Believe

A friend of mine posted a meme recently. It was a cute photo with the caption, "Dream big, you'll grow into it" Immediately following that post, another friend from another state posted, "Sometimes you have to dream someone else's dream until they are ready to believe it themselves"

When I read the second post, it struck me. It's been several weeks, and I cannot get it out of my head.

"Sometimes you have to dream someones else's dream until they are ready to believe it themselves"

Having coached girl's volleyball for almost 20 years, I firmly believe that one of the greatest gifts a coach, teacher, or parent can give a person they interact with, is self-confidence. Teaching an ant to walk like an elephant can be easier than helping someone believe in themselves when they don't, but often, the difficult things in life are the things most worth doing.

Confidence is a lot like chocolate. With the perfect number of M&M's and little bit of your favorite I-tunes, your entire garage is cleaned out, the rest of your to-do list is completed, and you are sitting comfortably with a cold beer watching football on a Sunday afternoon with a happy spouse. With too much chocolate, you are struggling to workout in the morning, your kids are playing in the street, and your watching Naked and Afraid with a glass of whiskey thinking you can maybe do better next weekend...

Believing in your own dream certainly takes confidence and wiping away self doubt, which happily creeps into the space vacated when a can do attitude runs into a wall. Teaching confidence to a child, by goodness, takes some focus.

So when my youngest says she wants to be a doctor and my oldest says rockstar. I cringe, and believe it for them until they grow into it. Deep down I may have questions, like would I want this little stinker traipsing across the world treating ebola or my little bohemian chumming it up in a tour bus around the country. Really I am wondering will I be paying more for a phd or for rehab? Isn't this one of the great questions in the effectiveness of our health care system anyways, pay for prevention or pay more for cure?

Then I remembered one of the other joys of helping someone else dream their dream until they are ready to believe it themselves.

Whether they make it or not, the dream makes the present special and the hard work fun

The other day as I skipped through the parking lot to church hand in hand with a 4 year old, I pictured visiting her in her 30's, and simply grabbing her hand and whipping out a full high knee skip down the main aisle at Children's Hospital on our way to lunch together, with many tiny sets of smiling eye's peering from their doorways or joining in like a scene from Fame. "Paging doctor skippypants"

"Sometimes you have to dream someone else's dream until they are ready to believe it themselves"

Pick a buddy, help them dream it, it's a blast!

Enjoy!

bvd

Uno

First, a congratulations to my cousin Michael and his wife Andrea. They recently had their second child, and now, he has become a daddy with daughters, plural. As he and his bride continue their wonderful journey as a family, with a new 3 to 1 female to male ratio, I am looking forward to sharing the secret handshake with him, and divulging the classified information hidden in "Low T" commercials he will find ironic.

Today, however, I would like to broach the wildly divisive topic of Uno. If I lose some friends over this post, I am prepared...

In 1971, a barber named Merle Robbins, invented the game. He was playing "Crazy Eights" with his spawn, they began arguing over the rules. Merle, like most fathers about to lose to their children in anything competition related, changed the rules, and decided to invent his own game. He dubbed it Uno, dumped the families last $8,000 into manufacturing these cards, and then it became regionally popular over the next 10 years. Merle sold the rights for $50,000 in 1981, and I contend, would be turning over in his grave, not because of the money he missed out on after the sale and wild national growth in popularity, but because he knows they made an NSYNC and Backstreet Boys Uno version and attempted to destroy this man's personal legacy as an upstanding inventor of the second best family night game ever.

Merle, wherever you are, thank you and I'm sorry

My daughters 4 and 7, have become addicted to Uno. TV, nope, lets play Uno. Go outside to play, nope, lets play Uno. Time to go to bed, nope, let's play Uno.

Like a cage fight, a family plays Uno in close confines. One cannot stand across the room and play, you must be around the table to reach the pile. This makes trash talk particularly personal and in your face. When a 4 year old begins trash talking before during and after she places 3 draw 4's in a row, you feel the burn, and I don't mean the candidate that got slapped around by Wasserman Schultz. In my home, my 4 year old clearly wears the title belt, and we do not believe in letting her win. When she first started playing, I'd take joy in making sure she had more cards in her tiny mitts than she could hold. I have often described her as competitive, and Uno clearly is stoking this fire in her. Recently, my wife and the prodigy played head to head for 45 minutes, and my wife did not win a single match. Like Bobby Fischer probably did, she giggles like a madman while you come out holding 68 cards as she makes a "Did I do that" face and slams down her final draw 2 to rub it in, you don't lose too much self esteem. So thank you Merle, your work is laying the foundation for my offspring to enjoy competition. I personally feel that teaching a daughter that it is critically important to be comfortable competing is a crucial part of developing a strong child. If people approached life challenges the way most people approach Uno, a desire to win with no fear of failure, more could be accomplished.

Now the I'm sorry Merle.

I would like to apologize for the new "swap hands" card. It's a Karl Marx hatchet job on your creation.

If you have not played Uno in some time, the new "swap hands" card allows you when you play it, to take away the cards of any player you are playing against. Let that evil sink in. Through no fault of your own, after you have worked hard to keep your own cards secret from spying children, to plan and execute your meticulous winning strategy and have gotten to the final card, your piece de resistance, any player can hand you all their baggage and swap hands with you, robbing you of your effort. What is this world coming to and which ding dong at Mattel decided this was a good choice? Shouldn't the "swap hands" card be named the "Robin Hood" card. "Why not simply put in an "automatic win" voucher in the deck? What's next, a participation trophy for whomever comes in second?

Rip these up, I implore you! It may seem fun at first, the devious giggle as a child steals your win immediately after you rejoice with an "Uno". Are we creating a generation of kids who believe they deserve an automatic win voucher in life? Doesn't it also diminish that joy you got when you first beat your Dad in a game if everyone beats their Dad every time they play?

The deck can be stacked against you dad's, be careful out there in the new game of Uno...

Enjoy!

bvd

Snooze at the Zoo

The Milwaukee Zoo has a unique event that my 7 year old daughter currently loves to attend. It's called Snooze at the Zoo. "Snooze" involves reserving a camping space at the Zoo, setting up a tent with your children, and staying the night on the grounds while animals snore and roar around you. It sells out quickly, and of course, is a wonderful bonding experience with your children. This season, both my wife and youngest daughter opted out, and the honor to take my oldest camping was mine.

August weather in WI is usually hot and humid, and rain and thunderstorms seem to pop up regularly. Weather.com was not predicting a nice camping evening and "Raincheck" was not in the fine print of the Snooze at the Zoo waiver. As my hairline has receded, rain isn't my favorite outdoor weather condition, and potential lightening and thunder usually is enough to get me inside.

We attended Snooze with the intent of returning home to sleep. We first enjoyed the camping picnic dinner they provided, and then walked the entire zoo together in the rain. It was empty other than the reduced number of campers, many I'm sure finding the rain a Debbie Downer. We chose however to find every puddle we could splash. I have never had an umbrella sword fight I've lost, until yesterday evening. I was shown butterfly gardens, braved a hand in hand walk through the "Wolf Woods" at dusk, and learned that rain can feed happiness to a soul, tiny and large, if you let it.

As the evening progressed, faces were painted, I received a bad bart moustache and my daughter chose a cloud with a rainbow, fitting for our wonderful evening together. We played ping pong ball in the fishbowl, cornhole, and learned from a wonderful 67 year old volunteer about pelts, horns, and turtle shells. I listened to the same volunteer answer the question on how she got the pelts and horns, explain to a 3 year old boy and my daughter that, "sometimes animals live life so happy and free, that when they have shared enough time on earth with us, they give us their shells and pelts so they can continue to share their happiness with us" Go figure I'd always thought explaining death to a child sucked, how wrong I was.

The most interesting part of the night wasn't the Zoo, we have spent time there before. It was seeing my daughter's reaction to the weather.

Gene Kelly sang "Singing in the Rain" well before my oldest daughter roamed the earth. A light and airy song, that jingles it's way into your brain and holds on for dear life. The last line before the final refrain in case you don't have Gene Kelly on your iTunes favorites playlist:

Why do I get up

Each morning and start?

Happy and head up

With joy in my heart

Why is each new task

A trifle to do?

Because I am living

A life full of you.

Watching my 7 year old daughter bounding from puddle to puddle with an umbrella twisting in her hands, or trying to drink the rain as it falls from the sky reminded me of the lyric above. I watched a miniature version of the joy that likely once bounced in my heart when the water started to fall. It was a happy reminder that the wonder of youth should not be wasted by adulthood.

Instead of camping at the zoo and waiting for the thunder and lightening to wake us at 2am, we chose to make a pillow fort in the basement and camp out at home. I was asked how I was going to make a fort big enough for both of us, to which I replied, "I have power tools". While I can still make a mean fort, I was reminded this morning that I have not yet learned how to make one so awesome that my back isn't sore the next morning after sleeping in it.

So many lessons in the rain at the zoo, and we didn't even have to wait for the crying peacocks acting like roosters at 5am to make me want to learn if peacock tastes like chicken.

Enjoy!

bvd

Dad, no one is listening to me

FaceTime is a wonderful thing for a traveling parent. Most of today's technology designed to keep America "connected" has resulted in disconnecting from reality and supplementing life experience with virtual feedback. Like a trip to Las Vegas, you get flashing lights, cute sounds, rewarding point totals, and the ever popular instant "like" of acceptance and praise with every snap of an Instagram. Even our "presidential" candidates use 140 characters and the thumbs of interns to tell us why we should or shouldn't cast a vote for them in an election process that was first written on parchment when a twitter was slang for your goofy neighbor who liked feeding pigeons from her porch.

One of my favorite internet meme's right now is an image of a 1980's windowless cargo van, dark color, with the words, "Rare Pokemon Inside" spray painted on the side. The caption reads, "How to kidnap a 28 year old in 2016"

As a father with daughters, who travels and works from a phone and Microsoft surface and an airplane and in 40 some odd states, the idea of your children separating into some digital universe instead of bonding with you is a dangerous proposition. I liken it to the original movie Tron, not the remake for obvious artistic reasons, except the blue light doesn't surge up and down on their super cool spacesuit pants, but glows on your child's face from the reflection of an Ipad.

As a parent in the digital age, you also may fall into the trap of getting sucked into the mind numbing alternate universe of social media, 24 hour news at the touch of a finger on your phone, and during the most glorious time of year, you find yourself trapped in football and fantasy sports. I admit to failure in this department, and my fantasy drafts are fast approaching. As the reigning champion in 1 league, one has an obligation to defend one's honor...

So, driving down I85 in Georgia's mountains, on the way back to an airport, as a passenger in the car mid update on Linked In, the familiar ring of FaceTime twinkles in the car.

I gently slide the accept call button, and so appears a blonde 4 year old also sitting in a car as a passenger. We bond immediately as twin captives strapped in our chairs as others bounce happily through traffic. I realize we are mutually in a 55 mph reality and looking for an escape into the digitally enabled world of each other. After the general pleasantries of 4 yr old conversation, a frustrated huff occurs and a small frown appears, "Dad, I'm having a rough day"

At 4, "rough" can mean many things, so I needed clarity. "Why honey?"

"Dad, no one is listening to me!"

4 year old girls never seem to stop talking, at least intentionally, so I found it likely that everyone in the car was listening, but had given up on interrupting or commenting. "No one listening" was not likely accurate, since clearly, Steve Jobs and his vision, had solved this problem for my child years ago with the release of FaceTime, and our current technological connection. So I corrected her and let her know I was listening to her right now.

"But dad, no one is listening here"

At that moment, all the Candy Crush, Netflix, Frozen Themed Games, and even the vaunted Pokemon could not serve my daughter's needs for human interaction. My daughter can ask Siri "Are we there yet?" and she may respond with a snarky comment adrift in the modern hipster programmed response, but it will not provide her what she craved at that moment.

I was told I was loved, and saw a smile on a 4 year old Tron who had found her way out of the video game. I will continue my vigilance to keep both of us away from rare pokemon vans and the virtual non reality we face today.

Enjoy!

bvd

Fast times at dadmont high

Facebook has a way of reminding you of the past. Those of you that use it, get the occasional pop up which shows you one of your posts from 1 or 2 or 5 years ago, with the breif headline, your memories. Ingenious really, other than your name spoken by a loved one, is there anything in the world more precious than a memory? Facebook is truly the world's greatest time suck, we all know this, however, the juice is often worth the squeeze.

A trip down memory lane can solve a crisis, brighten the darkest day, and quite possibly be, one of the greatest gifts we share with each other as humanoids. Memories don't happen unless you are in the moment.

The last time I enjoyed a Sean Penn performance, he played Spicoli, a classic character from the historical literary work of art, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. My favorite line, he asked Mr Hand, "If I am here, and you are here, doesn't that make it, our time?" This weekend, I enjoyed some "our time".

I witnessed a wonderful wedding between two perfect puzzle pieces that happily fell off the table, landed connected, are now glued together, and fit so perfectly, you wondered if Hasbro plans to stop making puzzles now.

I attended a Packer Family night with my girls, where 76,000 people paid to watch a football team practice and scrimmage themselves, followed by a laser and fireworks show set to a mix of old, new, country, and rap music. I was asked by my youngest when the "lasers" we're going to start, and she reminded me that last year, I told her that she had to be careful because some lasers can chop your head off. I didn't catch her ducking during the show, but I did get a few eager glances of wonder when a 200' helmet magically appeared in the center of the field with green streams of light emanating from the perimeter of the stands.

So today, as I woke up and the memories of "our time" this weekend trickled through my groggy brain, I popped open the world's greatest time suck ever invented next to Pokemon, and the photo above trickled across my screen as a memory. I remember vividly the day we took this photo. My wife and I disagreeing as she started pulling over along the side of the road. Me protesting that we didn't need any more photos that day. I recall grumpily setting my children on top of a cart of pumpkins, hoping they wouldn't crush them and force me to buy the whole lot of them from guilt, or that my children wouldn't jump off the trailer and run away. I remember being nervous the farmer might come running out of his house hollering, perhaps not finding my children on his cart as cute as my wife found it to be. I remember gradually smiling as I noticed my youngest's ears dangling happily away from her noggin, and along with her smile and eyes, betraying the orb as a child's face and not just another vegetable stacked on the cart. I remember posting the photo as a happy thanksgiving note to my friends. I remember smiling when I saw how lucky I was to have my 2 beautiful children. I remember thinking I should apologize for being grumpy about taking the photo.

The reminder this morning was a bit more than a photo, it was Mr Hand being stumped from the comment.

Make sure you are there so it really is "our time"
Being present is a present and the memory is the gift that keeps on giving
Sean Penn should have quit after Fast Times at Ridgemont High

Enjoy!

BVD