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 →
EppsNet Archive: Parents
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 →
“Yesterday” by W.S. Merwin
My friend says I was not a good son you understand I say yes I understand [Read more . . .] 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 →
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 →
Two-Minute Drill (With Your Mom)
My son’s got a fantasy football league with some of his friends and he asked me to join, so I’ve got to think of a team name. I thought about using Two-Minute Drill With Your Mom, except you can see how it might lead to a physical confrontation with one of the other kids’ dads . . . Read more →
Fidel Castro Needs to Die Right Now
“Is Fidel Castro dead yet?” my son asks. “No,” I say, “as far as I know he’s still alive. Why do you care?” “Fidel Castro is the most Communistic Communist in the history of Communist Communism. And I have him in a death pool.” “When do you need him to die?” “Like . . . right now.” “Do you have anyone else in your death pool?” “Maurice Clarett.” Read more →
The Semi-Gifted Students Academy
I’m driving my son to UCI this morning . . . he’s taking a couple of classes at the Gifted Students Academy. “Only about half the students are gifted,” he informs me. “The rest are stoo-pid.” “How can you tell they’re stupid?” I ask. “I can just tell.” “I mean are they actively doing stupid things, or they can’t answer questions?” “Both.” Then: “Drive faster. Mom dropped me off late yesterday and I almost had to run to get to class on time.” “That’s good. Your years of athletic training are finally paying off for you.” “I said I almost had to run.” “Oh. What happened next? You got to class and almost had to think?” Read more →
I Guess You’ll Do
Let’s begin this typical courtship process, shall we? Read more →
A Blind Woman Was Driving the Car
The entry gate to our community is kind of screwy. It’s supposed to open and close automatically if you’ve got a transponder in your car, but sometimes it just stays open. Last night, we were driving up to the gate when my wife hunched forward over the steering wheel and asked, “Is the gate open?” Read more →
Conversations with a 7th Grader
I was driving my son to school one day when the following conversation ensued. ME: Do you have any exams today? HIM: No . . . and why do you call them “exams”? We have “tests” and “quizzes,” not [in a dopey voice] “exams” — or whatever they called them back in the 1800s. If he thinks that comments like that are going to put me off my game, he must have me confused with his mom. ME: Do you have any exams tomorrow? Read more →
What Does Merriam Webster Know?
My son picks up a pair of my pants that I’ve tossed on the bed, puts them on, and pulls out the front of the waistband. Because he weighs 60 pounds less than I do, there’s a lot of extra room there. “I lost 60 pounds by eating at Subway,” he announces. Then in a gangsta voice he adds, “You fat. You ain’t got the abdo-min-als like I got.” “The word is pronounced ab-dom-inals,” I say. “That’s in the real dictionary,” he says, still with the gangsta voice. “But what does Merriam Webster know? He a playa hater.” Read more →
How Extortionists Get Their Start
A commercial for You, Me and Dupree — or maybe it was Little Man — comes on the TV and I say to my son, “That looks like a real jackass-o-rama.” “Put a quarter in the swear jar,” he says. We don’t have a swear jar. “OK — first of all,” I say, “‘jackass’ is not a swear word. It’s the name of an animal. And second, where did you get the idea of a swear jar?” “They’re available in catalogs.” “What would we do with the money that goes into the swear jar?” “Give it to me.” Read more →