For Christ's Sake

Can I rant a little here?

I am not a religious person. I am spiritual in that I believe there is a greater purpose, there is karma, I embrace the core virtues of most faiths, I believe in justice and I try to live a righteous life. On the other hand, I am a sporadic church goer and I am dismissive of attack dogs who insist their religion is the only acceptable religion.

Because of all the questions and anxiety our children have around death, afterlife, and heaven, we recently started to re-establish a family church going habit. We picked a small UCC church in our hometown that has a good music program and some kids that our kids go to school with.

It's only been a few weeks, but so far so good. The people are nice, the church does interesting missions, and our kids are enjoying the Sunday School. I actually like the Sunday School lessons. For example, Marin's lesson last week was about Noah having to budget, count money, and make change when buying food for the animals on the ark. So it combines bible stories with practical skills. A nice balance that even an agnostic could appreciate.

Fast forward to this morning as we are driving to school.

Emmy: Me and Delana were talking about Sunday School.
Marin: When?
Emmy: Yesterday on the playground.
Marin: You can't do that Emmy. It's against the rules.
Emmy: No it's not.
Marin. Yes. My teacher said. No talking about Christians in school. It's against the law and you will get sent to the Principals office. Right Daddy?
Me: thinking (What the eff? Now what are these knuckleheads talking about?)
Marin: Daddy. Tell Emmy it's against the law. I know it is. All my teachers told me that. And Brady got a red card for talking about Christmas because maybe some kids don't have Christmas.

As if my kids don't have enough 'fitting in' issues to stress about, now they think it's against the law to talk about what they do on Sunday mornings and the can't talk about Christmas.

So it's OK for the Islamic women to wear their full headress at the airport, in the bank teller line, and other places where being incognito presents genuine safety risks - but kids are frightened to talk about Sunday School on the playground and the school goes to DEFCON 5 if someone mentions Christmas.

I have half a mind to phone this in to Rush and Beck.

opposite man

Santa brought the kids a Wii this year. After a couple of days of demonstrating my incompetence at modern electronics, I finally got the darn thing working. (bonus points - I did not have to buy a new TV for it. We used the TV my brother gave us for a wedding gift 20 years ago- YES!!)

Anyway, one of the first things you have to do is design your Avatar (I'm sure most of you already knew that). Marin designed a beautiful brown skinned avatar for herslef. Then Emmy designed a beautiful brown skinned avatar with big blue eye shadow and big red lips. It was hilarious. Then I designed my avatar to look like me. The kids said "No, make him taller.", then "No, make him skinnier." Finally, I was about to hit the save button, and both kids looked at me, drop dead serious, and said, at the same time "Daddy, aren't you going to make him brown skin like us?"

So here I am - opposite man. A short, fat, bald, white guy with a tall, thin, brown, hairy avatar.

Fresh Air

Last weekend we had an awesome camping event in NH with about 15 other Eth families. Swimming, fishing, ball games, hay rides, carnival games, campfires, etc. It was a ball!

This campground is quite large and has a number of full season residents - seems like mostly retirees and empty nesters. They were very friendly - too friendly. Telling us how wonderful we are, how kind, generous, etc. I thought "That's weird, why would anyone say that to a perfect stranger?"

Then it occurred to me, these other campers think that our families are hosting"Fresh Air Kids" (see www.freshair.org) and we're so nice to take them out of the ghetto for a weekend in NH. I took this little theory back to a couple of other parents and they said I was crazy.

Sunday Morning. Lovely, sunny, mild breeze, I am walking on one of the campground roads and a couple of older women stop me to talk:

Them: We just think its' so wonderful what you all are doing.
Me: Thanks.
Them: How did you get involved in this?
Me: Well, we did some research online and met with some other families to ask them about it.
Them: That's all?
Me: Oh no, that was just the start. Then we had to do background checks, home inspections, a financial review, job verifications, references, all kinds of stuff.
Them: Wow, all that for just a few weeks?
Me: Huh?
Them: I mean, you only have these kids for a week or two, right?
Me: Why do you think that?
Them: Aren't you all the Fresh Air program or something similar?
Me: Oh, OK. No, all of these children are our children adopted from Ethiopia.
Them: Really? All those kids are adopted?
Me: Well, not the white ones. Those are birth children. But all the brown ones are adopted from Ethiopia - many of them from the same orphanage - which is why we arrange to have them see each other every now and then.

Hamdi

We found this little East African cafe in town last weekend. Trust me when I tell you this place is pure Africa. I felt transported in time.

The front room is this tiny space with a dirty floor, a couple of tables and a couple of chairs. It is full of men of all ages drinking soft drinks and tea, eating rice and flatbread off a communal plate, and watching English soccer on the TV.

Behind that is a little tiny kitchen in which 4 woman wrapped in layers of robes slaved over a tiny stove.

Behind that is a cleaner dining room where families with children sat. We sat there. It was 3 or 4 men with lots of children. All the men were yapping on their cells in some foreign language, and all the children were silent, staring bug eyed at us. I am the only white person in the place.

Finally, a boy about age 10 approaches Marin and asks her "Is that guy your friend?" nodding toward me. Marin said "No, that's my Dad." The boy scrunched up his face and said "That's weird. His skin is a different color." Whereupon Marin looked at me as if to ask "Now what do I say?"

Nice to meet you, too

I was away at a business dinner, meeting a new client for the first time. I was seated at the table next to a very stylish woman, younger than me, and we were making ' get to know you' type conversation. One of my best friends, Kevin, was seated on the other side of her.

Denise asked me about my kids, and then how old they are. I told her 6 and 4.

She looked up like she had seen a ghost, nearly spit her wine back into her glass, and blurted "Oh my God. You have a 4 year old?" I'm thinking to myself "Wow, do I look that old?" but I gently said "Yes, and she is wonderful". My friend Kevin was almost passed out from laughing so hard. I don't think Denise realized how horrified she looked because she turned to Kevin and asked "What's so funny?" Then Kevin had to quickly make up a lie so as not to offend Denise.

Valentines Day

Colleen and I finally enjoyed a real Valentines Day. One of the Aunts took the kids for the evening. We ordered a ton of Thai takeout, like the whole menu, and set out a picnic on the floor in front of the fireplace. Lit a few candles, some music, a few drinks, and just unwound like we haven't in years. We were like, giddy, its' been so long since we had total silence in the house. Man, that was so nice.


So we were reminiscing about Valentines Day 2007, which was about 4 days after we arrived home with the girls. Colleen and my sister in law had spent the entire day fighting the girls tantrums, and trying to collect stool samples for the kids' Doc visit. When I arrived home around 5:30, I fought the tantrums for a few hours to give COlleen a break, then finally we got the kids to sleep. At that point Ellen said "Well that was certainly a memorable Valentines Day." Colleen looked at me and started crying. We were so strung out with the kids that neither of us even knew it was Valentines Day.

So, for all you recent arrivals, we know its' crazy for you right now, maybe even torture right now. But in two years it will be all better. Hang in there.

Mother Africa

I recently found my journal from a 1982 trip to India. It reminded me of the predictions of a fortune teller I engaged in Connaught Circle, New Delhi.

He said "Your first wife will be a cute blond. She is nice, pleasant, has a good heart, and everybody in your family will love her. Alas, she will not be the Mother of your children. You will later fall in love with a woman of dark hair, and she will give you two children. Two daughters. "

I remember telling Colleen that story when we were dating. Kind of as a joke like "We can get married, but we'll probably divorce because this fortune teller told me I'll have children with a dark haired woman."

So I pondered the fortune tellers predictions, all of which have come true except that I am still married to Colleen. Then it occurred to me, the Mother of my two daughters is a dark haired woman, and I did indeed fall in love with an entire culture of women with dark hair, and could this be what the fortune teller intended when he told me his prediction?

It is a mixture of freaky and calming to think about a total stranger having predicted this arc of my life over 25 years ago.

Equality under the law

I know kids are very observant about what they have compared to their brothers and sisters. And I know parents have to be careful about giving treatment as equal as possible or else endure hours or whining and tantrums and "It's not fair!!"

Luckily, our girls do not yet know how to say "It's not fair". But they are ultra observant about who gets what and they are world class tantrum throwers. At least Meron gives a little pre-tantrum warning when this ugly dark cloud sweeps across her face. My first reaction is to quickly replay the tape of the last 15 seconds to figure out what set her off and correct it before the meltdown begins.

I believe their sensitivity to disparate treatment comes from living in an area of great deprivation. Fighting with a rat over the last kernel of rice or with a vulture over the last shred of meat can make you street smart. I hope we can break this. Here are two of my favorite stories.

The toothbrushes. Meron and Emnet have identical (except the color) toothbrushes. The handles have big butt ends so they can be stood upright. One night, after brushing, Colleen stood Emnets brush up and I layed Merons brush on its side. I see the storm cloud coming, but I cannot figure out what caused it. Too late. The tantrum is in full swing. When I finally calm Meron to the point where she can communicate, she tells me I should have stood her toothbrush upright like Emnets.

The ketchup. The girls enjoy tater tots. One night while serving ketchup, I left a dollop and a little racing stripe of red up the side of Merons plate. Totally an accident and I did not give it a second thought. Emnet got just the dollop, and threw a fit. When we finally calmed her down to the point she could reason, she started finger painting her ketchup up the side of her plate to look like the stripe I had left on Merons plate. All Emnet wanted was a foolish little stripe of ketchup.

If I have to endure this much hell over a toothbrush and ketchup - what does a future full of cell phones, cars, cliques, hormones, mean girls, and horny boys hold for me????

Leo as Marge Simpsons' sisters

Wednesday was the day from hell. Colleen had to go into the office for the morning on short notice. Which meant I, also on short notice and under protest, had to wake, bathe, and feed the kids, and keep them entertained until the Nannie arrived shortly after 8. I know. Sounds easy. I'll remind you the kids get up around 5:15AM, they don't speak English, and they are still attention starved.

It gets worse.

The Nannie arrives and I still have not had a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth or had anything to eat or drink. My blood sugar was below zero, the kids were swinging from the chandelier, and they were cranking out about 300 decibels each.

The look in the Nannies face as she crossed the threshold said it all. I looked like the male version of those caricature housewives. You know, housecoat, slippers, hair in curlers, 5 oclock shadow, and behaving like a stoner. It was ridiculous.

The Nannie nicknamed me Hagrid, after that guy in the first Harry Potter movie. It's not fair. I used to be so handsome and svelte.