DadCentric

Rockabye: The DadCentric Review

I was sitting in a bookstore in Hollywood talking to Neal Pollack and had just finished saying something stupid to a friend of his about her shoes when Rebecca Woolf walked in. We were introduced and Neal went on to tell me that Rebecca had just signed a book deal. She was stunning so I only hated her for a moment. She talked briefly about the book before being whisked away to give chase to her motherly duties.

Later, while I was reading whatever it was I was reading, Rebecca and her son Archer made a few laps around me and every time one of us would nod or smile to the other, sometimes both. Archer was oblivious to me. I doubt that Rebecca remembers any of that, but I do, because watching her and her son made me feel guilty that I hadn't brought mine with me. Of course an hour later I was sitting around a pitcher of margaritas with Jason Avant and Whiffleboy, my colleagues at DadCentric, and I was long over any remorse of paternal guilt.

Her book, Rockabye, is now out, and upon reading it I was immediately hit by two things, a) this isn't your typical parenting book, and b) I totally missed her slut phase. I won't lie. The latter hurt a little.

If you read Rebecca's blog(s) then you have an idea of what to expect from her story. She is tough as she is tender and above all she is honest. Her writing is welcoming, and she invites you to come in, have a drink, take your shoes off and be comfortable in your own skin, and hers as well.

It is a narrative of insight and understanding that allows the reader to relate and reflect.

For instance: "Who are we to tame our children before they even understand what it means to be wild? Who are we to limit their experience with our own closed minds? And don't we remember what it felt like to be kids? Because if I'm not mistaken, every single thing my mother told me not to do I did. Twice."

Exactly. Yet, I have found myself doing just that, trying to stay the inevitable when in truth I am only delaying it, perhaps magnifying it. Her words made me stop and take a breath. I do remember what it was like to be a kid, and still, it is easy to forget. Too easy.

There is inspiration there, and it continues throughout: "Martyrdom does not bring into the world children with a strong sense of self. A mother who sacrifices her livelihood for her children is risking not only her own loss of identity but also the well-being of her children. No child deserves to be resented. It is possible to do it all well."

And she does.

At least on paper. She will be the first to admit that she is flawed, and rather than hide her blemishes she has chosen to embrace them. They are, after all, what makes us who we are.

Hers is the real world, and it is full of rainbows.

Read more from Rebecca at Girl's Gone Child and Straight form the Bottle.  Buy Rockabye here or at a bookseller near you.

It Was Almost a Banner Day for Me

It began like any other trip to the bookstore.  There were words of encouragement and threats of consequences.  We shared a pastry and had something warm to drink.  They behaved like I asked them and used their inside voices.  There were pee-pee dances and occasional wanderings.  It was like any other trip.

Then Thing 1 picked out a book that wasn't his typical fare of dinosaurs or cartoon characters.  It was Star Wars, and the force was suddenly strong in my boy.  We discussed R2D2 and Yoda, and I explained the difference between myself and a Wookie through an awkward charade which included a public display of body hair.  We were bonding.

I started planning our evening.  We would only watch one movie a night, no reason to rush it.  Pace this moment, I thought.  Finish his training, I will.

It was set in stone, or carbonite as the case may be.  Things were moving along swimmingly. We stood in line, me taking in the moment and the boys happy to be getting stuff.  It was special.  I placed my books on the counter and turned to the boys for theirs.  Elmo for Thing 2, and my oldest boy, he had switched out Star Wars for yet another dinosaur book.

"What happened?" I asked as I looked around frantically for the Star Wars book.

"I like dinosaurs better," he answered, smiling.

Damn, I thought, that's bullshit.

The Works of Theodor Geisel: An In-Depth Discussion

"...we both smile and we say 'Hi!' The end." I close the book. "So, what did we learn from the story of The Pale Green Pants?" Lucas furrows his brow and strokes his chin. "Hmm. I think that the pale green pants are scary but they are really scared of me and so I should not be scared of them because they are not scary and they will be my friends."

"Right. Sometimes new things are strange and scary to us, but once we get to know them, we find out that they're actually nice. And what was the lesson that the guy learns in Green Eggs and Ham?" "Hmmmm." Furrows brow, strokes chin. I really should get the kid fitted for a tweed jacket. With the suede patches on the elbows. "The guy doesn't like green eggs and ham, but then he tries them and he likes them!"

"Right. Unless you try something, you never know if you're going to like it or not." I can see I've hit on something with this revelation. Lucas looks up towards the ceiling, pondering this simple truth, so basic and yet so utterly profound. Then he looks back at me. "No, Daddy. Because I don't like to drink pee or eat poop and I haven't tried them."

"The Year of Living Biblically": The DadCentric Review

There's a bit of trepidation, reviewing a book that details a guy's year-long attempt to follow the Bible as literally as possible. First, I know shit-all about the Bible. I have an excuse - Dad's a semi-practicing Catholic, Mom's a semi-practicing Jew, neither of them made any attempt to bring religion into the house (I think the only time we ever discussed God was in regards to George Burns; we all felt that George made an excellent Almighty). Second, my opinion of the Bible was and remains this: it's about as valid as any other mythological text (Zeus v. Titans, The Great Green Arkleseizure). Third, if I were to attempt what A.J. Jacobs does in the book, I'd be out faster than Kramer dropped out of The Contest. I actually think I say  "Goddammit" more than I say the word "and". Who am I to judge him? (I think there's a Bible quote about glass houses. Or maybe I'm thinking of Billy Joel.)

The Year of Living Biblically is just that - A.J. Jacobs, conquerer of the Encyclopedia Britannica, devotes a year (actually, a year and 13 days) to obeying as many of the tenets of the Bible as legally possible (yes, he has a "slave"; no, he does not stone his mother for working on Saturday). The challenges are immediate, and some a bit odd - one of the first rules A.J. comes up against is the banning of clothes of "mixed fibers" (shatnez, in Hebrew, refers to combining natural fibers like wool and linen), and enlists a snatnez tester (a Shatner?) to inspect his duds and make sure they're up to Specs. He builds a hut - a sukkah - in the middle of his apartment and spends a week in it. He stops shaving, and his beard becomes a supporting character. And of course, on his quest he meets some fellow travelers, Biblical literalists - the people that those of us who hiss and recoil at the sight of a cross love to poke fun at - Amish, snake handlers, polygamists, and other dwellers on the Judeo-Christian fringe. Those readers looking to reinforce their opinion that the Good Book is an instruction manual for nutters will find ample fodder here. (I'll be honest - I was hoping for a little more snark from A.J., especially towards some of the more odious members of the religious right. But after all, being mean isn't very, well, Godly.)

Of course, it would be impossible to live the Bible for a year without having some sort of epiphany, and that's where the book ultimately succeeds. Is it possible to be completely honest with everyone you meet? (A.J. tries hard not to lie, resulting in one hilarious passage - an encounter with an old friend of his wife's - that wouldn't seem out of place on an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.)  Are you truly a charitable person? Do you truly respect your elders? How should we talk to our kids about religion? And perhaps most important, are having faith in a higher purpose and looking for deeper meaning in life really such silly things? It's pretty easy to be cynical about religion - guilty as charged - and certainly it would have been easy to write a cynical book about the role of the Bible in today's world.  I won't ruin the ending - ok, he doesn't get crucified - but the final pages of the book (Month Twelve) provide some poignancy to a funny tale. The bottom line: good book, recommended for Bible-thumper and heathen/atheist alike, read it, amen.

Big Contest Winner Announcement!

So our first contest was a big success. I'm too lazy to put in a link; just scroll down a bit...a little more...yeah, there ya go, that's the spot. We challenged you, dear readers, to tell us the ONE thing that every girl needs to know and why. We got some great responses (and my heartfelt thanks to you all for your restraint - not one of you said "Never match wits with a Sicilian when death is on the line!"). Here were some of the good ones.

"The one thing every girl needs to know:  That regardless of what society thinks, there is no limit to what she can accomplish, simply because she is a girl. Why she needs to know it:  Because everywhere in our society, the message is the complete opposite."  - JayMonster

"The one thing every girl should know is how to change a tire.  Back when I was delivering pizza in a college town, there were THREE separate occasions when I stopped to help groups of college girls on roadtrips who each got a flat and were at a loss for what to do.  On two of those occasions it was past midnight and they would have had to pay a hefty fee and/or wait a long time for a tow truck.  Only one girl seemed to even know what I was talking about when I asked them where their jack and lug wrench were. Teaching your daughter basic car maintenance skills like this not only gives them self confidence and teaches them a skill they can use when they need, but may also prevent them from being hoodwinked by dishonest mechanics - I'm glad my wife didn't fall for the guy who told her that her air filter needed vacuuming ($10 charge) or that her car wouldn't operate correctly if they didn't put nitrogen in the tires instead of regular air (who knows how much they wanted to charge for that)." - Ross (EDITOR'S NOTE: Totally agree with Ross on the value of knowing basic car maintenance. I asked my mechanic about the nitrogen in the tires scam. According to him, not only does it make no difference in how the car operates, you run the risk of your car blowing up like the Hindenburg if you run over a nail. That's why I took his recommendation and put helium in my tires. It was $20 a tire, but my guy says that it'll give me 30% better gas mileage, and will lighten the car so that it will jump over ravines and State Troopers just like the General Lee.)

"When the boy who is captain of your elementary school flag football team wants to keep you out of the game, you have the right to play. Even if you're not very good. In third grade, winning is not everything." - landismom

"Every girl needs to learn independence.  I want her to learn how to take care of herself and not have to depend on others for what she wants.  I have seen my fair share of helicopter parents and with cell phones and email it is way to easy to fall into that trap of always seeking out help and guidance.  I want her to make her own decisions and not always feel the need to check in with Mom and Dad.  How do you teach this?  Don't be afraid to let them fail.  Failure teaches resilience and independence.  We can't always win, there will be tears, but it will ultimately be worth it." - Jay B.

Sage advice, to be sure. But there can be only one winner, and we'll sending a copy of The Daring Book for Girls to Arwen, who offers up the following:

"This is a tough one but I think I have the answer. Originally I thought it was that every little girl needs to know how to open a beer bottle with a key (or any flat metal thing). But I realize we are talking about girls and young adults. The reason I feel this way is because it is not a strength move, it is a finesse. The finesse of leveraging the metal against the bottle cap. Female anatomy tends to have more problems developing big strong muscles so to learn how to finesse is critical in many ways. So then I thought about other ways girls can physically finesse and I thought 'Of course': Every girl needs to learn how to roll a kayak. Girls develop hips for three reasons (numbered by importance):
1. roll a kayak
2. block at soccer
3. birth babies later on in life
Rolling a kayak is not about strength, it is about a hip snap. Using something that comes naturally to us (our hips) to do something that would seem really hard (roll a big piece of plastic that is on top of you and you are attached to it while you are below water) is a very empowering thing to learn. The movement of snapping your hips and keeping your head down and rolling up is really quite cool and very impressive."

That? Awesome.

The Daring Book for Girls: The DadCentric Review

It occurs to me that on or about November 9 of this year, I will be the proud owner of a baby girl. This is somewhat disconcerting. My wife and every other female that I've ever come into contact with will confirm this: I know shit-all about females. (Well, that's not entirely true; I know that all females like Grey's Anatomy, and yet they all hate Meredith Grey. It makes no sense.)

We gave a hearty thumbs-up to The Dangerous Book for Boys a while back, and now, just in time for me, comes its sister volume (Damn- that was Gene Shalit Clever!), The Daring Book for Girls. Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz take inspiration from Conn and Hal Iggulden; the book's stellar design mirrors its predecessor, and offers the same sort of lore that (presumably - again, it's me here) all little girls require. There are chapters on pressing flowers, putting up one's hair with a pencil, proper sari-tying, jumping rope (regular and double-dutch), and, of course, boys (who "can be excellent friends. In general, they like to do things, and that makes them rather fun").

And yes, the book is daring, in the sense that what we often think of as "girly" isn't necessarily so. For starters, the cover is blue. Number One on the book's list of Essential Gear for girls? A Swiss Army knife.  A treatise on basketball is the book's second chapter. Want to learn how to do a karate chop? Turn to page 81. There are essays on famous women spies, places to see in Africa, how to maintain a toolkit, reading tide charts. Clearly this book will not be on Insitut Villa Pierrefeu's required reading list. Which would be a shame, because Buchanan and Peskowitz certainly give girls of all ages (and their occasionally clueless dads) a fun, inspirational and inspired guidebook.

(As Whit indicates in his previous review, we're lucky to get these books sent to us for free. Well, turns out I received two copies of The Daring Book for Girls. So what I thought I'd is, I'll give one away to a lucky DadCentric reader. But you gotta earn it. Email me (petcobra@gmail.com) and tell me the one thing that every girl needs to know and why. I'll post the winning answer this Friday.)

Coming in 2008 - DadCentric: The Book!

I'm pleased to announce that this coming spring, DadCentric: The Book will be released by Sear Press. The book will be a collection of some of the site's best posts, along with some new material. Sort of like what Boston did with their Greatest Hits album. Actually, if you really want Boston's Greatest Hits, all you need to do is buy their first album. You can usually find it in the bins at Stuckey's for cheap. Expect to see some Extended Versions of some of your favorite posts as well. Sort of like what Ridley Scott did with Blade Runner. Twice.

Needless to say, we're all very excited, and fully expect that by this time next year, we'll have quit our day jobs and will be spending our time hobnobbing about with the literary elite (although I'm a little miffed that Thomas Pynchon has not returned any of my calls). I'll be working hard to put the thing together over the next few months, going through hundreds of posts and doing lots of editor-type things.

And needless to say, this wouldn't have happened without you, dear readers. Hopefully, we've been able to make you laugh, cry, think, and occasionally scratch your head in amazement that we haven't been hauled off by the secret police and forcibly sterilized. A very sincere thanks to you all for reading!

Justice, thy name is Gas

Walter the Farting Dog is the story of Walter the, uh, farting dog. Beloved by children, but shunned by adults for his flatulent ways, poor Walter even catches the blame for everybody else's farts. He ultimately puts his noxious outbursts to heroic use and saves the day, but not before almost getting shipped off to the pound in order to rid the house of the stench clouds that he leaves in his wake.

But this isn't so much a book review as much as it is the story of how this little tale taught my son his first lesson in justice. This book has been one of my son's favorites pretty much from the time he would sit still long enough to let me read to him. There are many books he's grown tired of, but not the story of Walter.

See, blaming a fart on a dog seems like a pretty minor sin, but to the dog on the other end, it may be a pretty big deal. Hell, it almost got Walter sent back to the pound, and who knows what grisly fate may have awaited him there? Thus, my son has decided that all farts that occur in our household shall be rightly attributed to the individual whose ass they emanated from. Hence, any audible passage of gas in our home is now followed by a declaration from my son of who dealt it. Most often, of course, it's "Daddy farted", but every now and then you'll get a "Mommy farted." And lest ye think the kid can't take responsibility for his own actions, he'll gladly fess up with "I farted." He has blamed the dog a few times, but to my knowledge, it's only been when the dog was actually guilty. We've yet to hear anyone else catch any blame, but most people tend not to rear back and cut loose when they're not on their home turf. As long as we don't ever hear "Grandma farted" I think it'll be all right.

Not a Vin Diesel movie review

My son is in desperate need of a 12-step program or the patch or some aversion therapy.  And his mother and I have not been much help, the enablers that we are.  He needs it when he wakes up.  He looks for it immediately after getting out of the tub.  He has it in hand before he finishes his last bite at dinner.  He uses it to make a point and he uses it while he's deep in thought.  He has secret stashes - inside a toybox, in the back of a drawer, stuffed in a pillow case.

The it?  His pacifier...his binky...his paci.

I know, I know.  He's two.  We should have broken him of this habit a long, long time ago.  But it soothed him and that was really important when Little Dubyette came a long.  Not only did it soothe him, it stopped the brain-melting, nails-on-a-chalkboard whining.  So, rather than pull a Van Gogh, it was easier to give in and give him the pacifier.  Aaaahhhh, blessed quiet.

However, it's gotta go.  It's a habit that needs to be broken; has to be broken.  But, dear Lord, the whining.  The whiiiiiiinniinnggg.    We're trying to be strong.  For now, he only gets it at bedtime, but we're trying to phase that out as well.  Hopefully, in a few days we'll have nipped this in the bud.  Hey, stop judging me.  Yeah, you.  The one whose daughter has her thumb in her mouth.  Need the name of a good orthodontist?

Oh, yeah - any suggestions on coping with the whining breaking this habit are greatly appreciated.

Not the Happiest Place on Earth

What would you pay to have your pocket picked by the Artful Dodger or have a chance to go toe-to-toe with Bill Sikes?  How about being transported back to your youth by the Ghost of Christmas Past?  I say, "Whatever it takes, man.  I've got to go back to those "Best and Worst of Times."

That's right folks, get ready for Dickens World, a £62 million ($115 million) complex built on the naval dockyard in Chatham, Kent, opening later this month.  The Dickensian-themed attraction will be indoor and recreate the architecture of the period as well as feature the thieves, murderers, ghosts, dandies and degenerates that make up Dickens' novels.  Guests can enjoy (and I use that term loosely...very loosely) seeing Mr. Pickwick and Miss Havisham in the Haunted House or children can hang out in Fagin's Den of Thieves -- sure, those same children may leave saying this like "'Allo, guv'nor" and be skilled in the art of picking pockets and fencing, but talk about being street smart.  Maybe they even get a chance to stay in Newgate Prison -- good times, good times.

Critics are expressing some scorn and decrying the Disneyfication of Dickens: ""There is a lot to fear here," The New York Times said. "There is the prospect that characters from Dickens' novels - Mr Pecksniff and the Artful Dodger, Mr Pickwick and Uriah Heep - will wander through Dickens World the way Goofy and Mickey walk the streets of Disneyland."  Manager Ross Hutchins denies this is this case, arguing "The Dickens Fellowship has been consulted throughout the process of developing the Dickens World and guarantees as much authenticity as possible. So don't expect a clean and tame Disneyland, but a dark, dirty and dank London populated by thieves, murderers and ghosts."

Would I go should I ever find myself in Chatham?  Sure, why the hell not.  I could get a t-shirt with "I went to Dickens World and all I got was this lousy t-shirt and a case of consumption" or "Edwin Drood was pushed."  I'd go to Dante's Inferno World if they built one.  Imagine how thrilling the "Circles of Hell" ride would be.

Sidenote: in the interest of self-promotion, please visit Dad Said, Mom Said where Mrs. Big Dubya and I discuss the possibility and "oh, hell no" aspect of having a third child.  Thanks.