I was mathematically eliminated from college bowl pick ’em at the office with 13 games left. The leader — an Indian gentleman — is 15-2. I’m 11-6, but there are only three games left where he and I picked a different winner. At least I’m ahead of the woman who picked the games based on which of the mascots would win in a fight. If I’d won the thing, I probably wouldn’t mention that I actually let my son pick the games, my only rule being that he had to pick USC in the Rose Bowl . . . Read more →
EppsNet Archive: Kids
Call Me Kreskin
I preface some obvious remark to my son by saying “Call me Kreskin, but . . .” He jumps in and says, “OK, you’re crazy.” “I didn’t say ‘Call me crazy,’ I said ‘Call me Kreskin.” “You’re a kreskin.” “Kreskin,” I explain, “is a mind-reading guy. He makes predictions about things.” “Oh . . . then, you’re crazy.” Read more →
Almost Famous
A friend of mine’s 13-year-old daughter will be appearing as an extra in an episode of My Name is Earl airing in a couple of months. I told my son, also 13, he should try to hook up with her before she gets too famous and the competiton heats up. He just made throat-cutting gestures and gagging noises, as he always does when the subject of the ladies comes up. Naturally, she’ll dump him as soon as she hits the big time, but that’s okay . . . I’ve got to believe that all these starlets put a lot more into pleasing their boyfriends before they were famous than they do now that a guy is lucky just to be with them in the first place . . . Read more →
Black Father of the Year
NEWPORT BEACH — Two Los Angeles residents believed to be a father and a daughter were arrested early today near John Wayne Airport on suspicion of burglarizing four local businesses, authorities said. Donald Perkins, 48, and Kenesha Perkins, 28, were pulled over for speeding at about 3:15 a.m. near Dove Street and Newport Place Drive, said Sgt. Evan Sailor of the Newport Beach Police Department. — Orange County Register Kenesha Perkins is a lucky girl . . . most black fathers are not actively involved in their children’s activities like this . . . Read more →
Convergences
When 8th grade vocabulary words come out on the same day that Mr. T’s new show is on the TV, you may find your kid saying things like this: “I pity the fool who’s a debacle like you.” Read more →
American Pastoral by Philip Roth
But in Old Rimrock, New Jersey, in 1995, when the Ivan Ilyches come trooping back to lunch at the clubhouse after their morning round of golf and start to crow, “It doesn’t get any better than this,” they may be a lot closer to the truth than Leo Tolstoy ever was. The fact remains that getting people right is not what living is all about anyway. It’s getting them wrong that is living, getting them wrong and wrong and wrong and then, on careful reconsideration, getting them wrong again. That’s how we know we’re alive: we’re wrong. Maybe the best thing would be to forget being right or wrong about people and just go along for the ride. But if you can do that — well, lucky you. He had learned the worst lesson life can teach — that it makes no sense. And when that happens the… Read more →
The Brotherhood of Teeth
My son’s having some teeth extracted tomorrow as part of his orthodontics regimen. “I’M NOT GOING!” he shouts. “MY TEETH ARE A FAMILY! THEY CAN’T BE SEPARATED! YOU CAN’T SEPARATE BROTHER TOOTH FROM BROTHER GUM!” Oh, what an impassioned speech it was — the way he made the teeth come to life! I’m going to almost cry tomorrow when they come out like fallen soldiers . . . Read more →
Asians and Idiots
My son’s junior high school is having a co-ed pickleball tournament at lunch. The results are posted on the school web site. The funny thing is that if a team name contains any sort of cultural reference, the P.E. teacher in charge of the tournament either can’t or won’t put the name on the web site without a deliberate misspelling. For example, 3 White Guys and a Hindu becomes 3 Wite Gus and a Hidu, because identifying someone as white, male or Hindu is unacceptable. Curiously enough, the team name 3 Blondes and a Brunette comes through unscathed. Why are people allowed to self-identify as blondes, but not as white guys or Hindus? It seems like the same thing to me. The weirdest one to me is 4 Asians and an Idiot, which comes out as 4 Ans and an Idiot. I ask my son, “Who’s the idiot?” “Some white… Read more →
What I’d Say to My Son in My Angriest Moment
I’ve tried to give you every opportunity that I could possibly give you but I can’t do this stuff for you. You’ve got to decide what your life is going to be about: someone who stands up for himself and does his best, or someone who lays on his ass and gives up. Let me know when you figure it out. Read more →
Hockey Families I Have Known
I know some “hockey families” where the kids — boys or girls — can play any sport they want . . . as long as it’s hockey. They have email addresses like smiths4hockey@hotmail.com (assuming their name is Smith), and from the parents’ point of view, it simplifies things a lot. You don’t have kids getting into one sport, losing interest, moving on to something else. From the kids’ point of view? Maybe not so good. And I actually think it helps kids athletically to do more than one sport . . . Read more →
Tennis Parents Can Blow Me
My kid plays Team Tennis here in Irvine . . . on Saturdays, they play other teams from around Orange County. Tennis parents are obsessive, just like hockey parents. The difference is that hockey parents can scream at the kids, refs, coaches, other parents, passers-by, etc., during the games, whereas tennis etiquette requires parents to stay quiet during the matches and berate the kids afterwards. My son’s team played the Balboa Bay Racquet Club team this past weekend. One of the smug tennis dads on our team showed up wearing a backpack with his own racket in it. Now why would he do that? He’s obviously not going to play tennis with it because it’s a kids’ event, so he just wanted everyone to know yeah, I’m a tennis player myself, my son is a tennis player because I’m a tennis player, blah blah blah . . . My lifetime… Read more →
Another Argument Against Day Care
Cypress babysitter jailed after infant’s death — Orange County Register Read more →
Homework Follies
“This is racist,” my son says. I look over to see what he’s talking about. He’s sitting on the sofa doing math homework. “What’s racist?” I ask. “The math book?” “Yeah. They have answers in the back for problem 9 and problem 13, but not problem 11. Because I’m a Mexican.” “You’re a Mexican?!” “I’m a mixed kid,” he corrects me. His mom is Asian. “You think the white kids’ book has the answer to number 11?” “Yup. The Asian kids’ book has got all the answers.” “Dude, check this out. Jackson collected s seashells. Petra and Tyrone collected 13 less than twice s. Now here’s the stupid part: I have to figure out how many seashells each person collected! COME ON! And the racist book doesn’t have the answers!” I say, “Jackson’s pretty lame if a girl collected more than he did.” “He’s pathetic!” Read more →
The Overachiever
We’re celebrating my dad’s 70th birthday at Buca di Beppo in Brea. “How’s Casey doing in school?” my dad asks. “Is he a 4.0 student?” The boy, who’s sitting right there, says, “I’m a lot higher than that.” “How can you be higher than 4.0?” I ask him. “I’m an overachiever,” he says. “You’re an overachiever?” my dad says. “Yes, sir.” Read more →
Systematic Suppression of Creative Genius
How many artists are there in the room? Would you please raise your hands. FIRST GRADE: En mass the children leapt from their seats, arms waving. Every child was an artist. SECOND GRADE: About half the kids raised their hands, shoulder high, no higher. The hands were still. THIRD GRADE: At best, 10 kids out of 30 would raise a hand, tentatively, self-consciously. By the time I reached SIXTH GRADE, no more than one or two kids raised their hands, and then ever so slightly, betraying a fear of being identified by the group as a ‘closet artist.’ The point is: Every school I visited was participating in the systematic suppression of creative genius. — Gordon MacKenzie, Orbiting the Giant Hairball Read more →
Barbie Speaks
I’m listening to an online interview with Kent Beck, Cynthia Andres and Tom DeMarco. My son hears Andres’ voice and says, “You’ve got a woman teaching you about technology?!” “What a sexist you are,” I say. “I’m just repeating what you always say: ‘Oh, women don’t know anything about computers.’” “When did I ever say that?” “You say it all the time. ‘Men are a lot smarter than women.’” I deny this vehemently, and not just because my wife is sitting across the room. Meanwhile, Andres is saying something: Blah blah blah Kent blah blah blah . . . “Ken!?” the boy says. “Who’s advising you? Barbie?” Read more →
A Lesson in Procrastination
My son’s supposed to be finishing up his first 8th grade assignment — a math collage for his Algebra class — but instead he’s bouncing a basketball around the house. “Finsh the assignment!” my wife says. “No more procrastinating!” “I’m not PRO-CRAS-TI-NA-TING!” the boy yells, punctuating each syllable by slamming the ball on the floor. “You are procrastinating,” I say. “Stay out of it,” my wife says. “You see how long it took him just to say ‘procrastinating’? That’s procrastinating.” Read more →
How Big Was That Elk?
One morning at the Grand Canyon, my son and I were walking to the Canyon Cafe for breakfast when we saw a big elk near Yavapai Lodge. “How big was it?” my wife asked later, when the boy was telling her the story. “Big enough to CHOMP MY HEAD OFF!” he said. “If he wasn’t an herbivore.” Read more →
The Grandeur of the American Southwest
We just got back from a family drive to the Grand Canyon . . . Have you ever tried to introduce family members to things that have made a deep impression on you personally? It’s often disheartening, isn’t it? For example, here’s what my son got out of the sea of sage and grasslands that make up the Kaibab Plateau: “I’d put an amusement park over here,” he said, pointing to the right. “And over here,” — pointing to the left now — “a shopping center and a sports arena.” “Look at the mountains,” I said to my wife, indicating with a sweep of my hand the silent, austere beauty of the East Mojave, where desert mountains rise dramatically from the sloping terrain. “I’ve been looking at them for five hours,” she said. “You know,” I said, “you guys just don’t appreciate the grandeur –” “HEY, LOOK!” my son yells.… Read more →
Failing to Prepare
I joined my son’s fantasy football league because he asked me to, although the low esteem in which I hold fantasy football leagues is only reinforced by the fact that the league is populated by all of the nerdiest kids he knows. The draft is today. “Have you given any thought to who you’re taking with the fourth pick?” my son asks me. “Not really,” I say. “Are you telling me you haven’t done any preparation at all?” he asks in disbelief. He’s been doing mock drafts for a week. “Yeah, that’s about right.” “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail!” he informs me. It’s going to be a long season . . . Read more →