Parenting and Reality

Jack is energetic.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in how he manages his body. He never quietly puts himself somewhere when he could crash down there. He takes a very pure, simplistic delight in just feeling his body fly through the air in different directions, and then feeling the splash of impact when he lands (which he knows how to do safely).

This trait, which usually causes a smile, drew a frown when he crashed into his mother for about the forty-billionth time over the course of a weekend. You could tell Monica was about to jump him for it, but I decided it was time for the patented 10,000 lbs. hammer of truth.

"Jack, have a seat and look at me."

He did so. He's developed a keen ear for when I'm not screwing around, and behavior to match.

"You need to learn how to control your body. If you crash into a stranger like that, he will assume you did it on purpose. Then he will respond by beating you until you are bruised and bloody. Depending on who your crash into, the injuries might be so bad that they are permanent. This will happen because you don't know how to fight and protect yourself. I'm not asking you to learn body control because it makes me happy. I'm asking you to learn it so you don't get severely injured."

That's a lot to drop on a six year-old. Some might say too much. I disagree.

As a parent, I am first and foremost my child's feedback monitor. He grows and experiments with various behaviors as his knowledge and capabilities grow. Part of my job is to give him very realistic pictures of the outcomes of those behaviors.

The hard reality of him throwing himself into someone is exactly what I said it was. If he goes out and "field tests" that one on the wrong kid, my prediction will have a high degree of accuracy.

I take a similar tack when he acts disrespectful or nasty to me. If I was in the process of helping him or getting him something when it happens, I stop immediately. Not because of some moral reason or because of my hurt feelings: I do it because if he disrespects anyone else on this planet, they will not be inclined to help him out. He needs to learn the direct correlation between disrespect and isolation. I would be selling him a terrible fantasy if I convinced him that there were a lot of people out there who would put up with a lot of bad behavior and just love him anyway and still do him favors.

I am the first and foremost avatar of the real world to my child. Many of the things he will need to understand in order to survive in reality he will first experience through me. I would be doing a piss-poor job if my parenting did not reflect reality.

It would be like training in martial arts and providing a student with a fake and unrealistic attack, then telling that student that he can really "defend himself" because he can deal with the fantasy problem I've been giving him. Search the internet and you'll find many instances of such students (who are the victims of the bad teacher) learning about reality the hard way.

I'd much rather my child never come to the conclusion that what I'm teaching him is a lie designed to make us feel comfortable.

Now, let me qualify my statement here. I did not and would not have used this kind of correction on a toddler. They aren't physically or cognitively in the place where they could accept such a correction. Between fear and trauma, it would do more harm than good. For a toddler, the lesson would have been (equally important) that such collisions hurt bodies and feelings, since toddlers don't necessarily understand that very well.

But my son is an exceptionally bright six year-old. He has a natural curiosity for how things work, including relationships between people. He can take losing a bit of innocence in order to obtain some much needed wisdom.

I could see the disquiet in his eyes after I laid this on him. This was a truth he'd much rather not have to dwell on. To be honest, I felt really bad laying something that heavy on him.

But then, parenting is not (and never will be) about being comfortable. It's about doing what is necessary to equip your child with the knowledge and skills needed to interact with the real world outside the presence of its benevolent avatar.

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The only reason I am posting this picture of Jeremy Irons is so it doesn't show my ugly mug every time I link the blog on Facebook.

Because every time you need a random image, that image should be Jeremy Irons.

Free Coffee Day

Today I'd used enough of my holiday Starbucks gift certificates to get a free coffee. As is my custom, when it is free, I upgrade from my very modest ice coffee to a venti, ultra-espresso'ed vortex of insanity.

Barista: Are you sure you want that much caffeine in one drink?

Me: Let's make sure we understand each other. Upon drinking this, I want to be able to perceive individual streams of time as they spiral through the universe.

Barista: Understood.

To Do Lists...

Jack overheard a phone conversation I had with my brother the other day. Chris is a contractor, so the topic of a punch list came up.

Once I got off the phone with my brother, Jack asked with utter sincerity, "Does Uncle Chris have a list of people he has to punch?"

"Probably, but that's not related to his job."

On Connection

*While watching Voltron*

Jack; What happens if they don't connect the dynotherms?

Me: No idea, but it's evidently so catastrophic they never even consider NOT doing it. Given that they get discussed in every single episode, I'd imagine they're important.

Jack: Does your Toyota have dynotherms?

Me: I don't think so, no. But then, it doesn't have a blazing sword either.

Jack: That would be really cool.

Me: Yes, it would.

Nutritional Motivation

Jack: Are you going to play that whip crack sound every time I eat a bite of vegetables?

Me: Yes.

Jack: Awesome.

Nothing Said

There is a beautiful Buddhist monastery in Woodinville, not far from my house. The other week, I felt particularly low on spoons after the holiday, so I asked my wife if she would hang out with our son while I went over there to sit and meditate for a bit.

It was a Sunday afternoon, so there were no services or events. The only cars in the parking lot were mine and a couple older ones that looked like they may have been for the monks to use.

The great hall with the large Buddha statute is connected directly to the monastery's community kitchen. (I'll bet you five bucks that architectural quirk ain't an accident-- but that's a different entry.)

These "off times" are my favorite times to come in and sit. Usually, there's no one there, or maybe just a few of the monks sitting quietly or doing chores. There's this massive, comfortable silence that I take a lot of nourishment from.

Only today, as I walked into the great hall, there was something quite different.

The tinny sound of Fats Domino drifted through the air from an old radio.

When you sit in dharma, you sit whether its raining, shining, silent, or musical, so I plunked down and got to paying attention and settling.

A few minutes later, an older monk poked his head in from the kitchen (the source of the music). He had a broom in his hands, ostensibly cleaning up after the Sunday morning services. He made a chagrined face as he saw the hall occupied, breathing in through his teeth.

I do not know the rules that govern these particular monks, but I imagine filling the air with Fats Domino's work when people are sitting isn't standard operating procedure.

I thought it was delightful. The monks are usually so focused and so serious.  I love looking through those little cracks to see the places where we are all the same. I grinned from ear to ear.

He smiled back at me sheepishly. Then we both started laughing. Big belly laughs that filled the great hall. I raised my hands and gestured with my palms down, as if to say, "The music is OK."

He picked his broom up and continued sweeping the kitchen. When he was done, he came into the hall and sat down next to me.

We just sat together for a while. The scratchy sounds from the old radio filled the large emptiness of the hall.

No one said anything. No one had to.

I got up, bowed, and left.

I felt much lighter than I did when I came.

Final Hosiery

I sometimes wonder if shopping for clothes was a real trial for Final Fantasy characters.

Cloud: I'll need a skin tight turtleneck with one sleeve. I'll also need half a skirt.

Shopkeeper: ... Are you high?

Heavy Duty Coffee Talk

I used to buy everything as overbuilt and indestructible as possible. It was either a nod to a potential zombie apocalypse or some genetic problem I acquired from my grandfather, who insisted that everything (including breakfast) be "heavy duty."

Fast forward a few years. Pack on some design study and common sense.

I have grudgingly accepted that not everything must be bomb-proof. My briefcase doesn't need nylon webbing that can hold 400 lbs of load. Those "Sherman tank-esque" cell phone cases are blocky and print when you wear a properly fitting suit. My iPad does not need literal plate mail to make the trip from the living room to the bedroom.

Impenetrable armor can, in most instances, be replaced with lighter materials, greater care, and good placement strategy.

The one area (okay, maybe two if you count climbing ropes) where my heavy-duty obsession remains is watches. I have some nice ones that I wear with suits. I appreciate their craftsmanship, but honestly wear them simply because it is appropriate to do so. Like ties, they are one of those utterly uninteresting "life ornaments" I just have to deal with as a grown-up.

The watches that speak to me are those clunky Casio G-shocks that can survive conditions on Jupiter. Oh, I know they're as ugly (if not uglier) than sin, but I take this childlike reassurance in knowing that even if I got thrown in a volcano, there'd still be a personal effect you could use to identify me. (Granted, the volcano scenario seems extremely unlikely unless I abandon lawyering to take up a career as a superspy a geologist-- perhaps both? -- but I still like to be prepared.)

I meditated upon this bizarre fixation at Starbucks with a friend. I wondered if I had suffered the destruction of some beloved personal item as a child, or perhaps been late for some life-altering event. Unfortunately, no such destruction or events came to mind. My friend (with her excellent deadpan) came up with an explanation that, while not particularly romantic or glamorous, is nonetheless accurate:

"You stick your hand in a bunch of weird stuff."

I protested, of course. (We were in public.)

So she proceeded to run through the long list of weird stuff I've stuck my hand in over the years (still in public).

It is both enlightening and unnerving to have friends that can, at the drop of the hat, produce random and obscure facts about you that you yourself did not necessarily realize. I feel like all friendships would be notably improved by having such ready access to such random facts and statistics. ("You're really going to order a vente gingerbread latte for the 439th time in your life?")

Having listened to her list (along with the rest of Starbucks), I had to grudgingly concede that she was probably right.

Formal Sith Attire

Colleague: (Referring to a Christmas gift from my mother-in-law) Is that a Kylo Ren scarf?

Me: Well, now it is.

Colleague: Gonna go have a lightsaber fit and stab someone now?

Me: Starbucks run, actually.

Colleague: Close enough.

Religion and Relation

People roll their eyes when I echo the Dalai Lama by saying that my religion is kindness.

But it really is.

The hard truth is that I spent a lot of my life getting treated like dirt by people who felt they could get away with doing so.

The harder truth is that most of them did get away with it. There was no great cosmic justice, no movie script come-uppance. Just me suffering, and gaining some very valuable education.

Having been subjected to so much vile behavior, I made it my goal to treat every single human being I encountered kindly and respectfully.

At first, this just seemed like a no-brainer application of the golden rule. I mean, if I dislike getting treated like dirt, others probably do too, right? The least I can do is try not to be part of the problem.

As I continued to practice my religion, I started learning remarkable things about it. Foremost, I learned about its power.

I've made a point to be kind to people who are utterly unlovable and unloved. They are obnoxious, awkward, difficult. At times selfish or quick to anger. In some cases, these men and women have been dangerous. People who you look at and think, "Dear God, who would be crazy enough to share their life with THAT?"

The answer is me.

And in doing this bizarre move, these people have bloomed for me like some rare desert flower. The truth is that you will never have a friend as powerful as someone who really knows what it means not to have any friends. Once you've felt the pain of real isolation, it will transform you into an entirely different person. From that point on, any loving company is a sacrament. Something you appreciate as much as the air you breathe or the clothes on your back. Other people might give you their time or their attention, but befriend an outcast and they'll share a piece of their soul.

I spent a lot of time in concrete boxes with men and women who did some really bad things. I found that the key to working with them was not mountainous knowledge of law or an intimidating demeanor, but rather simple kindness and respect.

I remember the first time I visited a client in jail, sat down in a room where he was chained to a table, and asked him, "Is this a good time for you to talk?"

You could see the play of emotions on his face. At first, surprise. Then suspicion, as if to say, "Does this clown think that's a fucking joke?" I very clearly saw a moment where he gave serious consideration to adjusting my attitude with his fist. I just stayed there and looked at him.

Then I saw incredulity when he realized that I really meant it.

And finally a fundamental softening in him, as if he was being exposed to something he hadn't seen or felt in a very long time. It was like watching another human being crawl out of that hard shell.

It was a remarkable thing to watch that cascade of emotions. I immediately knew I'd accidentally done something right. We had long conversation, that turned into a long relationship based on the case, that turned into correspondence that continues to this day.

My simple gesture had done something that a legion of cops, guns, bars, concrete, the law, the state, society, and other inmates could not do - I got to him. Kindness and respect will penetrate places that the harshest things in the world cannot touch.

The reason I started writing this was because today someone did me a really big favor. In all honesty, I'd forgotten our interaction. It was one of thousands from the old days as a PD. But when we spoke today, it was clear that my choice to practice my religion back as an assistant public defender had a real impact on him, and stayed with him.

And in return, today he got to return the favor.

Practicing kindness is like throwing massive, chaotic, positive energy in the universe. Sometimes it just gets tossed out into nothingness. Other times, it makes patterns beautiful enough to take your breath away. And then every now and then, just rarely, it comes back to you in bizarre and delightful ways you never expected.

When it does, it reminds you why you converted in the first place.

Nutritional Arrangements of Felix Domesticus

My cat is a truly bizarre creature. She has turned her nose up at bacon-wrapped fillets and fresh-caught salmon. She has absolutely no interest in baked goods from one of the best traditional French bakeries in the southeastern United States.

Her absolute and utter passion?

Stealing my son's Froot Loops. Not Wheaties. Not Cheerios. Not even the much venerated Star Wars cereal.

Only Froot Loops.

We don't encourage her to eat people food, of course. It's just that Jack is so out of it in the morning that she can just walk up to his bowl and start eating. There's no guile or deception to it. She'd be the most ham-fisted criminal in the history of the universe.

Luckily her mark isn't exactly a hard target before his coffee milk. He'll actually pet her for about half a minute before realizing she's stealing his breakfast.

Utilitarian Flames

Jack: You can't wield the flame of Anor.

Me: But I do make a mean cup of coffee.

Jack: The flame of Anor is cooler.

Me: Think about your whole life. How many times have you needed a cup of coffee?

Jack: Every day.

Me: Any how many situations have you been in that needed the flame of Anor?

*thoughtful pause*

Jack: Not that many.

Me: Name one time you needed the flame of Anor.

Jack: The other week at the grocery store.

Me: ... That's not invalid. It was the day before Christmas. I can't say the flame of Anor wouldn't have helped in the checkout line.

Jack: You shall not pass!

*the following artwork requested by my six year old shortly after this exchange*

Matters Chronological

Me: It's Luigi time.

Jack: No it isn't.

Accidental Genius

So, I'm a hardcore maker of playlists. As a child of the eighties, it started with mix tapes and progressed from there.

A few weeks ago, I put together a really hard, metal-heavy mix primarily for weights at the gym. 

I was surprised to discover on the first play that my mix had an accidental inclusion on the fourth track.

Pat's Lifting Mix: Opening Act

1. Pantera - Walk

2. A Perfect Circle - Judith

3. Megadeth - Trust

4. Madonna - Borderline

I can only blame making the mix late at night. No freaking idea how the Material Girl got on there. Maybe it was fate.

Initially thought to myself, "I'll fix this when I get home."

But I kept not fixing it. It became an integral part of the thing. Over time, I realized the really bizarre thing: It totally works.

Didn't understand it until I saw other people listen to that part of the mix.

I absolutely loved watching the first three cuts get peoples' pulse pounding, followed by the bewilderment of Borderline. After the initial "Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Over?" the chemical cocktail from the hard songs gave people a strange little "fuck yeah!" that makes Borderline work where it should absolutely be a critical failure.

I can only think the first guy or gal who dipped a French fry in a Wendy's chocolate frosty felt the same magical rush of discovery.

Take this. It's dangerous!

Even the cat doesn't escape Jack's Zelda obsession. Evidently he interprets "I'm taking a nap" as "I'm in need of traditional Hylian headgear."

Clothes Encounters

I walk into the kitchen, and my son Jack (six years old) is standing there butt-ass naked.

Me: What in God's name are you doing?

Jack: I'm on a naked quest.

Me: ... Good luck?

Jack: Thank you. *Starts making light saber noises and grabs a granola bar, then walks off*

Pictures from the Trail

St. Edwards Grotto in Kenmore, WA. Not a bad place to start the new year out with the family.

Decisions, Decisions

Legitimately conflicted as I sit here and read what's new on the streaming services in January.

I have equal amounts of enthusiasm for Breakfast at Tiffany's and Sharknado 3, for entirely different reasons.

In a perfect world: an artfully edited mashup of the two.

I have a legitimate interest in seeing how an immaculately-coiffed Audrey Hepburn would take on airborne sharks in Florida's vibrant theme parks.