Category Archives: It’s a Guy Thing

Baby steps toward superstardom

Last spring I expressed my desire to use the summer to expose our five-year-old to playing sports. I didn’t put him into organized leagues because I wanted him to have more time to be a disorganized kid and figure out what he likes. Also, leagues cost money, and I’ve been in a cheapskate mood for the last 30 years.

Now that summer is over, it’s time for an update on his progress as an athlete. All of these wonderful advancements were accomplished under the tutelage of only his tepidly athletic dad.

Baseball

I’m not sure this is one of his favorites, as he never asked to play catch. I am happy to boast that he did successfully get all of his fingers into his baseball glove one time. This was not because he wanted to throw the ball with me, but because his friends found a ball and some bats in the garage and wanted to play. I can also proudly report that despite there being three Kindergarteners in the yard with a ball and bats, no windows were broken. Those are the kinds of fundamentals a dad can really appreciate.

Archery

We only tried this once, but he showed promising talent at sticking a foam skunk. This is a twist, since he spent all last year pretending to be a skunk.

in pursuit of the foam skunk

Skunks used to be the coolest animal. Now, they’re the coolest animal target.

Football

Now this is real progress. He no longer runs away when I toss the football in his direction. He might turn his back and layer his arms over his head, but keep in mind we’re not using helmets or pads yet. He is completely unprotected from the injury that Nerf sponge could cause him. Occasionally he will actually stretch his arms out toward the ball, but this usually ends with him swatting the dangerous missile away.

Basketball

He can now dribble a basketball up to three consecutive times with one hand. He has yet to fully comprehend that he needs to push the ball with his hand rather than just slap at it. This leads to diminishing returns after each dribble. By the fourth one, he is squatting down, slapping a ball that is resting on the ground. I may be a rulebook stickler, but I don’t count beating a dead ball as dribbling.

baby slam

Little Brother is a natural athlete. Here he is at six months, perfecting his dunk.

Soccer

He’s pretty good at soccer. When he kicks the ball he doesn’t usually miss the target by more than 75˚ to either side. He still likes to kick the ball with his toe, like he’s playing kickball, but he rarely misses it anymore. He only uses his hands as an absolute last resort, even less so after that time he got his finger kicked. It’s amazing how much a little pain keeps one mindful of the rules.

All in all, it’s been a productive summer. Sure, the little man displays lots of natural talent, but raw talent needs to be molded. Hence, much of the credit for his blossoming as a superstar athlete must be assigned to his awesome coach.

The boys’ guide to optimal utilization of toy trains and real dads

Playing with trains is fun. But you may not be squeezing out all the fun you can. Follow these simple instructions, young man, and you will extract every drop of enjoyment out of your trains.

Collect multiple, incompatible train sets

When asking for a new train for your birthday, choose one that doesn’t work with any of the sets you already own. When your dad buys the starter kit, he will become disappointed by how few pieces it contains. He will say something like, “This isn’t enough track to do anything with.” Fearful of ruining your big day with an inadequate gift, he will buy you lots of extra pieces so you can build a proper railway.

Nag your dad into helping you set up the track

Your dad is really just an oversized boy. He loves playing with trains, no matter how much work he claims to have. He may bitch and moan about his sore joints, but there’s no place he’d rather be than crawling around the floor, trying to force poorly molded pieces of plastic together. He may think he’s busy, but if you ask him to play trains every 10 seconds, his conscience won’t let him concentrate on anything else. TIP: Disregard any popping noises your dad’s knee makes when he tries to get back up.

Strategically distribute the pieces

By now, your mom has designated a specific box or basket for each of your many train sets. This would be a fine way to organize things if you were one of those focused kids who is satisfied to play with one thing at a time. Those focused kids are boring duds, and you are not one of them. Teach your parents this by putting all of your train parts into the correct storage bin, except for the most crucial piece. Place the piece that makes the whole set work in a different, randomly selected box. IMPORTANT: Forget which box you put it in. Now, you have to dump all the boxes on the floor in order to build the railway you hooked your dad into setting up. Parents secretly love this!

Mess of trains

An assortment of incompatible engines in front of a basket of almost all of the pieces of a track that may or may not be the correct gauge for one of the locatable trains.

Play with some random, piece-of-crap toy from the mess on the floor while your dad waits for you to find the missing piece

Remember that stupid toy you got in your Happy Meal? Yeah, the one you couldn’t even figure out what it was supposed to be. One of the three useless pieces of that junk just got dumped on the floor. Act fascinated by it while your dad waits for you to turn up the main bridge support for the Big Bridge Train Set you’re supposed to be building. This will supply your dad with three of the things he loves most in life: a big mess on the floor, a kid who’s making no effort to pick it up, and time wasted building a track that can’t be finished.

Whine about having to clean up such a huge mess

This is just a reminder. Everyone knows you are already an expert at this.

By following these instructions, you will get the most out of all your trains and even your lazy dad. Your dad really wants to play trains with you right now; he just doesn’t know it yet. And don’t forget about sharing. Share these instructions with your little brother. Your parents will be so proud of you.

More on boys and trains:
A good zoo will have some animals to compliment its train
History, trains, dinosaurs, trains, airplanes, and mostly trains

Make a wish and blow out the candles on your bacon

My four-year-old son is not big on breakfast. We’ve struggled to find a food that inspires him to eat in the morning.

During the week, I’m gone before he gets up, but I was able to persuade him to eat a pancake some weekend mornings. When we could find bacon on sale, we might add that to the pancake breakfast. He developed quite a taste for the bacon.

Eventually, his palate tired of the pancakes, but he sensed that they were necessary baggage to his enjoyment of bacon. Unfortunately for him, we are most often without bacon. Sure, it tastes wonderful, but it’s pretty expensive for a food whose main purpose is to clog your heart with goo. Lacking bacon, our morning conversations go like this:

ME: “Would you like me to make you a pancake for breakfast?”

BOY: “If there’s bacon, I’ll have a pancake and bacon. Otherwise, I don’t want a pancake.”

ME: “How about a pancake and bacon, with no bacon?”

BOY: “No. I’ll just have a pancake with bacon.”

It’s rare that I can sell a pancake without bacon anymore.

The last time we had bacon, we were all sitting around the breakfast table, discussing his upcoming birthday.  “I think I want bacon for my birthday,” the boy declared. “I want bacon instead of cake.” His mother and I like bacon too; if he wants us to spend the cake money on bacon, that’s fine with us. We shrugged and said it was okay.

That must have seemed too easy, so he made sure we understood. “The bacon is instead of cake. It’s not my present.” Bacon is delicious, but it’s still only food. Food is not an appropriate birthday present for a boy who has seen the wonders housed within the magical walls of Toys R Us.

birthday bacon

I suggest that he wish for a significant price drop in the pork belly futures market.

Later, as we drove to get groceries, the boy piped up from the back seat with another bolt from the blue:

BOY: “Daddy, I think I’ll need a bow tie, if I’m gonna go anywhere fancy.”

ME: “Oh?”

BOY: “Yeah. Not one that you have to tie. Just one that you snap on.”

ME: “Where are you going that’s fancy?”

BOY: “I don’t know, but just in case I do.”

I hope he wasn’t envisioning his birthday party as a black tie affair, because bacon and ice cream don’t really wear well on a tux. Besides, if he wants to look like a junior Orville Redenbacher, he’s going to have to finance that fashion statement on his own.

At the end of our shopping trip, we passed through the bakery section of the store. The boy stopped and gazed through the glass at all the sweet treats. “Well, I think I do really want a cake instead of bacon for my birthday,” he said.

“How about a cake shaped like bacon?” his mother asked.

“No. I want it to look like an army vehicle.”

Oh well. Bacon was starting to sound good, but I like cake too.

 

Going commando is what you make of it

Several weeks ago, my son took a bath. Yes, he has taken one or two baths since then, but the several weeks ago bath is the seed of the story I’m about to tell. After this particular bath, he went into this room to get dressed only to discover that all of his underwear were in the laundry.

“Uh-oh, looks like somebody’s going commando today,” I told him.

“What’s commando?” he asked.

“That’s when you put on your clothes, but you don’t wear any underwear.”

This idea did not appeal to him, so we waited to go about our daily business until some of his underwear could be washed.

Buzz Lightyear's worst nightmare

Buzz Lightyear begs you to go commando, today and every day.

About a week later, I came out of the shower to get dressed for work. My son was watching TV in my room. When he saw me pull out the drawer, he said, “Daddy, I don’t think you need underwear. You should go commando today.”

I’d like to assure any of my co-workers who may be tuning in that I did not take his advice. I’m prim and proper now, not like the old days.

Over the weeks, the boy has fallen in love with the phrase going commando. He has tried to adapt it so that it fits his own wild side. He would much rather wear underwear and no clothes than wear clothes and no underwear. In fact, I believe he would rather live completely naked than go about wearing clothes with no underwear.

At any rate, he rather enjoys running around the house and making a lot of noise, drawing attention to the fact that he is wearing only underwear. This is the action he has fitted to his new favorite phrase, going commando.

wild man vs. commando

The outfit on the right, without the outfit on the left, constitutes going commando. The outfit on the left, without the outfit on the right, is formal wear for a four-year-old wild man.

Boys his age go through their wild man stages. I don’t mind it, but I am a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to language, even slang. I wish he wouldn’t insist on corrupting the meaning of going commando. I also wish he wouldn’t be so bi-polar in fluctuating between wild man and prude.

My carefree little commando can turn prissy on a dime. Last week, we walked to the playground. In spite having assured us before leaving home that he did not have to go to the bathroom, his first words upon reaching the playground were, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

There were no facilities within range. “Take him behind a tree,” my wife advised.

I led him behind a suitable pine and showed him the appropriate place. And do you know what that wild man, commando, tough guy asked me? He asked me this: “Why are you making me pee like an animal?”

He needs to work on his aim and generally improve his urination deportment a little bit before he can claim to be peeing like an animal, but I didn’t bother to tell him that.