Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he’d had three months to write. It was due the next day. He was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.” — Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life Read more →
EppsNet Archive: Fathers and Sons
More People I’m Sick Unto Death Of: Blue Man Group
Hey fellas — mime died out with Red Skelton. It doesn’t become entertaining again because you paint your head blue. I say to my kid, “You know what I would do if I owned the Blue Man Group concept is have multiple shows all over the world so I can make more money.” “You can’t do that,” he says. (It turns out they actually do do this, BTW.) “Why not? It’s not like going to see the Beatles, where people actually care who’s in the group. It’s more like going to see Lion King. Why would there be only one Lion King show?” “If you’re making more money, then I’d want you to pay me more money.” “Well, that’s the beauty of my idea, Clem Kadiddlehopper, because as I said, nobody cares about you. You want more money, you can take a hike. I’ll get another guy in here and… Read more →
Hamlet Backwards
This semester’s AP English final is on Beloved, a depressing novel enjoyed by no one. “I need an 87 on the final to get an A in the class,” my boy says. “That sounds manageable,” I say. “Not really. I knew Hamlet backward and forward and on that test I got an 86.” “What is Hamlet backward? It’s Telmah, right?” Read more →
My Kid Needs to Learn to Set an Alarm Clock
“I’m taking a nap,” the boy says. “I need to wake up at five.” “Okay,” I reply. “Five o’clock,” he says. “Okay.” “What time do I need to wake up?” “Five.” “That’s right.” Read more →
A Sherlock Holmes Christmas
My kid comes home and sees three newly wrapped Christmas presents . . . “That’s a book,” he says, pointing at one of the presents. Then moving on to the other two: “I don’t know what that is, and I don’t know what that is. I’m on to you guys.” “What are you on to?” I ask. “The fact that you don’t know what’s going on? You only got one thing out of three. Nice work, Sherlock Holmes.” “The clues don’t always come all at once,” he says. “I’m a third of the way there.” Read more →
Once Again, Age and Guile Triumph Over Youth and Talent
We’re at the gas station . . . I’m in the passenger seat while my son fills ‘er up. “This pump doesn’t have any way to lock the handle in place,” he says. “I have to stand here and hold it.” “Really?” I say. Don’t pumps always have a way to lock the handle? “Yeah, really,” he says. “I’m 100 percent sure.” I’m about to get out of the car to look things over when he says, “Don’t get out of the car.” Ignoring this admonition, I get out of the car anyway and sure enough, the pump did have a locking mechanism at one time but it’s been removed. “You owe me 10 dollars,” the boy says. “Why?” “I told you you had to hold it,” he says. “I didn’t say you didn’t. I just wanted to size up the situation.” The problem is that in the process of… Read more →
High School Confidential
I ask my boy how school’s going this year, his senior year in high school. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t enjoy it that much but I do it anyway.” When we get to the subject of his English teacher, he says, “He’s fine, other than he’s got a Napoleon complex and spends the entire class talking about himself. I know everything about him and I’ve learned nothing about poetry. “He has a two-year-old daughter and another daughter six months old. He coaches a cross-country team. He considers himself the greatest runner of all time. We don’t know what pain is because he has a messed-up knee and he runs on it anyway. “He thinks Mr. Plette [the AP History teacher] is soft because Mr. Plette give higher grades than he does but don’t tell Plette he said that because Plette’s his boy. “He’s a San Francisco Giants fan. He’s… Read more →
High School Seniors Do Not Appreciate 17th Century Metaphysical Poetry
“Have you read ‘Break of Day’ by John Donne?” my son asks. “I haven’t,” I reply, “but that’s more of a failing on my part than a reflection on the greatness of John Donne.” “John Donne sucks.” “You can’t talk about metaphysical poetry without giving it up for John Donne.” “I don’t want to talk about metaphysical poetry. How is that ever going to help me?” “Someday you’ll quote a snippet of Andrew Marvell in a status meeting and people will be very impressed. Verrry impressed.” Read more →
A Personal Reflection on Current Events
My best friend in college hanged himself. He wasn’t gay. It broke my heart, but nobody famous took any notice. We’re all against bullying of course, but it’s a fact of life. Everyone gets targeted for whatever it is that makes them different, and if you’re absolutely normal in all respects, you’ll be targeted for being too perfect. I put my son in tae kwon do classes at an early age. I said it was for fitness and confidence and all the usual stuff, but really it was so that any needlessly cruel behavior directed toward him could be addressed via a kick in the teeth. Sometimes you have to beat someone’s ass to teach him how to get along with the rest of the human race . . . Read more →
Why We Need a Big-Screen TV
“This TV cuts off the bottom of the scrolling bar,” my son says as we’re watching a football game. “I can’t tell if it says SCORE ALERT or SCORF ALERT. I assume it says SCORE ALERT but I don’t really know.” “That’s a really good point,” I say. “And I don’t care about scorfs. I only care about scores.” Read more →
Playing With Pain
My son comes home from playing basketball at L.A. Fitness with what looks like blood all over his white T-shirt. “Is that blood on your shirt?” I ask him. “Yeah. A guy followed through on his shot and smacked me in the face.” “So your nose was bleeding?” “Yeah. I wiped it on my shirt.” “That’s awesome.” “I know. It’s sick.” Read more →
What I’d Really Like, Dad, is to Borrow the Car Keys
My son walks into my room and says, “Dad, where are your car keys?” “Where are you going?” I ask. “Gym,” he says, and starts to walk out of the room again. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?” “To the gym.” “I got that, but you asked me a question and you’re walking out of the room before I answered it.” “I thought you could give me the answer as I was walking away.” “Well, I can’t because the keys are in my pocket.” “Oh,” he says. “See, that’s what threw me off,” I say, “is I’ve got the keys right here and you’re walking in the other direction.” “I don’t have time to stand around,” he says. “You don’t? Well, I don’t have time to figure out other people’s mystifying behavior.” Read more →
Short Books
My kid’s got a summer assignment for AP English — select and read two novels from a list of about 20. I’ve been telling him since June that I’d be glad to go over the list with him and recommend books that he might enjoy reading but he’s put it off so long now that I’m limited to recommending short books that he might enjoy reading, and that leaves us with Ethan Frome, Wide Sargasso Sea and All the Pretty Horses. He comes back from the bookstore with Frome and Sargasso, two books about men who marry crazy women. He ruled out All the Pretty Horses because it’s 300 pages long and “I read the first sentence and it had like six adjectives.” Read more →
A Dog at the Airport
Picking up my family at John Wayne Airport . . . There’s a guy walking around the baggage claim area with a toy poodle on a leash. I point this out to my son and say, “I didn’t know you could walk your dog around here. I would have brought Lightning.” “Maybe it’s a bomb-sniffing dog,” he says. “A bomb-sniffing poodle?” “Yeah.” Read more →
Comparing Hands
My son comes home from playing basketball, holds his hand up in front of me and says, “Let me see your fingers.” I don’t know what he’s up to here but I put my palm against his palm and we compare fingers. They’re about the same. Mine are maybe a little longer. “HA!” he says. “It’s your fault I can’t dunk! Bad genetics! I can get over the rim but the ball comes out of my hand because I can’t palm it.” “Hmmm,” I say. “I could palm a basketball easily when I was your age so your theory doesn’t really stand up to scrutiny.” “Could you dunk?” he asks. “I’m still working on that. I hate to admit it but I don’t think it’s going to happen for me.” Read more →
Driving Tests
My kid is taking his driving test today and he wants to take it in my car, so I’m driving my wife’s car to work. Her car is more upscale than mine. It has features like Average Speed displayed on the dashboard. What I can’t figure out is why the Average Speed is always 24 MPH. It was 24 MPH when I left the house . . . I’m almost at work and it’s still 24 MPH. I wonder if there’s some way to reset that. Maybe if I press this MODE button here on the steering wheel . . . HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! Having your car radio suddenly come on full blast — which is what happened when I pressed the MODE button — is like someone jumping out of hiding and screaming at you. It’s alarming and you can’t recover from it right away. Later, when I… Read more →
Pat Haden
Patrick C. Haden, acclaimed civic and business leader and USC alumnus, will become new athletic director effective August 3, 2010. — USCTrojans.com Pat Haden — athlete, scholar, businessman. He’s a lot like me, except for the athlete part. “You’re not a businessman,” my son says. “I’m kind of a businessman.” “No you’re not,” he says. “Okay. So Pat Haden’s a lot like me, except for being an athlete and a businessman.” Read more →
Donettes for Breakfast
My son bites into one of his donettes . . . “Do you ever eat the whole donette in one bite?” I ask him, popping an entire donette into my mouth. “No,” he says. “You’re missing out.” Read more →
A Father’s Day Portrait
HIM: Did you smile? ME: Not really. HIM: I didn’t either. Read more →
Happy Father’s Day
When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years. — Mark Twain A wise son maketh a glad father. — Proverbs 10:1 Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later . . . that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called ‘Being a Father’ so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life. —Tom… Read more →