Obama's Speech to Your Kids

President Obama has planned a special speech, directed specifically toward students, to be broadcast via the Internet to schools around the country.

As a prestigious blogger, I've been allowed an early preview of the speech, and I have to say, Obama is doing a wonderful job of reaching out to America's students. I saw the California version, which begins:

"Buenos dias, estudientes. Para Ingles, marque numero uno; para Espanol, marque dos."

(the sound of the "1" button).

"Good morning students. Yesterday, as you know, was Labor Day, a special holiday that we Americans celebrate in honor of the various labor unions that have made the American workplace a safe and happy place for some of your parents. The labor unions, as you know, are foundational to America's prosperity for without them, ALL of your parents would be forced to work consistently without any hope of long-term unemployment benefits. Instead, Americans all over this great land have the ability to stay home a good part of the year and live comfortably, thanks to the wonderful benefits that the labor unions have been able to extract from over-wealthy business owners.

"But I wanted to take a few moments to talk to you today about the importance of the public school system. As you know, we in the Democratic Party have made public education a priority. We have invested enormous amounts of money in your education, and we are committed to giving you the best education available in this country. And we listen to you: as you know, I ran for President last year on a platform of Change, and we are working to make the public education system even better.

"First, there are over 40 million children between the ages of 1 and 4 here in America who are not in a school. I firmly believe in education for everyone. That's why I have instructed congress to pass the "Private Helps Public" act of 2009, in which every dollar that a wealthy parent pays for tuition so that their child can attend a high-priced private school, they must donate a dollar to the "Private Helps Public" fund.

"And what will those funds be used for? You noticed that, as part of my "Change You Can Believe In" campaign, I made some promises to better the public education system. True to my word, this year, when you came back to school, things had changed. Now, EVERY student gets a free breakfast at school; EVERY student has access to either reduced price--or even free--lunches. The money we receive from the "Private Helps Public" program will go to support a student free dinner fund, so that every child in America receives three meals a day. That's the kind of change you can believe in: we here in Washington are committed to ensuring we provide you with everything you need.

"This, American students, is my great dream: a nation in which your government ensures you have three meals a day at no cost to you; that you have all the health care you need at no cost to you; that you have an apartment in which to live that costs no more than 1/4 your monthly net income; that you have a fuel efficient, new car.

"This is my dream for you. There are those who don't want you to have that dream, though. Look around you: the parents of some of your fellow students, sitting right there in that room, would like to strip away all of the positive changes we've made, and keep us from doing this great work. But it need not be that way. You have a voice; you have an untapped source of power greater than any America has ever seen (you have, after all, given the guy with the flyless, elastic waisted camoflauge pants a swirly three times already this year).

"Use that power! Be a force for change! Go to my website and give us your email address; we'll forward links to free flyers you can pass out in your neighborhood. And talk to your parents; educate them. And if they refuse to listen, get them hopelessly drunk this November the night before voting.

"Remember children: you are the America of tomorrow. Our hope lies in you--and so you MUST stay in public school and continue to believe in the change that we continue to bring. And soon, we will have the country we have envisioned.

"Thank you, and may America be blessed."

OK. So, I'm not a prestigious blogger, and I certainly haven't been given access to Obama's speech in advance, but I have a somewhat active imagination, and based on all the uproar, this is what I imagine it'll be like.

Maybe not...who knows.

Thing is, a few years ago, I wouldn't have cared, but as I age (and become, I think, a better parent), I realize how raw my children are. They're literally begging for someone to shape their beliefs and values. And, regardless how noble--or ignoble--our President's intentions, if we're not careful, this speech and others like it will do much to shape those raw, searching children, many of whom have no real force in their life to provide the value structure.

And those children, a few short years from now, will project those values by way of a vote in the voting booth.

Hitler had it right when he formed the Hitler Youth: shape them while they're young, and they'll never depart.

The question you have to ask yourself: is this the message that I want to influence my child's value system?

Toothbrush Marketing

Tonight we went to Target (pronounced, someone told me, "tar-jhay", as opposed to the "tar-git" pronunciation that we uncivilized country folk are accustomed to). We were shopping around for various household items--toiletries (that's what they call toilet paper, right?), laundry detergent, hairspray, etc...

We were standing in the dental care aisle, looking for mouthwash. Do you know that they have mouthwash for kids that dies their left-over mouth gunk some bright color so that they know how terrible a job they're doing brushing? I DIDN'T know that.

Until the other day.

I used some of Lex and Gentrys "Plaque Detecting" mouthwash after brushing, and then headed off to work. I ran (a few moments late) into a fairly important meeting, and rushed to the head of the conference table, distributing my packets of handouts on the way. As I walked past, colleagues broke off conversations mid-sentence, looking up, heads bent, puzzled looks on their faces. I assumed that they were just admiring the positive affect of the OXY Acne Wash that I've been using the past weeks.

Self-confidence soaring, I stepped to the head of the conference table, pulled my handy-dandy laser-light from my pocket protector, and launched into my presentation. Almost immediately a colleague cleared his throat and raised his hand.

"Yes?" I pointed at him.

"Are those braces?" he asked querulously.

"What?"

"On your teeth; you have hot pink between each of your teeth. What is that?"

I don't use the mouthwash anymore.

But I digress. I was standing there in the dental care aisle, staring aimlessly at the broad selection of Scooby Doo toothbrushes when Lex walked up next to me. She stood quietly beside me for a moment, hands behind her back, and gazed in awe at the cartoon-themed toothbrush selection. Then she cleared her throat.

"Daddy?"

"Huh? Oh! Hey Lex, what's up?"

"Well," she began, "do you know Hannah Montana?"

I don't actually know her. I know who she IS of course: a tweener female pop-star, whose real name is Miley Cyrus (daughter of that hunky, and oh-so-famous country star--the one who sang the timeless classic, Achy-Breaky Heart; what does that mean anyways?). Her TV show, produced by Disney catapulted her to almost cultish stardom before she was old enough to drive.

"Yes, Lex; I know who she is," I answered.

"Have you ever seen her teeth?" she asked.

"Um...well, I don't know, now that you mention it. Why?"

"They are SO white," she responded, just as I imagine Hannah might have--with that teen aged "OH-MY-GOSH" lilting, valley-girl half screech in her voice. "And you know what?" she continued. "This is the TOOTHBRUSH she uses!"

She held up a toothbrush festooned with Hannah dancing about the handle, and across the plastic packaging. Then she pressed a button on the handle, and Hannah opened (metaphorically) those stark white incisors (and bicuspids, and molars--you get the point), and began belting out, in a tinny, screechy voice, a song telling me (I think) to "place a bet on both horses"...or something.

She didn't get the toothbrush, but only because her mother came around the corner just before I'd fallen completely under the spell. Lex HATES brushing her teeth, but somehow, through the genius of marketing, the folks at the Hannah Montana toothbrush factory convinced her that, if she is to have pearly whites like Hannah, she's going to have to buy the $9.99 Hannah festooned toothbrush, and listen to Hannah sing out her gambling recommendations until the battery dies on the dumb thing.

I didn't have the heart to tell Lex that those are $40,000 veneers.

Red-Handed

The tooth came out. Last night. During church.

I was on the platform singing, and I happened to glance over at Shawna. She caught my eye, and motioned to her mouth, and then to Lex. I understood immediately. Lex grinned; I could see the gap from across the sanctuary!

I'm so excited--not so much that she lost the tooth, but that she lost it while I was otherwise occupied.

After service, Gentry and Lex came up to me. "Letsis lost her toof," he said, "and she's gonna put it under her pillow and get some money!" he said.

She grinned broadly, and showed me the gap. For some reason, I could tell that, with the loss of that tooth, she was finally comfortable in her 6 year-old skin, that she finally felt like she belonged.

I was happy for her.

Late last night, I got up and tiptoed into her room to check under her pillow. She'd put the tooth in a baggie, along with a handwritten note. She'd written a short note to the tooth fairy explaining that she'd lost the enclosed tooth.

I was touched, so I went and got a baggie, put a $10 bill in it, and wrote a brief note from the tooth fairy, congratulating her on her loss, and wishing her many more easy "tooth-losses." I stuck the note in the baggie, and replaced her baggie with mine.

I stuck the tooth into a kitchen cabinet, and I went to bed.

This morning when she got out of bed, she dug around under her pillow almost immediately. And there she found the note and money. She read the note, asked my help reading "congratulations." She looked thoughtfully at the note for a few minutes, stuffed both the money and the note back into the baggie, and went off to find Shawna.

I heard her in our bedroom explaining that she'd put the tooth and note under her pillow, and this morning she'd found the money and a response note. "The tooth fairy gave you ten dollars, huh?" Shawna asked Lex.

"No," Lex replied.

Shawna was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. I tiptoed down the hall, and stood just outside the room listening.

"No, the tooth fairy didn't come last night," Lex told Shawna. "It was Daddy."

"What do you mean?" I asked, sticking my head into the room.

"Well," Lex started, "first, you knew too quickly what that word "congratulations" was. And, I know your handwriting; that was your handwriting. It was YOU Dad."

I was dumbfounded. Shawna started chuckling. This is the same girl who, not a week ago, was arguing VEHEMENTLY that there most certainly WAS a Tooth Fairy, and now, with a few minor slip-ups, she knows the truth.

So much for letting her enjoy some of the fantasy of childhood. I ruined it without even trying.

I should have typed the note...

Only Two Left

We have a house guest-a friend of mine, Kevin, a pianist to rival Liberace (without the bodysuit and cape), and overall musician extraordinaire. He arrived this morning, and we spent the day rehearsing for this week (we're singing at a conference). Gentry stuck with me while Shawna and Lex went and did "girl stuff".

We finished rehearsal, and so I brought Kevin over to the house to get his luggage in the house, and get situated. After he was settled, we sat down in the living room for a few minutes to catch our breath.

While we talked, Gentry went to the pantry, grabbed a fruit roll-up, and ate it while playing with his cars on the living room floor. He finished it and we were still talking, so he hopped up, went to the pantry and grabbed another. He finished that one and we (well, Kevin really; he's a talker, that Kevin) were still going strong, so he made his way back to the pantry and went for a third round.

As he opened the wrapper on this one, Kevin said, "Hey. Can I have a fruit roll-up?"

Gentry stopped and looked up at Kevin. He cocked his head, and squinted at him for a second, not quite sure.

Then he shook his head. "Thewe awe only two left," he said, as he moved back toward his toys.

We've tried so diligently to teach our children that others come first, to treat others with the highest level of respect.

I'm not quite sure Gentry's getting it.

Holes in the Earth

Yesterday when I got home from work, Gentry and Lex were in the front yard playing. They both had table spoons, and were squatting over a sizeable hole in the grass.

I walked over, and peered down into the hole. They were industriously hacking at the sides and bottom of a pit roughly the size and depth of a five gallon bucket, removing the dirt, spoonful by spoonful, and piling it in the grass off to the side.

I watched them for a moment. They ignored me.

"What are you guys doing?" I finally asked them. "Digging a hole to China?" I laughed.

They stopped digging, and slowly lifted their heads and looked at each other in that "we-know-something-he-doesn't" way.

"China?" Lex said, incredulously. "No, Dad!"

"Oh," I said. "I feel stupid now. I'm sorry. Well, what are you doing then?" I asked as they got back to their digging.

They stopped again and looked up at me, exasperated.

"Dad. You can't dig to China," Gentry said.

"Sure you can! We used to when we were kids!"

Lex tossed down her spoon, and stood and looked at me in disbelief. "No," she said, "you didn't. You MIGHT have dug a hole to the southern Indian Ocean, but not to China."

"Unless," Gentry said, "you gwew up in Costa Wica or somewhewe else in South Amewica."

"Um..." I said.

Lex grabbed my hand. "Come on." She dragged me into the house, jumped on the web, and navigated to a site that shows where, exectly, you'd pop out, if you dug right through, directily through the center of the earth, and straight out the other side.

"See Dad? We're on the opposite of the earth from the Indian Ocean, south of Madagascar. If you want to get to China, you have to start in South America."

I stared at them for a moment. They looked back at me briefly, then jumped up, and ran back outside. I was so dumbfounded that I couldn't think of anything else to say.

And, for the life of me, I can't imagine what it is they want to see at the Indian Ocean.

Oh yeah: be careful if you drive through town, if you go down our street, you might have some issues trying to navigate the huge pile of dirt that's creeping out into the road.

OK; that's not true. They didn't do that. But I WAS amazed to find on this website, last night, that if we were to dig that hole that we've all talked about since we were children, we'd end up nowhere near China. Lex was right; we'd pop up somewhere in the Indian Ocean, south of Madagascar.

I'm dejected, of course. It's strange isn't it, that you live your life hearing something that is, in hindsight, no more than a myth, and the evidence is right in front of us to prove that, but we readily accept it because we hear it so often.

You see, perception truly is reality. The truth really doesn't matter all that much when it comes to relating to other people; all that matters is what they BELIEVE to be the truth. I learned that lesson early on in business for myself. We started off with nothing (I wrote about it awhile back); no money, very little experience, and no real business to speak of. Only a passion and a vision for something great.

But we determined early on that we weren't going to show anyone the reality; we were going to show them what they wanted to see. And so we built a "brand"-a corporate identity, with a professional logo, nicely printed business cards, a website, nice shirts and logos on our truck. And I walked in to meet with prospective customers, having never built a home for a customer in my life, with my head up, a juanty walk, and a self-confident attitude. I listened to their questions, answered those that I knew the answers to, and made up answers to those that I didn't. All this, while we were operating our business out of a garage.

But it sold us. People believed it; they paid us good money to build houses for them. Why? Because that's what they wanted to believe. They WANTED an energetic, excited, professional and knowledgeable builder, who emanated experience, and most of all, security.

We were wise enough to recognize what it was that people who were looking to have a home built were TRULY wishing to buy. My job wasn't only to build houses. In fact, I think that my job, as a custom home builder, was to make people feel secure. To make them feel like it really is OK to pay these folks an enormous amount of money, and have them build me a home.

I guess maybe that made me a marketer; I prefer to think my job was to develop complimentary perceptions in the minds of our prospective customers.

In hindsight, maybe I messed up. We're, obviously not in business anymore. Why? A number of reasons. But I think that part of the reason is that, the whole time I was convincing our potential customers that we were a little more than we really were, I was slowly convincing myself. The job of a GOOD marketer is to build a perception in the mind of the customer that doesn't EXCEED the reality that the enterprise can create.

You see, I started to believe myself, and forgot my limitations. And reality went out the window. Why? For the same reason my customers did; because the picture that I painted for them was the picture that I wanted to see. And everytime I painted it, it became a little more real to me. Until it WAS the reality.

And that's where it all fell apart.

It pays to remember that, no matter how many people tell you that a deep enough hole will take you to China, if you act on it, you'll end up in the Indian Ocean.

What's It Like There?

Shawna overheard Lex and Gentry talking the other day about babies. Lex had corralled him into playing Daddy to her twins; he's amiable enough about it, as she's just as willing to jump in and be his ringside manager or his opponent--depending on his mood--when he pulls on the boxing gloves that I bought him, and turns into the defending Lightweight Champion of the World!

Lex is a little like her dad; she knows it all, and what she doesn't know, she makes up. Gentry gets a little tired of it sometimes and he'll pipe up and silence her momentarily when she pops off in that smug, superior "I'm a first-grader; you don't even GO to school" way.

But it was still a surprise when, during their baby discussion, Lex asked Gentry if he remembered being in Mommy's tummy.

"Yep," he said.

"You do?"

"Yes," he reiterated, a little exasperated, "I do."

"Well, what's it like," she questioned him.

"Well," he started, "it's WEALLY dawk in thewe. And thewe's LOTS and LOTS of bones."

Lex looked at him for a moment, a little skeptical.

"Is that true?" she asked.

"Yes, Lex. It is. That's what it's like."

"Well, what did you eat?"

Without a pause, he said, "I just ate some of evewything Mommy ate!"

The Reason for the Season

We took the kids to a cornfield maze the other evening. The thing was far more difficult than I'd imagined; it took us nearly an hour to get through. At one point, we were so lost that we hunkered down, and decided to rough it out until dawn. I fashioned a makeshift tent out of my sweatshirt, and was trying to cook a few ears of corn with the heat from my cell phone battery. Luckily, a lady in a yellow jacket came by, and showed us the way out.

A good thing, too; corn leaves would have made for very abrasive toilet paper.

We finally found our way out, packed into the car, and drove away. On our way out, the kids spotted a small house (about the size of a playhouse), that sits up on a pole, so that it can be seen from the freeway. The house is adorned with Christmas lights; it serves as an advertisement for the Christmas trees that they sell at the farm there during the Christmas season.

At any rate, as we were driving out, I heard Gentry's breath catch.

"Lexis," he said, whispering in awe. "Lookit! That's Santa Claus's house!" he said.

"Oh, yeah! It is!" Lex said.

"Daddy," Gentry said, "do you know what we just saw? We saw Santa's house!"

"You did?" I asked. "You mean that little house with the Christmas Lights?"

"Yes," Gentry said. "That's Santa's house!"

"Where does he keep all the toys in there, do you think," I asked them.

They thought for a moment. "It's magic," Lex said.

"Nuh-uh!" Bubs said, a little loudly. "He keeps those in his big bag that he cawwies."

"And then he comes at Christmas and brings us our presents," Lex proclaimed excitedly. "He comes down our fireplace!" she said.

"Our fireplace," I asked? "You mean chimney. How does he fit down there, do you think?"

They were silent for a few moments. We've never really pushed the idea of a Santa with our kids, but we've not been adamant about insisting that he doesn't exist either. The conversation was shaping up into the "does-Santa-really-exist" conversation that so many parents dread. I was curious to see how traumatic the realization would be.

"If he comes down our chimney, how does he get back up it," Lex asked?

"No," Bubs said. "He doesn't come down ouw chimminee. He lives in ouw fiyapwace," he said.

"He doesn't live in our fireplace, Bubs," Lexis argued. "Check when we get home. He's not there. Maybe he lives on our roof!"

"Our roof, huh?" I asked. "We must be pretty special, don't you think, for him to choose to live on our roof."

"No-" Lex started.

"Yes he-" Gentry piped up at the same time. "Lexis! Let me talk! I wanna tell you guys somethin!"

"Well hurry then," she told him, exasperated.

"Santa Claus lives on the woof of that house at the cownfield maze! He bwings ouw pwesents down ouw fiweplace at Chwistmas. And....and....and..."

"Bubba! Are you going to finish, or are you just going to keep saying 'and' forever?" Lex interrupted.

"LEXIS!! I'm telling you a stowy! Be quiet!"

"Well, HURRY UP," she answered.

He paused for a moment. "K. I'm done"

"Good," Lex said. "Santa doesn't live at that house at the maze or on our roof. Remember, Christmas is about Jesus' birthday!"

I was so pleased! She'd come to the realization all on her own. My chest swelled; I smiled, and grabbed Shawna's hand, so thankful that our wholesome parenting was paying off.

"So what does that mean, Alexis," I asked.

"Well, it means that Santa Claus must live on JESUS' roof!"

I give up.

Keeping Peace

The Nobel Foundation announced on Friday the winner-or, rather, winners-of the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize. This year's laureates, Albert Arnold (Al) Gore Jr. and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), shared the prize as well as the $1.5 Million purse, for their respective "efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change."

The peace-keeping business is waning, I'd guess, based on this slim justification for this seemingly prestigious award.

I searched around a bit on the internet, and found an archive listing all of the winners of the award, year-by-year, as well as what they won for. 1901, Jean Henri Dunant, the founder of the International Committee of the Red Cross, initiator of the Geneva Convention, shared the prize. 1906, Theodore Roosevelt won the prize for a peace treaty he drafted between Russia and Japan. 1912, Elihu Root won for a number of significant arbitration agreements he brokered. 1919, Woodrow Wilson, US President, won for the founding of the League of Nations. Various other similar winners.

Most notably, perhaps, is the absence of a winner many years. 1914-1916, 1918, 1923-1924, 1928, 1932, 1939-1943, 1948, 1955-1956, 1966-1967, and finally, 1972. Apparently, in the abesnce of a suitable nominee, the award is not a mandate, for in each of these years, the award was not awarded, and the funds were redeposited into the special award fund.

And for these reasons I find this year's award curious. Actually, I find the recent shift in the apparent award criteria interesting. This year, Gore and the IPCC won for disseminating greater knowledge abour man-made climate change. I've heard it said that a butterfly flapping it's wings in Jakarta has some minor affect on the airflow here in California. It's apparent to all, I think, that we as human beings have some sort of affect on the environment, and, given my butterfly example, probably have some sort of impact on climate change. The question is, really, how substantial an impact? But that's not the point of this post.

Early prize winners won for actually doing something-for peace brokered as a results of their efforts. They won because they achieved results. Conversely, the winners this year won for their "efforts to build up and disseminate greater knowledge about man-made climate change." First, what does man-made climate change have to do with peace? Further, since when do we give major awards for "efforts to build-up and disseminate knowledge"?

This trend, though, is further evidenced by other recent awards. In 2006 Muhammad Yunus and Grameen Bank won for their "efforts to create economic and social development from below." In 2001 the United Nations and Kofi Annan won-for no noted reason. Various other recent awards for either the winners' "efforts" or for no real reason at all.

At first blush, I assume that they're struggling to find real "peace-brokers" to award the prize to. But, on second thought, I think, in reality, the Nobel Foundation leadership has been subtly corrupted. And, instead of actually lauding those who make headway in the pursuit of peace, they're using the prestige of their award to make a political point. In this case: to add their significant, yet unspoken, support to the global-warming cause.

A sad thing, too, when a prestigious, time-honored institution gives way to political pressure, and uses their name and reputation to lend support to a political perspective.

If you ask me, the prize should have went to Shawna. Conflict in the Middle East is child's play in comparison to keeping peace between Lex and Gentry.

Fences

Yesterday evening, after work, I dug around in the depths of our hall closet (where I keep the clothes that I rarely wear), pulled out my overalls and my favorite flannel shirt, threw them on, along with my favorite, sweat-stained straw hat, and went out to build a fence.

Yeah, the fence on the south end of the property was in a terrible state of disrepair, and Shawna was worried that the livestock would begin to disappear, so...

Ok-stop that! You're laughing at me!

Ok, ok! The truth is, I don't have a pair of overalls (or a flannel shirt, for that matter-cringe), nor a sweat-stained ANYTHING, let alone a straw hat! And the south end of the property is a 10'x25' section of backyard-on our 7,000 square foot city lot. Oh, and the livestock? Our two dogs: Rowy (a 2 year old chocolate Lab), and Chloe (an insanely hyper 1 year old Dachshund, who has a strange affinity for laser pointers and watch reflections).

But-I DID go out and work! I know, I know-those of you who actually know me have a VERY hard time believing it. To be honest, Shawna didn't believe it either. In fact, when she pulled up to the house, she sat in the car for some time; I kept right on working. A few moments later, my cellphone rang. It was Shawna.

"PJ: where are you," she asked, "because there's a tall guy working out behind our house, building a fence. He's built kind of like you, pretty good looking, but I don't know who he is. I don't want to get out of my car! Should I call the police?"

"It IS me, Shawna!" I said.

"PJ-I'm serious! This guy's working; why is he in our yard? Did you hire him?"

I convinced her, and she ran in to grab the camera so that she could show all our friends and family that her husband does, in fact, occasionally do physical labor. She forgot that she sold the stinking camera at the yard sale this weekend, so you're gonna have to trust us on this one (by the way: whomever bought our kitchen table, if you're reading this, I'll pay you $20 more than the amount you bought it for if you'll bring it back; I'm getting so tired of eating on the floor. Thanks a lot shegazelle!).

But, as I worked there in the yard, building the fence, I started thinking about fences, and why we build them, and I have to say, sometimes a fence is just a lazy man's substitute for discipline.

Hear me out: part of the reason we're building the fence is so that our kids have a place to play. Fair enough, except that the act of building the fence doesn't actually create space for the kids to play. It creates a space that we feel comfortable allowing them to occupy, without having to worry about their running out in the street. An admirable purpose, as a parent, to be sure; but consider this:

Imagine with me, if you will, for just a moment, that we build this fence, and allow Lex and Gentry to go out back every day and play to their hearts content. Imagine this goes on for a year...two years...five years...ten. At some point, they're tall enough and curious enough to reach the gate latch, and begin to try to get the gate open. They, naturally, want to explore-to see what's on the other side.

But Shawna catches them in the act, and calls me at work, and asks me to run to Home Depot on the way home, and pick up a padlock. I do, and we lock the gate, keep the keys in our pockets. A few more years go by, and always, in the back in Lex and Gentry's mind, is this thought that good or bad-the other side of that fence must be something to behold. I can't wait 'til I'm tall and strong enough to climb over.

And so it goes. Don't get me wrong: It's natural to want to explore the other side, to see what marvels (or dangers) might exist there. But I have to ask myself: have I, in fact, done my children a disservice? Because at some point, we'll let our guard down, and they'll get over, around or under the fence. And make their way, in fascination, out to the street, to stare at the large objects on wheels that go speeding by.

You see, I don't think you can build a fence tall enough, or wide enough, or deep enough, to keep my children out of the road indefinitely. There is a desire, built into each of us, to explore, to understand (not necessarily to be stupid-and don't get me wrong, running out into the street is flat stupid-but to really comprehend).

Proverbs 2:11 says this: "Discretions shall preserve thee, understanding shall keep thee."

You see, in my mind, the fence is a temporary measure that is effective for only a short period of time (at least when it comes to protecting Lex and Gentry). In the long-term, the only thing that's going to keep them-protect them, is true understanding.

And so you ask, why are kids/young people today so prone to veer off as they hit young-adulthood? This, in my mind, is a key contributing factor: because we, as parents, have, for too long, allowed fences to do the parenting for us.

We Must be Doing Something Right

We went shopping today for some household items, at the same store that we visited on Sunday. Lex was in school, so it was just Gentry, Shawna and me.

As we walked up and down the aisles, at some point Gentry caught sight of the toy area, and realized that he needed at least one more toy gun to add to his arsenal (in case, I think, Janet Reno, the FBI and the ATF invade our home; he's got fortification plans drawn up as well). At any rate, I calmly told him no, that he wasn't getting a gun, or any other toy today. I think that he was initially inclined to argue, but a warning bell must have gone off in some corner of the head, and he realized that the last time we were at that store, he'd tried that tactic, and it hadn't exactly worked out well.

He let it go. I was proud.

As we stood in line at the checkout, waiting for the checker to finish with the customer in front of us, we heard some commotion behind us. We listened and watched out of the corner of our collective eyes, as a young boy, about eight years old, told his mother he wanted a candy. She must be on the Dave Ramsey plan too, because she declined to purchase a candy-or anything else, for that matter-for him. He raised his voice, and expressed in no uncertain terms, just how important it was for him to have a candy, that very minute! Mom raised her voice right back, and told her son that he WAS NOT having a candy!

At this point, all activity in the front of the store had ceased; all eyes were on mother and son, as they vehemently argued their respective points. Son stood at the candy stand, waving about his candy of choice, and screaming that he WAS having that candy; mom stood behind us in line, screaming just as loudly that her son had BETTER PUT THAT CANDY DOWN AND GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW! I'm thinking she must've read Tony Woodlief's essay in the Wall Street Journal today, but I think that she hasn't yet got it quite right.

As mom screamed, son suddenly stopped, looked at mom with fury in his eyes, and calmly tore open the candy and stuck it in his mouth. Mom stopped short for a moment, then began screaming with renewed fervor, that son was going to be sorry when they got outside, that he was "going to get it."

At that point, checkers began frantically trying to shepherd folks through the lines, hoping desperately to avoid, I think, an embarrassing episode of child abuse in the checkout line.

Gentry took that as his cue to ask for a candy. I cringed, hoping that he wasn't suddenly inspired, but I told him no. Again, he looked at me, cocked his head, got a disappointed look in his eye...and said nothing.

And as we walked out of the store I realized, for all the mistakes we've made, Shawna and I must have done something right.

Cousin Again!!!

Below, in its entirety, the text of an email received just moments ago, from my cousin, Ashtyn Teel:

Subject: ANSWERED PRAYER READ NOW

dear family and friends,

how are you all hope good. I have some great exciting news.

god has answered one of my greatest prayers. that i will be once again a big sister. for my mom and dad have just told me tonight that my mom is pregnant.

we are all very excited and nervous.please pray with us that all will go well.

I'm not lying my mom is going to have a baby.

just remember that I'm the baby of the house.

love and miss you all

love,ashtyn

Congratulations Rick, Gina and Ashtyn! Shawna, Lex, Gentry and I are incredibly excited for you! We might even make the long trek out to Georgia to see the new addition (once he/she arrives)!

We love you guys!

Magnets

The other evening, Gentry swallowed a magnet. One of those small, round magnetic metal balls-they're a part of some toy kit with parts that the kids creatively stick together, and make plastic and magnet sculptures. In Gentry's case, they're usually either guns or swords (proof positive that he is, in fact, all boy), although the other day he DID ask for my advice on how to create a jail (he wanted one large enough to hold ALL of Alexis' Barbie dolls).

Shawna was, understandably, worried (about the magnet, not the jail; apparently Lex's Barbies are all rich and famous, and can afford Michael Vick's and OJ Simpson's attorneys, so the prison stay was short lived). She thought about taking Gentry in for an X-ray or CT scan, to find out where exactly the magnet was in his system, but the cost of those tests is astronomical.

So I installed a metal toilet.

There Just Aren't Enough Fingers

I've had a particularly rough evening, and I'm the type who, when I'm down, really need some affirmation from those around me-I need to know that they really love me.

So, a few moments ago, Gentry decided it was time for him to go to bed (Lex went to sleep awhile ago, while I was on the telephone). He asked for me to come tuck him in.

I went in the room, tucked him in, hugged him and prayed for him-told God how thankful I was for him and his sister.

He hugged me back-mightily. And said, "Dad, I love you."

"I love you too Bubs; more than you can imagine," I said.

He said, "I love you more than this many," and held up all ten fingers. "I love you as many as if I had a finger here, and here, and here, and here, and everywhere!" as he ticked off the spaces in between his fingers. "I love you more than if I had fingers from the floor to the roof!"

And I remembered that I really do have all I need.

And you know what? I sit here, looking at my open hands, and know that I love them all (Shawna, Lex and Gentry) "more than this many." In fact, if I had fingers enough to fill the room, floor to ceiling, it still wouldn't be enough.