… or they didn’t know big words like “unique” or “introverted” or “sensitive” or “empathic”.

Last weekend I recounted to my daughter why I delved into the occult when I was twelve. It was to escape the pain… Even the memories are painful. Memories of having my face buried in a toilet full of feces then flushed… of opening up my locker to find it full of used condoms… of having a boy force his groin up to my face in gym class… of being physically bullied so much that I passed out in the school hall… of having someone dump a bottle of skunk essence on my head then being sent out of class because I smelt so bad it was disrupting… and the smaller continuous things like being flicked in the ear each day on the bus… having chewed gum or thumbtacks stuck in my seat… and all the degrading names… the list goes on. I felt like even God couldn’t do anything about it. The fantasy of the occult promised super powers and magic that anyone caught in the fabric between childhood and adulthood while in the midst of despair would reach for. I bit that apple, but it didn’t give me anything more than paranoia to add to the pain and darkness.

I certainly thought of suicide, and so did one of my friends who did eventually go through with it. My parents knew some of what went on and took it to the school council. They balked at my parents. If this were happening today, lawsuits would be involved. Back then, the council members were only embarrassed enough to make arrangements for me to cut gym class, but forced me into special ed because I was different. Had I lived in Colorado Springs back then, I probably would have gone through with suicide because it’s so common here that I would have had the “support” of both bullies and peers to “off” myself. (Sadly, Colorado Springs has the title for the second highest suicide rate in the nation. First billing goes to Las Vegas.)

If you want to do something about it, keep your kids out of school or become hot-damn determined to go to every PTA meet and visit campus weekly. It’s already been proven that kids can learn reading, writing, arithmetic and history through a better environment than what our government provides. Let me add that they can also learn more about life and live a happier one with some dignity intact by keeping them out of school. When my dad confronted the dad of one of the school bullies, merely stating that he needed to have a talk with his child, the parent’s response was a threatening “so what are *you* gonna do about it?”

When morally cheapened parents put their kids in a rotting system that spends every effort being politically correct and conforming children into the same mindset, teachers are robbed of their own human rights, are stripped of authority and anarchy inevitably takes over.

If children choose to go to college, warn them about fraternities and sororities that condone hazing, sexual misconduct and alcohol abuse. These debase human beings to the behavior of animals. There are so many great clubs and organizations that an “all boys” or “all girls” club is purely unnecessary and pointless. Better friends are made elsewhere.

… And when it comes to being bullied, it’s the hope from a good friend who stands up for you that makes living the next day a viable option.

Consider that there are alternatives to school. The most successful people in the world are the drop-outs: Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Ansel Adams, Julie Andrews, Billie Holiday, Tom Hanks and a list of nearly a thousand others who make the top 1% of the world’s revenue and political influence. School is not for everyone, and it’s apparent that going to school could even hinder your child’s future success. I’m not saying these people weren’t educated – I’m saying public school’s version of “education” isn’t suited for the greatest achievers… In most cases that’s who the bullies pick on – perhaps because that’s who they fear.

How do you date a ten-year-old? I have a few plans based on her interests. For example, take her on a photography walk at dawn after stopping to get some donuts. What about my other two daughters? There’s glow-n-putt … bowling. Hmmm the bowling alleys strike up memories of thick smoke and cursing old men, but they should have a family night that would omit both of these nasties.

A friend on facebook asked what constitutes a date to a guy. In her case a boyfriend asked her over to his place to watch some TV. This means one of two things to a guy: either he’s really wanting to hang out with her or he’s trying to put her in a compromising situation. She’s right to be offended if he implies this invitation is a date. It means he offers low standards to her.

How to plan a date:
1. Know her interests.
2. Plan a place and a time.
3. Give her anticipation.

Don’t get mad or irritated on a date – ever! Even if the waitress throws a plate at you and you see cockroaches crawling on the kitchen floor. Just politely excuse yourself. If the lady looks embarrassed then explain to her that she doesn’t deserve to eat at a restaurant where the business doesn’t give her respect.. that she deserves better. Apologize to her, and take her someplace else. It’s best to scout out the place first, then you won’t be in an embarrassing situation of paying a bill for food you won’t eat… but don’t even sweat it. She’ll associate your frustration with her, not the restaurant.

As my girls get more sophisticated, I’ll deliberately go into these situations to show them how a man should behave.

At a dinner talk my wife introduced the question “What shows more character: the way a person acts while being watched by others or the way a person acts when not seen by anyone?” My answer was “Neither. A person’s character is best seen when put in a nasty situation. The uglier situations are the most revealing.”

When my wife and I dated, I would take her up to the restaurant, glance around, check out the menu, check out the bathroom (people who cook your food spend time there and if it lacks soap, they didn’t wash) then on occasion, leave. She would get very upset. It was in her head that if you parked in the lot of a restaurant, a hidden obligation was set that you had to eat there. To alleviate her embarrassment, I would ask her to stay in the car and relax while I checked the restaurant out. After explaining to her that I wanted to show her a good time, and wrenching for days after going to a bad restaurant does not equate to a good time, she agreed to this solution.

It’s things like having the man think about and look out for them, showing responsibility and initiative, that my girls are being taught to look for…

I love reading to my children. We just got through reading the unabridged Alice in Wonderland. Before that it was book 6 of the Lemony Snickets series. We intermingle The Boxcar Children, Little House on the Prairie segments and other books throughout the year. I think we’ve read through the Narnia series twice, or at least some of them keep getting reread.

I find the imagination in books to be better than most movies – particularly in older books before there was TV. My guess is that watching mainstream media saps the creativity out of your brain and back before TV just writing out some crazy dream you had was surreal enough to have people question your sanity, if not your intentions.

A great quote for this photo is from Gallagher the humerist – “Don’t you wish there was a knob on the TV to turn up the intelligence? There’s on marked ‘Brightness,’ but it doesn’t work.”

[Book pictured: The Annotated Alice, compiled by Martin Gardner - without dust jacket.]

A government big enough to give you everything you want, is strong enough to take everything you have. – Thomas Jefferson

Lately my life has been an emotional roller coaster. Is this what people refer to as mid life crisis? Maybe I’m just finally getting back in touch with my feelings. I could get seriously mature at this point and talk about politics and religion because that’s what adults are supposed to do… but I’m going to take a chance and run with my emotions here for a moment.

I’d have to thank my wife for helping me along that road. Sixteen years ago we met over a poetry group that I founded and moderated at the U. Emotions were fierce and wonderfully inescapable.

These emotions are what drove my creativity … I think by the time we’re adults we’ve learned to suppress our emotions so much that we forget we have them … the life that used to be so brilliant and colorful when we were kids has become a sea of lackluster and that dreary adultness points a finger at “responsibility” when being more responsible has nothing to do with losing that edge.

It was that emotion that drove the creativity into writing music, poetry, art and photography. A good friend of mine, Jorge, who had more creative genius in his left foot than I had in both my hands found a girlfriend and was spending most of his time with her. That left me with only geeky buddies to hang out with and visit. Then I found a girlfriend and she was the hottest girl in the CS lab to be sure! Now she’s the hottest girl in my house!

So when it comes to emotions, adults are conditioned to forget about them, and that’s easy to do with television and computer games. Since I’ve cut those out I started to see life normal again.

Last night I read a book to my son. It has a picture of a playground and a boy at the top of the slide, looking out. I remember that moment – the first big slide I climbed. I was so high! It was amazing. Then I thought to myself … all those moments in life that followed where I got used to being taller off the ground made being as high as that slide not so exciting anymore: The first tall tower, the first flight, the first time falling in love… but each of those highs were different. They had different mindsets and observations. And each one is so wonderful they shouldn’t be forgotten or compared with the rest.

So why did I suppress my creativity? I was trained into it for one thing. It’s the politics, the corporate, the expectation to be proper and civilized. Go ask James Thurber about being civilized! … but more than that it’s childhood fears in an adult form that I haven’t faced and shook off.

I can’t run away from who God made me, but I’m so paranoid! I’m afraid of people watching me and calling me a failure face just like they did for years in school! Ugh! It still feels like they’re watching me and waiting for that chance to laugh at me all over again.

Like the daft Captain Hook – always looking for a chance to choke the life out of Peter Pan just to sneer at Pan’s failure. The adult psyche is always trying to kill the child psyche. In more modern terms, it’s like the dreaded Count Olaf – always watching … always near and just waiting to snatch up the little orphans’ souls (after all, that’s the most enormous fortune anyone’s got).

I used to keep a diary. Trust me, it was a scary thing. I’m terribly embarrassed by it, now and have thought of creative ways to destroy the volumes of terrible emotional venting. I also wish that I had kept a journal or diary over the past ten years because so much growth has occurred during that time and some of the wisdom acquired has been lost. I have a terrible memory that serves me as well as an Applebees waiter on Sunday.

So today I’ve felt mostly down. When asked what’s wrong, the only response I could come up with that didn’t incriminate against myself was “I’m not living up to my potential.”

That statement in itself is true and generic enough to let people derive their own conclusions. Life, work, marriage, fatherhood, worship, leading, following, you name it.

Sometimes it feels good to be emotionally drained. It leaves more room for the happiness in the days that follow.

Many years ago, my wife and I attended a Gary Smalley seminar where he briefly mentioned the importance of touch. It’s something we all need to live. So I thought to myself that if I don’t supply my children with enough positive words and touches each day then there may come a time in their teen years that they look for that need elsewhere and end up experimenting with touch in ways that isn’t allowed outside of marriage.

So I asked my kids, “Do you get enough loving touches throughout the day: pats on the head, pats on the back, hugs, kisses… stuff like that?” They all answered “no”. So I wondered – how much do they need? Then came the question. “How many times do you feel you would need to know you are loved?” The eldest child only thought briefly before saying her answer: “Twenty times!”.

That’s quite a bit of touching to take place over the two to three hours I have available for them during the week days. With the size of my family, if everyone got 20 touches a day that would add up to 100 touches a day – not including our dog.

If that were spread throughout a three-hour-twenty-minute period it comes out to touching someone every 2 minutes.

I only remember getting a meaningful touch about once every other week growing up, which was still more than most of the kids I knew. I’ll bet our society has even pulled back to the point that children are only given a meaningful touch once a month, and that’s reserved for when the child initiates the hug.

One last thought – giving my children that access to my personal space makes me a tangible figure for them. I become more real and more accessible in ways beyond the physical. Hopefully they’ll learn that and come to their real accessible Dad during the more trying years ahead.

Nothing brings a skip to my heart with the anticipation of fun and excitement like Autumn. As God’s carefully orchestrated song of color, odor and sounds fill the cool fall breeze, the hot angry days of summer come to a close and the cold bitter days of winter are still distant enough to forget them. The senses fall upon me as the wind that carries them flits in my hair; it causes me to remember my youth – any good of it – and the regrets of not taking more advantage of the good when I had it.

My parents, for example, made so many sacrifices for me but I didn’t learn as a child to appreciate them. How do you teach a child to appreciate? They don’t know the effort involved. Sometimes parents don’t either.

My children are all so unique. Sometimes I have to seek out what they appreciate. For example, running across a series of straw bales doesn’t look exciting to me, but to one of my daughters it’s a thrill! Her face lights up as she realizes that her Daddy endorses a little frolicking on the large golden bricks.

As Summer turns to Autumn, and leaves change in the cooling breeze I’m reminded of the importance of change. It reminds us of that which is constant. How when we fall apart, our loving God and caring parents are there to piece us back together.

And while nothing gold can stay, perhaps these golden memories I have with my children now will stick around long enough for them to have their own families and share their fond memories of them to their children.

But as I was sifting through some well kept day planner pages from 2001 and 2002 I realized something. For two years I worked an average of 60 hours a week. Seeing that and realizing how little that got me in my career, and how much time I didn’t get with my family, I just shake my head in disgust.

How could I have been such an idiot? Not that I don’t mind working extra hours, but when you have an additional 900+ hours of work (above the regular work hours) in just one year alone … sheesh.

What could I have done with those 900 hours? Write more songs? Be a better dad? Be a better husband? What good did it do me to plug in 14 hour days on a regular basis? To add more injury to myself, I didn’t use up all my vacation time for that time … haven’t used my vacation time appropriately for years. As a result, I feel tired most of the time. My kids aren’t as close to me as I’d like and my marriage isn’t as strong as it should be. Neither is my walk with God.

I’m grateful that I took the time to record those hours. I quickly forget how long I’ve been pushing myself so hard and how worthless it all is. No rewards all around.

Looking at this, the question is – how do I change? What can I do to make the future better? Hours have already been cut back at work thanks to a change in position. I have to admit that I was upset at first, but it’s nice to be working a normal 40-45 hour week. I have to admit that I’ve contemplated a major uproot and taking my family to Italy or Spain where I hear of 30 hour work weeks, mid-day siestas and higher family values. Well – no Spain for us, at least not for now. But I need to make the time with my family precious. Not precious as in it’s so rare, but precious as in it’s so common they feel my absence when I’m not there.