Shotgun Daddy

Portland: Day 6 From Dinosaurs to Donuts

One of my best friends in high school went to the University of Oregon for college, and I could never figure out why. She had grown up in sunny Southern California, but somehow she was willing to commit to spending four years in the middle of a rainstorm. Now I know the truth -- Oregon is sunny and beautiful. This was the best day of our vacation, without question. We again benefitted from a city's well-planned public transportation. We were staying with Leslie's cousin, who lived several miles from downtown Portland, but it wouldn't be a problem. We left the house early to catch a commuter bus which stopped at the base of her cousin's street, then transferred to a light rail before finally taking a second bus that dropped us within walking distance of our first destination: the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. OMSI had come highly recommended, and the kids had great fun watching an IMAX dinosaur movie, playing with puzzles, staging a television weather forecast, and pressing their noses against glass tanks filled with rats, walking stick bugs, tortoises, and hissing cockroaches. After spending the morning at the museum, we bussed back downtown and made our way to Pastini, an Italian restaurant which offers gluten-free pasta substitutions. Henry was in heaven. We spent much of the afternoon walking around the downtown area, ducking in and out of stores and eating frozen yogurt, and then the kids burned off some energy towards evening by chasing back and forth across Pioneer Square. Next we walked a few short blocks to meet Leslie's cousin at Powell's Books, probably the most amazing bookstore I've ever seen, and we each chose a book. (Mine -- David Halberstam's Breaks of the Game, a profile of the late 70s Portland Trailblazers.) For dinner we ventured off the beaten path and chose the Mississippi Pizza Pub, a hole in the wall that happened to feature gluten-free crust -- quite a find. Right on time, Kate had a meltdown while we waited for our pizza. She wanted to sit at a table outside, and rebelled when we chose another. Her growls -- actual growls -- attracted the attention of a young couple sitting nearby. Loud enough for them to hear, I warned Kate that if she kept up, she might scare the young couple out of having children. It was a very clever joke (all my jokes are clever), and the couple played along, laughing and making faces at Kate. When the couple stood to leave, the woman turned to me, patted her belly, and said, "It's too late for us!" She must've been at least eight months pregnant. For dessert we stopped in at Voodoo Donuts, a Portland favorite. Even at 10:00 PM the line went out the door, split evenly between tourists and hipsters. I ordered a bacon maple bar, but have to admit that I preferred the simple apple fritter. Looking back on the day, I think what I like the most was that we did normal Portland things as opposed to wandering from one tourist attraction to the next. We had thought about going to the Portland Rose Gardens, but I'm glad we didn't. Portland was a beautiful city, and I can't wait to go back someday. Next time it might even rain.

Seattle: Day 6 -- Portland: Day 1 The Amazing Race

Seattle was not the only city to draw us to the Northwest. Leslie's cousin, the maid of honor at our wedding, lives in Portland and has been asking us for a decade to come and visit, so this was our chance. Originally we had planned on renting a car for the three-hour drive south, but instead we decided to take the train, realizing that it would be only marginally more expensive but infinitely more relaxing. Feeling confident in my grasp of the Seattle public transit system, I turned down an offered ride to the train station and instead used my iPhone's Map application to plot our course. (This is called foreshadowing.) Our train was scheduled to leave at 9:45 AM, so we left the house in time to catch an 8:54 bus that would get us to the station with time to spare. When we got off the bus a few minutes later it took about twenty seconds to realize we had gotten off at the wrong stop -- and the bus was gone. There are lots of things I could've done differently to have prevented this, but the only thing that really mattered was that our train was due to leave in thirty minutes and we were 1.2 miles from the station. What followed was a scene straight out of The Amazing Race. Each of us, including the kids, was wearing a full backpack,but we had no choice but to run. I picked up Kate, asked her to hold tight to my neck, and we took off. To be honest, we weren't sprinting; it would be more accurate to say that we ran, then shuffled, then walked, then ran again, all the while hoping for a taxi or another bus to come along and rescue us. Nothing. As we turned down the home stretch and the station finally came into sight, I heard a scream behind me and turned to see that Henry had fallen and collapsed into a heap. I kept running, leaving Leslie to pick up the pieces. Kate and I ran through the train station doors and up to the ticket counter at 9:44. With sweat dripping down my face and my breath coming in angry bursts, I asked if we had any chance at making the 9:45 train. "No." "How much did we miss it by?" "One minute." "When is the next train?" "Two twenty." Totally defeated, we sat for a few minutes on the wooden benches in the station, catching our breath and tending to Henry's bloody knee. Even though we now knew we would not be the best contestants on The Amazing Race, it turned out not to be a total loss. With four hours to kill, we ate a long, leisurely breakfast at McCoy's Firehouse Cafe (recommended by a helpful group of firemen), discovered a hidden waterfall park in the middle of downtown, and spent two hours exploring the Klondike Gold Rush National Park. Soon enough we were on our train and heading south to Portland, zipping through the beautiful scenery of the Pacific Northwest.

Seattle: Day 5 The Space Needle and the Magic Wand

We usually do our best to give the kids at least some say in our plans while on vacation, so on Saturday we let Alison choose and we ventured back downtown to visit the Space Needle. Built for the World's Fair in 1962, the Space Needle is it once anachronistic and iconic. It's dwarfed by the surrounding skyline, but it still somehow manages to draw the eye away from the rest of the buildings in the city. The weather this week has been phenomenal, and even the employees were talking about what a great day it was to visit as the crystal clear skies offered spectacular views from atop the 520 foot elevation of the observation deck. We watched people frolicking in the International Fountain far below us, followed the paths of the ferries churning towards Bainbridge Island, identified the baseball and football stadiums nestled on the outskirts of downtown, marveled at pontoon planes landing and taking off from the surrounding waters, and pointed towards Mt. Ranier rising in the north. It was a nearly perfect day. If there was a blemish, it was Kate's meltdown after we descended from the observation deck. The elevator conveniently opens up into a large gift shop, and Kate immediately spotted something she wanted, a stuffed bear in an astronaut suit. We said no. She dissolved. She cried for at least twenty minutes, and her behavior strike continued even after the tears stopped. On Saturday night we visited an old college friend of mine, and the car rides back and forth were filled with bickering from curb to curb. Completely at a loss, I found myself wondering how we would ever regain control of our wayward brood, when it happened. Genius appears mysteriously and often without warning. I imagine that Albert Einstein and Thomas Edison and Madame Curie all had assistants who sat idly by in the wake of such genius, and so it was with me. Just as the arguments in the backseat were reaching a fever pitch, Leslie held up her phone and made an announcement. "Listen Henry and Kate," for they were the main offenders, "I have something to show you." I glanced away from the road to see a smiling picture of Kate topped by five empty stars on the screen of Leslie's iPhone. "When you're being good,I'll fill in one of these stars." And to demonstrate, she gently tapped the first star, turning it gold. Instant silence. Not only was discipline possible, it turns out there's an app for that. The biggest surprise is that I didn't crash the car right then and there. I would've been no less surprised had she produced a magic wand and turned the children into pillars of salt. When I looked at her in the passenger's seat beside me, I could've sworn that she was glowing, much like a saint in a Renaissance painting. Just when I thought I couldn't love her any more than I already did...

Seattle: Day 4 Grizzly Bears and the Miracle of Public Transportation

It's not that there aren't buses and trains in Los Angeles, it's just that they don't make any sense. If you happen to live along one spine of the metro system and work along another, it might work for you; if not, you're out of luck. The biggest problem, though is the culture. People in L.A. drive to get where they're going, and that's the bottom line. Things are different in the rest of the world. We had thought about renting a car for our stay in Seattle, but were assured it wouldn't be necessary. We stayed with friends who lived two blocks from a bus stop, and from there we were able to get anywhere in the city, as if by magic. On Friday we met a friend of Leslie's at the Woodland Park Zoo. The zoo was small, quaint, and covered with shade trees, making for a relaxing day in spite of the unseasonably warm weather. We saw penguins, elephants, and Komodo dragons and wandered the African Savanna Trail (zebras, lions, giraffes), but my favorite were the grizzly bears. There were two grizzlies, and we watched them through a glass as they stalked back and forth in a pond chasing fish. They were enormous and majestic, and I could've watched them for hours. Henry was still not quite a hundred percent, so we kept our day short. We hopped back on the same bus that had brought us. Kate spent much of the ride home sleeping on Alison's lap, but soon enough we were back at our friends' house, safe and sound.

Seattle: Day 3 Bainbridge Island

Five years ago our next door neighbors grew tired of the fast-paced life and high cost of living in Southern California and moved to a place called Bainbridge Island. Ever since then they've been adding notes to Christmas cards asking us to come and visit. Thursday was the day. As it turns out, Bainbridge Island isn't really an island, but a peninsula that juts into the waters surrounding Seattle. Even so, you can't drive there from the city, so we hopped on a ferry and stepped on the island twenty minutes later. We drove with our neighbor up the peninsula, stopped for a bit at the Point No Point Lighthouse, and finally arrived at their house in the woods, eight miles past the last stoplight. Henry's fever came roaring back, so I stayed behind while he napped, but everyone else walked three minutes to the beach for a barbecue. Alison and Kate spent the afternoon playing at the water's edge and gathering dozens of sand dollars and countless seashells. Henry eventually rallied, but by the time we got to the beach the tide had come in and the sand had almost completely disappeared. What remained was some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. The Olympia Mountains were visible out across the water, and evergreens towered behind us. A lone bird of prey, perhaps a bald eagle but more likely an osprey, stood sentinel perched high above us in a tree, and dozens of swallows flashed and darted through the meadow, circling inches above the grass in search of insects. As we sat amongst it all, I realized that even though I couldn't imagine living in a place like that, I felt lucky to have visited.

Seattle: Day 2Pike Place Market

After getting in late on Tuesday night, we started our day at a decent time and borrowed a car to drive to downtown Seattle to Pike Place Market. I ended up parking in the wrong place, which meant we had to climb about a thousand steps to get where we were going, but once we got there is was worth the effort. The market is an indoor farmers market full of artisans hawking crafts and farmers selling fruit and vegetables. We bought t-shirts for the kids, gifts for friends, lotion for Leslie, and a piece of honeycomb for Alison and me to share. The highlight, of course, is are the fish mongers atthe end of the market. You've seen them, of course, as they're famous for tossing salmon and sturgeon and halibut from one end of their stall to the other, much to the delight of the crowds of camera-toting tourists encircling the shop. We stopped for a while, and the kids were fascinated by the monk fish, intrigued by the bin of live cray fish (or baby lobsters, according to Kate), and terrified by the octopus. Here's a short video of the flying fish. From there we stopped in at the original Starbucks, and guess what? It looks just like the Starbucks in your town. Henry started running a bit of a fever, so we called it a day and drove back to West Seattle.

Seattle: Day 1

Here's the family boarding the plane for our trip to Seattle. The flight was uneventful, except that Kate fussed enough to convince her weak parents that she deserved a window seat. Also, there happened to be a dog sitting in the seat behind us. Aside from that, nothing unusual. More fun to come tomorrow!

Farewell to a Friend

Henry suffered his first broken heart today.  He had to say goodbye to his friend Haley.

Henry and Haley met at daycare when they were each somewhere around nine months old, and their friendship grew as their paths took them through the same preschool and elementary classrooms.  Like me, most of Henry's friends have been girls, and Haley has always been his best friend.  They shared toys at daycare, took turns on the slide in kindergarten, collected flowers and leaves in the first grade, and played tag in the second grade.  They even shared a dance at the school's Valentine's Ball.

Most importantly, though, Haley was Henry's protector.  She sat next to him in class to keep him on task and helped him navigate the politics of the playground.  

A few weeks ago we learned that Haley and her family would be moving away.  This afternoon they invited us to a farewell party at their summer home on the beach.  Henry had a wonderful time playing in the sand and the sun, drifting from one friend to the next but always thinking of what would happen at the end of the day.  Even as he was paddling in the bay or building castles in the sand, he would wander back to us from time to time and ask how much longer it would be until we had to leave.  He had already warned us that he would probably cry when it was time to say goodbye.

As the sun began to set and cool breezes started teeth chattering, it was time for us to go.  Henry and Haley stood next to each other for several pictures, then hugged each other goodbye.  Henry walked bravely to the car, but on the drive home I noticed his lip quivering in the rear view mirror.  I reached my hand back and set it in his lap.  I felt his small hand in mine and listened to him cry.  His heart was breaking, and so was mine.

Henry was sad for the rest of the night, first lying next to his mother on the bed, then sitting in my lap as I watched a baseball game.  I tuck Henry into bed every single night, but tonight he needed something else.  He needed a little extra love.  "Mama's gonna tuck me in tonight," he told me, and said goodnight. 

Tomorrow I will tell him about Elissa.  Elissa lived across the street from me when I was Henry's age, and she was my best friend.  We hatched plans, shared imaginations, and even said "I love you" to each other -- that last part was a secret until just now.  My family moved away when I was in the third grade, and Elissa disappeared from my life but never from my heart.  How could you ever forget your first best friend?

When I tell Henry the story and show him the pictures, I'll tell him that I was just as sad as he was when Elissa and I said goodbye, but I'll also tell him that my story has a happy ending.  Two years ago Elissa reached across cyberspace to find me, and now we're friends again.  

Haley might be moving away, but they'll always be friends.

Summer Goal #1: Taking Off the Training Wheels

One in a series of posts tracking my summer goals.  Hopefully there will be more than one.

Kate had been chasing her brother and sister back and forth along the sidewalk for a year or so, either gliding along on her scooter or pedaling on her princess bike, and she was finally looking ready to ditch the training wheels.  And so on the Fourth of July, as we sat watching fireworks on a blanket in a park far from home, I asked her if she was ready to learn how to ride her bike.

She laughed.  "I already know how to ride my bike, Daddy!"

"But don't you want to learn how to ride without training wheels, like Henry and Alison?"

She shook her head.  "No."

I asked her again when we returned from our trip, and this time she gave me a different answer.  "Yes, Daddy, I do!"

I took her training wheels off as soon as I got home from work the next day, and as she sat next to me on the curb I explained that even though it might be hard at first, I knew she'd be able to do it.  All she had to do was do her best.  If she was nervous, she didn't show it as she climbed onto her bike.

I showed her how to turn the handlebars if she felt herself falling, explained that she had to keep pedaling, and promised that I'd be holding on to her the whole time.  And then it began.

There is something magical about teaching your child how to ride a bike, probably because it's an experience that everyone -- parents and non-parents -- can relate to.  When you think of all the seminal moments of parenting -- childbirth, first steps, first words, potty training, etc. -- there is nothing as public or universal as taking off the training wheels.

I held on to her seat and whispered encouragement into her ear as I trotted behind her, just as every father everywhere does, and the neighborhood took notice.  Our next door neighbor saw Kate through her window and came outside just to stand and applaud from the sidewalk.  A woman down the street also cheered for her, and told me that she couldn't believe it had been twenty years since she had taught her daughter how to ride.

But more than just our friends were proud of Kate.  Every car that drove by slowed to a crawl, and not just for safety's sake.  The drivers all smiled and waved, instantly aware of what we were doing.  Whether they had children of their own or not, they had all experienced this moment on one end of the bike or the other.  They had experienced Kate's skinned knees, my aching back, and equal doses of our frustration and eventual pride.  No conversation was necessary; all of that came across in their smiles.

As I jogged up and down the street, first holding tightly for safety, then gently resting my hand on her shoulder for guidance as she gained confidence, I realized that even if I was just teaching her how to ride a bike on this particular Tuesday, the whole thing was an obvious metaphor for parenting.  We hold our children close as they start something new, encouraging them to take risks as we assure them that we'll catch them if they fall.  Then we slowly release them, inch by inch or year by year, until they're ready to fly on their own as we applaud from a distance.

And so when Kate was finally ready to ride on her own and I watched her pedal away from me, I felt a touch of sadness even as I cheered her success.  She was growing up and leaving a piece of her childhood behind, and I was letting her go.

To Push, Or Not to Push

One of the things I struggle with as a parent is knowing when I should push my children and when I should back off.  I can't speak for mothers out there, but my guess is that some of the dads who are reading this might identify with this dilemma, particularly with regards to sports.  I could never be that stereotypical Little League dad who screams at his kid when he strikes out, but I admit that I have high expectations for my daughter, and it can sometimes be hard to watch when I don't feel like she's living up to those expectations.

Before you think I actually am that Little League father, let me explain.  Because Alison has shown that she has a talent for basketball, and because she enjoys playing it, I want her to give her best effort during every practice and every game.  Notice that I don't say that I want her to be the best player on the court -- even though I secretly do -- I just want to her to work hard at it.  But because she's ten years old, she doesn't always work hard.

A while ago I spoke with author Norman Ollestad about his recent book, Crazy for the Storm: A Memoir of Survival, and we touched on this issue. Here's a snippet of our conversation:

BTB: It’s interesting because this is something that, as parents, I think a lot of us struggle with. My daughter is nine years old. She plays basketball, and she has played for quite a while. She enjoys it, I enjoy coaching her. The battle we’re having right now is that I think she can be a lot better than she is. I think she has potential long term to be a good player, and like you said, to enjoy it because she’s good at it. So you wonder, do you push her, and maybe turn her off to it, or do you let her just go out there and play if she likes it. Does she have to be good at it? Where do you draw that line as a parent? 

Ollestad: It’s a completely imperfect science. I don’t think anybody knows. Some people talk about it all the time and write books about it, but that’s a joke. Nobody knows how to do anything. You don’t know. You’ve gotta go on instinct, you’ve gotta go on how your child is reacting to it. I think part of the advantage my father had is he wasn’t thinking about that stuff. He just assumed it was good, because ultimately it was good. It was healthy. As I got better, I did start to enjoy it more, and he knew I would. I don’t think he contemplated it. He was a 50s guy, born in ’35. 

BTB: They didn’t think about their parenting. 

Ollestad: They just did it. And luckily, as opposed to the other male figure, who wasn’t thinking about it either, luckily my father had a loving presentation, a loving natural way. He was always kissing me, very affectionate. He was always telling me I could do it. He never once said, oh, you gotta win, or you gotta be the best. That never came up. That was his whole trip. It wasn’t about that. It was just about doing it. Get out there! Things will happen, you’ll find out about yourself. Not that succinctly thought out, but that’s, I think, underneath what he was getting at.

I don't have an answer to this question, but I promise that if I ever figure it out, my loyal readers will be the first to know.  (And if you've got the answer already, don't hesitate to share...)

If you'd like to read the rest of the interview, you can find it at Behind-The-Book.com, a site I created a while ago to catalog the various author interviews I've done for different websites over the last few years.  Aside from the Ollestad piece, the interviews are all sports related, but I promise greater variety in the months to come.  Stop by and take a look if you've got the time.