Who's Your Daddy

Oh blogger why have you forsaken me.

2011-09-28T17:24:00.002-05:00

Yes I left this blog high and dry. All the time I was gonna spend documenting the joys and challenges of fatherhood, I've spent in the trenches of the joys and challenges of fatherhood. Plus I have facebook and twitter now, which allows me to more easily share the wacky poignant moments of our lives.
So what have you missed? I'm talking to the blog here, I know he/she is mad at me for ignoring he/she for so long, so indulge me why I pay a little attention to he/she.

The boy as I affectionately call him on Facebook and Twitter (sorry blog, didn't mean to throw them in your face again, just trying to give you context.) The boy just turned 7. 7!! Can you believe it?? 7!!

We threw him a birthday party of course. The theme was magic, he wanted it to be a pokemon party, we didn't, so we overruled him in that old-fashioned parenting kind of way by just ignoring his request. He's getting hip to that, so we'll have to come up with a new tactic soon.
Man it was the most fun of all the birthday parties we've ever had, Mario The Magician. He was so great with the kids. The tone of his show is what really impressed me, he engaged them, he challenged them and he was always in control. It was a great parenting lesson. Of course it was easy for him, he only had to do it for an hour and he literally had a bag full of tricks and a bird, did I forget to mention the bird. And he was paid HANDSOMELY!!
We parents don't have the luxury of a bag full of tricks, or a bird, or an hourly wage. We just have to do it, every day, and the struggle for the right tone feels like a losing battle. Our challenges are the early morning, the getting ready for school, the getting up way too early after going to bed way too late. The get dressed, eat your breakfast, brush your teeth, make your bed tone. The tone that is firm and patient and encouraging and loving and consistent. Try to find that tone at 6am on 3 or 4 hours sleep.
I need a bird. And perhaps an hourly wage.

I'll be back sooner then later blog. I promise.

The tone that he

Forgive Me Father

2010-01-26T00:34:00.003-05:00

For I have sinned. It has been a ridiculously long time since my last blog entry. We've been so busy living our lives, to stop and document and reflect and project was the furthest thing from my mind.
My boy exploded!! He went from this gibberish talking, scribbling baby to this drawing, writing, reading, thinking child. He wants to understand and reason and make sense and be included and informed. I know parents have been doing this since the beginning of time, but to witness it is quite amazing. And he's FUNNY. And he lies.
What a shock it is the first time your kid lies to you. It's really about preservation, not a big trying to stay out of jail kinda lie, just about saving access to the things he loves. Like free golf trips and rides on private planes and... whoops, somehow I slipped into politics.

Shocking how similar it is.

School

2009-11-20T00:39:00.003-05:00

I love Coleman's school. PS 51 has been amazing. He has great, great, great teachers. They are smart and nurturing and firm and he loves them. In just two months there's been this explosion of learning and an eagerness to do more and learn more. Every kid in public school, not just mine, deserves these kinds of teachers. But alas I know the deserve has got nothing to do with it. I knew a guy who was a teacher who boasted about how he would give assignments so he could finish reading his newspaper, during class. I don't talk to him anymore. Now I wish did, I would give him a giant, giant piece of my mind. I gonna find him on face book and "friend" him.

You told Harpo to beat me!

2009-09-06T00:44:00.003-05:00

This discipline thing is such a beast. Time out, spanking, pinching, naughty chairs, privileges lost, talking, talking, talking. The problem is it'll be years before we know if what we chose to do worked! Maybe decades.
Today I heard a woman yell at her almost 3 year old, "if someone hits you, hit them back, I don't care who it is." Then she swatted him on his behind, I really got on my judgment horse. "How could she treat her child that way, he's only a baby?" blah, blah, blah. I had to stop myself.

She's only doing what she knows how to do. Aren't we all?

Our Own Town Hall

2009-08-31T00:43:00.007-05:00

5pm around here has been hell on wheels. He's been up since 7, so he's tired, he's hungry but you don't want to give him snacks because then he won't eat his dinner. So he's just been this screaming, crazy maniac. It's like he's at a town hall meeting on health care and all he wants is his country back. It lasts in varying degrees for about an hour. Then just as quickly he snaps out of it and the sweetest boy you've ever seen looks at you with big saucer plate eyes and says "I'm sorry." Your heart melts and you take him in your arms and even though you don't mean it, you promise there will never, ever, ever be a public option for health care.

it's our job

2009-08-05T15:28:00.003-05:00

Where are you? What are you doing? Pick that up? Put that away? Don't touch that? What did you say? I didn't hear you say thank you? Stop picking your nose? Did you wipe? Did you flush? Did you wash your hands? The constant monitoring - is exhausting.

But I guess it's what we signed up for.

Get in there

2009-07-30T22:37:00.006-05:00

Look at him, he's only 4, 5 next month. He looks like he's about 37 years old. It's been a rough few months on the boy. He had a fever spell lasted about 4 or 5 days, maybe swine flu, doctor was too scared to tell us. Then he busted his lips at summer camp. He slammed his little fingers in something, the tips were black and blue for a couple weeks. Then an inner ear infection, left ear smelled like vomit. Got that cleared up with some antibiotics. Then right on the heals of that was an outer ear infection, some skin rash on his earlobe gone haywire. Required hospitalization for a couple days while they pumped him full of antibiotics via IV. I won't bore you with the details of how much fun it's not trying to set up an IV in the arm of a four year old. But Coleman took it like a champ, they immobilized his arm with a splint so the IV wouldn't come out and Coleman dealt with that splint like it was part of his arm. I was so proud. I was really proud of how brave my boy was.

Slide, Tap

2009-02-23T01:13:00.004-05:00

Roz was rehearsing today. Coleman and I took a trip to the Apple store, the power cord on my laptop wasn't working so I went there to exchange it.
If you've never been to the Apple store, they have this bank of computers, about two feet off the ground, the perfect height for curious toddlers. Any day of the week you'll see 2, 3, and 4 year olds sitting at these computers just clicking away.
They are not afraid, not intimidated, not phased at all by computers.

This is a picture of Coleman showing Grandpa Roosevelt how to use my iPhone!! Slide, slide, tap, tap, slide, tap. A few more lessons and Grandpa will be ready to go out on his own!

I kissed a girl

2009-02-02T20:26:00.004-05:00

So the big song for last summer 2008 was "I kissed a girl." Sung by a girl. So there was an uproar, because OMG girls are kissing girls and they like it. I read a blog by a father who was frightened for his young child, frightened by a world where his child would learn about "them." So him and people like him voted Yes on Prop 8, making same sex marriages illegal in the state of California - Yes Melissa Ethridge move out of California and take your tax money with you. You too Deb and Sylvia.

The two ladies in this picture are girls that I know who kiss girls. They've been kissing girls for a very long time and have been kissing each other(when the kids are out of the house) for about 5 years.

"We want to protect the family" "We need to protect the children" the frightened Yes on Prop 8 people will tell you. Protecting us from What???

My family doesn't need any protecting from girl kissers. I know I live in NY and I'm in the arts, so it goes without saying that I'm a left wing liberal degenerate - But let me say it loud and clear - we love these girl kissers. I trust these girl kissers with the life of my child.

The really tough looking girl kisser on the left (who is an absolute mush) has played with my son for hours. A game they invented called "sleeping, hibernating animals." Sleeping/hibernating is redundant I know, but it's their game. Nobody else, not even me will play this game with Coleman.

The other girl kisser on the right, adapted and raised 2 boys, will attend your funeral even if she's never met you and has driven us to the emergency room in the middle of the night and sat with us till all was well (more than once I'm afraid.)

They love Coleman and Coleman loves them. How are we diminished by the love of another human being? Those frightened Yes on Prop 8 people get very defensive when you remind them that not so long ago interracial couples were thought to be just as vial an assault on humanity. They say it's not the same thing - the hell it isn't!

Somebody, anybody please tell to me in a clear rational voice, why there should be a LAW against these two tax paying, law abiding, society contributing girl kissers from marrying each other if they so choose.

You may not like girl kissers marrying, it may make you uncomfortable, you probably think it's a sin - but why should it be illegal?

Please SPLAIN!

He's heeeeeeere!

2008-11-05T09:00:00.002-05:00

Good morning President Obama. I wish my grandparents and Obama's grandparents and Martin Luther King and Coretta Scott King and Malcolm X had lived to see this day.

I also wish Jesse Helms and Bull Connor were still around.

You're absolutely right Will.I.AM - "It's A New Day."

Bite Me.

2008-09-07T19:39:00.003-05:00

Day 4 of Roz's trip to LA, 3 more to go. Longest Coleman has been separated from his mama. He misses her a lot. He still really has no sense of time, so "she'll be back in a week" means NOTHING! His phrase for something that's happened in the past is "remember when you took me to the park last year." If it was yesterday or last week, to him it was last year. School won't start until Monday. I've tried to fill the days with stuff besides TV. Today was the toughest day. He was just cranky, cranky, cranky. I'm really good at breaking him out of his "mood." Biting works really well. I just pick up an arm or a leg and I just come at him with my teeth. He's laughing so hard he can't stand up.

Yes We Can

2008-08-25T00:10:00.005-05:00

Look at these boys, Coleman and his buddy Delcan, first picture maybe at 9 months. The 2nd one at 4 years.
This is the future of America folks. Deal with it.

We are a part of the Rhythm Nation

2008-08-19T21:18:00.004-05:00

My almost 4 year old son has no rhythm and it's more troubling to me than perhaps it should be. To watch his little head bop from side to side to a beat of his own creation is funny, sweet and annoying. Yes I'm stereotyping, black people and rhythm and all that, but he's a black boy who is one day gonna be a black man and although I'm sure we'll still be doing the electric slide, which is somewhat forgiving to the uncoordinated, there will be other new dances. And in order not to be a social outcast at weddings, birthday celebrations, school dances and basement parties he's going to need to learn how to move to the beat.

He's young, I don't need to worry.
He'll get it. Right?

Testing my patience

2008-08-18T21:29:00.004-05:00

I feel like I'm slowly being dragged into this vortex I swore I would never be a part of. The damn school dance.

So Roz called me in a state, "I talked to so and so, so and so said that her son is in so and so school and that he loves it and she loves it and it would be a perfect school for Coleman." So and so school is private. In order to get him into so and so school, he has to be tested. Really! For Kindergarten!! They've made it easier, you used to have to test at each school, but now its just one test and you can send the results to as many schools as you like. This new system has a double edged sword, because if you're kid does lousy on the test, he's marked till he retires from the chicken plucking factory.

Did I mention the test is $460?

Damn you so and so.

Coleman took the test, it'll be 4 weeks before we get the results. Roz took him to the testing facility, Coleman was ushered into a room by young bouncy Traci with and I. I only mention this because there was a little girl there at the same time waiting to be tested and her tester was Dr. So and So. Why didn't we get a doctor instead of a camp counselor? Does Traci with an I have the skills to recognize my sons unearthed genius. Will Traci with an I prevent my son from getting into school so and so because she fails to see the sophistication in a little boy laughing uncontrollably every time he says the word poopy. (OK, I'm laughing now, poopy is a funny word.)

Damn you so and so.

One hour and did I mention it was $460 later - Coleman emerged from the room. What did Coleman remember from his time with Traci? He told us that he told her that "Declan's diaper exploded and baby Hoyt doesn't know how to share." Gifted and talented program here we come.

Before I mislead you, let me tell you Coleman is easily one of smartest kids in his circle. His powers of observation astound us and his vocabulary is off the chain. But at almost 4 he is very particular about when and where he will share his gifts. And it is almost NEVER when we need him to.

Damn you so and so.

A Star is Born

2008-07-30T00:06:00.008-05:00

Meet Latka. Coleman put on a pair of my flip flops, took a purse of Roz's and slung it over his shoulder, he dropped his voice an octave and when we asked him who he was, he said his name was Latka. Latka was a client who was here for his acting session with Roz.
Roz asked Latka if he would be up for an interview, he agreed -

After that Latka joined us for dinner and about half way through, he dropped his fork and I handed it to him, he said "thank you daddy," realizing he dropped character and called me daddy he said "oh Coleman is back."

Our dream for Coleman to be a banker/lawyer/Beverly Hills OB-GYN gets dimmer every day.

Seeing the future

2008-07-28T22:45:00.004-05:00

So my two year old nephew baby Hoyt says Obama, every time he seems him on TV. My sis and bro n law taught him to do that. We were a little embarrassed because we hadn't taught Coleman who Obama is. Basically if it wasn't on the Noggin Channel (commercial free channel for preschool kids) Coleman didn't know about it. So I finally decided to introduce Coleman to Obama, fortunately it was the week he went to the middle east and Europe so he was on TV a lot. "When you see that guy on TV, you say Obama." He got the hang of it very quickly. But I never noticed how many 40 something short haired black men there were on TV, mostly reporters, cause Coleman mistook a couple of them for Obama. He's got it straight now. Really didn't take him that long. "OBAMA." "Good boy."

I'm such a political junkie. I'm tuned into every Sunday morning political show, Meet the Press (God speed Tim Russert,) Mclaughin Group, This Week with George Stephanapolous, Chris Matthews, I watch them all, even racist Fox (I believe you have to know what the enemy is saying.) I'm a little surprised at myself for taking so long to introduce him to Obama. I guess a little or big part of me is not ready to accept that America is ready to accept that this black man (yes he's black y'all) should be our next President. I just feel like everyone is waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's too perfect, he's too smart, he's too well liked, he's too educated, he's too unflappable, his wife is all of the above, his children are gorgeous. We need another four years of stupid is as stupid does.

I feel like people are waiting for the excuse not to vote for him.

He's too young - yes by all means lets elect a 72 year old man who can't lift his arms and whose medical file from only the past two years is 1200 pages.

He's an elitist - yes by all means lets elect a man with 7 homes and a private jet.

I'm not gonna worry any more. Every night, the six o'clock news leads off with a story about a black man. A black who didn't kill or rob or rape. He simply wants to change the world. That's the future.

Happy Fathers Day

2008-06-15T00:38:00.002-05:00

Coleman wanted to get me a Dinosaur for Father's Day. It's the same thing he wanted to get Roz for Mother's Day. I got a shoulder bag to carry my laptop. Coleman calls it my man purse. "Don't forget your man purse daddy."

Twins

2008-06-01T00:25:00.001-05:00

People say we look just alike. I don't know what the heck they're talking about.

blah, blah, blah

2008-05-03T18:51:00.007-05:00

Parent teacher conference. - "We love Coleman, we don't understand what he's saying. We understand 2 out of every 30 words. Also you may want to get his hearing checked, we call him and call him, sometimes he doesn't respond."

That's easy I say, nothing wrong with his hearing, he's just ignoring you till you say something interesting. 30 words? Glad to know he's talking up a storm, even if it is apparently gibberish.

It was a hard thing to hear, that your son is not hearing, but it turned out to be something. Those damn ear infections, the ones he's been getting off and on his whole life, well apparently it did more damage than we thought. We took him to an ENT specialist. Doctor Arrogant says it's like Coleman is listening under water, the amount of fluid in his ears was causing up to a 40 percent hearing loss. So no wonder his speech was bad. The solution - ear tubes. Doctor Arrogant says it's a must, he's done the surgery hundreds of times, it only takes 5 minutes, he'll be better almost immediately.

Dr. Arrogant was right. Coleman had the surgery at 8am, it was over at 8:15am, we were at breakfast and he was back to normal by 10:30am. That afternoon on the subway, he had to cover his ears, the train was so loud. The only residual from the surgery - he can't get his ears wet or it will damage the tubes, so for baths and swimming and such, he has to wear this headband and ear plugs. He'll be sportin this look until he outgrows the ear tubes, 6 months to a year, give or take. Makes him look like Esther Williams (am I dating myself or what!) But he took to it without fuss.

Got Jokes

2008-05-02T00:26:00.004-05:00

I can't believe how long it's been since I blogged. Last time is when Coleman just turned 3, he's 3 and a half now.
So much has happened in 6 months, ear surgery, speech class, growth spurts, language explosion, he seems to comprehend so much, even subtle nuances of conversation. And jokes, he's telling jokes.
Knock, Knock
Who's There?
Booty?
Booty who?
Booty and tooty. Not that funny but cute.
It's followed by hysterical laughter. And then a bow. Yes he's learned to bow - deep, theatrical, bend at the waste, arms out, bows. Definitely gets that from his mother.

Petri Dish

2007-10-07T06:50:00.004-05:00

Here is Coleman with his best buddy Declan. Coleman has a collection of snot at the base of his nose. I'm sure a couple of days after this picture, Declan had a collection of snot at the end of his nose.

Let me tell you something about kids and germs. In the 3 weeks since Coleman started preschool he has had a cold, fever, chest congestion, runny nose, diahrrea, a febrile seizure (4am emergency room vistit, not fun but he's fine) and an ear infection in both ears.

Roz has had chest congestion, sinus infection, a really bad cough and some "female problem" that she won't tell me about.

I have had chest congestion, bronchialitis (the younger cousin to bronchitis), runny nose, fever, a root canal and a heel spur.

I probably can't blame the kids for the heel spur or possibly the root canal, but how do we really know for sure.

Send in the Clowns

2007-09-30T19:50:00.001-05:00

Yeah we hired a clown!! I feel like such a sellout. First we weren't even gonna have a party for Coleman's 3rd birthday. He had cupcakes at his preschool with the entire class. Then we took him on a special trip to a farm where he had his first pony ride. That shoulda been enough. But for some reason, and I can't even blame Roz for this I felt it as well, we decided we needed to do more. So we planned a party - for Saturday - it was already Wednesday.

It was a great party. The genius of last minute planning is that lots of invited people had plans already, so there weren't too many kids.

So the clown shows up about an hour into the party. We introduced Bingo the Clown to everyone.
"Coleman, Bingo is here for your party."
Coleman took him in for a moment. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"He's here for your party."
"I know, but why is he dressed like that?" It was a very funny moment.

It was also a very telling moment. You dress them and undress your kids everyday, sometimes a few times a day and you think they aren't paying attention, but he knew the clothes that clown was wearing was different from the clothes everyone else was wearing. Coleman is learning how to recognize and verbalize things that are out of the norm. Clothing is obvious thing to learn. So many things aren't that obvious.

A noose hanging from a tree. A taxi passing you by on the street. Hanging chad.

Thank God for now it's just clowns.

Terrible Two's

2007-09-24T02:47:00.001-05:00

It's almost over. The terrible two's. Coleman turns 3 on Wednesday.
Truthfully it really wasn't that terrible, and it probably really isn't over. Coleman is sleeping through the night - for the most part.
He's potty trained - for the most part.
He's a really good talker and communicator - for the most part.
Tantrums are few - for the most part - you get the point, we're in a really good place - for the most part.

Now we're getting the pressure, sometimes light, sometimes full court - When are you having another???????????

In theory, yes, absolutely I want more, maybe just one more. Almost everyone we know has popped out or is about to pop out the 2nd one.
"It's so much easier the 2nd time." "He'll have a playmate." "The time will fly by."
That's the crap we hear from those parents with two or more. I can see right through them, I can see through the bags underneath their eyes, I can see through the clenched teeth.

I can see the truth.

It's not easier, you're just more beat down, so you're not as quick to respond like you did for the first one.
Playmate - yeah right, they'll play in between fights and the fights last longer than playtime.

I made a list of pro's and con's.
Con's:
money,
time,
2 or 3 more years of no sleep,
we're not that young,
it may not be as easy this time,
physically,
mentally,
spiritually.

Pro's: Look at that picture.

Park It

2007-09-15T21:59:00.000-05:00

I hate the park. It's soooo boring. Let's face it, it's not that fun if you're an adult. But I know how important it is for Coleman, especially now that Summer is coming to and end. I can't believe sometimes how much fun he has. Up the slide, down the slide, up the ladder, down the ladder, through the sprinklers and again and again and again and again. And I just watch. I can't work, I have to keep an eye on Coleman. Any conversation I have with equally bored parents, we always have one eye on each other, the other on our kids.

Chasing pigeons. That's huge fun for Coleman - chasing pigeons. He just loves to run after them and chase them and chase them until they fly out of the park.

I have to remind myself to treasure these moments. I really am fortunate that my schedule allows me to share these times. He's almost 3 and sooner than I know it, I won't be allowed within a 3 mile radius of him. So I'll keep going to the park, but damn it's boring.

Killer Poodle

2007-08-20T05:58:00.000-05:00

It's late night, really late, 3am. Bloomingdale's shoe department. All the displays have been pushed back. Martha Stewart takes one more look around, everything is ready, she gives the go ahead nod to Christiane Amanpour, who taps a dinner bell.

From out of the racks of misses and junior wear, the ladies emerge. They all settle on either side of the runway. Naomi Campbell adjusts her ankle monitor. Madeleine Albright and Queen Latifah eat nachos off the same plate. Sheryl Crow takes out her guitar, "all I wanna do is have some fun." The Jimmy Choos, the Manolo Blahniks and the Christian Loboutins click, clack to the the beat. Diana Ross kindly puts her hair in a bun, so Natalie Portman can see, Natalie puts her scissors away. Lil Kim and Barbara Walters exchange business cards.

Lights up on the runway. Sheryl Crow stops strumming her guitar.

Kate Moss struts from behind the curtain, not far behind her without a leash is her silky terrier, Bon Bon. The ladies give Bon Bon rousing applause, Bon Bon responds in kind, yelping and yapping and chasing her tail. Bon Bon loves the spotlight. Kate Moss stops at the end of the runway. Bon Bon runs and leaps into her arms. They take a bow.

The lights dim. Spotlight Up.

Serena and Venus Williams emerge from behind the curtain. Serena is carrying a Luis Vuitton Pet Carrier, she sets it on the ground. Venus unzips the bag, she takes out a toy poodle. The most beautiful toy poodle you've ever seen, the color of burnt caramel. Her name - Sweet Tea.

Dolly Parton tosses hundred dollar bills onto the runway. Wynona Ryder covers one of the fallen c-notes with her Prada slingback.

Serena picks up Sweet Tea, stares into the doggie's now bloodshot eyes - "make mama proud." Serena hands Sweet Tea to Venus. "You my bitch?" Sweet Tea growls love as foam pours from her jowls into the crevices of her diamond studded collar. Venus sets her down, Sweet Tea surveys the room, she locks in on Bon Bon.

Christiane Amampour rings the dinner bell again.

Bon Bon leaps from Kate's arms, she gallops down the runway. Sweet Tea is calm, she walks in only a couple of steps. Bon Bon leaps into the air, straight at and into the powerful jaws of Sweet Tea.

It's over. Sweet Tea drags her prey into her Louis Vuitton carrier case. What happens in that case - you don't even want to know!

Martha Stewart collects winnings from the ladies.

I wasn't sure how to weigh in on this whole Michael Vic, dog fighting thing. People want to blame hip/hop, celebrity, poverty, weatlth, race.

My wife just read this blog, she doesn't understand it. She wants to know what it has to do with her or Coleman. My point is dog-fighting, cock fighting, country invading are all committed by the boys we raise. Our girls don't do stuff like that.

The first time someone wants to take Coleman to a dog fight, I don't want his machismo to take over. The reason there's no underground women's dog fighting ring sponsored by Bloomingdale's is because its STUPID.

Mexican Standoff

2007-08-15T00:17:00.001-05:00

Most if not all parents have experienced nights like this. For whatever reason, Coleman just kept getting up and coming out of the room, "I want juice." We give him juice. Put him back to bed.

A little while later, he comes out, "Put the covers on me please." March him back to his bed, cover him up, start to leave. "I want the other blanket, I want two blankets." Cover him up with both blankets, leave.

A little while later, out of his bed again, "It's hot." March him back to his bed, cover him with one blanket.

A little while later, "I want milk." We give him milk.

A little while later, "I gotta poop." Take him to the potty, he sits there for a while, no poop. March him back to bed.

This nonsense continues for a while, by the time he completely settles down it's like 2am.

He then has the audacity to get up early, 2 hours before his normal wake time, like 6am. He climbs into bed with us. We try to ignore him, if we don't move, maybe he'll just sniff us and go back to sleep. No good. He's bright eyed, bushy tailed and ready for action.

Then the question becomes - Who is gonna get up and entertain him and let the other one sleep? Of course we're both waiting for the other one to make the grand sacrifice - no such gesture is being offered.

We both hunker down, neither one of us is sleeping but we're pretending like we are. She knows I'm not sleeping, because I'm not snoring. I know she's not sleeping because all I hear is
"Stop it."
"Don't do that."
Coleman is pulling her hair, putting his fingers in her nose, sitting on her head. Doing anything to get her attention.

If this continues, neither of us will get any sleep. I get up, lead him out the room, we get some milk. I turn on the TV, turn to NOGGIN (great channel, no commercials, designed for preschoolers, best show is The Backyardigans.) I lie down on the couch, he lies down next to me, drinking his beverage. Enjoying his morning television.

Mommy gets to go back to sleep - Daddy has made the grand sacrifice - AGAIN!! (It's my blog)

There Goes My Boy

2007-08-10T18:07:00.000-05:00

Coleman takes to things so effortlessly. My mom came to pick him up to spend the night with her. I woke Coleman up from his nap, like many he is quite unsociable for the first few minutes. To help pull him out of the drowsies, I often entice him with an "Icee that we made." We bought from IKEA one of those ice trays, you pour juice in, put a stick in it, a few hours later you have a frozen pop sickle. Coleman calls them "Icee that we made."

I'm putting on fresh clothes, here come the questions.
"Where are we going daddy?"
"You're going to Grandma's house."
"I'm going to Grandma's house?" (He's a repeater.)
"Yes Grandma's house."
"Otay." "Why I going there?"
"It's a special treat."
"It's a special treat?"
"Yes a special treat."
"Otay." "You coming daddy?"
"No I'm not coming."
"You not coming?"
"No daddy's not coming."
"Otay." "Mama coming?"
"No mama's not coming."
"Mama's not coming?"
"No she's not."
"Otay." .... "Daddy?"
"Put your sweatshirt on."
"Put my sweatshirt on?"
"It's chilly outside."
"It's chilly outside?"
"Yes it's chilly outside."
"Daddy, what is chilly outside."
"Means it's cold outside."
"It's cold outside?"
"Yes it's cold outside." I strap him into the stroller.
"Coleman, I got something for you."
"For me daddy, you got something for me?"
"Yes."
"What is it daddy?"
I have a stash of lollipops from Commerce Bank (they give them away for free) I stick one in his sweatshirt pocket. "Save this for the ride to Grandma's house."
"For me daddy, that's for me?"
"Yes for you."
"Thanks daddy."
"Your welcome."
"Bye daddy."
"Bye, bye Coleman."
"Daddy kiss." I give him a kiss.
"Daddy hug." I give him a hug.
"Bye daddy."

I feel very lucky.

Endorsement Deal

2007-08-01T18:04:00.000-05:00

Don't you think the Sesame Street people should give Coleman an endorsement deal?

I want to secure his millions before he gets caught running an illegal dog fighting ring.

All Judgemental

2007-07-29T17:08:00.000-05:00

I'm noticing how other people parent their kids and I'm feeling all judgemental.

"How could they let their child talk to them like that?"

"Don't pick him up, let him cry." "Pick her up, don't just let her cry."

I gotta back away from the judgment, I know it'll come back to haunt me. But what are you supposed to do when you see an overweight 5 year old walking down the street eating an double scoop ice cream cone and drinking a Coke?

It's a tricky thing these days to discipline your child in public. We were in the park the other day and Coleman was picking up balls and tossing them over a fence. From across the park I yelled at him to stop. He kept going. I made my "mad daddy" march across the playground, he quickened his pace, getting a few more balls over the fence (giggling, laughing, having a great time.) As I got closer he saw I had my "mad daddy" face on. (In the old days, there would have been a slap or two across his bare legs - we can't do that anymore.)
So I got close, in my "mad daddy" whisper.
"I told you to stop, and when I tell you to stop, you stop."
I picked him up and dropped him on the bench for a time out.

I turned around, all eyes were on me. I walked back across the playground and resumed normal conversation. They were all a bit uncomfortable. After a sufficient time out, from across the park I told Coleman to come here. He walked across.
"What do you have to say?"
"Sorry daddy."
"When I tell you to stop, you stop."
"Yes daddy."
"Go play."
He skipped off, the time out already a distant memory.

There were about five mommies/babysitters there. I know they were judging me.

Coleman for President

2007-07-21T00:04:00.000-05:00

Last year Harold Ford, a black man running for Senator in Tennessee, was on the verge of winning. Two weeks before the election, a TV ad appeared, a young white actress playing the stereotype of a “dumb blonde” talked about meeting Ford, a 36-year-old bachelor, “at a Playboy party.” At the end of the ad, she winks and says to the camera, “Harold — call me.” He lost the race. Just a couple of weeks ago, a video surfaced on You Tube of this very lovely young white girl singing "I got a crush on Obama. The whole black man, white woman thing is a very touchy subject. I blame OJ. Hopefully when Coleman runs for President, this won't be an issue. I want to get all the skeletons out of his closet now.

Family

2007-07-15T23:19:00.000-05:00

Coleman with his cousin Hoyt Alexander King III.

Taken on the beach last week in Cape May, NJ during our yearly family vacation. Baby Hoyt, as we call him, just turned one. Coleman will be three in September.

I just love this picture.

I loved hanging out with my cousins. We all used to live so much closer to each other. Now we're all separated by states and time zones.

None of Coleman's cousins live close by, so we treasure these moments. Everybody is at least 2 hours away. In the grand scheme 2 hours isn't a lot, but when you start to think about spending 4 hours, probably in traffic, loading up the car - we live in New York, so that would be a rental - it's a huge effort. We have to start making more of an effort, look at those boys!!!

Gentle Giant

2007-07-05T01:33:00.000-05:00

He's so big, what a bruiser, what a tank! I'm so tired of hearing that. Coleman is the same size, the same height and width as every other little boy his age. In fact there are definitely a couple of little boys who he plays with that are bigger. They have bigger feet, wear much bigger clothes sizes. Coleman wears size 3T very comfortably and since he turns 3 in September, he's right on schedule. The other bigger boys wear 4T and even 5T clothes and are almost exactly the same age. The other bigger kids are white.......................

Please and Thank You, Please.

2007-06-15T00:07:00.000-05:00

I'm obsessed with teaching Coleman to say please and thank you. Also Yes. Not Yeah, or Yep. He has a little lisp - Would you like some more broccoli Coleman? Yessssssss! Too damn cute.

It's an easy thing to forget. We're constantly handing our children stuff - juice, snacks, toys. I see children all the time just snatch things from their parents and run. Then when you hand their child something and the child doesn't say thank you, the parent is always a little embarassed. "You know how to say thank you." They may know it, but it's not required of them, so why should he say it now. I make sure Roz and I say it to each other so he sees it's not just something he has to do.

It's important to me. Thank you.

School Daze

2007-06-02T12:35:00.000-05:00

This whole pre-preschool thing is giving me a migraine. (Not really, I'm just being dramatic.) But seriously folks. Was it this complicated when we were kids? We're in a co-op preschool situation, which basically means you still have to pay, but you have to help do a lot of the grunt crap work in order to defray costs. Meaning we don't pay enough to hire people to do everything that needs to be done, so you have to pitch in.

My beef is we have to give 3 fundraising hours, if we don't, we have to pay an additional $150 or $50 for every hour we don't fulfill. So today I went to fulfill our last hour at a street fair where our school had a little booth. I promise you that if you added up everything that they had to sell in our booth it wouldn't come near $150. The hour I served, there were 3 other parents, if each one of us took a Jackson out of our pockets, we could have bought the whole lot and called it a day.

I'm really not sure what the point is of this fundraising effort, if it really isn't going to fundraise anything significant. And some of the parents are working sooooo hard. Lifting and organizing and labeling and transporting bins and buckets full of crap. It's a beautiful glorious Saturday in New York. If you've been working or hustling all week, wouldn't this day be better spent in the park with your family or beach or museum or just sitting on the couch watching baseball or golf or whatever floats your boat.

I don't want any of the parents or school leaders to be offended. I doubt they'll read this blog, they're too busy standing on a hot assed street corner trying to unload 50 hair ribbons for a $1.

Black Like Me

2007-05-30T00:42:00.001-05:00

I don't get. There is a young black girl, 18 I think, who did a documentary where she got some black first graders together and put 2 dolls in front of them. One black doll and one white doll, she asked the children, which doll is better or nicer, all the little black children picked the white doll. I can't believe it's still happening, this documentary is based on a similar test that was administered some 50 years ago. The little black children picked the white doll then, and they're still picking the white doll today. I can't believe we haven't moved one inch.

I'm so baffled and frightened. How long will it take to undo the damage that's been done to those children, our children?

Coleman is going to be three in September. Coleman goes to a school where he is the only black child with two black parents!!! All the other black kids are either adopted or biracial. Granted, it's not a huge school, the preschool maybe has 50 kids in it, but that shows you how much the times have changed and yet they haven't.

They learn so much in these first few years, so much of their personality is formed and solidified. I don't want Coleman to have this ridiculous notion that white is better. Is it too late? Has it already happened? Can I stop it? I'm gonna have to go stand over his little bed while he's sleep and whisper in his ear - Black is beautiful. Black is good.

I'm angry right now. Stop the foolishness!!

Potty Time

2007-05-23T01:10:00.000-05:00

He's doing it, we're almost there. Except for nighttime and nap time, Coleman is in his big boy underpants, no more diapers. I never thought we'd get to this point. But he really has got the hang of saying when he has to go to the potty. Once and a while he'll forget, either he's too tired, or he's in the middle of an intense play session and nothing else matters, so he'll just pee on himself. We don't make a big deal, we just clean him up and move on.

It's very interesting the whole potty experience. First he just pulls off his pants, that's our first indication that he has to go, so we'll rush to the bathroom, he has his own little potty that he sits on, it's across from the toilet, so I usually sit across from him, to keep him company. We sit in silence for a couple of seconds, staring at each other, trying to come up with something to say. After a few seconds I ask if he's finished, sometimes it's yes, sometimes it's "I got poop daddy," in which case, we sit in silence for a few seconds more, then I ask "finished?" Sometimes, he says "I got some more." So if I know we're going to be a while, I'll start a sing-a-long. If there's a book handy, I'll read it to him.

It's a very nice father/son bonding moment.

Parent/Teacher Conference

2007-05-07T12:29:00.000-05:00

How do I rebel against this knowing your teacher by their first name crap? Coleman's preschool teacher is Valentina, I have no idea what her last name is. When we were growing up, wasn't it the opposite?? Some of my favorite teachers in the whole world, I still don't know their first name till this day.

Do you remember being in a store or a mall shopping with you parents and seeing your teacher? Remember how weird that was? You would say to your mom, there's my teacher Mrs. Anderson. And Mrs. Anderson would come over and some weird man would be walking with her holding a bunch of bags, and she would say hi to you and then introduce herself to your mother, using her first name!! "Hi, I'm Virginia Anderson." Virginia!!!! Like the state? And this is my husband Harry. Harry!!! She's married?? Who the hell would marry her? Remember you had this big goofy, stupid grin on your face, you couldn't believe you knew your teachers first name. Couldn't wait to get back to school and tell EVERYONE!!

I just don't like the first name thing. But I don't want Coleman to be the only one calling everybody Mr. or Mrs. Maybe other parents secretly want it too, but are too afraid. It's going to be hard, I'm just beginning to learn other parents first names, now I gotta learn last names!!! Forget it.

I get it

2007-05-04T00:34:00.000-05:00

Freshman year at Morehouse College, Xmas break, I get off the plane from Atlanta and my mom picks me up at the airport. I'm wearing a brand new Guess Denim jacket, I don't remember how much it cost, it was a lot I'm sure, and it wasn't denim jacket wearing weather, but I didn't care. My mom, Miss Eagle Eye, notices right away. New Jacket? I smiled, nodded, shrugged. "Here I am walking around with holes in my stockings sending you to school, and you come home wear that??" I'm thinking to myself, stockings cost a dollar or two, what's the big deal?

Cut to... 20 years or so later:

Winter has arrived and I discover I have 4 left handed gloves. Not a right handed glove to be found. Oh well I thought, I'll get around to getting a pair soon. A couple of days later, Coleman pulls a right handed glove from out of his toy box and starts playing with it. BINGO! I have a set of gloves for the winter. That same day I lost the left hand of my only matching set of gloves. BUT... all was not lost, I now have a right hand and 3 other left handed gloves, so I still have a pair, they just won't match.

So my mom's stockings, I get it now.

Coleman grew out of his pajamas almost overnight, the 2T shirts were riding up on his little pot belly. So I went to Gap.com and OldNavy.com and ordered him about 10 nights worth. Some were on sale, some were not, it didn't matter, my boy needed PJ's. I've discovered the joy and challenge of parenthood - When do you take care of you?

How long to you put off even the simplest things, like new winter gloves because you keep forgetting to put yourself on your to do list?

Winter is over, I'll put gloves on my Xmas list.

Dr. Babysitter

2007-05-01T12:38:00.000-05:00

Some University or College should offer a PHD in babysitting. We gotta come up with a way to give these people more money. You could certainly command more money if there is a doctor in front of your name. I think we ought to start paying people who watch our children like they were high powered attorneys or Derek Jeter. I'm just thinking out loud people.

Why is the most important job in the world the least respected, least compensated?

It's been almost 4 months since my last blog entry, busy, busy, busy. Good busy, Work busy. Making money busy. And Coleman has been hanging in there. Day care, baby care is such a huge issue. How do we get the best, most responsible, loving nurturing, caring person to look after our treasures, but not have to pay for it? And we do have to pay sometimes. We have a great babysitter, one flight down. Coleman has been going to Bruni and Felix, a retired couple with grand kids, since he was maybe a year old. I'd love to pay them $100 an hour, instead we pay $10/hour. On one hand I know $10/hour for a reliable, trustworthy babysitter is the deal/steal of the century, but on the other hand, if I know its going to be a busy week and he's going to be there 5, 6, or 7 hours a day, it adds up to a huge chunk of change.

We have my mom, he's been spending many weekends with my mom. God bless grandma's all over. We also have the best neighbors in the world, right next door, Leki and Lili, who take Coleman in whenever they can, whether it's for an hour or hours. He loves them and they love him and best of all they don't charge us. I would love to come home after an evening out and hand Leki and Lili a grand or so. "Thanks for loving and nurturing my child, keeping him safe, teaching him, entertaining him, feeding him, changing him, here's a thousand dollars. And are you available Friday night?

Don't get me started on what we pay teachers, even the ones with PHD's!!!

Eyes on the Prize

2007-01-24T01:51:00.000-05:00

Two black coaches in the Superbowl. First time in history. Never before has a black coach lead a team to the Superbowl. Now we have two. One of them will be the first black coach in history to win a Superbowl. It surprised me. It also surprised me how little I cared. And I'm a huge football fan. I'm so tired of the firsts. The first black this, the first woman that, the first Hispanic whatever. Haven't we moved past this. White men must be losing their minds. Everything they've worked for is slipping away. The only thing they have left that truly belongs to them is Hockey and Horse Jumping and Woody Allen.

Every Monday night for 3 weeks. PBS rebroadcast "Eyes on the Prize," the groundbreaking documentary about the Civil Rights Movement. It was a few months ago, I'm still thinking about it.

Where are those young people? The Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) who sat at lunch counters and had slurs and food hurled at them for hours and days and weeks on end. Where are the kids who were blasted off their feet by unforgiving fire hoses, attacked by snarling police dogs?

Where are they now? The Prize was justice, the prize was equality, the prize was freedom. Are we there yet? Most days I like to think so.

Then I turn on the news and see that cops fired 50 bullets at 3 unarmed black men. Knocks the wind out of you, knocks the hope out of you.

It's complicated, I know. Those police officers wanted to get home to their families. So on a dark night, facing these dark men, in their dark car, they chose fear over reason. How do we fix that?

I see the problem very clearly, it's boys. I have a boy, I was a boy, still am at heart really. I know how boys think. Boys think that they can't talk it out, reason it out, they must fight it out or they will forever be boys.

Coleman was on a play date the other day with a little boy who is about a month older. Their play is at the very least competitive, often times violent. On this play date, Coleman picked up something that was apparently the little boy's favorite thing in the whole world prompting him to tackle Coleman from behind.

Immediately following Coleman was cranky and very clingy insisting on being carried. We had to take him to the doctor, he sprained something in his foot. It wasn't broken or fractured, but he limped around for a day and a half.

I wonder what is it about the way boys communicate that makes it so contentious. Coleman is so gentle with girls.

Maybe I'm worrying too much. Because after Coleman was better, the mother of the other boy insisted on a play date, to make sure there were no hard feelings. Coleman got so excited, he couldn't wait to get to the park to play with his "boy."

Look at the global situation, in every nook and cranny of our world, there are boys fighting, boys in conflict. Boys in Darfur who rape and burn villages. Boys in the Flavelas of Rio who steal and kill. Palestinian boys who want to kill Israeli boys and vice-versa. Boys from South Central to South Beach to the South Bronx are all in turmoil.

These problems involve race, history, religion, economics and a whole bunch of other factors. But I know 3 women would not have shot 50 bullets at 3 other women. Anybody want to argue that??

My son is 2, I need to fix this now. He's gonna be at the club, strip or otherwise before I know it. I want him to come home, every night.

He's my prize.

Pressure Cooker

2007-01-03T01:27:00.000-05:00

We have succumbed, we have fallen, we gave in. Coleman starts preschool today. Three times a week, from 9am to 11am. And one of us has to be with him????? And we're paying for the privilege. It's not a lot of money really, it works out to be a little less than 8 dollars an hour from now until June. $8/hour for us to sit there and watch them watch our son.

The pressure was unbelievable. A spot opened up. It's a preschool in our building complex and a spot opened up. A little girl and her parents moved away and a spot opened up. We got frantic calls from mothers of other kids who are in the school, a spot opened up. From parents whose names I'm just beginning to remember, a spot opened up. The spot we thought we could get in August for a September start and were laughed at was now available. We had parents of the other kids lobbying on our behalf, the new spot, the spot, this spot, must go to Coleman.

We didn't have to jump through hoops, didn't have to promise our next born, didn't have to have Coleman run through a maze or take an IQ test or sing "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going." Roz and I had to get TB shots (so we won't contaminate the germ infested children), fill out some forms and hand over a check.

I caved, we caved, we had to take the spot. Out, out damned spot. All those parents were campaigning for us, we couldn't disappoint them, couldn't challenge them. It would have been the end of our social season. No more tantrum filled, Elmo themed birthday parties.

Really, it's OK. I'm fine with it. This means that next year he'll automatically have a spot and since he'll be three, it'll be longer days and we won't have to go with him. Of course that's more money.

Thank God he has a spot. We can rest easy, we won't have this kind of pressure again until kindergarten.

Level playing field

2006-12-12T03:19:00.000-05:00

Not my son I thought. But I guess every child must, or else there wouldn't be a name for it. Coleman has entered the tumultuous, turbulent, truculent, tempestuous, termagant two's.

It's not terrible, it's not that bad, just surprising. All the whining. AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!! Just this medium pitched, half assed, Tarzan cry, it goes on for about 15 seconds - we say Coleman, stop that, use your words - "I want that juice daddy." All that for juice. It just seems so unnecessary.

And he's not taking no for an answer. He'll ask 5 or 10 times the same question. My mother-n-law says the only way to get him to stop that, is to not answer him after the first one. How can you not? You got this little person asking you the same question over and over again, he's drowning out the TV, it's very annoying.

He's so smart and so lovable, it really surprises me when he acts like - a two year old.

Level 1 is whining.

Level 2 is charging. You take something away from him and walk away, he'll just run at your legs and bounce off of you on to the floor. Then he looks up at you like you knocked him over.

Level 3 is the legs flailing. Usually on a bed, or he's laid himself out on the floor, kicking into the air, in some sort of toddler break dance. Or if he's standing it turns into running in place, coupled with the low grade crying/whining Tarzan yell.

Level 4 is just standing still and screaming. Call the Department of Child Welfare level screaming. Usually reserved for elevators, hallways and family functions with elders standing around waiting for you to go get the switch.

He's getting really good at combinations - a running, kicking, charging, screaming tsunami.

I know it's frustrating for him right now, his consonants and vowels have not caught up to his wants. "I want that juice, I want that applesauce, I want that donut, I want that DVDV (that's what he calls his collection of Baby Einstein DVD's - DVDV.)

It's hard to get mad at him, I know it's just a phase, but it must be addressed. We cannot allow it to escalate. So I have different levels of responses to his levels:

Level 1 - the charge - "Coleman,get down off the table." He does not, I say it only once, then I make a fake Gorilla charge as if I'm coming to get him. He backs down. He thinks it's a game, probably because he sees me trying not to laugh.

Level 2 - snatch him up. "Coleman don't pour that juice on the floor." Before I can get to the fake charge, he pours. Super Nanny says you must get down to their level to discipline. I don't believe in that. I snatch him up and bring him eye level, holding him by his shoulders, little feet dangling in the air. "Daddy said don't do that, now say sorry." "Sorry daddy." We get paper towels, I direct him as he dabs and wipes up the mess. It usually makes a bigger mess, as he just spreads out the liquid. He runs off to play, I have to finish up. But he got the point. Again.

Level 3 - time out. He's perched on all fours, diaper off, head looking in between his legs, he's just watched himself pee in between the cushions of the couch. First thing is diaper on. Second - into the stroller, strap him in and push him into a dark corner for 2 minutes. Sometimes he cries. Sometimes he starts to sing, which usually means the corner isn't dark enough. I find another corner. He cries. After 2 minutes he must apologize - again. "Sorry daddy." He runs off to play, while I figure out the damage to the cushions.

Level 4 - distraction. Usually follows call Child Welfare level screaming, because I can't watch "Curious George" any more so I've turned off the DVDV, or we're out of ice pops or mommy has just left or whatever. I know I can make him laugh in a second. I drop my eyes, lower my head and I start to move stealthily towards him. All it takes is one step and he's laughing so hard he can't sit up. Singing is a good distraction as well. "Where is Thumpkin?" is his new favorite. I put my hands behind my back, he knows whats coming. He's smiling through his tears.

I'm missing so much valuable TV. Thank God for Tivo.

Funky Town

2006-12-10T01:59:00.000-05:00

So Coleman and I are in the bedroom. Roz is teaching in the other room. Coleman's Curious George video is on, he has his trains out, puzzles, books, everything to entertain him for 2 minutes at a clip. During these alone father/son times, I've been known to doze off, not a heavy sleep, OK that's a lie, I go deep very quickly, but not for long, I swear.

Coleman is now in this phase where a heavy diaper slows him down, disturbs his sense of balance, so he just takes it off. Most of the times it's OK, it's just full of #1, but every once and again - OH MY GOD!!!

So I'm checking the back of my eye lids for cracks, i.e. napping, and the funk wakes me up. I think, it's time to change the diaper, but it's too late. The diaper has been removed, contents spilling out the sides, but he wasn't finished with his movement so there is a pile on the floor, somewhere!! Not only is there a pile, but he's kinda stepped in it, so there are footprints. He's also reached around to see what was sticking to his behind, so it's on his hands. Now he's climbing onto the bed, to show me his hands are dirty, so now the bed spread is tainted.

My next door neighbor Lili, warned me about the amount of laundry I'd be doing. I laughed it off. We have a laundry room down the hall. I've spent so much time in there, it's going to be a tax deduction.

Mohawk

2006-12-09T01:03:00.000-05:00

I thought she was kidding. According to everyone else, it was time for Coleman's first haircut. I was fine with his hair. It's still baby soft and unruly, kinda like Coleman. But maybe it was time for a trim. Roz said she wanted to get him a Mohawk. That's silly. My son's not getting a Mohawk. She took him with her when she went to get her hair done. She told me she would ask the stylist if he could cut Coleman's hair. Apparently it was relatively uneventful, he sat in Roz's lap, the hairdresser cut his hair, he didn't cry, squirmed as per a two year old should squirm. And my son came home with a Mohawk. It's actually not severe, the sides of his head aren't shaved, so it's kind of a Fauxhawk.

He's two, it's only hair and it's the first countless haircuts over a lifetime, but I hate it. I just hate it. Not really sure why, he's still incredibly cute. I just hate it.

Maybe it's the beginning of all the decisions I will have nothing to do with. All the things I'm gonna have to choose whether or not to fight over. What do I do the first time he walks in here with his pants around his thighs? What do I do when he wants a tattoo or big fake diamond earrings in both ears? Or he won't eat anything orange?

No more Mohawks.

Call a Spade a Spade

2006-11-22T01:25:00.000-05:00

What am I supposed to do now? I can't watch repeats of Seinfeld anymore. Kramer? Kramer is a racist!!!

There's no other word for it. For the tirade. RACIST!!

As far as Kramer was concerned, the black people heckling him were not even entitled to speak his name. How dare these people who were so far beneath him, look him in the eye and tell him he wasn't funny. It's as if the black hecklers in that comedy club were standing in a grocery store in Money, Mississippi and whistled at a white woman.

Kramer said to them "if it were 50 years ago, you'd be hanging from a tree with a fork up your ass." That statement is from his core. That's Bull Connor racist.

Now he's running around apologizing - to Al Sharpton and Jessie Jackson - I don't remember voting them as my proxy. I won't him to apologize in a room alone, to Suge Knight.

And what's he apologizing for? He meant what he said and he said what he meant. We know he's only apologizing because there is some deal in jeapardy, some new sitcom he was working on has now been cancelled.

He just blew his chance to be on next seasons "Dancing with the Stars."

And what timing. He revealed himself just as Jerry Seinfeld was out promoting the release of the 7th season of Seinfeld on DVD. I'll bet those DVD's are flying off the shelves in Mississippi.

It's a sad day when a rich, white celebrity can't get a break.

It's Our Anniversary

2006-11-17T03:25:00.000-05:00

Five years. Me and Ms. Roz. Five years today.

Earlier this week, we went to the restaurant where we had our very first date. A little Italian bistro in Chelsea. By chance, the waiter seated us at the exact same table.

Our first date was 7 years ago.

Do you know the story? I'll tell you.

Roz and I were both actors. We each answered an add in Backstage for a short film. Somehow we made it through the piles and piles of headshots that I'm sure were received and we were called in to audition.

Here's the kicker. The part Roz ended up playing (the lead as she always reminds me) was written for a man, but the director liked her so much he changed it to a woman. The part I auditioned for I was really too young for, but the director liked my audition so much, he wrote a little part for me. The director's name is Jono, he and his wife and newborn were at our wedding.
The name of the short film is "The Window."

The Window - A glimpse - there's a poetic connection to be made, I'm afraid I'm not deep enough to make it.

Now here we are. In life together.
In wedded life.
In family life.
In business life.

All the billions of people in the world - Yet the randomness of this union feels like it's supposed to be this way. Give a shout out to the Man!!

Toast to our friends in the 5 year married/toddler club - Gerald and Stephanie, Charles and Nathania.

And of course to my beloved-
Roz
Rozzie
Rosalyn
Roz Coleman
Rosalyn Coleman Williams - thank you for randomly selecting to make me yours.

Love and 5 more and 5 more and 5 more...

His Majesty

2006-11-07T02:35:00.000-05:00

Damn I'm tired. What time is it? 6:30am. I went to bed at 3am.

Writing that damn blog.

Why am I up? I'm not really up. I'm sitting here on the edge of the bed. Want to lay back down but I can't - he's there.

The little one - the boy. My son. In our bed. Again.

He's in the middle of the bed - sprawled out like the King of Siam. He has the nerve to snore. Roz has been pushed to the edge, her head is literally resting on the nightstand. If I lie back down he'll put his clawed feet into my kidney. I have to cut those toenails.

How did he get in our bed? Somebody broke the rule. I know who it was, but I'm not allowed to say.

If I try and put him back in his bed, he'll be up in 15 minutes. I'll just go sleep on the couch. If I can get up, but I can't. I'm just sitting here, staring into space. Wishing my bed were bigger, wishing Coleman were in his own bed, wishing I could turn back the clock to midnight, wishing I wasn't so tired.

"Juice Daddy, I want juice." I musta been wishing too loud.

The King of Siam is up.

My Compliments to the Chef

2006-10-31T01:36:00.000-05:00

I guess it's a good sign. After Coleman finishes eating, if he has enjoyed the meal, he puts the bowl on his head.

Problem is, even though he's finished eating, the bowl may or may not be empty. So now we're waiting until after breakfast before we dress him.

24

2006-09-26T23:57:00.000-05:00

My son turned 2 yesterday. Two! A nice round number. I don't have to say he's 24 months. We're done with the months. I hated the month math. A woman once said to me her son was 28 months old - cut the cord lady.

My son is 24 months old, he has 8 teeth on the top, 8 teeth on the bottom. He is 33 inches tall, he ways 27 pounds. He loves animals, pictures of animals, sounding like animals, videos of animals. Our neighbors have a big coffee table picture book of animals of the African Safari. He loves that book, every visit, he looks at it at least 4 or five times.

He loves to sing, he'll sit in his stroller and just sing up and down the street. His favorite jams are "Old MacDonald" or "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" or he just sing his "ABC's" over and over again.

He's very talkative, lot's of his sentences begin "I want." We understand about half of what he says, the other half is incoherent. He doesn't seem to mind when we don't understand what he's saying, he just keeps moving on.

He likes broccoli and chicken macaroni and cheese and oatmeal with blueberries and anything cold. slushies, ice pops, ice cream or just a good old fashioned ice cube.

He plays better with girls than boys. He's not good at sharing yet, so having to share a toy usually results in a meltdown. His meltdowns consist of very dramatic flinging himself backwards onto the ground. Sometimes he bangs his head, and it hurts. So every once and a while, mid-tantrum, he'll fling his body half way down and ease the top half of his body so that he doesn't hit head. It's a very cute, calculated tantrum.

He is ridiculously delightful and endlessly exhausting.

Next on to the halves. How old is he? 2 and a half, 4 and a half, much easier.

Rice Sweeps up easier after a couple days

2006-09-23T17:14:00.000-05:00

It seems as if Roz and I are always cleaning and picking up stuff only to turn around to see everything we just put away back out and on the floor again. I have my own little category 5 disaster maker, his name is Coleman, he turns 2 next week. He’s quick, agile, destroys with much glee and without mercy. This is just a phase right. We can entice him to pick up after himself, but only if we turn it into some sort of game. In other words, there has to be something in it for him. So some days we just leave it, there are toys strewn all about, but sometimes it’s not just toys.

On the floor in my living room/office/dining room/playroom/ is a hard little gnarled bit of something stuck to the floor. It won’t sweep up, I’ve tried 3 or 4 times, it just won’t move. And there are too many other tasks to be tackled. To deal with it I’d have to get on my hands and knees with brillo or sponge or knife or jack hammer, and I can’t invest that kinda time right now. It could be raisin or maybe, I’ve stopped guessing, guessing scares me about the possibilities, it’s not emitting and odor, I don’t think.

A mother with too many children said to us recently, rice sweeps up easier after a couple days. I know it’s disgusting, but she’s right. Try and sweep up rice right away, it drags and smooshes and then you’ve got to get out the brillo or the jackhammer, but wait a couple a days, it moves cooperatively into the dustpan. Don’t judge me.

I could mop you say. Ha! Then I’d have to take out the mop and the bucket, that’s not so easy either, the mop it’s wedged between the wall and the refrigerator, all the way back, the handle is up against the wall and the mop part is stuck to the ground, because it was still wet when we put it away last time. Then there’s the bucket, underneath the sink. Filled with sponges and brillo pads and a spackling knife. So say I was industrious enough to get the mop and the bucket out. Where would I fill the bucket. Can’t do it in the sink, there are dishes there, there are always dishes in the sink. Waiting to we move to the bigger apartment with the bigger kitchen before we get a dishwasher so in the meantime, there are always dishes in the sink. I could fill up the bucket in the bathtub, then I’d have to spend an hour moving all of Coleman’s bath toys. Stop judging me.

We are just not from that time. We’re not from the time when women ironed sheets. Roz’s grandmother still irons her sheets. OK she’s 88 and she lives alone, so I guess she has the time now. But I can’t believe she was ironing sheets when she had a 2 year old. She had 3 daughters all under the age of 7 and she worked full time. I doubt very much that her sheets were ironed. But yet mothers and grandmothers always want to give you the impression that they had time to do everything when we were young, we were always clean, our clothes ironed, our rooms neat and tidy, the house spotless, meals served hot, delicious and on time. Yeah right.

Last week my mother chastised us because our Britta water pitcher had a little mold on it, or maybe there was a lot of mold. OK so it was something that needed to be addressed, I did, this week the house is filled with bottled water. Usually my mom doesn’t say anything, she’ll just clean it. Like when we come home from writing class, the kitchen floor has been moped. Maybe sheÂ’s the one who leaves the wet mop behind the refrigerator, because I don’t remember the last time either one of us used the mop, so ha! We are artists!! There are bigger fish to fry. I can’t be spending all my creative energy on gnarled bits of food stuck to the floor. Damn it I wish we had dog. He would have eaten it by now and all our problems would be solved.

It could be a blueberry.

Boob Tube

2006-09-18T16:30:00.000-05:00

I met this very nice couple at a party recently, it was a big deal, we were all out at an adult function sans children, maybe a bigger deal for them, they have 3, we only have one.

Let's call them Jack and Jill, I was talking to Jill and she had overheard that my wife was an actress. Very proudly I told her Roz just got cast in a recurring role on the new show Kidnapped. Jill didn't know what that was, no biggie I told her, it hadn't aired yet and she won't be on until the 5th or 6th episode. I also told Jill that Roz was just cast in an episode of Law and Order Criminal Intent. This is when Jill confessed that she'd never seen L & O, in fact she doesn't watch TV at all, they didn't own a TV.

OK, so husband, wife, 3 daughters, 8 years old, the other 2 were younger, living on the upper east side of Manhattan and no TV????!!!!

I was particularly interested in how the no TV doctrine affected the 8 year old, now that she was out in the world. Jill admitted the 8 year old occasionally watched TV when she was with friends, but not in her home. Jill reluctantly volunteered that her 8 year old was brilliant, read books that would choke a TV watching horse, she was creative and totally interesting to be around. I buy that. I'd be a little worried about her being a cultural misfit, but it's really not so terrible if she doesn't know that Brittany Spears just had another baby.

Here's the kicker, no COMPUTER either!!! I wondered if she knew women had been given the right to vote.

The no computer thing is when she lost me. I didn't ask, but I hope she's learning computer stuff at school.
I think my job as a parent is to teach Coleman the good and evil in everything. TV can be awful and a ridiculous waste of time, but it can also inform and be a learning tool. And sometimes it's just good for entertainment. Don't we need that?

Reading can be just as harmful. What if the 8 year old decided she was only going to read newspapers? And her newspaper of choice was the New York Post? Or what if she accidentally picked up a copy of George W. Bush: The Right Man. The consequences could be catastrophic.

Can you say moderation?

MBA

2006-09-11T22:20:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling good these days, no more crappy day job. I'm writing for a living. Not paying as well as I would like, but it'll get better. Am I worried about money? A little, sometimes a lot. Mostly because of this whole pre-school thing.

$15,000 a semester for preschool? MBA (My black ass)

Then some of them want you to come and help teach and then clean up. MBA

Even 2 days a week is $1000 a month. Why do I have to pay somebody to watch him snatch toys from other kids?

And we keep missing cut off dates. For some schools to get him in for September, we were supposed to have put in an application last January. For some really fancy schools, we should have put in our application when Roz and I got engaged.

He's only 2. Why are we stressing over getting him on lists?

It's sooo complicated. You want him to have all the opportunities.

The right preschool to the right kindergarten to the right elementary school to the right junior high school to the right high school to the right college to the right graduate school. All that an he'll be 30 years old sittin on my couch talkin about - What's for dinner?? MBA

We could home school!!

Yeah right. Say it with me people - MBA

Grandma

2006-08-30T07:19:00.000-05:00

Grandma’s, nana’s, noni’s, bubby’s, big mommies, gamma, big ma’s, abuelita’s. I called mine Ma, she was my mothers mother. My mother called her Ma, so my brother and I called her Ma. When she died I cried for a week and was sad for a year. I can still see her gap toothed smile, Coleman has it. Christmas dinners or Thanksgiving dinners or whatever, looking around the room at the collection of misfits and over and under achieivers that was my family, there was Ma, sitting quietly, observing, sipping ever so daintily from her shot glass half full of Christian Brothers Brandy. Listening mostly, interjecting occasionally, laughing heartily. And she was funny. Cracked me up. I miss her; she’s been gone a long time, over 15 years, maybe closer to 20, but not quite.

My other grandmother, my father’s mother died a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know her. One of the many tragedies of divorce. She died alone, in a nursing home. I didn’t even know where it was. It wasn’t Alzheimers, she was just sad. She birthed and buried all three of her children. First she lost her husband of I don’t know how many years, grandpa Sam. He lost part of his arm in World War 2. He was always in bed sick and he smoked foul cigars. But at the end of every visit, he would call my brother and me into his room, take out his wallet, hold the wallet against his body with his nub and hand us cash with his good hand. I believe to this day it’s why I’m not squeamish around handicapped people, I always think they’ll hand me money.

Just a couple of years after grandpa Sam died, grandma lost her youngest, Sam Jr., and then just 4 years later my father. I was about 14. About 5 years ago Her last remaining child, my Aunt Amy, a nurse, woke up one morning with a pain in her shoulder, after a couple of days, she decided to have it checked out. She was informed she had cancer, in her lungs and stomach and liver. She was given a few weeks to live, it didn't take that long. That was the last straw for my grandmother, she checked out. She was past crying, past pain, past grief, her mind was wherever her children were; she was just waiting for her body to catch up.

My Aunt Amy’s 2 daughters, my younger cousins took on the task of looking after my grandmothers empty shell. They tried keeping her in her home, it became too much. Nursing home was the only option. I can’t even tell you how long she’d been there, 3 years, 4 years, 2 years; I don’t know and never bothered to ask. So needless to say I never visited. So when the body of Cara Lee Williams, age 83, joined her spirit and her family, it was without fanfare. My cousins had her cremated and buried and then called us a couple of weeks later. At first of course I was indignant, after all I’m #1 grand, how many baby pictures they got, a couple, maybe a page. I got volumes a through z. I got over my indignation.

There was a small memorial service. I read the eulogy. Just as I was leaving the podium, the pastor asked me to say a few words about my grandmother. I hadn’t prepared anything. Thank God I’m a ham at heart. I spoke of the time we took a 24 hour bus trip to Dothan, Alabama for a family reunion. If the United States were a body, Dothan would be the armpit. I remembered how proud she was to have her oldest son's children with her. She often introduced me as Steven, my father's name, sometimes she corrected herself, sometimes not. The last time I saw her, at my Aunt Amy's funeral, I was Steven. I remembered how dignified and proud and fashionable she was, I also remembered how incredibly messy she was. Her home was a disaster area, clothes everywhere, but when she stepped out of her house, she was as clean as the board of health.
That made people laught, the pastor thanked me for bringing levity to the occasion. Levity is my middle name.

I want Coleman to get to know his grandma’s. I wish Roz’s family were closer. Did I say that? I’m kidding, I adore them; I never deny the opportunity to visit them in DC, no matter how brief. My mom just turned 60; we had a surprise birthday party for her this past weekend. We’ve had a very scary fortunate year. Mom is as recovered as recovered can be. With almost no remnants of the stroke she had the day before Coleman’s christening. On the days when his parents are stupid, clueless, unhip buffoons, hopefully Coleman will have his grandmothers to look to for comfort.

Karma

2006-08-27T19:41:00.000-05:00

I'm having good Karma. I left my cell phone in a taxi. The next passenger called Roz's phone from mine to say he was leaving it at a bar he was going to. I got it back the next day.

A few weeks before that Roz and I found a cell phone in the lobby of our building, we scrolled through the contact list and knew right away it was a kid's phone, there were no dignified names like Constance or Alibastair - every name was Kiki or Nay Nay, or La La or Tre Boom, we scrolled until we found mom. Mom sounded as if she had no idea her little girl was on 43rd St and 9th Ave, but she was thankful we called. We left the phone at the front desk and went on about our way.

So I"m feeling good about my Karma. Not really sure what it is or how or why I believe in it. Is Karma really a balancing of the universe - the good or bad done by me will come back to me in some form or fashion. When I really think about that, it doesn't seem right.

What about the women in Darfur? Raped, beaten, husbands and sons killed, daughters raped, homes burned to the ground. Exiled from their land. What did they do to get their karma?

What about all those people who sat in shit in the superdome? What did they do to the universe to deserve such misfortune?

What is the universe trying to tell these people? Or is the message for the rest of us?

When the grocery cashier gives me too much change, I always return it. Does that mean I won't get hit by a bus?

What is a proportional response?

What do I have to give the universe in order to get back - let's say - a Faberge Egg.

I'm not even sure what a Faberge Egg is worth or where to get one or where I'd unload it. But I know they're rare and valuable.

I want peace in the world. I want George Bush and his war loving cronies out of office. I want to write the great American novel, that turns into the great American screenplay, that becomes the great American Broadway musical, that becomes the great American TV series.

I want my son to grow up happy and healthy. I want to grow old with Roz.

How many phones do I have to return to get all of that?

One Of Them

2006-08-23T22:07:00.000-05:00

I remember the moment I became one of "them." One of those parents. I found myself playing the - What does your child do game.

They were hanging out in the lobby - I knew they didn't live in our building, her son Jackson was sitting in a $829 Bugaboo stroller, nobody in our building has one of those.

As we walked by, she asked how old Coleman was, "one year next Tuesday," I replied. Coleman gave her his best 2 tooth smile. She replied, "look at that beautiful smile," then she added "by a year Jackson already had eight teeth." Bitch! Here we go!

"Wow eight teeth already," I can't stand her, but I'm smiling. I asked not really caring."How old is Jackson?" "He's 14 months old, she grinned while wiping Jackson's nose. 14 months? I was still doing the baby month math when I asked, "how old was Jackson when he started to walk?"

She said - I love this part - "he's not walking yet." Gotcha!!! Bee-Acth!!

I fixed a stare as I lowered the boom. "Coleman started walking 3 weeks ago."

Trying to mask the hurt and disappointment on her face, "he's walking already."

Smiling so big, she could see my lower intestine, "yep he's on the go."

Pulling at the seams of her size 18 Seven jeans, "Jackson shows no interest in walking."

If I was being tooled around in a $829 stroller, I wouldn't show any interest in walking either. I didn't say that of course, but I transmitted it telepathically as Coleman and I were waving goodbye.

Then I did a terrible thing y'all.

I took Coleman out of his stroller so she and Jackson could watch him walk away. Coleman was tired and not in the mood, but somehow he sensed my need to be an ass. And he obliged.

When we were out of sight, I picked him up and promised him a pony.

One of them and proud of it.

Shut Up and Stop It

2006-08-06T11:44:00.000-05:00

Stop it. Shut up and Stop it. I am not putting my son in commercials. I'm just not gonna do it. Yes he's cute - thank you. But so what. Why can't that be enough? What's so great about being in an Old Navy commercial? OK so maybe we can make a little bit of money. Enough for a college education? Shut up and stop it. I'll pay for his college education. I can't pay for it right now, but he's not going right now. Maybe he'll get a scholarship or I'll get another job, or he'll get a job. There are other options to pay for college other than putting my 2 year old to work.

Like getting him into commercials is that easy. We may have to take him to dozens and dozens of audtions before he booked a commercial.

We're loosing generations of kids who just want to be famous. You can't cure cancer if you're standing on line waiting to be judged by Randy, Paula and Simon.

Look it's no biggie, not gonna do it.

So shut up and stop it.

Let Her Rip Boys

2006-07-30T07:58:00.000-05:00

Real men don't cry. I thought about my son being hurt and I cried. I thought about how helpless I felt and I cried, I thought about his little body lying on that big girney and I cried. But somewhere deep down, I felt it was kinda wrong, kinda silly, kinda unmanly.

On a recent episode of the Sopranos, Tony had to bail his son AJ out of jail. In the parking lot Tony slammed AJ up against the car and told him what a disappoint he was, AJ started to cry. Tony got even madder "don't you fuckin cry, don't you dare fuckin cry." If a fictitious mob bosses son can't cry - who can?

So it's OK to steal, but don't cry.

Sell drugs, but don't cry.

Kill, whack, bump off, eliminate, shoot, stab, decapitate, poison, burn, bury, drown - but don't cry.

Why don't men value the tear?

I think it's women!!

Some women say they want a man who will cry, but I've been out there in the jungle and I know a well placed tear can get you very far, but too many is a turn off.

It can be the difference between getting some pussy or just being called one.

What's the big deal, it's just tears, just an involuntary bodily reaction, like laughing or farting.

If left up to men, I think farting would be a more acceptable display of emotion.

If your puppy gets runover by a bus, fart.

At your grandmothers funeral, lift up that right leg and let em go till you feel better.

Men need to find some kind of release. Hezbolah is bombing Israel, Israel is bombing Lebannon. Soon the Syrians and the Iranians will join in bombing Israel. We'll have to help Israel - while still bombing Iraq and with our foot on the neck of Afghanistan. North Korea is throwing bombs into the sea. China will have to respond sooner or later. I can't even think about whats going on in Darfur - apparently neither can the rest of the world.

All this war stems from the evil that men do. Not women.

I want my boy to retain his compassion, I don't want it dared out of him or scared out of him or beat out of him.

Let's teach our boys to fart their way through conflict. No more wars. The next generation will be able to sit down in a room and break wind together.

Holding my breath

2006-07-20T08:18:00.000-05:00

I remember stuff
I just don’t remember stuff
OK how’s this?
Coleman’s birth
In the operating room
Roz is having a C-section
It’s been a scary few hours
The room is bright
Really, really bright
Not like on ER
That’s mood lighting
Surgeons have to be able to see
Duh
Smells?
Can’t smell anything
Sounds?
The sounds of doctors babbling
As they cut Roz open.
I’m listening AND
Trying to talk over them
So Roz doesn’t hear what they’re saying
“I’ve never seen anything like this…”
“Move your hand…”
“Don’t touch that…”
“Do it like this…”
“He’s out…”

We listen
The cry
I exhale

Now I know why I couldn’t smell anything
I’d stopped breathing
Holding my breath
Waiting
Waiting for the little boy
Who will call me
Daddy

Spank Me Daddy

2006-07-19T16:55:00.000-05:00

Just read a article that says 94 percent of 3-4 years olds have been spanked in the last year. 74 percent of parents beleive it's OK to spank 1-3 year olds.

The article continued to say: Clearly, the majority of parents say they spank their kids. Various factors increase the likelihood, including geographic location (children in the South are spanked the most), family income (less money means more spanking), race (African-American mothers spank their children more than other ethnic groups), and religion (parents more fundamentalist in their religious beliefs spank more than those who are less so).

So in the age of the public "time out," privately, secretly parents are still smacking those behinds, like their parents did and their parents before them.

Coleman's not 2 yet, but he's at that kicking and screaming phase, mostly out of frustration because he can't tell us what he wants. So we cut him some slack, but there are days when I want to pluck those fingers or slap that leg. So far I'm holding back. Finding other ways. Distraction still works best, but he's beginning to figure that out.

We have not ruled out spanking yet. We're smart enough, educated enough, to know we have options, but ultimately I want to get my childs attention, and I'll do whatever I have to do to get it, social stigma be damned.

Beautiful is temporary

2006-07-16T09:28:00.000-05:00

The world is open to him. He laughs, he jumps, he makes unintelligible noises, he is applauded, wherever he is, whatever he's doing, whomever is watching. It's an amazing thing to witness. Every age, every color, they just want to stop and take him in. Does this happen with all children? I only have one, so I have nothing to compare it to.

He demands that you acknowledge him. "Hi', hi, hi," he'll keep saying it until you respond, lately he's added a miss America hand wave to his greeting. It's unbelievably adorable. I love the back handed compliments we get - "He looks just like both of you, but he's beautiful."

Our friend Nadine asks us if we know how beautiful he is? I don't think about it, until somebody else mentions it. I think about other things, like -
is he eating enough,
is he eating too much,
when will the rest of his teeth come in,
will they come in straight,
how young is too young to get braces,
is he learning enough,
is he playing enough,
do I play with him enough,
shouldn't he learn to play alone,
do we read to him enough,
should he be able to count by now,
should he be in preschool like some of his other friends,
he seems smart,
but how smart,
what are the other smarter kids doing at his age,
how can I make him smarter without turning him into a geek,
but a geek owns Microsoft,
so shouldn't that be OK.

Mostly I want him to be treated the way he's treated right now, every day for the rest of his life. But that's just not a realistic thought. He'll change, of course he'll change, but say by some miracle, he remains as open and as loving and as accepting as he is right now, how do I protect him from the way the world will respond to him. It'll be difficult enough to be 16, and smelly and awkward. Or 22 and less smelly, totally unsure of what you want to do with your life but positive that you know the answers to everything. It's a hard time for everyone, black white boy or girl. But if you're fair skinned, people don't cower when you get into an elevator, they don't fear that you'll rob them or violate them or marry their daughter.

It's something you learn to live with, I live with it every day. I get mad at myself sometimes, because I think I've overcompensated, I'm too accommodating, too willing to make people feel at ease. I try too hard to be the exception to what we've all been told is the rule. But If I get into an elevator and make small talk and make every effort to let this person know that they are in no danger, will their attitude change a little or will she consider herself lucky because she turned her rings around in time.

We've been taught to fear. Roz and I always say we live in the age of fear and consumption. Be fearful of the terrorists, they can come and kill you at any moment, but in the meantime go shopping. When the terrorist strike, we have to prove to them they haven't won, so - go see Spamalot. Many of the people who ran to the suburbs out of fear are running back to the cities. Why? Cause there's land to be bought. People will move to the depths of hell for cheap rent and an exposed brick wall. I don't want to pass this on to my kid, how do I teach him to not let the world define who he is? I have a little time before I have to start dealing with that - or do I? He's not even 2 years old yet.

Right now, he's beautiful.

Man Child

2006-07-06T07:09:00.000-05:00

I love Wednesday nights, it's my writing class. All those warm beautiful women in our cozy loft. It’s no accident. I’m supposed to be here - to learn something. They all have boys, I have a boy. Yes I know Susan has a daughter, but for the purposes of my writing I’ll ignore that. All boys. Men-children. Man-child. Raising a boy into a man. I’m supposed to learn something, what is it? It feels familiar, listening to their stories. There is traditional, the untraditional, then the traditional that became untraditional. Yet we all have the same tasks; to raise a man. Raise a man who won’t end up on Dr. Phil or worse Oprah - because he won’t wash a dish or wipe a child’s behind or wipe his own behind or say I love you I need you I want you.

Roz, I love you I need you I want you I feel you I learn from you I see you I cherish you I hear you I thank you I believe in you - in your dreams for yourself for me for Coleman for us. You/me, we gotta raise a man.

It’s not gonna be easy for me. I feel like I just got here. My entry into manhood is very recent, very, very recent. Like in the last couple of minutes.

I gotta show him how to be a man. I wasn’t shown by a man how to be a man I had my mom. No it’s not one of those sad stories you hear on the 6 o’clock news. It’s a great story - I’m here and I’m a man. So good job mom. Yes my mom is a pill. She’s long on unsolicited advice and short on patience for any opinions that don’t agree with hers, but I’m here and I’m a man. I could drag my mother to therapy and make her admit all the things she did wrong, but she would probably look at me like I was a fucking moron. So I’ll just let it go because I’m here and I’m a man. I’m a man and I have to raise a man, with Roz.

I can remember that September day. It was warm, the kinda warm that made you think summer was gonna last till December. I sat with my friend Nicole in her car waiting for Roz to show up. There she is: black wedge sandals, denim skirt, pink top. I can’t remember if the top was tube or halter, but I remember the shrug. Not really a sweater or a shawl, you just put you arms through it and it covers your shoulders. One of those bizarre pieces of clothing women wear, like the skort. Our first date, in a small Italian eatery in Chelsea. Sitting across from each other, dipping our bread in the olive oil and balsamic vinegar. My big smile, her big smile, our actor/waiter’s big smile. Scientists say subconsciously I was making sure her hips were big enough to birth my babies. Subconsciously she’s making sure I can provide for her and our babies, so our actor/waiter is gonna get a big tip.

The night is easy.

I feel at ease.

This is her, the woman who is going to help me raise Coleman.

Great Black Dads

2006-06-23T12:16:00.000-05:00

So there are a ton of people out there who believe that I am some kind of anomaly, a caring black father, it shocks and saddens me.

My parents split when I was 4, dad died when I was 14 and I didn't see much of him in between. So by all rights, I should be one of those people who think black men as caring, nurturing and present, is an aberration. I am an aberration?

I don't think so.

I think all the black men out there who have been doing the do, just don't speak up enough.

Roz belongs to a couple of mother support groups, NYC MOMS and Hell's Kitchen's babies. They are big on email. On a daily basis information is shared, topics are debated and the milestones of our little ones are celebrated. They talk about everything from pre-schools and discipline to engorged breasts and yeast infections. I read ALL of the emails, every once and a while I chime in with an opinion, and another father may give some information, but it's mostly the mothers.

I have yet to see the equivalent for fathers. Are they out there some where and I just don't know about them?

I know some of us are doing things our fathers never did, like changing diapers and cleaning spit-up and doing laundry and washing dishes and staying home with child or children while wife works. Some of us are just getting comfortable with our new roles. And all of us who are silent cave-dwellers haven't a clue as to how to share.

Let me start.

I can't imagine not being in Coleman's life. I love the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he smells, the way he laughs, the way he whines, the way he eats, the way he plays, the way he sings, the way he hugs, the way he screams, the way he sleeps, everything. I'm going to be in his life and in his face everyday that God lets me.

It's not easy some days and he's not even two. Some days I can't get my work done or a decent nights sleep. Some days I can't wait for nap time or bed time or a play date or for grandma to show up. But that's OK, cause I'm gonna be in his life and in his face everyday that God lets me.

I don't want to belittle anyone's hurt or pain. There have been some bad dads. Black, white and every shade in between. This ain't about them. This is about those of us who choose to be in our children's life and in their face everyday that God lets us.

This is about Don, Roosevelt, Roosevelt Jr, Andre, Tyrone, Fred, Derek, Ali, Jamar, Gerald, Omar and Anthony, and about your great black dad. Hey guys - Say it loud, I'm a Black Dad and I'm Proud.

You Give Me Fever

2006-05-16T21:36:00.000-05:00

what are my goals? Is watching your son grow up a goal? I need to look up the word goal. Say it is a goal, when do I reach my goal, when he's 21? 30? 40? I love watching him, it's great to watch him discover things. What he's discovered lately is his reflection in car doors. He just kind of stands there and looks at himself, smiles, then he rocks from side to side, he points at himself, smiles some more, then he moves to the next car. I'm watching him much more closely then usual, cause we weren't really watching the moment his fever turned into a seizure. He was playing in with his toys, then he very quietly walked over to Roz, sat in her lap and began convulsing. Roz says to me, "there's something wrong with Coleman. He's shaking." I walked over to her. I take him. He's shaking like he's really, really cold, but he's not, he's really hot. "Call 911," I say to Roz - I'm very calm "talk to daddy, tell daddy what's wrong." A silly request now that I think about it, he's only 16 months old. I try to see if there's something in his throat, maybe he's choking on something, but I can't get his mouth open, his little gums are clenched shut. The 911 operator is telling Roz to lay him on his side, and to put a cold compress on his forehead. I tell Roz to put the phone on speaker and get the wet cloth - I'm in control. My son has been shaking for a very long time, 2 minutes? 3 minutes? his lips are blue, his body is rigid, his eyes stare at me. He stops shaking, his eyes roll back in his head, then they close, he's not moving. I'm holding my son and I think I'm watching him die (I've always been too scared to admit that.) I don't know CPR. I lay him on the floor and get really really close, he's still breathing. He's sleeping. Roz hands me the cold cloth, I place it on his forehead. I'm still really calm "Roz get the diaper bag ready," the paramedics are on their way...

The door bell rings, would the paramedics ring the door bell, shouldn't they just bust in. I don't know what that first paramedic was expecting to see, but it wasn't a tiny little boy lying on a bare wood floor with a cold cloth on his forehead. I saw in his eyes what he saw and then I realized how frightened I was. He dropped to his knees and begin "working" on my son. He didn't do a lot, but it seemed like a lot. He put an oxygen mask over my son's mouth and he and his partner lifted him to the girney. The sight of my 2 foot tall son on a 7 foot girney was too much for me - all the saliva that should have been in my mouth came pouring out of my eyes. Roz says "he s going to be OK." She's in control now. In the ambulance the paramedics try and get Coleman agitated, they say a good sign that babies are OK are crying and fussiness. But Coleman just wants to sleep and he does so for the next five hours. He sleeps through poking and prodding and diaper changes and x-rays. He sleeps in my arms, he sleeps in Roz's arms, he sleeps in my mom's arms. He just sleeps. And we watch...

Then he wakes up, Roz is holding him. I offer him a little turkey from my half eaten sandwich and he eats, and he eats a little more and a little more until all the turkey is gone. Then he wants to get down, he's ready to explore his new surroundings, so I hold his hand as we walk around the emergency room.

Febrile Seizure!! Lot's of kids under 5 get them. Caused by a spike in fever, he might get it again, there are no lasting effects, he'll be fine - we were told to go home. No lasting effects my ass. When he gets a little warm and babies are always a little warm, we're quicker to reach for the baby tylenol or baby moltrin or baby whatever will not cause my son to have another seizure. I feel kinda of robbed of the innocence of watching him play, every trip, fall or bump takes on the tiniest bit more urgency. But he's great, he's running and playing and talking and singing and a constant source of joy - and fear.

Our ordeal lasted only a few hours, what about the parents who spend days in hospitals, weeks, months - when does the saliva return to their mouths.

We watch him a little more closely now. I watch what I do, say, think and write a little more closely. I'm a husband, father and writer and this is my blog.