The Naked Flyer

As I mentioned in my previous post, if you spend enough time online and reading blogs you’ll learn some interesting things. For example, February 15th is Blog about your Cat day. News to me, but I obligingly linked to a post I’d written about my cat awhile back, and felt satisfaction in being Part of a Movement.

I’ve recently learned of a blogging thing called Half Nekkid Thursdays. I’d actually come across the term a couple of times before but paid it no mind.

That it, until last Thursday, when I happened upon this post.

Marie used to link to and visit this blog. Not anymore. If you visit her site, you’ll learn that she is everything I’m not – she’s young and single - I’m old and married. She is attractive, articulate and has lots of interesting friends – I’m old and married. She blogs about her social activities, going out with friends, having the occasional cocktail, living a fun and exciting life – I’m old and married. Read a few of her posts, and then re-read this one of mine – you’ll see why she no longer visits or links to this blog. She clearly has a better idea of a good time and, as a result, has far more interesting things to blog about than I do.

But after seeing this post it occurred to me that despite being old and married, ordinary, and with a warped sense of living large on Saturday night, I do have a Half Nekkid Thursday story.


Now before you get up and run from your computer toward the bathroom, prepared to lose your lunch at the thought of seeing a half-nekkid photo of The Family Man, I promise there are no pictures of me in this post. The closest you’ll get of seeing me in any stage of dress (or undress), was here. So calm down.


On the other hand, you also won’t be seeing any half-nekkid photos of MBW either. Much to your dismay, if you’re male. Trust me, photos of MBW would rival these, but I’m not sharing.

In fact, there are no photos whatsoever in this post.

So how can it be a Half Nekkid Thursday post?

Well, technically I guess it can’t. I’ve learned there are rules of a sort for this.
You can read them here.

But I thought, in my own boring, family-oriented way, that this post was worth trying to sneak in under the Half Nekkid Thursday banner.

It was bath night and Tommy was throwing one of his periodic fits. He didn’t want to get out of the tub; he didn’t want to get dried off and into his pajamas. In his maddeningly defiant way, he was being obstinate and ornery. MBW turned to me and said, “You deal with him.”

I went into the bathroom and there he was, sitting in the tub, arms crossed. “I’m not getting out,” he said.

For some reason I have a connection with Tommy that MBW doesn’t. I’m often able to work him out of situations like this with less angst and anguish than she is. But this one was looking pretty grim.

He didn’t respond to my smile. “I’m not getting out,” he repeated.

I smiled more. “Okay, Tommy. Whatever you say.” And before he could respond, I reached in and scooped him out of the tub, wrapping him up in a towel so big he was, in effect, immobilized.

He screamed a muffled protest as I toweled him off. His head popped out from under the thick blue towel and he glowered at me. He took in a deep breath, prepared to let out a string of three-year-old curse words – but before he could get them out, I pulled the towel off him and said loudly, “It’s time for The Naked Flyer!”

With that, I lifted him up over my head, one hand under his chest and the other holding his legs, holding him horizontally up near the ceiling. I left the bathroom and ran around the house, from room to room, holding Tommy over my head shouting, “It’s The Naked Flyer! Here he comes!”

Tommy, having gotten over his initial shock, is by now no longer angry; in fact, he’s laughing and having a great time. “I’m The Naked Flyer! I’m The Naked Flyer! Look at me!” he shouted.

All around the house I ran, flying him from room to room. Finally I set him down in his bedroom. “Time to get your jammies on,” I said. Just then, Chris comes running in, taking his jammies off. “I want to be The Naked Flyer, Dad!” he said. “Do it to me!”

So of course I had to do The Naked Flyer with Chris. He enjoyed it as much as Tommy did. So much so, in fact, that The Naked Flyer has become a once-or-twice weekly pre-bedtime ritual in our house for both boys.

A footnote to this story.

We’re at the grocery store the other evening, Chris, Tommy and me. The boys are both in the shopping cart with the half-dozen things we’re waiting to buy. Standing in the crowded checkout line, Chris asks me, “Dad, is it bath night tonight?”

“It is,” I answer.

He says, loudly, “Can we do The Naked Flyer tonight? Can we?”

Tommy pipes up, “Yeah, Dad, I want to do The Naked Flyer! Let’s go home and do The Naked Flyer!”

Two women looked over at me with strange expressions.

“I love The Naked Flyer!” Tommy says.

The women are horrified.

I’m expecting a visit from Child Protective Services any day now.

So there it is, my Half-Nekkid Thursday story. I know if doesn’t hold a candle to this, but hey, I am The Family Man.

Speaking of this, for the record, If I’d been blogging 15 years ago, this blog would be called The Single Man and it would include the type of stories found here. I did have my fun, back in the day.

But now I’m just an old married guy, those days fading quickly in the rearview mirror. Half-Nekkid Thursday for me is nothing like it is for Marie and other young, single exciting people. No doubt Half-Nekkid Thursday leads into Having Fun Friday and Swinging Saturday.

It sounds fun.

For me, Half-Nekkid Thursday just means that is only about 48 hours and change until Saturday Night, Family Man Style.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Yeah, baby.

It’s GREAT to be The Family Man.

Blogging about your cat

According to Lefty Grrrl, today is Blog about your Cat day.

Who knew? It's amazing what you learn online.

Anyway, I did that some time ago.

If you're interested, you can re-read it here.

Tomorrow I'll talk about something called Half-nekkid Thursday, another interesting thing I learned about online.

Snow Men

On a cold winter morning in central New York State, early February 1969, a father and son are in their car just before 7:00 am. As they do most Sundays during the winter, they are on their way to a morning of skiing. It’s a long ride from their home in the Onondaga Hill area just outside Syracuse to their destination – Labrador Mountain.

The father has a steaming cup of coffee; his son, hot chocolate. They drive along the familiar route, out of their neighborhood, skirting downtown Syracuse, picking up Interstate 81 south. Gazing out the window, the son notices the landmarks they pass as they drive along; familiar, comforting, part of the routine. The conversation between the two is varied, usually beginning with talk of the hockey game the day before – the father is the coach, the son a player. This time alone in the car with his father is cherished by the son, partly for the opportunity to talk, partly for the anticipation of the activity yet to come.

They arrive at the ski hill just before 8:00 am. It’s very cold, but the sun is shining. Crowds are already forming at the lifts – side-by-side T-bars that will, in minutes begin dragging skiers up the hill. The car is parked, coats zipped tightly, and the father and son carry skies and poles across the parking lot of frozen mud toward the mountain.

It was called Dawn Patrol.

I still remember the color of the lift tickets – bright red. Dawn Patrol was the name of the half day ticket my dad would buy for us nearly very Sunday. Although I’m sure we skied in all kinds of weather, the memories I have are of sunny mornings – cold, but clear and sunny. We’d ski together, take some runs, hit the lodge for a cup of hot chocolate and warm up by one of the two large fireplaces, then go back out and ski again. We always seemed to time it just right to get our last ride up the T-Bar just before noon. We’d ski down; take our gear back to the car and drive home, arriving just in time to catch the start of the football game at 1:00 pm.

My memories of skiing with my dad are of his encouragement as he taught me to ski. In my memories, I’m already past the snowplow stage, able to ski blue runs with confidence, working on my technique.

I have no memories of just learning to ski. In recent conversations with my dad I’ve learned he did, in fact, teach me himself. There were few professional lessons.

I bring all this up because I am now trying, with MBWs help, to teach Chris and Tommy to ski. And in the course of this, I’ve learned something.

My dad was a saint.

Teaching your own kids to ski is a challenge to say the least. Just getting them dressed is an event – then schlepping them from the parking lot to the lodge, getting them to the lift, getting them to actually stand up on the skis and agreeing to a quick run or two up the rope tow would try the patience of any parent. It’s certainly trying ours.

Chris is usually game to go. He’s good about trying to do what we tell him, and he gives it a good effort. He’ll only last for a few runs before he wants to go home. But on the way home he always talks about how much fun he has and that he can’t wait to go again. He’ll get there, but it’s going to take some time.

Tommy, on the other hand, poses a greater challenge. If you’ve read this blog for awhile, you know his temperament. Need a refresher? Try this.

He refuses to wear the ‘Racer Chaser,’ the vest with a leash on the back that allows us to guide Chris down the hill, yet letting him get the feel of really skiing on his own. He’ll want to go up the lift with me one time, MBW another time, and he has to go up ahead of Chris or he won’t go at all. When he wants to go to the lodge, everyone on the mountain knows it. He refuses to listen to suggestions on how to get better.

In all of this, remember, skiing is relatively expensive, especially with kids. We have to rent gear for them every time, and even though the ski lift is free for them, the costs still add up. On top of the effort to get everyone up the mountain, ski for half an hour, fight with Tommy almost the whole time, you wonder if it’s all worth it.



Then I remember the mornings so long ago with my dad.

That’s why we’re doing this.

I want my boys to have memories like I have. Those memories are priceless. I now understand what it takes to create them. I understand what my dad went through to create them for me. I’m so grateful that he did, and I’m determined to do them for my kids as well.

My dad always wanted to give my sister and me the opportunity to participate in what he called ‘lifetime’ sports – those activities you can do you’re whole life. If Chris and/or Tommy choose to play football, basketball or other organized sports and they go through school, we’ll certainly support them as far as they want to go.

But I want them to have to opportunity to learn, at an early age, those activities they can enjoy their whole life outside of structured, competitive arenas. While I want them to have the memories I have of myself at age 9, I also want them to have the opportunity to ski as adults, with friends, as I do now – with skill, confidence and grace.

So we schlep ourselves up the mountain yet again.

That afternoon, we participated in a different winter sport.



Guess which one they enjoyed more?

It’s great to be The Family Man.