Pepper For The Win!

I love sports. I am a big fan of athletic competitions. Sports were a big part of my identity as a young man, and the lessons I learned as a teammate have helped me tremendously as an educator and husband. My wife feels the same. We both played competitive sports for years. My wife even played at the collegiate level. I was recruited to run track for a Division 1 institution, but I decided to focus on my studies. No, seriously. O.k. and other things, too. :) Anyway, we have numerous family members who have played collegiate athletics. My father played hoops. I even have a grandfather who was a pro fighter. Genetics might be on our side. We both want our daughter to play sports. We view them as not only fun, but great for exercise. The lessons she can learn through sportsmanship, teamwork, and winning and losing can be life altering. 

As a long time basketball coach, I know what it looks like to be an over the top crazed parent in the stands. We will not be those parents. However, I worry about putting pressure on Camilla. Nothing would please me more than to have her be the next Diana Taurasi or Candace Parker on the basketball court. As much as I enjoyed being an athlete, it has been much more rewarding to be a coach and cheer. I'm sure that being a parent and watching my girl cross over a defender and leave her with some heavily damaged ankles would bring me much happiness. I definitely want my daughter to enjoy life and find things that interest her. Legal things, so don't get it twisted.  But will I be disappointed if sports is not one of those interests? Perhaps. (Can I make that a strong perhaps.) However, what I want most is for her to find a passion. It can be art, politics, music, outer space, or teaching. I just want my daughter to develop a passion for something and hopefully have a positive impact on society. Until that happens, we'll let her try her hand at a number of things, including sports and ballet. 

You know what though? It has been interesting to watch Camilla in soccer class. She has been taking soccer for about a year, and she certainly shows grit and resolve if not talent. She is currently in a soccer class where she is the only girl. The boys are unfortunately lacking any discipline. In addition, they have not been very friendly or cooperative. Camilla does not appreciate that, as she is a kind, thoughtful young girl. But, she can hold her own. Recently, she was kicking the ball in a drill and it went towards a boy without a ball. He proceeded to take Camilla's ball and dribble away. My daughter yelled, "Hey, that's my ball," and grabbed the ball. The boy then started to wrestle with Camilla for the ball. My much smaller daughter did not relinquish the ball until one of the coaches arrived. Nice to see she can hold her own. 

What else has been interesting is her coaching. Most of her coaches have been fantastic. Patient. Funny. Helpful. But, there have been a couple who have treated her in a very patronizing fashion. The usual sign is that they will hold her hand during drills and not hold the hand of any of the boys in the class. This video is an example of this. 

This coach, unfortunately, did not let Camilla have a chance to make mistakes or take some time to work her way through a drill. He chose to hold her hand and walk her through everything. Before even seeing her skill level. To me, it seemed he treated her differently, because she is a girl. It shouldn't surprise you that I had something to say to this coach after class. I am always respectful, but it is imperative that people are made aware of how we treat girls and boys. We don't want our daughter to think she is less than anyone else. 

We will see how sports works out for Camilla. She will inevitably be impacted by where we decide to live, her school, her friends, and her family. I would not be devastated at all if she takes her talents to something else. It will be exciting to support her passion, especially one that I am not as familiar with, because she could teach me something new. But, it would be really cool to be in the stands when she hits a buzzer beater to score her 1000th career point. Pepper for the win!

A Not So Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Subway

I was walking to the subway holding and hugging my now three year old daughter recently, when I heard a man walking by us say, "Black women are the best!" The man walked by us and smirked while making this comment. He had most likely assumed that my daughter was the result of a union between a black man and white woman. It certainly seemed this comment was aimed toward us.

I leaned into discomfort and said to the man that if he had something to say, don't say it under your breath.  Tell us to our faces. That's right. I told this man "us". Tell my daughter to her face that her parents shouldn't be together. He looked quite shocked that I said something. He actually apologized and said he meant nothing against my daughter. I could certainly look at this as a moral victory. However, it didn't feel as good as I would have liked.

I knew to expect these types of comments or looks, being a black male married to a white women. But, I'm tired of this. Don't bring this attitude to my daughter, who represents a bond made of love. The argument against my union is that I have turned my back on my race. I believe this is a cope out. I am a proud black man. I have worked my entire adult life to support and empower children, specifically children of color, and especially African-American children. If you spend 30 minutes with me, you know my heritage is one of the first three ways I identify. I am convinced that people need to focus on their own (ahem) stuff, and let me focus on my own. 

Eventually, I will have to talk to my daughter about racism and prejudice in much more detail. I am not sure about all the aspects of this inevitable conversation, but I do know the theme will be to stay true to herself while honoring her multiracial heritage. We can't avoid these comments, but I can empower her to know there is nothing wrong with her family. Nothing.

My Idol: How My Daughter Inspires Me

I am not Matthew McConaghey. I am not my own idol. You might be surprised who my idol is. My idol is my three year old daughter. How could a three year old be an idol of someone who is almost 40 years her senior? How could someone who can't care for herself inspire me? Oh, let me count the ways.

She expresses love, a lot. 

My daughter truly has unconditional love for me and her mother. She tells us this without prodding or training. She loves me and expresses this often. We don't do this nearly enough as a society, and it has certainly inspired me to show my love to my wife and child as often as possible.

She is willing to forgive.

She doesn't hold it against me yet when she is disciplined or told no. And she is especially forgiving after some rest. Hopefully, her eventual loss of an afternoon nap doesn't change this too much.

She is resilient.

She recently endured a trip to the hospital. Not only was she unfazed by being in an ambulance, but she handled having an IV put into her hand, more than once! She is taking a soccer class where she is the only girl. She initially was taken aback by that. Then, she decided that the actions of the boys should not ruin her enjoyment. Since this will not be the only time she will be "one of" or "the only", it is important that she has these experiences early. Thankfully, she handles them well. In addition, if you ask her why do we fall down, she will answer, "To get back up." Yeah, my parenting is totally influenced by pop culture. I also quote Aaliyah. "Camilla, if at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again." And Uncle Jay. "Camilla. Get. That. Dirt off your shoulder." But, I digress.

She is willing to try new things.

Especially food!

She has strong observational skills.

What she notices is remarkable. She recently noticed a mistake in her Doc McStuffins book. I have read this to her dozens of times since we bought the book, and I never noticed it. Adults just don't seem to notice the things three year olds do. It is certainly a reminder to not take so much for granted. 

And, she said this. "You're not like the other dads. You're brown. But I'm brown, too. And that's good. And we love each other. And we have happy faces."

So, my daughter at age 3 is my idol. I am not ashamed to say this. Simply put, she is a model of kindness and is the type of human being I aspire to be. Here's hoping my daughter at age 16 is still my idol. :)

Absolute Fear: My Daughter's First Trip to the Hospital

My daughter developed a fever on a Tuesday night in March and unfortunately maintained this fever into that Wednesday. For those of you with children, you know how tough it can be seeing your child sick. There has been nothing more frustrating for me as a father than listening to my daughter cough repeatedly and struggle sleeping. My daughter is a beautiful bundle of energy, spirit, and thoughtfulness on most days. When she is sick, she is straight up miserable, lethargic, and rude. I went to teach that Wednesday with my mind clearly elsewhere, which thankfully my students did not notice. My daughter clearly had not improved, so we decided she needed to go to the doctor's office on Thursday. My wife, as she often does, uncovered through research what was causing this problem: pneumonia. Camilla's doctor gave her a treatment to clear her lungs and prescribed an antibiotic. I was convinced that she would shortly be on the road to recovery. She usually bounces back rather quickly. But, that was sadly not the case. My daughter stopped eating and fought me tooth and nail on consuming liquids. This was something different. She was turning down food that she loved. She even started to say she didn't want to improve, which made this so scary.  In addition, my daughter was to celebrate her birthday with some of her friends in a few days. She was so excited about planning this glorious event right down to the Batman cupcakes. But, she started to say that she didn't want to have a party. Yes, this was definitely something different. 

After a return trip to the pediatrician on Friday, we were told that our daughter needed to go to the hospital. Her breathing was far too fast, and she was dangerously dehydrated. What came next was the most surreal part. To go to the hospital, we were required to ride in an ambulance. Very scary. I was literally feeling multiple emotions: sadness, anger, and confusion. And fear. Fear that this had become serious. Fear that our daughter could be lost. Fear no parent wants to deal with at all. Fear certainly hit my wife as well. I had to make a call about who would ride with Camilla. After viewing my wife's tears, I knew it had to be me. My wife needed a little space from the situation, so she would drive our car to the hospital. I knew that I had to be the rock this time, especially for Camilla. But, my daughter was so amazing and unfazed. I truly admire her resiliency. As we waited for a room in the ER, Camilla had trouble keeping down liquids and was spitting up, as she calls it, far too often. It was obvious that an IV was in her future. As we finally moved into a room, I thought about two things. How much these two ladies brought to my life? And, why were there so many cops in front of some of the ER rooms? Yikes! Anyway, we were hopeful that a night on the IV would help Camilla bounce back. In addition, we had to give her pumps of albuterol every few hours, which would hopefully clear her lungs. With all of this, and two uncomfortable chairs, it basically meant a long, painful, and sleepless night for my wife and me. I'm not sure how Jack Bauer does it. (Cue 24 clock ticking sound.)

Day two was a good one. Camilla had bounced back! Her breathing was good, and she was holding down food and liquids. We began to see our daughter and her spirit return. What a glorious sight to behold. What we learned was that she was hit with a devastating one-two punch of pneumonia and RSV, which is a respiratory illness. 

If dealing with this trip to the hospital and Camilla's illness wasn't enough, there were other knuckleballs we had to attempt to hit.
1) The fact that Camilla has proven to be susceptible to respiratory illnesses means that she might just develop asthma. 

2) With Camilla's birthday playdate coming up on that Sunday, I had to reschedule. Poor Camilla apologized profusely for being sick and ruining her party. Thankfully, all of her friends were able to attend on the alternate date. 

3) My father was in town. The same father I have not seen in about 35 years. I was certainly open to seeing him one on one. However, he wanted to meet my family and have me meet my half brothers that I did not know existed until a few years ago. Heavy stuff. Probably not the ideal time for me to deal with it, but you don't always have a choice. I did contact my father to try to meet, but by the time we connected, he was on his way back to Syracuse, NY. 

So, there was all that as well. I started to look around for mountain lions, Sherry Palmer, and Chloe, because it just started to sound over the top to me. 

Camilla continued to improve and was significantly better by Saturday night, although, she had to endure a second IV being placed into her hand that left her crying more than I have ever seen her cry. (That was really hard to witness. Really hard.) I was able to leave Jenelle and venture home, and we both received much needed sleep. We were able to leave midday on Sunday. Camilla  would celebrate her birthday at home! (Her first movie was in order.)

I have never doubted why I am married to my amazing partner. But during times of stress, you learn so much about a relationship. Honestly, Team Camilla rocked the house. We stayed focused, determined, and strong. When my wife needed support, I provided it. (Seeing our child loaded into an ambulance will do that to you.) When I needed help, my wife came to my rescue. (Having your child say she wants to stay sick did it to me.) We helped guide our daughter through this very challenging, exhausting experience. We truly compliment each other. Such a team. 

I am now convinced that this experience will have a lasting effect on me. Just recently, Camilla had a runny nose, and she said she was not sick, which is how this all began last time. I was very real with her, reminding her about the need for rest. I reminded her that we would like to avoid the hospital and keep going to school, classes, and playdates. The best way to do that, I said, was to rest. You know what? She listened and went to sleep shortly thereafter. Perhaps she remembers the sheer pain of the IV being put into her hand or the awkwardness of being in a hospital. I know I do.

Thankfully, this is a story with a happy ending. The main reason for this being the doctors and nurses who helped my daughter. It started with our pediatrician and ended with the help of some wonderful nurses. We are lucky and blessed to have received such quality care. Even though some of them perpetuated gender stereotypes, huzzahs still go all around. Just hoping I don't see those people again any time soon.

(Camilla celebrating her birthday.)

36 things I have learned about my daughter in the 36 months I have known her

1) She is motivated by not wanting something to actually cry about.

2) She acts like a stereotypical intoxicated individual when she is in need of sleep. 
3) All water is apparently fresh. 
4) She loves Battle of the Planets even though she has only ever heard the theme song.
5) Her hide and seek skills leave a lot to be desired.
6) As do her red light, green light skills
7) But, her dancing is joyous.
8) She loves school.
9) And her dance and soccer classes.
10) Baseball is her favorite sport.
11) Peg + Cat has helped her math skills.
12) She sees herself as a superhero, and not a sidekick. (No Robin costumes in her future.)
13) The Police are her favorite band and Michael Jackson her favorite singer.
14) She called Julianne Moore Freckleface Strawberry when she met her and calls Jay Z "Uncle Jay".
15) She is in a toddler band named Grapes, Strawberries, and Blueberries.
16) Pink is her favorite color.
17) It's difficult for her to color without breaking a crayon.
18) She prefers her full name.
19) She is the moral compass of her preschool class.
20) She doesn't like smoking because it makes the air dirty.
21) She hugs those she loves with a great deal of ferocity.
22) When she naps, she sometimes does this.

23) And this.

(That one might have been me.)

24) She thinks Fred Sanford looks like Beethoven. And that they both must be grumpy.
25) She can use multiple adverbs correctly.
26) She speaks her mind.
27) Chewbacca is her favorite Star Wars character.
28) Her father likes Doc McStuffins almost as much as she does.
29) Peter and the Wolf always makes her happy.
30) She does a great impersonation of her mother.

31) She is amazingly caring and thoughtful.
32) She usually destroys your Playdoh creations. She just can't help it.
33) She loves giraffes. They stick their necks out for their friends. 
34) She uses the potty, blows her nose, sleeps in a big girl bed, and walks to school. Yet, she still likes to be held so she can snuggle.
35) She often wears a tutu and pink fedora around the house.
36) Her mommy and daddy love her more than they could ever have imagined.

Happy 3rd Birthday to my wonderful daughter.

Thank You, Dad: How My Absentee Father Has Unknowingly Influenced My Parenting

For the first time in 11 years, I read the novel, Things Fall Apart. As an English teacher, I honestly feel that each time you read a book, you see different things. Although it has always been a challenging read due to the spousal abuse, this time, I read this book in the mindset of a parent and husband. 

The protagonist, Okonkwo, was not the most liked of characters and a poor father at best. This was due in large part to his being influenced by his relationship with his father. In addition, his father was not much of a role model. Everything Okonkwo does was in response to how little he thought of his father. His father's failure and ineptitude motivated Okonkwo. 

I understand this motivation all too well. My father was pretty much out of my life by age 5. I spoke with him on the phone at age 12, then reconnected with him a few years ago after 25 years. Although we have been working on creating a relationship, that's a long time without talking to a parent. Honestly, I didn't know what he sounded like or looked like. Most of my life, I viewed him as a deadbeat. The guy who left me. My only memories of him were negative. He gave me cheap toys for Christmas that would break before New Year's. He would pick me up to spend time with me and leave me with family members or random people so he could do something else. He set the bar pretty low for fathers. 

Who were the fathers that had a parenting style I could model? Maybe Heathcliff Huxtable, who those of us of a certain generation idolized or wished was our father. Who wouldn't have enjoyed his Zerberts or winter time BBQ's? Maybe Chris Gardner of The Pursuit of Happyness, whose sole motivation was the survival of his son at all costs.

This is not to say that I lacked for male role models. There were certainly some in my middle school, where I connected with one of the few men of color that have ever taught me. I remember talking with him often and knowing he truly was looking out for me. He knew I was challenged by being one of only a handful of black folks at the school. He even took me to purchase my first pair of track shoes, when he knew they were pricey. As close as I was to my mother, it was meaningful to have this connection with a black male. For that, I thank my old coach and advisor, Bill McBride. 

Thankfully, my mother was beyond competent. Through her influence and my utter disgust for my father, I began to behave and perform in ways that would not only make my mother proud, but would also make my father jealous and sad. My academic success in independent schools and degrees from two great universities, my sports prowess, my career in education, the pride I take in being a sensitive and thoughtful man. All of these things are connected to my wanting to not be my father. What I wanted was to show him what he missed. I wanted him to know that I was able to thrive. I wanted him to regret his decision to leave. I wanted to distance myself so far from him that I wanted desperately to change my middle name, which is his first name. 

I recently came to the conclusion that I am the man I am today because of my father and despite my father. My father unwittingly motivated me. His "parenting"  also inspired me to be a strong parent. The second my daughter was born, when I was able to hold her and her existence became so much more real, it became impossible to imagine not being in her life. No way would I be unreliable. Or not present. Or a negative influence in her life. My "relationship" with my father is certainly a reason why I am a stay at home dad. I want my daughter to have a lasting and strong bond with her father. So, thank you, Dad, for allowing me to create my own model of fatherhood, one that works for my family. You know what? I am straight killin' this fatherhood thing. 

But when it comes down to it, my mother's efforts need to be commended. If she wasn't so strong, smart, and thoughtful, I would not have been able to understand the magnitude of my successes. For that, and so much else, I am happy to call her Mom, and give her my sincere thanks. 

Penny: A Tribute

We lost an important family friend last Wednesday. Lost on the downtown B train in Manhattan, Penny, pictured here, was one of my daughter's closest stuffed friends. 

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm really quite sad about Penny's loss. She shared many adventures with us throughout New York City over the last three years. It is the first time we have had to speak with our daughter about loss. We also spoke to her about how she has to be more responsible with her toys when we leave the house. I have usually been the hero and rescued numerous toys dropped when we have ventured from home. Penny was often on the receiving end of those rescues. I can't always be the savior as much as I might want to be. My daughter has taken it surprisingly well, once again surprising us with her resiliency. Probably eased by this.

A replacement known as L'il Penny. Thinking about trademarking that name!

Another reason why I am sad is what Penny represents. She bridged the gap from my daughter as a newborn to a bouncing, vocal, and observant preschooler. Eventually, my daughter was going to move on from Penny. I understand that. But this is a reminder that these things can happen suddenly. Most importantly, it's a reminder to continue doing what I have been doing, which is treasuring every moment, because these are the most precious of moments. 

I have made a video tribute to Penny. Here's hoping she made some subway rider smile.