MaterniTV

Posted on May 4, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

As a child of the late ‘60s through the early ‘80s, I had a lot of mommies. Sure, I grew up with a caring biological mom and, later, had the additional benefit of my step-mom. But I also had the smiles and advice of Laura, Marion, Carol, Clair, and Elyse — my TV moms.

While there were a number of mother characters on network television in the 1960s, the one who stood out for me was Laura Petrie of The Dick Van Dyke Show. Played with bright energy by Mary Tyler Moore, Laura was an evolution from the apron-clad moms of the ‘50s. This mommy had a slightly neurotic sense of humor and a jazz-dance grace. I wanted to have a playdate with Ritchie just so I could have lunch with Laura.

The 1970s ushered in two of my favorite screen moms. Carol Brady (Florence Henderson) of The Brady Bunch never felt quite real, but that didn’t matter much. She could smooth out any bad situation with her blended family, which was comforting to experience vicariously on a weekly basis. Marion Ross was pitch perfect as she revealed the eccentric edges around the ‘50s mom stereotype. I’m told that a famous outtake of Happy Days exists in which she passionately smooches the Fonz (Henry Winkler). Now that’s a cutting-edge mama.

In adolescence, I often took the world too seriously. My ‘80s TV maternal heroes also took an earnest approach to life, but could inflect it with knowing humor. Clair Huxtable (Phylicia Rashad) of The Cosby Show made a formidably effective mom while balancing her career as an attorney. She always had time to teach her brood of five about doing the right thing. Meredith Baxter’s Elyse Keaton of Family Ties juggled motherhood and a profession (architecture), too. As a former hippie, Elyse was a model of acceptance as she allowed her children to be individuals even when she privately didn’t agree with all their decisions.

For my work-centric adulthood years of the ‘90s, I didn’t pay much attention to maternal characters, though I occasionally checked in with the barrier-busting mothers found in Roseanne and Everybody Loves Raymond. However, after living my own sitcom as a father for a while, I have been happily drawn back to TV moms because of the boom of must-see comedies.

Patricia Heaton goes from the level-headed Debra Barone of Raymond to the more put-upon Frankie Heck in The Middle. Frankie is a relatable mother caught literally in the middle of financial stresses, a sandwich of demanding children and parents, and a career she never planned on. If she actually lived in my neighborhood, she’d be someone to rely on to watch my kids in a pinch — and the first friend I’d send on a spa day for all her reliability.

On the farther side of eccentric, Virginia Chance, the X-generation mom and grandmother of Raising Hope, is fun to watch from the safety of the digital divide. Martha Plimpton plays the character with shades of good intentions and dignity, but she is the last person you want anywhere near your own children.

Then there’s the deliciously daffy Modern Family, which showcases Claire Dunphy (Julia Bowen) as the high-strung maternal type who just can’t keep her opinions to herself and still ends up being a loving caregiver. My only concern is that, if she were to exist in reality, she might end up in a straight-jacket at least temporarily if she didn’t get to be totally in charge of that next middle-school dance. In the same program, Gloria Pritchett (Sofia Vergara) is a lioness in protecting her son Manny. She’s also so ridiculously hot that Manny will likely grow up resenting the fact that his friends only want to come over to drool over her. Still, Modern Family’s mixture of comedic errors and dramatic poignancy are well embodied by moms who put family first yet also have personalities that go beyond simply being nurturers.

I’m not sure what else TV has in store for motherhood, though it’d be great to see mothers with more varied cultural and philosophical backgrounds if only to witness more contrasts in the way people parent. Yet, if one theme has held true since the ‘60s, it’s that no matter how harried sitcom moms get, they always manage to bounce back with a laugh and a wise perspective. Pretty much like a lot of the moms I know today.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Humor, Mother's Day | 1 Comment

The Right Passage

Posted on April 5, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

Dear Benjamin,

A lot of parents reach the teen milestone with their children and wonder, “Where did all the years go?” Some moms and dads even take to humming the words to “Sunrise, Sunset.”

Rather than get all maudlin (just yet), I’d like you to know I’m not surprised that you’re 13. I have a billion pictures, dozens of columns, and countless parenting battle scars to mark your steps toward this passage into teendom.

As I consider what the next seven years will look like, I do have small fears of having to purchase sides of beef to feed you and visions of Rebel Without a Cause scenes being played out at home. However, aside from an inconsistency in doing chores and a sense of humor that too often includes the imitation of hungry turtles and using my bald spot as the butt of jokes, I think you’re pretty fantastic.

It’s important to note that your thirteen-year-old awesomeness has not come easily. During the last four months alone, you’ve undergone a dazzling array of adolescent challenges. In the midst of a growth spurt that has forced your mother to look up at you sooner than she’d hoped and has cost a fortune in replacement shoes, you’ve been lucky to walk straight on coltish legs, let alone run. But run you did, down a wet grassy hill, then slipped, landed, and snapped your upper arm. In shock and pain, you suffered through my callous disbelief that you did anything but dislocate the bone, another of your three ER visits, excruciating muscle spasms, a lost basketball season, a resetting of the arm, and a mending process that took triple the time anyone expected.

Along with all that, your mouth decided to compete with your arm for anatomical mayhem. Your orthodontist took a look at the area he had just five months before called a territory of peace and declared war on it. Braces needed to be fitted on the lower range, neck gear was prescribed, and four wisdom teeth required extraction to prevent something akin to geopolitical disaster from occurring. If it was me going through simultaneous skeletal rehab and oral surgery, I would want to crawl into a hole. But you handled everything with few complaints.

This went on in addition to the regular pre-teen pressures of stressful academics and raging hormones. You really stepped up your game in school, though not without some grumpiness and the panic of some misplaced papers. You’ve come a long way from kindergarten class where you learned numbers in between giggle attacks to the rigors of middle school algebra and world history. And even though I drive you crazy about homework management, I hope you realize how impressed I am that you can explain the science behind my back pain.

You’ve gotten through a lot of this compressed chaos with the help of your great passion — books. It’s hard to imagine you are the same little boy who struggled in first grade to puzzle out a sentence. Back then, your mom and I had to be restrained by your teacher from hiring a legion of educational therapists. Now, we actually resort to cutting off your library privileges and Amazon account if we want to give you consequences for your infrequent behavioral slip-ups.

On the occasion of this significant passage, we are not only proud of your hard work and fortitude. We stand in wonder at your giving nature, which has propelled you to mount a campaign against the exploitation of laborers in the Congo and to improve the reading skills of those less fortunate than you. Although I’d like to pat myself on the back for your many good interpersonal qualities, I am humbled by your abilities to be such a loyal and big-hearted friend and family member.

Benjamin, when I look at you, I see all that you have been and are today. I see the baby of the fat thighs and belly laugh. I see the little boy of the backwards hats and karate chops. I see the big kid of the cell phone appendage and still cuddly habits. You will always make me proud just by being you. As you enter your teenage years, though, you do yourself honor by your diverse and meaningful actions.

Love,

Dad

Posted in Child Development, Columns by Family Man, Teens | Leave a comment

Habitrails to You

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

I don’t like rodents as a rule. Anything related to a rat gives me the willies and I have been known to run like a scared deer from anything that even looks like it could mistake me for a chunk of cheese.

This is why I did not want a hamster in my home. Just because it’s only a cousin to the type of creatures that inspired horror films like Willard didn’t mean I wanted its scurrying feet and twitching nose under my roof.

So I persistently said no to my middle son, Jacob, despite his annual requests for a hamster. I agreed to the countless goldfish that came home from carnivals. I said yes to the two hermit crabs. I had no problem with the Sea Monkeys. All these animals required low maintenance and posed no imminent threat of busting out of their bowls to gnaw on my ear in the middle of the night.

Yet, this year, my son came home one evening with a huge smile and a tiny gift.

“You – bought – a hamster,” I said haltingly to my son and his grandmother, who had no inkling of my aversion to said rodent.

“Daddy, he’s really cute! Look — ” he replied as he opened the box.

Reluctantly, I peered into the carton, half expecting to see the thing bare its famous two sets of incisors at me with murder in its beady eyes.

What I found was a puff of honey-colored fur that my son could not stop cooing over. And by the time Jacob and his grandparents had set up the Habitrail so that little Bijou could run enthusiastically on her red wheel, I felt mildly accepting of our new family member.

Over the next three months, I overcame my fears about hamsters because of Bijou. I giggled with the kids as she ran through the house in the plastic ball. I took to feeding her treats and even held her occasionally.

Most of all, I appreciated the way Jacob prized her as his very own. He talked to her regularly, read a book on hamsters, and helped nurture her in a way that was more personal than his experience with our still beloved dog. She was every bit the emotional and scientific learning experience a pet should be for a child.

Then, Bijou stopped running on her wheel. We didn’t really notice the difference for a couple of days, but when we did, we got concerned. So, we put her in the rolling ball and, because she rotated around the house happily, thought we had figured out she just preferred exercising in open spaces rather than in a cage.

Days later, Wendy spotted diarrhea in Bijou’s bedding and our own stomachs dropped. We studied up on what might be wrong and found the likely culprit in wet tail, an illness that had a lot of possible causes yet only one cure, antibiotics.

Despite knowing a veterinarian visit would cost exponentially more than the $7 critter (yes, we agonized about the medical expense), we called various clinics that night. No one would see her as she was considered an exotic animal and other options were closed or prohibitively far. We also commiserated with our friend Randy, who had seen her son’s own hamster take a bad turn due to glaucoma. The next day, Wendy visited a number of pet stores looking for medicine, but no one had the antidote.

By nightfall, Bijou quietly passed on to that great pet heaven where our family’s two cats, seven fish, two hermit crabs, and five billion Sea Monkeys resided.

We had a funeral in the side yard where we buried our Golden Hamster next to a rose bush.

“May you help these flowers grow the way you grew in our hearts,” Jacob eulogized.

 There’s a part of me that feels absurd going over the events of a furry rodent’s demise. Yet, despite her small size, Bijou had taught my nine year old a lot about caring for something other than himself, about loss, and that life goes on.

Some time after, Jacob felt a bit more normalized about the absence of his tiny friend, so he chose a new hamster. Bolstered by the knowledge of how to care for the creature and watch for serious health problems, he was willing to try again. While I had proven to myself that I could accept a rodent into my house without regular nightmares, Jacob had shown a capacity for resilience. Not bad for $7.

Posted in Child Development, Columns by Family Man, Pets | Leave a comment

Kids on Love

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

I can spend a lot of my days calibrating my parenting machinery in the belief that I can become a more effective father, yet it all comes down to the fact that I feel love for my kids and they know that I love them (yes, I made them swear under oath that this is true). While I appreciate the complexity of life and the pursuit of good child care in particular, parenting can be summed up in lessons of love that we teach by modeling it with our partners and other fellow humans and explaining its nuances to our children.

Still, kids don’t just learn love from us. They get schooled about it by the world around them, from their friends to the media. As they grow, they view matters of the heart differently as they become more or less open, imaginative, and guarded (usually a combination of these things).

For this Valentine month, I interviewed a small sample of boys and girls, ranging from two years old to 12, and including my own emotionally philosophizing kids. While we talked, it became apparent that they were most interested in talking about romance, which is of course the foundation for all the love that follows in a family. As such, the three questions that made the cut here are ones that ask the kids to describe what love is and what a person does with it.

What is love?

Anika (3): Family.

Eve (5): Love means when you love somebody. That means you care about somebody and share.

Arielle (5): When you love somebody and you feel they love you, and your heart loves somebody.

Ari (6): Love is being together.

Ashton (7): Love is when you’re kind.

Hannah (8): Love is caring. Not being mad at everything. Love is kissing and hugging and doing nice things.

Jacob (9): Your heart gets taken by the person you are in love with. My friends and family. A force from the universe that creates people’s hearts to be taken by someone else.

Zander (9): Friendship, family, and a few other things.

Benjamin (12): I don’t want to answer this.

Jasmine (12): Love is when you’re with the one special person, you can’t see anyone else in the room. Love is the warm feeling you get in your heart.

Sarah Rose (12): It’s when you really care about someone.

What happens to you when you fall in love?

Eve (5): You feel like someone is falling in love with you. That feels like somebody is hugging.  And somebody is caring and caring. They put their hearts together to be nice to each other.

Arielle (5): They kiss and get married. They love each other. They can’t stop kissing.

Ashton (7): You marry.

Hannah (8): I don’t know, I’ve never fallen in love.

Zander (9): Some people get married. 

Jacob (9): Some people smooch.

Benjamin (12): This is a really odd question.

Jasmine (12): You want to spend every waking moment with the love of your life.

Sarah Rose (12): You get happier and you treat people nicer.

What do people in love do?

Anika (3): When you love someone, you want little kids and little girls.

Eve (5): They hug and they kiss. They marry when they’re boyfriend and girlfriend.

Arielle (5): They kiss.

Ari (6): They do everything together. Ask me more stuff about love!

Ashton (7): Kiss.

Hannah (8): They kiss and hug and give gifts. They go on dates.

Jacob (9): They play with each other. They are passionate with each other. They don’t show it because they’re too embarrassed to show it because they don’t think the other person will love them back.

Zander (9): They go around with each other. Friends that play together.

Benjamin (12): It’s a really stupid question.

Jasmine (12): Wanting to hold their partner close and love them more than anyone else does.

Sarah Rose (12): They hug and kiss, go see movies and eat popcorn together. And they bake cakes together.

If we go by my limited research, love is about baking cakes, hoping to be loved back, being friends, getting married, and being so happy you’re nicer to everyone else. Frankly, I can’t imagine that a survey of adults would come up with more insightful responses.

Here’s to love and all that we have to teach our children — and all they have to teach us — about it.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Humor, Love and Courtship | Leave a comment

Being There

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

Lately, I’ve been teetering on a breaking point. Just last night, in the tiny bit of personal time I had to make notes for this column, there were relentless interruptions by kids who can’t sit next to each other without committing assault and battery, emails from work alerting me to additional classes I have to substitute for, and a dog with incontinence who needs to go out for the third time in an hour.

So when my wife asks me to switch with her this morning in taking the younger children to school, it’s just another crack in a week full of schedule-busters, including the toilet that won’t flush, the oven that won’t work, the lunches I forgot to pack the night before, the homework my eldest left at home that needs to be delivered to school, and the extra soccer practices for playoff games (am I the only parent who secretly roots for my kids’ teams to suck so the season ends on time?).

As I force-feed boys and backpacks into the car, a voice inside me whispers, “Run. Run very far away.”

I quiet the demon and take care of business. Five minutes into the ride, Ari (6) and Jacob (9) are actually following the car rules: no sudden or loud noises that might cause Daddy to drop his cell phone, orange juice, or notepad; and no hitting each other that would force Daddy to raise his voice and attract the attention of traffic cops who might frown upon the aforementioned phone, juice, and notepad.

Things continue to go well as we hit the final mile to school, a curvy jaunt through a tree-lined neighborhood, over numerous but gentle speed humps, and up a serpentine canyon road – the perfect stretch to realign Jacob’s inner ears.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says.

“Look out the front window so you can see the road,” I recommend, maintaining composure.

“I can’t,” Jacob moans. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Not on me, not on me!” Ari cries out, cringing toward his door.

Hurriedly, I procure my beverage bottle. “Vomit in here. Don’t do it on the — ”

Too late. It’s all over the seat.

That earlier whisper pushes me closer to the edge.

“I gave you the bottle in time!” I yell.

“Eww! It’s sliding toward me!” Ari whines.

Grossed out, I pull up to the drop-off as a volunteer mom opens the car door. She looks at a green-around-the-gills Jacob and questions, “Is he going to school like that?”

“Yes,” I say firmly as I push the kids outside with the cars behind me honking insistently.

“Love you,” I shout as I drive off.

Within seconds, I suffer a barrage of guilt for having lost my composure, for not saying more comforting words, for not having parked the car and made sure Jacob would be OK. But the devil on my shoulder argues that I’m gonna have to clean the vomit, pick up those kids later, cook for them, get them to do their homework, plan their summer camp schedule, help with their college applications, pick out their wedding invitations — I really could speed far away from everything! Just leave the whole daddy package in the dust.

Then, the freeway congestion opens up and so does my mind. I won’t race off to an unfettered existence because, when all is said and done, what matters most in parenting is staying on the road well traveled. It’s rolling through everything from the car throws up to the MRIs for adolescent back ailments without taking the offramp.

In this new year, I resolve to take greater stock in the fortitude that keeps me coming back for more of this often grueling parenting endeavor. I truly feel that it’s no great shame to imagine life without the constant responsibilities children place upon us and it’s essential that we at least take breaks (date night, ball games with buddies, grown-up vacations) from the rigmarole for our sanity. But there’s great pride to be had in just showing up as a mom or dad, however imperfect we may be. Parenthood is more than a marathon; it’s a lifelong road trip that can bring subtle but powerful rewards if we allow ourselves to appreciate the power of just being there.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Work-Family Balance | Leave a comment

A Winter of Wonder

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

“Actually, there is no Santa Claus.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“It’s really just your parents putting presents under a tree.”

With this simple exchange, all my efforts to preserve a sense of wonder for my children seemed to disappear like a certain red-suited man into the night sky.

No, my son was not the one who had his bubble burst. My son was the self-designated debunker of myths.

“Jacob really didn’t do that, did he?” I said to my wife when she reported the crime against imagination.

“Freddy’s father won’t let him play with Jacob ever again,” Wendy revealed.

We both sat there feeling vaguely sick. We had never even hinted that there might not be a Santa Claus. In fact we had raised all of our sons to believe in everything from the spirit of Elijah coming to our Passover celebration to the Tooth Fairy’s punctual visits with the loss of each baby chomper.

Wendy and I always wanted our sons’ world soaring with flights of fancy that could open their minds. From the time they were born, we sprinkled their dreams with countless fantastical books about dragons that made easy pets and Greek gods who could summon the elements at will. We even made up our own stories which put our boys at the center of magical tales involving red pirates, black robots, and a lonely imaginary friend called “Gigglemonster.”

Not a month after the Santa Claus incident, Jacob the Literalist struck again — at the aforementioned Tooth Fairy.

“Ari, that’s not really fairy dust on the floor,” he explained to our five-year-old about the baby powder we employed to make it look like the real “Captain Incisor” had dropped by.

“Mommy and Daddy left you the money under your pillow,” he continued in his assault on our littlest one’s rightful illusions. “By the way, they should have left you more than two dollars.”

Nice. Not only was our kid stealing years of blissful ignorance from his younger brother, he was nitpicking our generosity. And he was taking away our God-given right to conjure and manipulate figments of imagination. Heck, for years, my dad was able to act like a magician who could say “poof” and the traffic light would turn green (I was about driving age before I figured out how he did it). As a Dad, I wanted to have that power, too.

So what do we do with a child, now nine years old going on 50, who shoots down pretend creatures as if they were a line of rubber ducks in an arcade shooting gallery?

The deeper truth is that Jacob is wrestling with the world, trying to make sense of it, to control it. He wants to be the one with the most information. He worries he will forget to bring his homework on time and frets about his parents coming late to pick him up from soccer practice.

It all stems from Jacob’s hyper-observational tendencies that pick up on the anxiety my wife and I have about meeting deadlines, earning enough money, and making sure everyone has on the right clothes for the day.

We certainly don’t invite our kids into our adult cyclone and our other two carry on with few cares in the world. However, Jacob seems to think he has to act middle aged. This is why he is the first one to do his chores and offer to return his modest allowance to help pay bills.

To alleviate his concerns, we have assured him that we’ve got everything under control. Food, shelter, and clothing are guaranteed, even if exotic vacations and Daddy’s hoped-for 350 Z are not. We want Jacob to be a little kid, to believe in magical creatures and dreams that come true.

So we continue to read to Jacob, tell him stories, show him whimsical paintings, and screen inventive movies. And, thankfully, he loves it all – which doesn’t mean he’ll be converted all the way back into a wide-eyed innocent. It’s OK, though, because it’s our job as his parents to balance the really true with the really amazing.

While magic seems particularly absent in a world of economic fear and mortal danger, this holiday time is more important than ever to boost our children’s sense of wonder, to shower them with all the stories of flying reindeer and miracles of light and whatever your cultural, religious, or family traditions offer. This is not to pull the wool over their eyes. This is to fill them with the power of possibility.

Posted in Child Development, Columns by Family Man, Humor | Leave a comment

Thank You For Being a Friend

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

When I was 12, my father took me to a college basketball game where we met up with a colleague of his named Herbie and his son.

“This is my boy Eric,” Herbie announced. “Give him a kiss hello.”

Could a father say anything more uncomfortable to two adolescent boys? Still, Eric and I laughed and managed to refocus our attention on the more macho pursuit of commenting on the ball game. Eric was as much a wise-cracker as his dad and that night was the beginning of a fast friendship.

This August, like we have for the past eight summers, Eric and I saw each other at a family camp run by the very college whose basketball team we cheered for 30 years ago. As is our tradition, we greeted each other with a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Why did you guys kiss?” my nine-year-old, Jacob, asked.

“Because I love this guy,” I said. “Eric and I were BFFs before there was a term ‘BFF.’ Now we’re DFFs – Dad Friends Forever.”

In the last year, my friendship with Eric has strengthened. While we were constant companions all the way through college, divergent career pursuits and widening geographical distance made our bonding time scarcer during our 30s. But, spurred by the annual connection our families share at camp, we’ve returned to “man dates” of going to basketball games and dinners.

In my 40s, making time for my buddies is more important than ever. And it’s not just because my wife has urged me to follow the scenario of the film I Love You, Man. It’s that, after the long years of struggling to mature into the man I want to be, I must now function as the man I am. The male friends I choose to hang out with make it easier because they’re no longer so concerned about competing with each other to see who can get the hotter chick, drain the most jump shots, or get the more prestigious job. We are all humbled by the challenges of life and are looking for ways to support each other. Perhaps we’re taking a page out of our wives’ social manuals to maintain more communication, but we’re man enough to admit it works. 

In the past, one of the reasons I fell out of touch with my buddies was because I wanted to spend as many non-working hours with my kids as possible. I thought that I would be stealing time from them to go out for grown-up “playdates.” Even when the kids fell asleep, I remained unmotivated to go back out for coffee with a friend once in a while because, frankly, I was dead tired. With my sons getting older, having homework and other preoccupations of their own – such as maintaining good friendships —  I find more opportunities for guy time.

I’ve even made room for new buddies, though building relationships from the ground up takes significant investment for guys in their 40s on up. So it’s really cool to get out for black-and-tan beers with my pal Jonathan, who is one of those people whose wisdom and humility help me navigate the sometimes stormy waters of modern malehood. Also, one of his sons is a bit older than Benjamin, which makes him a great mentor about what lies ahead on the road of fatherhood.

Yes, some of the stuff we men discuss actually goes beyond baseball and action movies. Talking with my dudes has been a true benefit to my sanity on the seemingly never-ending road of responsibility. I value my daily communication with my wife about parenting and other life management issues, but I need to rap with other guys about the masculine pressures of being a role model, of balancing leisure time vs. making more cash, and wondering whether we’ve fulfilled the goals we set out for ourselves.

This is why I’m picking up the phone more often, using email, and mastering Facebook to be in better touch with friends like Jeff, who lives across the country. It’s difficult to connect, given a three-hour time difference, but I value his quick wit and the similarities we have as husbands to energetic working wives, fathers to three sons, and practitioners in the writing and education fields. 

This Thanksgiving, along with being grateful for all the blessings of family and health, I want to give thanks to my friends. Because of you guys, I can forgo the facetiousness when I say, I love you, man.

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

And the Beat Goes On

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

I’m battling a bad back, bone spurs in my heel, and a creaky knee. By looking at me, you’d never know I was the John Travolta of middle school. Really, I even took a disco class in 6th grade and got to “Night Fever” with Tracey Singer (hello, Tracey, wherever you are).

My dancing roots go back to those childhood Saturdays I spent watching TV, copying the guys on American Bandstand and learning to jump around the furniture like Gene Kelly in The Pirate.

I didn’t exactly broadcast my preoccupation to elementary-school buddies. When I did dance in public, at camp shows or religious school events, I got called names that rhymed with wussy and hag. You know, the usual “enlightened” young male reactions. With macho preservation in mind, I stuck to more socially acceptable activities of playing hardcore dodge ball and recounting episodes of Kung Fu.

As disco rose in time for adolescence, I found freedom in courting girls with spins and half-splits. I thought about taking formal lessons, but I once again became too insecure about the unmanliness of it. That and the fact my dancing skills plateaued and were best left for household performances like Tom Cruise’s Risky Business underwear scene.

Nothing can bring back the joy of my youthful hoofing experiences. Nothing, except watching my sons take pride in their own happy feet.

From the time our kids were little, my wife and I would put on music, particularly this multicultural CD called Dance Around the World, and bop about the house with the boys. They would leap onto the coffee table to wiggle with abandon and giggle at my dancing foolishness.

When Benjamin was in first grade, he and his friend Nicky took dance classes at school. It was those two little guys and eight girls — nice odds, though Benjamin was oblivious to that at the time. He loved the experience and dressed all hip-hop for his big performance, which featured his surprisingly coordinated footwork in two-person and larger ensemble dances.

After the show, the pretty teacher walked up to me and said, “Where did Benjamin get his groove?”

I tried to act cool and answered, “I used to have rhythm.”

But Benjamin fell into his own self-consciousness as he got older and stopped dancing. He even made fun of his younger brother, Jacob, who grooved like a combination of Usher and Baryshnikov during our house parties.

“You dance like a girl,” Benjamin said.

“No, he doesn’t, and you danced just like that not long ago,” I responded.

“Other people are going to make fun of him,” Benjamin replied.

“That’s their problem,” I said. “And it shouldn’t be yours.”

Despite the brotherly ridicule, Jacob joined a pop-dance class early last year. He learned everything from breakdancing to High School Musical-style numbers. As I watched Jacob count to himself to stay on the beat and dramatically slide across the floor during his class performance, I was flush with pride — and falling into the very trap for which I scolded Benjamin. I worried that Jacob looked a little feminine and would have to endure the mocking of other kids.

While I worked on rising above my concerns, I got help from an unexpected source.

“Mom, Dad, can I join the pop-dance class?” Benjamin said just before second semester last year.

“I thought you said dancing was girlie,” I answered.

“Well, it’s a lot of hip-hop, so it’s OK,” he offered. “And my friends are doing it, too.”

So, the wheel turned, and dancing became boy-approved in my house. For the year-end show, Jacob — dressed like an ‘80s rapper in a torn t-shirt and bandana — was an acrobatic marvel. Attired in his usual clothes, Benjamin was more subdued as he moved with his posse of friends.

This year, the boogie continues as Jacob takes pop-dance again, and Benjamin (now in middle school) joins pals at a studio to keep it going. My five year old, Ari, is influenced by them and loves to rock out to Kanye West, even in his car seat.

In a complicated world in which dance is given few outlets, especially with gender pressures, I’m happy to see my sons let the beat run its natural course. Kids know what to do with music. We adults need to help clear the social and physical space for them to strut their stuff.

Just so long as we don’t try to school them with our old Travolta moves. Trust me, I’m still limping from the last time I tried.

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

Predatory Birds and Killer Bees

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

I thought I’d be good at explaining the birds and the bees to my children. My own parents left the heavy lifting to a read-aloud of the book Where Do I Come From? when I was 11. So I planned to customize the lessons for each kid’s personality, giving the right information without overdoing it.

Based on the first three talks, I’ve been a disaster.

“Benjamin knows what the ‘s’ word is,” my wife told me four years ago on one fateful evening.

“You mean the bad word for ‘poopie’?” I said.

“No, I think they’ve been giggling about ‘sex’ at school,” she responded. “You have to talk to him now.”

“Why me?” I groaned. “He’s eight years old. Isn’t this too soon?”

“If you don’t do it, his friends will, and he’ll get the wrong information,” she reasoned.

So, I sat Benjamin at the kitchen table with every intention of being a wise teacher.

“Do you know what sex is?” I opened.

Benjamin fought a smile and shook his head.

“You know that boys have penises and girls…have…vag…”

Then I whinnied like a ticklish horse. Benjamin laughed so hard, he fell off his chair.

It took me a while to regain my composure, but I managed to frame sex as something that happens when people love each other and want to have a baby. I saved the more complicated details for years later.

For his part, Benjamin emitted a few “eewww’s” that assured me he was far from sexual activity. However, he did have one question.

 “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because we heard you were using the ‘s’ word,” I said.

“You mean the bad word for ‘poopie’?” he giggled.

Later, I told my wife I would never trust her interpretation of anything ever again.

Flash forward to the 2009-2010 parenting season, which has been punctuated by two sex talks.

The first one involved talking to Benjamin (11 at the time) about his changing body and view of the opposite gender. Once again, Benjamin was tight-lipped. So, wouldn’t you know, I pulled out a copy of Where Do I Come From? and read it to him. I’ve never seen the kid so engrossed in illustrations in my life.

Overall, it was a good introduction for the shorter talks we’ve since had regarding girls and the emotions that accompany adolescence.

Then, there was the dialogue I had with Jacob (8) after dinner one night.

“Daddy, I know what sex is, it’s when a man puts his penis in a woman’s vagina and she gets pregnant and that’s where the baby comes out, out of her vagina.”

Yes, it was all one sentence.

“Wendy!” I yelled across the house. “Can you handle this one?”

When she came in, Jacob hit her with the information.

“Mommy, I know what sex is, it’s when a man puts his penis in a woman’s vagina and she gets pregnant and that’s where the baby comes out, out of her vagina.”

Wendy took one look at me and said, “He’s a boy. You’re a boy. Talk to him.”

And she scrammed.

Jacob beamed at me from the couch. I sat down with him.

“Do you have any questions?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t.

“Does it have to happen in a bed, or can you do it standing up, or on a table?” he rattled off.

I wondered if it was wrong to offer him ice cream just to retract the question.

“Most people do it in a bed,” I said, praying he wouldn’t ask how his mother and I conceived him.

“When I want to do it, do I just bump into the girl and say ‘sorry,’ then she’s pregnant?” he said.

“It takes a little longer,” I muttered.

“Does it hurt?” he wondered.

“It’s nice, usually…where did all of these thoughts come from?” I countered.

“I heard some of it from Franklin, but also from Rain,” he admitted. “Rain said if that’s what happens, she just wants to adopt.”

The comment was good for a laugh, but I cautioned him that it’s best to have conversations about sex with Mommy or Daddy since we have the most facts.

“Can we talk some more about naked stuff,” he continued.

“Not tonight,” I said with a grin. “But make sure you ask Mommy all about it tomorrow.”

That was fair. It takes two to make a baby, so there might as well be two making a mess of explaining how it happens.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Humor, Love and Courtship, Sex Ed | Leave a comment

Subtext

Posted on March 21, 2011 by Family Man

By Gregory Keer

In my youngest son’s preschool, the teachers furnish the cubbies with slips of paper that say, “Ask me about…” followed by a tidbit regarding each child’s activities.

One day at pick-up, I asked Ari about building a fort with his buddies.

“How did you know I did that?” Ari inquired guardedly.

“I read it on the paper from your teachers,” I replied.

At this, my son broke into tears, “I don’t want to share all my secrets!”

Because I prize the uninhibited daily accounts I usually get from Ari and my loquacious middle child, Jacob (8), this was a serious blow I blame on the influence of my eldest boy. Benjamin (11) keeps secrets better than a Cold War spy. During countless car rides and dinners, he’s had the same response whenever we’ve asked him what he did for his day: “Nothing.”

In the early years, we wised up and got the scoop from his instructors, other parents, and his friends.

“Benjamin had to sit on the rug in front of Ms. Renetzky,” one girl told us about him in kindergarten.

Luckily, he’s been a largely low-maintenance child, who laughs readily, still cuddles a little while watching TV with the family, and shares his iPod downloads with us. Frankly, we like him a lot.

But as he climbs the ladder of adolescence, that penchant for saying little is driving my wife and me bonkers. Making matters more complicated are the hints from other parents about Benjamin’s burgeoning interest in girls and leaks from teachers about his lapses in diligence.

We’ve tried to crack his Keanu Reeves affect with face-to-face conversation. I’ve had several talks about the birds and the bees without so much as a flutter of feedback. To no avail, I’ve tried humor and bellowing to learn what he does while he’s at school or hanging out with buddies.

This is why we’ve begun to rely on the very mechanism that makes Benjamin tick – technology. We eventually gave in to a cell phone under the condition that we had full access to monitor it. And while we’ve had our trials of making sure he’s safe from wayward adults and overly mature contemporaries, we’ve become fans of this device because it’s given us a remarkably effective means of communicating with our thoroughly modern son.

Here’s a sample of the texts we’ve discovered our son has sent and what we’ve done in response:

“Don’t tell anyone, but Jimmy likes you a little.” This led to a discussion about everything from what “like” means to an 11 year old to what you should do if you and your best friend “like” the same young lady. It also forced me to learn that kids no longer call someone “cute” because it means they “like” another person a bit more than I heretofore thought “like” meant.

“My parents took my phone away. That’s fine because I can still use the computer.” We took the computer away too. The crucial benefit of my child’s attachment to his technology is that I can take it all away to teach him some lesson about being kinder to his family members and doing his chores.

“I just forgot to tell you about the D in math.” Actually, this was a response from our son that came to us when we texted him from the back-to-school night presentation. We had discovered we should have seen the five-week report card that afternoon. Using a text from the very site of his ill-fated arithmetic results made it hard for him to conjure any answer but the truth.

Not all the texting is negative. It’s good for our son to know he has yet to completely outfox us. We’re swift and savvy enough to learn the texting lingo and ins-and-outs of its usage to make sure he acts his best. Even if he gets a few texts by us, he knows we’re watching, so it makes him think twice about what he writes.

Secondly, getting more adept with our thumbs has allowed my wife and me to send our son reminders about his schedule and to pull more information out of him than we thought possible. It also gives us conversation starters to get specific details on his relationships, interests, and plans.

He actually thinks we’re not so square because we can communicate this way, which is a nice byproduct for a dad who still questions the attractiveness of wearing pants without a belt.

Posted in Columns by Family Man, Humor, Tweens | 1 Comment