I began thinking of the firsts we’ve seen as Gus has grown into a teen. These firsts don’t always evoke the same fond and touching memories and realizations as in earlier childhood, for example:

1. Dad is SO uncool. The first time he asked me which sneaker I liked best, “The white with red or the black with silver?” “I like the white with red,” I said. We purchased the black with silver.
2. Girls – WOW! Watching the Super Bowl half time show and Shania Twain (thankfully it wasn’t Janet Jackson), trotted around the stage in a really low cut outfit. Gus was mesmerized by the spectacle when he said under his breath, “I didn’t know they could move like that…on their own.”
3. Watch those other kids – be an involved parent. The overwhelming strength of peer pressure smacked us when he accompanied two friends to the woods. They played with fire. One friend got burned. Thankfully Gus came to his senses, brought the kid home and administered first aid he had learned in Scouts until we got home. He spent a good long while on the bench as a result, but the thought that peer pressure can outweigh what kids have been taught and what they know is wrong is very sobering.
4. Covert Ops. The first time I dropped him at a school dance, but had to do it a block away from the school.
5. Give an inch, they’ll take a mile. The first time I let him stay up late to watch a movie, now he stays up late routinely.
6. Beneath it all is a heart of gold. Though he protested (“Are you Serious?”) about helping at the local food bank last Saturday morning because guess what, HE STAYED UP TOO LATE and was tired. We had other kids from the church youth group come over to the house, and bang pots and pans in his debris riddled room until he dragged himself out of bed. He went, he helped, he genuinely showed empathy for those people. He also suggested he might like to volunteer at a retirement home. “Why there?” we asked. His reply: “Old people LOVE me!”

We all do, son. We all do (but I’m still not telling you where I hid the grill lighter).

Jon writes our “When a Toddler Turns Teen” posts here on the blog because believe it or not, your adorable bundle of joy will grow up….

I caught this entertaining post on DC Metro Moms, where Andrea writes about what she’s learned from raising three little boys. I’ve gleaned some similar insights raising one boy (not all the same insights, of course – due to shear volume). However, now that Gus is a teen, my previously held personal insights have not changed, but rather, have been refined: (Andrea’s insights in green followed by my “refinements” in black)

• Cleaning the kitchen floor every day to remove sticky goo. Sticky goo somehow spreads – I just cleaned a bunch of it off a History textbook last night.
• Cleaning the bathroom every day because it takes years for boys to develop good aim. Sometimes it takes decades. Some never develop good aim. I’m considering having Gus fitted with a rifle scope to improve his aim.
• Potty training may take longer than I would  like. Thank goodness Gus is housebroken at this point.
• Giving baths every night when the weather is good and they played outside, or at least having them run through the sprinkler or the hose before bedtime. At twelve, you argue for an hour to get him in the shower, at fourteen, it takes that long to get him out of it.
• Taking at least 30 minutes to get them ready to go anywhere, even if they want to go. Wait for the teen years and see how long it takes to get them out of bed in the morning!
• Adjusting to how boys really can relieve themselves any place, any time. It’s a gift, really.
• Wardrobes consist of jeans, shirts, and tennis shoes, and that’s it. That evolves – now it’s shorts, T-shirts and skateboard shoes (which you need to replace every month and a half because the grip tape on the skateboard wears the bottoms out – next time, Im giving him a roll of duct tape and some plywood: “Here you go Gipetto, FIX ‘EM!”)
• Finding crayons, toys, cars, and airplanes in the most unlikely places. I still find Gus’ things – usually in the dark – under a bare foot. I’m still walking with a limp!
• Jumping (on/off the stairs, out of the car, off the swings, out of trees, on the furniture). The jumping turns into flopping. Flopping on the couch, the recliner(over the arm, of course), at the dinner table, and finally (usually after Jay Leno’s monologue) in bed! If you enjoy the feeling of shaking floors, and the muffled sound of “BOOM” countless times a day, you’ll love the flopping teen years.
• Strategically planning grocery store runs to have one child or less in tow. Grocery shopping with a teen = applying for a personal loan.
• Learning that fire alarms should never be at child height nor be without some type of cover. Since Gus pulled the fire alarm at age 5 in Kindergarten sending the entire school out to the playground on a fire drill, we’ve had no issues with alarms…other than the smoke alarm in our kitchen – my wife thinks it’s a timer.

Raising boys can indeed be an education. If you’re raising boys, what have you learned? Maybe you could teach a class on what to expect. Now that Gus is a teen, I’m starting to feel like a full-fledged PhD.

The GOOD – chartering a fishing boat off Florida coast and actually catching fish. The BAD – 18 foot Christmas tree falling down and breaking Dad’s arm (6 months in a “L” shaped cast, yikes!)  And the UGLY – both my older sister and I catching the Chicken Pox mid-vaca at Disney World 1985.

As a kid most of my family’s vacations were week-long trips to Disney World. Check out how fashionable my older sister and I were in our matching red sweatsuits and sweet shades. What is it with parents dressing their kids in matching outfits? A few years later, my little sister joins the family and another road trip (yes we drove) back to our favorite destination. I can’t tell what’s more embarrassing – the fanny pack, yellow socks, or backwards Mickey baseball cap. Then again I think I could fit enough Fig Newtons in that thing to survive for a week! 

Now that everyone’s all grown up and on their own, it’s a challenge to plan a formal family vacation – so we just meet up any time we can, even if it’s just a one-night holiday dinner or a short weekend reunion. The trick is just keeping it simple.

We’ve even started a fishing tradition. For the past three years we’ve chartered a boat from the Sea Leveler in Port Canaveral, Florida. It’s a 30” boat, has a little tiny head (a.k.a. bathroom – use very carefully), main cooler in the center (good to hold onto when the waves pick up), and seating. We bring food & drinks, head out for 9 hours and have a great time. (minus the few who get sea sick) Check out some of those fish! The pretty green and gold fish with the big head is a Mahi Mahi. The silver/amber colored fish with the strip running along its body is an Amberjack – heavy and strong – talk about sore arms afterwards. And after two dud years of shark fishing, my dad finally caught one!

As the weather gets warmer and vacation season kicks off – enjoy your family – the good, the bad and the ugly- no matter which one you have. you’ll always have the memories!

I had always wanted a home filled with the wonderful sounds of laughter and music. I believe God must have an uncanny sense of irony, because our home is more filled with the wonderful sounds of laughter at music. Ever since Gus was little and had any interest in music, we encouraged it. He wanted to play piano, so we took lessons – lots of lessons – not sure they helped much – he made “Chopsticks” sound like “Meat Tenderizing Mallets.” But we were encouraging all the same – and truly enjoyed listening to him play and improve. But then at some point, he no longer had an interest in the keyboard. The elementary school orchestra beckoned. Now we wanted to play a string instrument. So Mom and Dad rented the instrument, paid for lessons, listened, smiled, and encouraged. Unfortunately the string quartet was not to be. Alas, his attitude toward orchestral endeavors became less “Yo-Yo Ma” and more “Yo Ma-Ma.” The cat would hide when Gus screeched the bow across the strings (cats don’t care about encouragement, nor do they care if they hurt your feelings).

What next…oh, Guitar. Gus was on track to be the next Guitar Hero, playing white hot guitar riffs that would drive Keith Richards straight to rehab or cause Ted Nugent to shoot and eat his own Gibson. But guess what…Gus twanged a few chords, got a blister, could not learn to tune the instrument, and now, unless there’s a huge, worldwide demand for the first three bars of “Smoke on the Water” played out of tune with no rhythm, Gus will not be touring anytime soon, and Uncle Ted can stick to shooting other things.

Through all these musical experiments though, Gus would sing. He’d sing along to, well I’m not entirely certain what it was most of the time. With earbuds in or headphones on or in the shower with music cranking, Gus wails. I say “wails” because it kind of sounds like that – a cross between wailing and moaning in a typical adolescent mumble.

To be honest, the poor kid comes by it naturally. I believe our ability to sing is genetically predetermined. He can lay the blame for his lack of tone and rhythm squarely at his parent’s feet. As a kid, I tried out for the Concert Choir and was rejected because I couldn’t hit a note. I figure it was only right that I was rejected since my motive for joining the Concert Choir was because they were taking a trip to Canada later in the year to perform – I was more motivated by the trip than the singing. I wasn’t told outright that I was rejected, I was simply ignored until I took the hint and just went away. My wife on the other hand, was told directly by a caring and thoughtful music teacher that “You have no natural musical ability. But you’re very cooperative.” She was allowed to stay, but encouraged to simply lip-sync. She was sort of the Junior High Choral version of Milli Vanilli. So notorious is she in our home that the other day, she was warbling along to Motown sounds on her Ipod while cleaning the house:
Gus: Do you hear that?
Me: Ooooo…that sounds painful? Should we call 911?
Gus: Yeah, but not for her!

My late Grandfather was a Jazzman back in the big band days playing with many big names from the era. Poor guy must be rolling over whenever we try our hand at performing music. His musical talent gene skipped a few generations, I’m afraid. That’s why I worked on the radio for a number of years – I was determined to play music, even if it was other people’s music.

So when I see kids take a real interest in music, I truly appreciate and encourage their talents. I am awestruck at the drive, determination and talent of so many people with the gift of music. While it may eventually pay for some, or simply lead to a lifetime of enjoyment for others, musical pursuits can be a fun and enriching experience for the entire family. It’s all in how you look at it, or rather, listen to it.

I just recently heard a song I liked from back in the 70’s or 80’s by Dave Edmunds called “Crawling from the Wreckage.” I happened to be sitting at my desk at home with a clear line of sight to Gus’ bedroom. Bing! One of those moments. I realized that if my son’s room had a theme song, it would be Crawling from the Wreckage. No different from any other kid his age- but significantly different from how it started out.

There was a place for everything and everything in its place, I had painted nice characters on the walls to match the wallpaper border. We had space left over so I asked him what shall we paint there? He was about 2 and at that construction vehicle stage so he said, “A bulldozer!” I asked him who is driving the bulldozer and without hesitation he said “A Rhinoceros!” So an hour or so later, he had a bulldozer driving Rhinoceros (with a tattoo that said “Mom” on his arm) on his bedroom wall. And his little bedroom was oh so nice. So clean. So cute.

I’m not sure when it happens, but gradually things get left on the floor, the toy closet overflows so it can no longer be closed, clothes litter the floor along with towels and shoes. Dresser drawer hang open. In one corner is a rock collection display, a fossil shark teeth collection display, and with the drawer standing open, apparently a socks and skivvies display as well. Every horizontal surface is littered with miscellaneous who knows what. The kid cave begins to develop its own Where’s Waldo sort of Ecosystem.

“Is he in there?” “Don’t rightly know…shall we call search & rescue, dear?”
Well the mess must be all the things that mean something special to him, I’ve heard. I wish. I guess if he’s got a special place in his heart for a few half full bottles of water, a couple empty soda cans and a pile of double bubble wrappers, I’d like to hear that story. Meanwhile, his trash can sits empty.
It is quite simply, wreckage.

Every time my wife puts away his clean laundry, she emerges from Gus’ room mumbling something about pig sties, garbage heaps, and landfills. Sometimes it’s so frightening, she’ll leave his laundry in the laundry basket in a different room and make him come and get it. After all, who knows what might jump out at you or what contagion you might contract in the kid cave? Oh sure, we get him to clean it up every so often. It takes at least a day. However, it only stays that way for a short time until the ecosystem begins to reconstitute itself. To me, it’s not worth the nagging, arguments and exasperation to force him to clean it more often. As long as the ecosystem remains non-invasive and does not begin to overrun its boundaries, I’m fine with him living like a squatter. I think a lot of kids are that way, and when they realize that it’s their place to be and they are the only one responsible for keeping it clean, and they begin to take some pride in it, they’ll pick up after themselves. They know how, they just don’t.

I have to admit, though, sometimes it would be nice to have that Rhinoceros come by on his bulldozer and clear away the wreckage…

Were we that unusual? I don’t think so. My wife and I talked and talked while the bun was in the oven, “It’ll be great to sit and do homework with him, and we can take him to all kinds of really educational and fun places, we’ll instill a love of learning and I can coach him in sports, and you can teach him to read, and…..” Then Gus popped into this world (well it was more of a slide than a pop, but that was just my impression from the cheap seats), and we were all about his uniqueness and accomplishments:

“Oh isn’t he special?”
“yes so special.”
“And smart.”
“Just like you, and sweet.”
“Like you, and…”
Can you say “OMG?!”
He was truly cute, and special and it was “All aboard the Happy Bus people, it’s going to be a lovely ride!”

What the heck happened?  Hormones hijacked the Happy Bus, that’s what.
Every little child is precious and full of potential. Every parent sees their little one as special – and why wouldn’t they? But then the little ones hit double digits and by middle school (in our case, Junior High School), things change. It becomes “Let me put a few graffiti accents here on the side of this bus and while I’m at it….push over, old man…I’ll drive for a while!”

For instance, Gus goes to a dance, but we have to drop him off on the other side of the parking lot, in fact, if we’d just slow down as we drive by so he could just jump out, that’d be perfectly fine with him. Can’t have the kids at school see that you have parents, you know. Seems the entire school was cloned or hatched or something.

Gus and I bowl in a family twosome league, I score about 180 to 190 pretty consistently, Gus gets a little over 100. He’s struggling and his fundamentals are, well, he has none. Will he take advice from Dad? Nope – Dad’s an idiot. Advice from complete strangers like the league coach, or even the lady at the snack bar? You bet!

A number of years ago Gus wanted to go on vacation to Pittsburgh. He wanted to see Fort Pitt. Nice trip, educational too, just as we had always deluded ourselves. So we went, learned some history and actually had a great visit – to Pittsburgh. This year we were going to go big time and visit the Grand Canyon. Not the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon- THE Grand Canyon. Nope, Gus is not interested. “Who wants to see a big hole in the ground?”  Yep, the ol’ happy bus has gone off road, and we have no GPS!

Remember the “And you can help him with homework,” part? Negatory there good buddy. He never brings it home. Seems he hates repeating himself. “They ask the same things on the tests and quizzes, so why bother?” he protests. And he aces all the tests and quizzes, the homework is just an easy GPA booster. Nope, nope, nope. How in the world Pat from Annoyingly Boring gets his kids to do this, is anyone’s guess.

Good to know we’re not alone, though. I’m told these are the trying turbulent years and that it gets better.  All I know is I want the keys to my Happy Bus back….and soon!

A while back I mentioned Gus’ aversion to haircuts

You can see, the haircut he got is not exactly a buzz cut, but we’ll take it. Plus, I still think hair length is tied to his grades because he can’t see to read anything, and recently, grades have slipped.  I don’t really know why he’s changed his mind. He wasn’t really enamored with his last haircut, though my wife and I thought it looked great. I said, “I think it looks good.” The following discussion ensued:

“Uh…dad…what you think doesn’t matter, what girls think does.”
Uh-oh. “So some girl told you she liked your hair long?” I asked.
“Uh…most girls do.”
“MOST girls? So apparently this was a research project. Are your results statistically valid?”
“Huh? What? Uh…actually 9 out of 12 girls I asked like long hair.”

Quite extensive polling for a young guy. I’m impressed. Can’t wait to hear the results of his next probable polling question: “Uh…Do I look like a doofus with this shorter haircut?”
A better question might be, “Do I SOUND like a doofus by saying “uh” all the time?”
Either way, it doesn’t matter – he got a haircut – HOORAY!

Jon writes our “When a Toddler Turns Teen” posts here on the blog because believe it or not, your adorable bundle of joy will grow up….

It happens with the kids going back to school too. They got their gifts, played with most of them, slept longer than usual, stayed up later than permissable, and maybe even played with friends. But then, like me and my George Clooney moment, it’s time for Gus to get up early, get to the bus stop and oh, the dreaded homework! Our school district is implementing a program to ensure kids can’t sneak out of doing their homework. Miss three assignments? Stay after school as many days as it takes to “git ‘er done.” Don’t show up after school? Saturday detention. That new rule went over really well with Gus. So not only are we nasty parents on his case with appropriate discipline, but now the entire school district is getting in the act. Happy New Year! Must be a conspiracy.

So, when time came Monday to get up and out to the bus stop, it was UGG-LY. I watched out the window (because I was still riding up that big ol’ wave myself) and realized Gus was not alone – it’s a universal feeling, that George Clooney moment.

All the kids in the neighborhood shuffled down the street, heads down, coats hanging open despite freezing temperatures, backpacks being dragged rather than worn. It looked something like a college campus the morning after a frat party – but a lot less throwing up. No, I’d have to say it more resembled a bad zombie movie where they scour the neighborhood looking for brains. You could tell the kids were all half asleep, hoping for some gray matter to kick in before the day ended. Chances are, the teachers were thinking the same thing.

It’s been a few days now, and we’re back in the usual routine. George Clooney had his moment but didn’t really drown, the Zombies found brains, and Happy New Year, homework is getting done.

Jon writes our “When a Toddler Turns Teen” posts here on the blog because believe it or not, your adorable bundle of joy will grow up…

At that point you discover that you either have a child who desperately wants to avoid a trim and doesn’t care who hears it, or one who takes it all in stride, primarily because they know they’ll get a lollipop at the end of it (or perhaps they’re distracted by Dora on the TV or by dad on the beaver). When the entire episode is over, the little one gets a treat. You on the other hand, go home with a precious lock of hair as a lovely keepsake, a headache from all the other screaming kids at the shop and quite possibly some sort of contagion picked up from the sticky, hairy, dump truck you had previously taken from your child in the waiting area. Quite the event, but oh, the precious memories!

So what happened?
Gus, I am quite convinced, is comb-a-phobic. I have never seen him use a comb, nor a brush, nor any other personal grooming device, for that matter. I was so happy when he began to wash his hair with some regularity that I scarcely noticed he neglects to comb it. This all bubbled up when I noticed the family photo album becoming the brochure for a Cousin Itt look-alike contest. Then, oh no, I realized- I was beginning to sound like my dad. “Get a haircut” “You goin’ out lookin’ like that?” “What are you, some sort of hippie?” (A HIPPIE!?!? I can’t believe I used that one!) But really, the hair hangs in his eyes. I’m truly expecting his Reading grades to decline pretty soon. Can’t see how he can see through all that hair. I can hear the optometrist, “Not to worry son, you don’t have glaucoma, you’re simply unkempt.”

Jared at dadthing.com mused about his son’s hairstyle and found a site to try out a few new do’s on his boy. They’re a hoot. Scary thing is – the first couple look like Gus in real life! When I nag about Gus about getting a haircut, he tells me I’m just jealous. Come to think of it, when I was his age, every third kid had hair like that – including me!
So, no more sticky, flying beaver haircuts Gus, and no more Hippie remarks, I promise. Yes, go ahead my boy- grow it while you got it.  But just in case you have a book report due soon, here’s a comb.

Jon writes our “When a Toddler Turns Teen” posts here on the blog because believe it or not, your adorable bundle of joy will grow up…

The fair is a wonderful family activity with something for everyone. Rides, games, food, and take a deep breath, SSSSSSNIFF – ah clear sinuses. Plus a host of interesting business displays you don’t typically see at the mall.

Gus used to like the fair. He’d ride the rides, pet the animals, drink the cider. Good times. Not this year. Now that he’s in Junior High, the fair is so “not cool.” And he’s a little big to be hoisting up on my shoulders and strolling the fairgrounds like this happy family:

Nope. We’ve gone from this- to this:

The fair is a great place for people watching, too. You find young and old alike. Lots of old folks reconnecting with their pastoral roots. Lots of young families enjoying the wonder in their children’s eyes – there was a whole lot of wonder in those eyes that saw the baby calf being born – right there under the tent at the fair. I bet there were a lot of birds and bees-type questions being avoided after that scene.

Why, you even see groups of High School kids, hanging out, eating (or rather, wearing) funnel cakes and loitering around the John Deere display. Actually overheard a teenager on his cell phone, “Dude, meet us over by the combines.” Oh, what fun! The one constituency conspicuously absent from most of this is young teens – Junior High School kids. I suppose they’re all just too cool. Not as much action at the fair as there is in a Playstation game. Let’s see, you can sit home alone and play a video game with no basis in reality, or get out in the country, meet some interesting folks, see some pretty impressive produce and gain some insight into another way of life. I don’t care if Gus really is as cool as he thinks he is. When the seasons change, we’ll take the fair – every time.

Jon writes our “When a Toddler Turns Teen” posts here on the blog because believe it or not, your adorable bundle of joy will grow up…