Dragons devour Tigers

Yes, the sun did rise Saturday morning. The beast did awaken. And the Mighty Green Dragons did roar.

They also fed.

They fed on charbroiled tiger.



Okay, you know I'm kidding here. Just having some fun. But the truth is the Mighty Green Dragons did play Saturday against the Tigers. And even though in this league there is no official scorekeeping, no standings are kept, and coaches are specifically told the point of the game is fun, not winning and losing, it was impossible not to notice that the Tigers did not score a single goal in 40 minutes of play, while the Mighty Green Dragons had half a dozen by halftime.

In my pep talk before the opening kick I told the Dragons we wanted to do two things - do our best and have fun. Not to beat down the other team, not to go out there and win the game - do our best and have fun.


Less than two minutes after the opening kick, taken by the Tigers, Chris scored the first of his two goals, the first goal of the season for the Dragons (yes, as the coaches son he got to be one of the four starters in the opening game). And from there, well, one of my two pre-game objectives had been met - the kids were definitely having fun.

As a parent, much less the coach, it's almost impossible not to be aware of how many goals your kid scores. Chris had two in the first half, I know that. But I'm not sure how many the Dragons had at the end of the half - it was at least six and probably more.

At halftime I told the kids I was proud of them for playing hard and doing their best. I asked if they were having fun and they all said yes.

The second half was more of the same. Chris didn't score, but one boy on our team had four goals himself. As a team we must have had another four on top of that. I'd love to say it was the skill and preparation of the coach. I'd love to say it was the strategic game plan put in by the coach. But the truth is, the kids ran hard, played with enthusiasm - and maybe the ball just seemed to bounce their way. When the game mercifully ended the score, if it had been officially kept, would have been something-teen to zero.

When it was over I gathered the Dragons on the field to lead them in the post game cheer. You know it - "1, 2, 3 - Good Game Tigers!" The kids all shook hands with the Tigers, and parents from both teams made a 'tunnel' for all the kids to run through.

I was wishing I hadn't torn up my knee. While it was so much fun to be out there, coaching the team, coaching my son, I couldn't keep up with the action on the field as much as I wanted to. At this level, the coach is on the field, following the action and calling out encouragement to the kids on the field. The coach has to tell which player to throw the ball in from out of bounds, who gets to do the goal kick, and tell each child where to stand every time there is a stoppage of play. Crutching my way up and down the field made that more challenging.

But I wouldn't have missed this for anything.

And though I write this as though the 'Dining on Roast Tiger' is the thrill of victory, it really is about participating with my son in something he loves. He is excited to have me as the coach of his team. I'm excited to participate with him, to show him that I want to share these experiences with him.

As we gathered for our post-game treat, one of the Dragons asked me, "Coach, did we win?"

"You know, Steve, we didn't keep score," I said, "But I think we did win.'

"Oh," he said, "that's good.'

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

"That's great, Steve," I said. "See you at practice Thursday!"

He ran off. I'm glad he had fun.

But I guarantee you he didn't have as much fun as I did.

It's fun to be the coach.

And it's great to be The Family Man.

Game on

Tomorrow morning the sun will rise.

Just another Saturday morning.

The sun will rise over the mountains, keeping our home and others along the eastern bench of our valley in shade in the early morning. The sky will be bright blue as a beautiful early spring day dawns in our fair city. The half-million or so residents of the valley will rise and go about their business - some to work, others to play. All in all, it will appear to virtually everyone another normal Saturday morning, welcome not only for the start of the weekend but also for the return of fair weather after a cold, dark winter.

Yet this particular Saturday will be different.

For tomorrow a mighty beast will awaken. A creature will be unleashed; a creature whose power and might this valley has never seen.

It will appear in a city park, a normal city park where families will gather with their children to enjoy a wonderful spring morning. Among the many youth soccer fields set up in the park on this fine day, the beast will emerge, prepared to devour all who stand in its way.

Yes, the Mighty Green Dragons will take the field in the city 4-6 year old youth soccer league.

Youth soccer will never be the same in our town as the Mighty Green Dragons have their way over all who would stand before them on this and seven subsequent Saturdays.

Mommies, spare your children from the carnage.

We are the Mighty Green Dragons. Hear us ROAR!

It's great to be The Family Man (aka coach of the Mighty Green Dragons)!

Extraordinarily ordinary

I recently received the following anonymous comment to a post I wrote a few months ago:

“Ordinary and extraordinary are relative words. For you a house, a happy family and a steady job is an ordinary life. Ask the boat people desperate to come into the USA what an extraordinary life is, and chances are they will ask for maybe a fraction of what you take for granted in your everyday life. Or closer home, ask the dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane - for her, yours is the kind of life she can only live in her dreams.”

When I first read it, I felt bad.

The more I thought about it, the less bad I felt.

But I would like to take this opportunity to explore this idea a bit more.

First, I stand by my post. I am an ordinary man. There is nothing about me that is particularly unique, special, or remarkable. I say that not in a self-deprecating way. I think I have pretty good self esteem. I like myself, I’m proud of who I am. When I look in the mirror I think, other than being old and a bit heavier that I’d like, I’m a pretty decent guy.

My wife and kids love me. I’m reasonably intelligent and hard-working. At every job I’ve ever had, when I’ve moved on people have told me they’ll miss me. So I must be making a positive contribution with my labor in those places I have worked, and gotten along with my peers in the process. In other words, I don’t stick the knife in someone’s back to get ahead.

I go to church on a (somewhat) regular basis. I give a bit to charity. When the neighborhood kid comes to the door selling something for a fundraiser, I buy it.

I live in a modest home in a middle class neighborhood, indistinguishable from any home within 5 miles. Yes, I do have a hot tub and a camping machine – things not found at every house in my neighborhood, but not as uncommon as you might think.

My point in all of this? For where I live, in the time I am living, this constitutes ordinary.

As the anonymous commenter noted, ordinary is relative. I agree with her or her on that point. The ‘boat people’ or the ‘dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane’ would, no doubt, gladly trade places with me and count themselves extraordinarily fortunate.

I’ll take that one step further. It’s my unscientific opinion that if it were somehow possible to quantify the lifestyle of every single person on earth, I would probably be in the top 20% in terms of material possessions and overall quality of life. I don’t mean this in a bragging way. I’m just assuming that my USA middle (perhaps upper middle) class life, in purely economic terms, provides more security, comfort, material resources and opportunity than 80% or so of everyone else on this earth.

Surely, you’d say, that is more than ordinary.

And measured in those terms, I guess I’d agree.

What I was trying to accomplish in the original post was less about material possessions and more about achievement. I began by describing the time I met Peter Jennings, a man I admired and respected. I believe he was an extraordinary man.

Extraordinary is Abraham Lincoln. Mahatma Ghandi. Madame Curie.

Albert Einstein, born many years ago today, March 14.

Pick your hero – we all have them. People who are extraordinary stand above the rest of us – not by the things they have, but by the things they do. They influence more than the lives of family and friends – they change the world, or contribute something meaningful to society at large.

Last time I checked, I hadn’t done anything like that.

In my post I said, “My little life, pedestrian as it is, suits me just fine. There are those moments, and I’ve shared a few in this blog, when the very ordinariness of my family life is extraordinary to an exponential degree. A hug from Chris. A giggle from Tommy. A knowing glance from my wife. Each one, exceptionally ordinary. Each one, exceptionally extraordinary. And absolutely priceless.”

Where I take issue with the comment is the ‘take for granted’ part. I think I conveyed that by calling out the things that mean the most to me as priceless. Not what I own, but what my family gives me.

Sure, it helps that we are economically comfortable. But I don’t take that for granted either. I’m sitting here tonight, one day removed from surgery to repair my ACL and MCL. My knee, quite frankly, hurts like hell. I won’t walk without crutches for about 4-6 weeks, and I won’t jog for four months. Yet I am grateful that I have health insurance. I’m grateful I live in a place with quality healthcare. As I limp around the house, I’m grateful I can walk to the bathroom – unlike my mother, who spent the last 25 years of her life in a wheelchair, unable to use her legs due to an accident in her own home.

I will be the first to admit I am fortunate. I’ve done nothing to deserve what I have. And I could lose it all tomorrow. As I mentioned in this post, I’ve seen a few examples of how quickly fortune can change.

No, I’m not a boat person. I’m not a ‘dirty hack with the trolley in the shady lane’ – in fact, I don’t even know what that means.

What I am is ordinary. And very grateful to be exactly that.

You know, by now, what I say.

It’s great to be The Family Man.

Snow Men Again

We’re continuing the skiing instruction with Chris and Tommy, and we’ve been making great progress.

It’s interesting to me how the boys’ personalities are and are not reflecting in their approach to skiing and their progress. Tommy, the defiant one, the boy who will swing his little fist at you for the slightest perceived transgression or slight, is a cautious, deliberate skier. He goes back and forth across the hill slowly, carefully, really carving his snowplow turns. He listens carefully to our instructions and asks for feedback – “am I doing it right, Dad? Like this?”

Chris, the sensitive, considerate, thoughtful boy, flies straight down the hill, barely turning, on the very edge of control. He cares little for instruction, barely acknowledges it, and is all but dismissive of any attempt to help him.

Since my last skiing post we’ve skied every Saturday and Sunday. We’ve progressed from the rope tow to the chairlift, and we’ve stopped using the ‘racer-chaser,’ the vest/leash device that allows a parent to ski behind a child and keep them somewhat in control. Both boys have mastered the art of the snowplow and can proceed down the easiest green run at our favorite ski mountain. MBW will closely follow one boy; I’ll follow the other, calling out instruction and/or encouragement, as the boys navigate their way down the hill.

Today was going to be our best day yet. In the morning we swung by the local ski shop and bought helmets for everyone – the boys, MBW and me. The boys had noticed helmets on other skiers and thought they were ‘cool’ – something I didn’t expect, but decided to capitalize on. I’ve been concerned that on the green runs served by the chairlift the boys might get hit by someone who’s lost control or is going too fast. Though I’ve never worn a helmet skiing, I think it’s a good idea, and we decided to lead by example and wear them ourselves.

The weather was great as we hit the slopes.

We posed for a photo near the top of the run before heading off. Chris and Tommy picked up right where they left off, skiing with confidence, having fun. The first run was a great success.

The second run started off a carbon copy of the first. Chris led, with me close behind. He smoothly skied the first section of the run, which includes a short but reasonably steep section (for green runs) and headed out to the flatter section. Spying a rise on the side of the run, he headed in that direction, off the groomed portion toward some trees. As he went up the side of the rise he began to lose momentum, so I moved to come up behind him, straddle him, and set him back on the right course. Just as I reached him, my skies wide apart, he turned sharply to the right trying to get off the rise. I turned as well, scooped him up in my arms, but my left ski did not follow my right and we crashed.

As we went down I shielded Chris as best I could, holding him close to my chest. My left knee wrenched hard as my binding did not release. Chris took a face full of snow, but otherwise was unhurt. He dusted himself off and said, “Let’s go, Dad!”

My left knee would not support my weight.

MBW and Tommy were beyond us now, having somehow passed us on the slope without seeing our crash, well on their way to the bottom of the run.

I tested my leg again, hoping somehow I could get down the hill with Chris. The pain was too intense, and I was concerned I’d fall again, perhaps do more damage.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” asked Chris.

“I’ve hurt my leg,” I said. “I’m not going to be able to ski down. Do you think you can follow the trail down to the lift and find Mom?”

“Sure, Dad,” he said with confidence. And off he went.

I wound up riding down the hill in a sled pulled by the Ski Patrol snowmobile. The Medical clinic at the ski resort gave me the happy news – torn ACL and MCL. My ski season is over, and I have orthopedic surgery and several months of rehab ahead of me.

The irony, as I sit here in the La-Z-Boy recliner, ice on my knee in a full length splint, is the safety precautions we took just today. Helmets! We’re the leading edge of safe skiing! Responsible parents modeling correct behavior for our kids! And here I am, a very experienced skier with many double black diamond conquests to my credit, tearing my ACL and MCL on a green run. Excuse me – turn away if you’re offended by profanity, but I have to say it – A FUCKING GREEN RUN.

I’m so disappointed for Chris and Tommy. They had been doing so well, having so much fun, really enjoying the activity and proud of themselves for their improvements. Now the ski season is over for all of us – the best part of the season for beginners/young kids. The weather is nicer this time of year, the snow still good. But MBW cannot take both boys by herself – what if something similar should happen to her while she had both boys? No, we can’t take that chance.

At least we’ve made progress for building on next year. And in a few weeks, soccer will start. Chris has signed up, and as I mentioned in this post, I’ll be his coach.

Which, incidentally, the meeting for rookie coaches is next Saturday.

I’ll look great hobbling in on my crutches.

It’s great to be The Family Man.

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.