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Baby, You Can’t Drive My Car

Posted on March 13, 2012 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

After three transmissions, enough mileage to circle the globe seven times, and more nicks and cuts than an undercard boxer, it was time to get my wife a new car. We scoured the review sites and spent many an afternoon test driving with our three human cyclones before Wendy settled on something that made her eyes twinkle.

More than that, getting the shining automobile felt as if we both were hitting a reset button amidst the ragged frenzy our lives have become as parents with multiple jobs, three kids, and too little open space.

When we got the “baby” home, we had the talk with the kids.

“No more smashed goldfish crackers,” Wendy warned. “Or misplaced apple cores, melted crayons, or sandy beach souvenirs.”

“We promise, Mommy,” they harmonized like those charming chipmunks you know are about to wreak havoc.

Later, Wendy gently brought me into her circle of caution.

“I know it takes you a while to get used to driving new cars, with the different dimensions and everything,” she said. “So, it’ll just be me taking it out for a while.”

I was absolutely fine with that. I had a habit of cracking side-view mirrors, backing into brick walls, and (yes) trying to duck a moving forklift within the honeymoon period of our last couple of new autos.

For the first three weeks of this one, all was fine. The kids treated the fresh wheels like white carpet at the grandparents’ house.

Then, one night, after an exhausting day, following a frenetic week, on the heels of a month of never-ending demands, I had to drive my son to an evening basketball game. Sadly, as much as I wanted to enjoy the thought of seeing my son on a court, I had little joy left in me. Seeing this, Wendy told me to take the new car.

“That’s OK,” I muttered in my best Eeyore tone. “I don’t want to be the one to put the first ding on the car.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You’re ready.”

So, my thirteen year old and I went outside. I opened the door, caught the scent of new upholstery, and — clunk – knocked the freakin’ thing into the neighbor’s ridiculously massive cinder-block pillar.

My stomach dropped. It was a cruel twist of self-fulfilling prophecy.

I paced back and forth, stopping furtively to assess the damage. There were scuff marks on the rubber molding at the edge of the door. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much. In the moment, it looked like I took a sledgehammer to the car.

I slumped into the driver’s seat, greeted by Benjamin, who didn’t even try to contain his laughter.

“You were so worried you were going to do that,” he spit out through guffaws.

“Be quiet,” I snapped back.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “It’s – too –
funny.”

“It’s not funny,” I groused.

Already late for the pre-game warm-ups, I pulled out of the driveway, wracked with guilt. Benjamin kept cracking up.

“Are you going to tell Mom?” he asked.

“Of course I will,” I said, holding on to whatever teaching moment I could in the situation.

I spent the game watching my son’s team win an exciting contest while I did enough hand-wringing to rival Macbeth.

At home, I performed the one defensive act I knew to do. I exaggerated beyond belief to make the reality seem like nothing.

“I feel like I totaled your car,” I blurted.

Wendy smiled. “Well, did you?”

“I scratched the side of the door and I’m sorry and I knew I was going to screw it up and I apologize for damaging the one new thing you have.”

“Is it really that bad?” Wendy said, wincing a little.

“To me it is,” I replied.

Wendy took my hand. “I was going to get a scratch sooner or later. I’m glad it was you.”

I exhaled and hugged her. She wasn’t giving more guilt than I was heaping on myself.

A day later, our seven year old ran his scooter into the bumper, gashing the paint.

His guilt lasted exactly two minutes.

To my sons, who laugh and move on from errors of small consequence, scratches and dents come with the territory of living life at full tilt. It will take me a while, but part of my own growing up involves adopting this philosophy — though it’ll be another couple of weeks before my wife lets me touch the car again.

Posted in Cars, Columns by Family Man, Humor, Marriage | 1 Comment

Modeling a Good Marriage for the Kids

Posted on February 8, 2012 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

Today, we have more solo parents, divorced parents, and parents who live together but choose not to marry than ever before. In those situations, there are countless moms and dads who do amazing work in raising their children. However, if marriage works well for you, here are some key points to considering you want to model a good union to the children…

Constructive Disagreement

The most important thing about bickering—or even yelling with your spouse—in front of the kids is that it ends in calm resolution. My wife can have a short fuse and I can simmer so long that eventually I explode. But we always conclude with a hug and a kiss. Often, we tell the kids, “Mommy and Daddy are sorry we got so upset, but we love each other and have fixed our problem.” While it’d be nice if we didn’t argue in full view of the kids, our emotions do get the best of us. By showing the resolution for our kids, we model for them that people who love each other can disagree without bad feelings lasting forever. We are also showing them that disagreement can be handled verbally and not physically. Now, when our kids see us fight, they either ignore us or ask us to stop. When they do ask us for a ceasefire, we halt the argument — until they go to bed.

Love and Affection

Although you should probably think twice about making out or copping a feel with your spouse while the kids look on, hugging, kissing, and holding hands is highly recommended. The advice about being affectionate with your children is well documented, but many people shy away from being tastefully physical with their partner because they’re embarrassed or are just plumb too busy to put their arm around their spouse or kiss him or her on the cheek. Random acts of touch help keep a marriage alive and show kids the importance of contact in a healthy relationship. It will not dawn on kids until they’re older, but it also conveys that affection need not always be overtly sexual. Parents who hug and kiss hello and goodbye, as well as cuddle on the couch during family movie night, model a closeness that will inform the relationships their children have when it’s their turn to get a little closer to someone they like.

Lots to Talk About

Studies reveal that the more parents talk to their children from birth (even before birth), the more likely that the kids will be verbally proficient. The same applies to marriages. Talking a lot to your partner not only helps keep you both in the know about each other’s thoughts, it exhibits to the children one of the most significant qualities of a good relationship. Communicating with your significant other over breakfast, lunch, dinner, in the car, and on the phone lets the kids see that talking creates harmony. Silence is golden on occasion, to show the young ones that you don’t always have to talk to be at-one with your partner, but offering a daily example of how to verbalize emotions and information will help your children in any relationship. Key topics to present in front of your kids involve asking each other about the day, inquiring about future plans, discussing the news and culture, and seeking input on everyday decisions. This last topic is a good one to show the value of interdependence and the respect two people have for each other’s opinion.

Alone Time

Being a good parent is certainly about spending a lot of interactive time as a family unit. It’s also about getting quality moments with your husband or wife. Children need to know that Mom and Dad have a relationship with one another, not just with them. They should see that it’s okay for parents to be apart from the kids on a consistent basis so they know for themselves that, at the center of many successful families, is a successful partnership. Plan on weekly (at minimum biweekly) date nights to let kids know grown-ups need time alone. Doing this regularly helps children be more comfortable with parents going out. When you do go out, you should be sure to have a good time — seeing a grown-up movie, eating leisurely, being out with other adults, whatever it takes to feel like a couple, not just parental units. It’s also wise to enforce bedtimes so Mommy and Daddy can have alone time.

Playfulness

You don’t always have to go out of the house to show your kids that you’re having a good time. Laughing with each other displays how much fun you have with your partner. Let the children see you tickle each other, crack (G-rated) adult jokes, play checkers, even wrestle so they can see playfulness as one of the significant facets to a relationship. Don’t be afraid to have the kids see you being silly. In fact, next time you’re at a party with a karaoke machine, perform a duet with your partner. You’ll laugh and embarrass the kids more than yourselves. And your children will get a glimpse of the crazy-in-love people you once were — and hopefully always will be.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Marriage | 2 Comments

Perchance to Dream

Posted on January 16, 2012 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

The 1988 Francis Ford Coppola film, Tucker: The Man and His Dream, is a long-held favorite of mine. Like its main character, the innovative car designer Preston Tucker, the movie earned critical acclaim but little financial success.

For me, Tucker is memorable for much more, including a classic scene between Preston and Abe, the financial expert who takes a risk by joining the vehicle visionary’s effort to build an automobile that will challenge the major auto manufacturers.

Abe says, “My mother always told me to be careful not to get to close to someone. You might catch their dreams…It wasn’t until many years later that I realized she meant germs. She didn’t want me to catch someone’s germs.”

OK, maybe it’s a funny line only to me. But what really sticks is this point that dreamers – people who have these seemingly impossible goals – can spread their power of positivity to others. It doesn’t matter whether there’s a big pot of gold at the end. What counts is that dreamers and those who support them need the fuel of imagination to make life richer.

As a father, I frequently debate myself over what I’d like out of life and what I need to provide for my children. I sometimes wonder how things would be had I traveled the globe more to soak up adventures, then moved to a seaside shack to write novels and screenplays. Would I have been wildly successful in these endeavors without kids to weigh me down?

Although my hopes to be a world-famous storyteller have been with me since I was a kid, being a good dad has been an even greater goal. I don’t know when I figured this out, but it has certainly dictated most of my other pursuits so that I could have a more predictable career and income.

Emphasis on the word most, but not all.

No matter how comforting a straight and narrow path of work-home-sleep may be, I leave room for dreaming. I think it kicked in when I saw another movie, The Rookie, in 2002. The film is about Jim Morris, the real-life former pitching prospect who got injured, settled into coaching and parenting, then rediscovered his throwing ability quite by accident.

At one point in the movie, Morris seems ready to give up the endless travels of a minor leaguer that take him away from his family. On a difficult night, he talks to his son from a payphone and the son tells him to follow his dream. Morris does and finally pitches in the Major Leagues.

Seeing this, I realized it was vital to my true identity to keep the flame of dreams alive, if only to role model to my children that the pursuit is every bit as important – actually more important – than the end result.

So, while I’ve become a gratified professional educator (I teach film, among other things), I’ve pushed myself to write, usually late at night and on weekends. I’ve driven myself to peddle columns to magazines in other states and countries, and I’ve met with some success. I’ve also scribbled children’s stories that remain unsold and screenplays that have found no buyers. I get down, but I get back up – for myself and for my kids.

At a certain juncture this fall, I got a little more down than usual. I couldn’t write another word. What was the point of it all if I wasn’t going to have some kind of big achievement? I wasn’t empty because I had my teaching career and a family I hold dear. I just felt incomplete.

But I realized that the only answer to my feeling of incompletion was to keep working toward whatever results might happen. If I stopped, there would be no chance for happy surprises.

In this new year, I am more dedicated than ever to pursuing challenges and indulging what-ifs, from my writing to taking my first plunge into coaching high-school basketball. Being a responsible father need not preclude me or anyone from taking a few calculated chances. By doing this, I hope my children will catch my dreams and learn the value of having their own, now and even when they’re old like Daddy.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Perspective | Leave a comment

Just Eat It

Posted on December 16, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

I look forward to the Winter holidays for many reasons and eating ranks second after enhanced family time. It’s not like I need a special incentive to eat myself into a coma, but the festivities offer an excuse to pad my waistline if only out of respect for all the people who have cooked for me, from my wife to that commercial baker who went to the bother of whipping up those frosted cookies.

Really, I’m very popular at parties since I’m the guy who consumes everything. Have a dip that nobody seems to be sampling? I’ll load it up on crackers. Need that brisket to be finished lest it crowd the fridge? I’ll scarf it up for you. Want someone to try that spicy Moroccan veggie dish? I’m the fella who’ll brave blowing out my sinuses just for the experience.

You’d think that with my passion for all that strikes the palate, my children would have inherited a similar love of food. Well, not so much. If there’s one thing that spotlights my ineffectiveness as a parent, it’s food, as this holiday meal scene shows.

“Ari, eat the chicken,” I say two minutes into dinner.

“I hate chicken,” my seven year old replies.

“But this is the breaded chicken you love,” Wendy offers.

“I don’t love it anymore,” Ari says.

“You say you hate everything at dinner,” Jacob (age 10) interjects.

“Shut up!” Ari snaps back, threatening to toss a string bean.

“Jake, mind your own business and eat all that food on your plate,” I say, remarking on the heaping helpings my son always seems to put in front of him. He rarely eats much of it.

“How about those latkes (potato pancakes), Benjamin?” I remark to my teenager, who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I’m not that hungry,” he says.

“I don’t know why I bothered to cook,” Wendy bemoans.

“Mommy, we love your cooking,” Jacob says.

“I like Daddy’s cooking,” Ari mutters with a sly smile.

“Daddy hardly ever cooks,” Wendy shakes her head, indignantly.

“No, Daddy just eats. A lot,” Benjamin cracks.

“At least I eat,” I growl. “When I was your age, I could pack away two steaks at a sitting.

“Isn’t that called gluttony?” the smart ass zings.

“I want dessert,” Ari says, dropping his tired head on Wendy’s lap.

“You’re kidding, right?” she replies.

“I ate all the chicken,” he lies, as if we can’t see that nothing has gone into his mouth since the conversation began.

“No, he didn’t!” Jacob states. “He should not get dessert!”

“It’s not fair,” Ari cries, running to the couch.

“We’ve got it covered, Jacob,” I say. “And you’re not getting dessert either if you don’t start eating.”

“We’re not opening up presents tonight if we continue like this,” Wendy threatens.

“Do I have to finish my food?” Benjamin mumbles. “I ate a big lunch.”

“You mean that PB&J sandwich that is half-eaten on the kitchen counter?” I point out.

“The bread is really filling,” he says.

“You know what’s really filling?” I grumble. “The bull poop you’re speaking, right now.”

“Well, now I’ve lost my appetite,” Wendy remarks, as she leaves the table.

“I have to pee,” Jacob blurts out. He takes off before I can say anything.

Benjamin swiftly gobbles up a toddler’s portion of his meal and announces, “I’m done. May I be excused?”

I nod, holding up the white flag.

Alone, I survey the leftovers and do the only thing I do well in this situation. I eat.

As with a lot of other dinnertimes, Wendy and I managed to pull the kids back to the table and get them to eat enough of a well-balanced meal to keep them nourished. Yet I’m not proud of committing so many parenting sins, from being too pushy with my kids about food to resorting to threats.

It’s just that, at holiday time, when cuisine should make everything so joyous, why must we have the same battle we have most every night? Given how much I adore the variety and abundance of good grub, I always thought my role modeling and DNA would be enough to get them to eat happily. Instead, it’s a chore. Food to them is too often a means to an end, not a pleasure in and of itself.

For this holiday season, I’m wishing for a little magic around meal times. While I know a lot of this magic must be self-created in the form of unlimited patience and acceptance that my kids aren’t a chef’s dream, I wouldn’t mind a few twinkling lights of delight in their eyes over the edible bounty they are blessed to have placed before them.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Food, Holidays | Leave a comment

Feeling Full

Posted on November 13, 2011 by Family Man

Contrary to what scientists have told us about the psychological makeup of a turkey, I believe this bird feels a fair amount of pressure in November. The poor guy has enough to bear, what with that hideous piece of skin flopping around below his chin and the whole missed opportunity as America’s national bird. November, or earlier for those fowl friends headed for the frozen meat case, brings all the stress of when that axe is going to drop.

For Tom Turkey, the anxiety comes to an end before the actual Thanksgiving feast. For me, the harvest holiday represents decades of agitation over making the parental units happy.

As a product of divorce, I’ve been challenged by Turkey Day since I was 11, bouncing between my parents’ homes from year to year. Each holiday meal has had the sweet of good times with one side of the family with the sour of the other side feeling pained without me being there. Even in my teen/early-20s years when my dark moods could eclipse the sunshine of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the left-out contingent would exclaim, “But I miss your scowling face at my table.”

So I’ve attempted to make it up to whoever doesn’t get me by doing some combination of awkward apology, attendance for a pre- or post-Thanksgiving makeup dinner, a drop-by for dessert, or just a guilt-ridden phone call.

I know none of my parents intended for me to be in the middle of an annual November custody battle, but the pushing and pulling happens nonetheless. It usually leaves me feeling like the Scarecrow of Wizard of Oz fame – my stuffing (turkey pun intended) gets scattered.

Once Wendy and I became a couple, the tug-of-war over my Thanksgiving family allegiance added a third direction as my in-laws vied for our attendance at their table. They’ve been gracious enough to invite my parents to join the meal on numerous occasions, which in turn has encouraged my folks to do the same. While that’s happened a few times, various factors have prevented it from being a regular thing. Even when we’ve ventured to combine all the parents at our home, it hasn’t worked out to be the complete family picture that makes everyone, let alone me, feel right. Let’s just say, the scene has been more Jackson Pollock than Norman Rockwell.

Actually, when it comes to Thanksgiving and family, nothing is regular. Over the past 30-plus years, marriages, divorces, and moves to other states have changed the cast of characters and made the holiday gathering look like a biological cell that divides, multiplies, and subtracts.

Now that my own nuclear family has grown, the concern for my sense of unity at the festival table has turned outward. The funny thing is, my kids could care less.

For my sons, Thanksgiving is not about what’s missing at the table – unless it’s candied yams, the lack of which has been known to cause them to riot. To them, the ever-changing groups of relatives makes the holiday more interesting, not depressing. They’ve never known it any other way than to have a Lazy Susan-style schedule of meals in which they cycle through each set of grandparents.

Largely because of the divorce after-effects, I never wanted my children to feel responsible for making a whole out of a segmented family experience. My wife and I have used good luck and hard work in our marriage and family experience to give our kids something connected in a world of increasing splintered parts.

All of this being said, my children, in fact most kids, have amazing powers of stitching together the good parts of a family situation such as a divided holiday. It’s the adults, like me, who have the difficulties. Rather than worry over what’s missing, I need to see what and who is right there in front of me or else no Thanksgiving can ever feel fulfilling.

As usual, I’ve learned this lesson from my sons. To them, the Thanksgiving tradition involves rotating around to the various grandparents who love them dearly. At Bubbie and Zaydie’s, there’s the chance to eat lemon mold before going off to wreak havoc in the play room. At Nana and Papa’s, it’s about the joys of the kids’ table followed by the hugs from the grown-ups’ section. At Grandma Judi and Great-Grandma Jenny’s, it’s about a road trip to Arizona for enough grandma kisses to last a year.

It all works together to create a different kind of whole for my boys. Because of their appreciation for what they see as variety where I had seen chaos, my days of feeling something’s missing at the holiday are fading. For this, I am truly thankful.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Holidays | 1 Comment

Monster on Board

Posted on October 11, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

For years, my 13 year old looked the part of a skateboarder. Benjamin rocked the latest Vans shoes (is it me or do they have a shelf life of three weeks?) and RVCA shirts (can we work on catchier acronyms, people?). He could also spout specifics about longboards versus short ones and explain why certain wheels were better for tricks than others.

Funny thing is, he wouldn’t actually step on a piece of rolling wood. Not even to go across the back patio.

But recently, after his long stretch of feeling too clumsy to look cool on a board, Benjamin found friends willing to show him patience as he learned to wheel around the neighborhood on plywood and pituitary power. As long as Benjamin demonstrated caution and good judgment, we allowed him to travel everywhere from his friends’ houses to the mall.

My wife and I delighted in the exercise and confidence he gained in his jaunts around town. He was never much of a cyclist, so this was a real advancement for him. And there was the added benefit of not having to drive him everywhere. Yay for us, we thought. We were shedding our overprotective nature to allow our son to spread his wings.

Then came the scrapes and bruises from minor tumbles on concrete.

“You should wear your helmet the next time you ride,” I suggested to my son, following his longest skateboard trek yet.

Whatever goodwill I had built up for giving him his four-wheel freedom rolled away.

“No one’s parents make them wear a helmet,” he shot back.

I thought about this for a moment. He was right. I never saw kids wearing protective skull gear out on the streets.

“Helmets look ridiculous,” he pointed out.

“Accidents look worse,” I scored.

“Only people doing tricks at skate parks have to wear them,” he added.

Another point for the 13 year old.

I relented. I know, I know, it was the wrong decision, but there’s still time for me to redeem myself.

Another week went by. Wendy and I discussed it ad nauseum and decided to put our collective foot down.

“I’ll buy you the coolest helmet on the market if you’ll wear it,” I offered.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he replied.

Still, I brought him to the skate shop nearby where I asked the sales guy to convince Benjamin about helmets.

“Uh, most kids don’t wear ‘em,” he droned. Well, that wasn’t much help.

Walking out of the store without a new helmet, Benjamin threatened us.

“I won’t skateboard ever again if you make me wear one.”

I have to hand it to the kid. He knew we might cave if we thought he’d return to his traditional couch potato lifestyle.

We stuck to our guns. Benjamin stuck to his — for two days before asking me to bring the board to the park, where he was helping younger kids in after-school groups. He was hoping I’d forget about the helmet so he could skate to his friend’s house after work.

I brought the board and helmet to him at the end of the day.

“I’m not wearing this thing,” he groused.

“Do you know how many parents we’ve talked to who have given us horror stories of kids they know with brain injuries?”

“Not from riding on the sidewalk,” he snarled.

“Even from riding on the sidewalk,” I said. “One boy hit a stupid pebble, landed on his head, and is still in a coma.”

“Well, it’s your problem for talking to other parents,” he reasoned.

We argued back and forth with me finally throwing up my hands and leaving him in the parking lot, the helmet hanging limply from his hand.

Seconds later, I received a text: “I hate you! I’m not going 2 talk u 4 the rest of the week.”

As ridiculous as that sounds now, it stung when I read it at the time.

“I don’t hate you, though,” I texted back. “I just want you to be safe.”

“But I hate u,” was all I got in response.

I stewed in self-pity and anger until my wife got home.

“He said what to you?” she fumed. “That’s it. Play date’s over.”

We picked up Benjamin from his friend’s house and told him he was grounded until further notice.

Now for my redemption. Benjamin didn’t complain about being embarrassed in front of his buddy. He apologized for his rudeness to me. At home, he hugged me a lot.

This is not to say that our son hasn’t tried to raise the helmet issue again, but he has made wearing it a habit. He’s also been a nicer kid to us than he has been since adolescence kicked in.

I’d like to think that it’s because we set boundaries for him. While it’s often painful to bicker with our beloved child and uncomfortable to curb his burgeoning independence, my wife and I are doing our own growing up as parents. We’ve learned that however monstrous our son may seem in fighting against us, we’d rather avoid the scarier consequences of not drawing the line on safety.

Posted in Adolescence, Columns by Family Man, Holidays, Sports, Teens | 1 Comment

We Build: On the 10th Anniversary of the Events of 9/11

Posted on September 8, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

This month, we mark the 10^th year since the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, when innocent Americans died in New York, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. Since that time, my oldest son has become a teenager while two of my children have been born into this world in which fear and hatred too often diminish the beauty human beings can and often do show.

As a way to commemorate 9/11, I wanted to look back on what was going through my own mind as a parent the day after the terrible events, to gain perspective. I hope this piece will encourage you to think as well and perhaps to discuss with your children ways to feel more secure in a too often uncertain society.

***

My son was born on the same day, in the same hospital, as his friend Ethan.

Our families had become friends during our mutual first pregnancies. After the birth of the boys, we saw each other at least once a week, went to parent-and-me classes together, and talked all the time. If it were possible to marry another family, we would have married the Ansorges. But not long ago, our friends moved to Manhattan when Mark’s job was transferred.

On September 11, the distance became greater. That morning, little Ethan walked with his mommy to preschool and watched a plane slice into the World Trade Center. Ethan and Deborah struggled to get home in the ensuing pandemonium that convulsed New York City.

All the while Ethan asked, “Mommy, why did the plane crash into that building?”

No physical harm came to Ethan and, soon after witnessing the horrific tragedy, he was home, cuddling with his parents who cherished their very existence.

Ethan and his parents’ experience clarifies one simple thing amidst the human devastation and unending confusion brought on by that day’s events: We are still better at loving than we are at destroying.

Don’t get me wrong. I am angry, perplexed, and cynical about much of the way our world works. I am scraped raw, emotionally, when I think of that father on the flight that crashed in a Pennsylvania field. This is the man who called his wife and told her he would fight the terrorists before they did greater harm. This is the man who urged his wife and child to have a good life.

As much as this story weakens me, it also fortifies my belief that love prevails in the face of any disaster. We build on love, for love of each other. We are better at building than destroying.

And, as simplistic as it sounds, the concept of family is perhaps the greatest structure on which to build on love’s foundation. I know I might sound flower-childish or naïve. But I am struggling to be positive and state the obvious: We are a family of human beings. Like family members, we often treat each other brutally — but not as much as we treat each other lovingly.

The metaphorical, if not literal, powers of family reach everywhere. I feel that most of the sentiments expressed by world leaders and residents of other lands were heartfelt. They recognize the pain of wives who have lost husbands, of children who have lost parents. They have lost, too.

Within our own community, parents are talking with their children to ease their worries. One parent was dealing with a four-year-old son who was inquiring about the “evil tourists” (meaning terrorists) while trying to help another son who was shell shocked by the tragedy.

Another parent has a daughter who asked, “Were there any mommies or daddies in the buildings” of the World Trade Center. At the same time, these parents are giving blood and talking with each other to soothe fears.

Repeatedly, we prove ourselves to be better at bonding than at disintegrating. We may be more motivated at this time, but most of us act on our desires to respect and understand. We are also teaching our children these values.

My wife and I put our son in a multicultural day care. He has befriended kids with of an amazing array of cultural backgrounds, from West Indian to Palestinian. He sometimes blatantly states differences he has with others: “Why is Nicholas brown?” or “Why is that girl talking Spanish?” We are embarrassed at first, then we watch him hugging and giggling with these young people.

At our foundation, we are a family. No terrorists can crack the foundation because it is made of stronger stuff than metal, concrete, or even flesh and blood. It is made of love. And so we continue to build.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Helping Kids Understand Loss, Parenting Stress, Perspective, Values | 1 Comment

Reaction to “Beyond the Lesson Plan”

Posted on August 12, 2011 by Family Man

My friend Adam Turteltaub, one of the best dads and human beings I know, had this reflection in response to the column about the need for teachers to go “Beyond the Lesson Plan.”

Adam explains, “My least favorite teacher was my art teacher. He was famous for his long, grey hair and even longer, grey beard at a time when all teachers wore their hair short. He would give long lectures on the environment or whatever else he felt like. One day, bored out of my mind, I was absent-mindedly clicking open and closed my watercolor tin, and he pointed at me and announced to the class, “It’s idiots like this that make it impossible for me to teach.” It was way out of line, and after class, I asked him if he just called me an idiot in front of the class, to which he replied, “If the shoe fits, put it on.” Idiotic on his part.

“I told my parents who told the school, and the art teacher never looked me in the eye again.

“I related that story to a group of old elementary school friends on Facebook. It was fascinating to see the responses. Some, who had talent, were lavish in their praise of him and what he did for them. Others, who  were untalented like me, were scathing. It made me think that a truly good teacher is one, like your Dr. Kleinz, who was as good for the good students as he was for the bad ones.”

Posted in Adolescence, Blog, Columns by Family Man, Education | Leave a comment

Beyond the Lesson Plan

Posted on August 9, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

Ten years ago, I became a full-time high school teacher. With visions of Stand and Deliver dancing in my head, I wanted to put my real-world experience into lessons and my bad jokes into dull moments. Plus I relished learning what made teenagers tick to prepare me for my road ahead as a father.

Over the past decade, I’ve held onto the joy of teaching though it frequently makes my brain hurt and my ego crack. It ain’t easy to find the balance between the enthusiastic learners and the ones who would rather blog about toenail clipping. So, through trial and tribulation, I’ve developed methods to keep students’ attention, push them past their boundaries, and encourage them to explore their interests.

I don’t pretend to be one of the world’s greatest teachers. I’ve had those in my life, as instructors of my own and as colleagues. In 10^th grade, there was Dr. Kleinz, who was nerdy, overly educated, and sweated profusely through his dress shirts. But he was funny, hip, and a good listener. Even the students with the biggest attitudes and smallest self-expectations labored hard for Dr. Kleinz. As for me, I struggled for a decent grade in his Western Civ class — and loved every minute of it.

Among my three kids, and their combined 13 years of public school, the vast majority of their teachers have been creative, effective, and inspiring. Then, there are the two who have somehow missed their calling as medieval prison guards.

A few years ago, Jacob’s instructor was intolerant of students who were not quiet drones. She gave the kids worksheets, without instruction on how to do them, for most of their day. She readily showed frustration for fidgety children and put absolutely no comments – not so much as a Happy Face sticker – on the students’ papers. And this was in first grade.

My son is energetic to say the least, but he has always been eager to please. So, when he asked for help, he was crushed by the teacher’s response to stop asking so many questions.

We tried emailing and conversing with her, but got little response. So like a number of other parents in the class who had similar worries about the instructor, we met with the principal. Sympathetic to our concerns, he went in to observe the way the teacher taught, helped her post her bare classroom walls with the work of students (to pump up their pride),  and guided her on lesson plans and techniques to channel kid energy into productivity.

As a result, the academic environment did improve. Although the teacher’s personal coldness didn’t thaw much, the partnership with the school administration made a difference.

This past year, my eldest boy endured a sub-par seventh-grade English class in which he seldom had homework, read only two books, and rarely received feedback on his work. While she did deliver some stretches of beneficial instruction, she missed weeks for meetings and field trips she went on with other classes while subs did little more than babysitting.

It’s not that Benjamin ever fretted. He got good grades for little effort and seemed well liked by the instructor. At the slightest hint that we might voice to the school our unhappiness with the rigor of his class, Benjamin feared backlash should the teacher think he was ratting her out.

Understanding this, we focused our efforts on gentle emails about assignments to the teacher and behind-the-scenes inquiries with the administration. We were stonewalled everywhere we turned despite the fact that, as we gathered from speaking to past years’ parents, this teacher had a history of doing her job on autopilot.

This time, we backed off, partly because our son still read a fair amount on his own and partly because we wanted to teach him a different kind of lesson. No matter what Wendy and I privately worked on to improve the classroom situation, we publicly told our son to work hard and figure out the best way to meet the teacher’s expectations. We never wanted Benjamin — or Jacob in the earlier case — to feel entitled to blame these or any teachers for their own shortcomings. In the future, it’s likely our kids will have other difficult instructors (and bosses, eventually), so our boys need to know how to navigate those murky waters.

Thankfully, my children’s other teachers have been stellar. Our hope is that the new school term will also be led by involved, caring educators who like kids and enjoy what they teach. Most of the time, despite the continuing budget assault on education, we are blessed by instructors who go above and beyond basic lessons to make learning a joyful experience.

So, here’s to all the teachers, even the ones who remind us of how hard it is to be good.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Education, Teens | 1 Comment

Tripped Up

Posted on July 7, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

I am geographically challenged. As a child, my navigational deficiencies surfaced when I got lost in shopping malls and grocery stores. I regularly made the milk-carton waiting list for missing persons.

As a teenager, my directional disorder extended to my driving. I often criss-crossed the city, missing freeway off-ramps, making panicked calls from payphones, and being late to dates because I couldn’t find my way to a coffee shop without a Bat Signal or police escort.

Even after two decades with a wife who rivals the Thomas Brothers for route-making mastery, and despite the benefits of online map programs, I still can’t drive far without wondering if I’ll need a search-and-rescue team to find me hours later.

All of this explains why leading a road trip with my children gives me a palsy shake.

Spurred by my desire to overcome my failings in the name of giving my kids memorable experiences, I prepare for a three-day trip to San Diego with my youngest sons (my wife is working out of town and my oldest has plans with his grandparents). I print directions from Yahoo! Maps for each proposed stop and pre-load Google directions onto my phone. I even have the benefit of having made the journey before, albeit with my wife navigating, so I have some sense of how to get there. How could anything go wrong?

After 20 minutes on the freeway, my heart palpitates. I call my wife long distance.

“I’m lost,” I say edgily.

“Are you on the 405?” my wife whispers from a meeting across the country.

“Yahoo says to take the 5 and there’s no 5,” I stammer.

“Turn around and get on the 405,” she says. “It’s easier for you.”

“What do you mean, ‘easier for me’? I reply defensively.

At this point, my precocious nine year old looks up from his video game.

“Daddy, take the 405,” Jacob instructs.

“I can handle this on my own,” I say with forced confidence.

Of course, I double back for the 405. Two hours, countless map checks, and several surface-street U-turns later, we reach our destination. 

“We’re here,” I announce proudly.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Jacob remarks.

“The parking lot has animal signs!” Ari (6) confirms.

The San Diego Zoo is well worth the stress of traveling there and I maneuver around the park fairly well as we observe all manner of beasts, including the lions Ari favors and the performing seals Jacob loves. When we ride the aerial tram, I look over the surrounding area, thinking that everything seems easy to get to from a bird’s eye view.

Following a night in which I take 30 minutes to find the seafood restaurant that is three minutes from our hotel, we arrive at our next day’s location, Legoland. This is an amusement park meant for me — small enough that it’s simple to re-orient myself when I end up in Pirate Shores despite the plan to find The Dragon roller coaster. All day, Jacob tries to take charge as our guide, but I successfully lead us for seven fun-filled hours.

On our trip’s last morning, I feel grand. I’ve entertained, nourished, and rested my sons without mistakenly stumbling across the national border. We rejoice with the reward of a room service breakfast (how does a bowl of oatmeal end up costing $15?) for cooperating with Daddy, even during his most anxious moments.

A visit to the Fleet Science Center at Balboa Park rounds out our itinerary in apt fashion since we’re supposed to get lost in the interactive exhibits. Still trying to prove he can navigate better than me, Jacob finds a whole wing of the museum few visitors know about.

It’s 8pm by the time we head home. My hope is that the kids will fall asleep quicker than it takes for me to suffer my inevitable panic attack about changing freeways.

“Daddy, do you know how to get back?” Jacob says groggily.

“I sure do,” I promise.

“Thanks for taking us all over the place,” he yawns.

I smile into the rearview mirror as he drifts off to slumber.

An hour later, I frantically negotiate through surprising traffic to get to a gas station before we run out of fuel. Then, I have a heckuva time finding an onramp and almost miss the freeway switch — twice.

But we do get home. And nobody needs to know how we got there, right?

Posted in Activities With Kids, Columns by Family Man, Humor, Traveling With Kids | Leave a comment

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