Hebrew Homework Blues

Yesterday, GoofBoy said some of the saddest words a little boy can say.

"Dad, I hope baseball practice is cancelled today. I just have so much homework to catch up on."

Well, sad words for a normal little boy that is. I begged my parents to let me play little league, and immediately hated it. First, I learned that despite what I had read left-handed people do not have natural curveballs. Also, an enormous knowledge of baseball history did not in fact translate to any prowess on the field. I was the worst player on a terrible team. Finally, the team had other children on it and I didn't much like other children.

But GoofBoy is very much a regular kid who loves playing ball, so to hear him not want to practice was a very sad. But homework has, quite suddenly, gotten very hard and GoofBoy worries terribly that he can't keep up.

MamaGoof and I recently took a little trip to Greece (I had a conference to attend - more on the trip later.) The little Goofs were left in the hands of my sister-in-law (best sister-in-law ever!) But GoofBoy had a homework crisis with Hebrew, which my sister-in-law simply doesn't know. So, in the shadow of the Acropolis, I sat at a coffeeshop where we Skyped with GoofBoy and calmed him down. Then we ordered another Nescafe, so I could keep using the free wifi and I arranged an emergency tutor. Because of the seven hour time difference, we had to stay up late and go to a coffeeshop with wifi to check in after-school on how everything went. Actually, in Athens this isn't hard, since the Greeks don't seem sleep (or maybe they do during the day at their jobs, it would explain a lot).

When we returned we managed to take care of the dreaded community service project. We decided to pick up garbage on the trail near our house. It was kind of fun, kind of strenuous, and after a bit more than an hour we had gathered a fair amount of trash. GoofBoy (and GoofGirl who joined us) actually can't wait to do it again.

Of course we also had to run around and gather supplies and I'll need to go and have the pictures developed. I own two photo printers, both of which have come very close to being thrown out a window so I am not inclined to purchase a third. However, with all this driving I wonder if we have done more harm to the earth then help.

But GoofBoy's real source of stress is his Hebrew class. Attending a Jewish Day School, Hebrew language is a central part of the education and GoofBoy loves it - and works really hard at it. Besides the spiritual component of knowing the holy language, I am amazed at the skills he is developing to master the language. Last year, he was promoted to the advanced Hebrew class and had to work hard to keep up. He rose to the occasion. One night, while he was showering I heard him singing (it sounded like whale calls) - I was about to tell him to knock it off when I realized he was practicing his vocabulary. When he watches football, he usually has a sheet of vocabulary words with him to glance at during commercials.

He grasps the substance well, but he doesn't always get the form of the assignments. Last year, when told to write about chapter of the Torah (Pentateuch) in Hebrew in his own words, he actually attempted to re-write the chapter word for word - rather then summarize it. Now he is stressed because he has to deliver the dvar, that is a little lesson. on a chapter of Torah. This includes a summary, discussion of some specific lines he liked, and asking the class a series of questions - all in Hebrew. To prepare he wrote a summary in Hebrew, translated it into English as he told me what it said and was worried it wasn't good enough.

I was blown away, since I barely get by in English. I tried to tell him, that even doing a lousy job at this is pretty impressive. But he just worried that he would fail Hebrew. His diligence and devotion say really terrific things about him - but these regular homework meltdowns are going to make MamaGoof and I crazy.

Community Dis-Service

Let me begin this rant by saying, I am obviously not a good person.

GoofBoy has been assigned a community service project and I view it primarily as a hassle for me.

As a student of politics (in the great sense of the word - affairs of the polis - being involved in the community) I am a great believe in volunteering and civil society. But walkin' the walk is another story.

Because here is the thing. His teacher says this is supposed to be self-directed, but GoofBoy is ten. He can't go anywhere without me. He has a very vague idea of what exists and goes on in this world. He'd like to maybe deliver toys to orphans on Tatooine or take care of abandoned house elves in Hogsmeade - but he has no clue how to even find animal shelters or nursing homes. Self-direction on this project is no direction.

So now it is another thing I have to do. I will need to identify a place and take him there. It will be on a Sunday. When I take him to birthday parties, I usually drop him off and head to a coffeeshop. But I can't drop him off at a nursing home/homeless shelter, nor can I hang around and just play Tetris on my phone.

I know how this must sound, I am complaining about doing good deeds. I like to think that I would do some volunteering, except that my schedule is sort of dominated by working and schlepping two kids around. I consider myself having done community service simply by not strangling anyone.

I know there are people with way more kids then me who find time to volunteer. Good for them, I'm not that good. I try (not that hard clearly) but I do try.

Am I glad that the school wants to inculcate the value of volunteering and helping others - of course. I won't mind our actual endeavor - I've spent plenty of time visiting nursing homes - but I simply cannot deny that my first reaction to the assignment was, "Great - something else to do."

And worse is coming, I think this year they do science fair.

Getting Dressed, Physics for the Morning

Recently I met the husband of an old college friend who is an honest-to-goodness rocket scientist. We had a fascinating discussion of what it takes to get a satellite to send signals to earth. The antenna had to be aligned towards earth, while the satellite’s solar panels had to be pointing at the sun. All of this had to occur while the satellite was orbiting the earth at high speeds. It is a complex multi-dimensional physics problem.

But it is nothing compared to GoofGirl getting dressed in the morning.

If the shoes don’t work with the shirt and pants… But she can’t change the shoes because she doesn’t like the laces on her other pair, which conflict with her hair (I don’t understand how this is possible, but I’m just a dad) – and her hair, which she hates by the way, is not being cooperative by still being brown and curly (because sometimes hair changes overnight apparently)…

She is only seven, way to young for this. I don’t even have the language to address this issue. Complex physics indeed, there are too many variable and I don’t understand any of them or how they interact. Mama Goof (who went to private schools that had uniforms) has no patience for it whatsoever.

I did what Dads do, and poked my head into her room every five minutes and told her to get dressed. This had little effect because analyzing clothes combinations is, from her perspective, part of the process of getting dressed. I respectfully disagree.

Mama Goof took a different approach, “Be dressed in two minutes or you wear this skirt and this shirt and that’s it.”

In two minutes GoofGirl was not dressed. Mama Goof began initiating the DefClothes sequence. GoofGirl begged, “Just let me explain, Mommy. Give me one more chance.”

MamaGoof would have none of it. She was right, of course.

I remember once as a kid I wasn’t getting dressed in the mornings (I didn’t care about my outfit, I think I just wanted to push BubbeGoof’s buttons.) One morning, when I wasn’t dressed in time for carpool, BubbeGoof waved the carpool away and left me alone in the house for hours even though I was only four years old. (I think you can be arrested for that now.) BubbeGoof insists she just drove around the block, but then she came back and pointedly ignored me all morning. I got dressed every pre-school morning since (although as an adult I have managed to develop a career where I spend a lot of time during the day sitting around in my pajamas.

This was the second day of school, and GoofGirl hasn’t given us any trouble since. Still, we would love it if our school adopted uniforms. Then GoofGirl could devote the freed up brain capacity to astrophysics.

Perilous First Days

Mommy Blogger extraordinaire (and real life friend) Not Ever Still invited me to do a guest post about first days, in honor of her daughter E's starting kindergarten. She was hoping for some fatherly wisdom since I've been through it twice and I did my best. She posted it this morning, now I am re-posting below. If you already read my first day post, skip down to the bottom and I can tell you how my morning went.

Life is full of first days, you have to get used to it.

I thought of this as I dropped by E’s kindergarten class to see her and my friend and lunch partner and her husband. I was visiting with my two, who despite being old hands at this school with extensive familiarity with the social and physical layout had their own anxieties. GoofBoy was worried about his math teacher, especially since she is a Steelers fan while he roots for the Ravens. Sometimes with boys, the depths of the shallows are unfathomable. (She set GoofBoy at ease quickly, explaining that she gives Ravens fans a break because she felt so sorry for them – me thinks she’s faced this challenge before.)

GoofGirl was concerned because there is a girl in her class she doesn’t like (GoofGirl claims this girl is “mean to her for no reason.”) I told her, bluntly, “There isn’t anything I can do about it.”

Of course, I could call the school and complain, but I don’t want to be THAT parent, and if I were the school I would tell me to buzz off. If it were a class of bullies or some other intolerable situation, I would go to the mat for GoofGirl. But this is one kid. She can try to get along with her, and if that doesn’t work stay away. If she wants to let one kid ruin her time, then she frankly deserves her fate. That is a central lesson in life; there are terrible situation and great situations. Most, almost all, fall somewhere in the middle and they are what one makes of them.

I am lucky enough to know E, both in person and via her online persona. She is a neat little girl, who once ambushed me and made me to tell her the story of Pegasus and Bellerophon (my classical education serves me well). The little Goofs love playing older sibling to her. So I thought I’d swing by and check-in, plus I knew other kids in the class. When I saw her standing in the middle of the room with her fingers stuck in her ears, I sympathized. It was loud and crazy – no surprise with a dozen five year olds running around.

I chatted with E’s Dad a bit, we agreed that whatever her anxieties, E was going to have to go and make the best of it. I mused on this for a while. Kindergarten is a big deal, because suddenly the game changes. It isn’t just about you and your child. There is another player – the state, society itself. Pre-school is optional (at least in theory). So is summer camp. But kindergarten is not, you have to go.

I am not advocating conformity, but part of growing up is learning how to “deal,” that is handle what life throws at you. For some this comes easier then others, but regardless, children need to be prepared for the wider world. This is why the Talmud instructs parents to teach their children to swim, not just as a skill but as a metaphor for getting by in the world.

“Moms may tear themselves up inside over letting their little ones go, but Dads get this,” I thought to myself confidently.

Or Do They?
GoofGirl has an ongoing problem with fire drills. Once, in pre-school the fire alarm went off and there was some problem getting to stop blaring even after the fire drill was done. GoofGirl (who apparently inherited my super hearing) couldn’t stand it. For months, she spent the mornings wheedling and negotiating to keep me from taking her to pre-school. Since I work at home, this was actually pretty easy – lots of visits to the coffee shop or park and very late arrivals at pre-school. Finally, a wise parent took a piece of paper and taped it over the offending fire alarm. That was that, sort of. But she still gets anxious about fire drills (“Will my camp have fire drills” was an early question) and I write it on her school forms and let the teachers know.

We are all dog paddling in the ocean, and sometimes we all need a set of water wings.

And now the rest of the story
Father Goof readers will see that we are just back from LA. I haven't written that we apparently brought some sort of plague back with us - like the Black Death, but worse. I spent the weekend out, and now Mama Goof is down for the count. I'm back up, sort of, but not 100%. Preparations for the first day of school went unevenly. The house is short of food, school supplies were not purchased, and sleep took priority over everything (well, except blogging of course.)

I should add, that I am not good at logistical matters, where Mama Goof excels. I wouldn't hate it if we had a traditional home where I worked and she minded the house. Unfortunately, this is not a viable plan, MamaGoof has an advanced degree in "hard math stuff" and is far more valuable to society than yours truly. I often wonder what I bring to the table. But I can get the kids out the door in the morning, still, I wasn't too focused on speed - it's just the first day, how much will they miss?

GoofGirl had a crisis of hating her shoes, her hair, and her outfit. I am poorly equipped to deal with this particular problem, first of all because I think GoofGirl is adorable, and secondly because I don't know much about shoes, hair, or clothes. GoofBoy was chipper, telling me non-stop about baseball scores while I fumbled around for school supplies. GoofGirl's marble composition book is actually the book I used to translate Catullus over a decade ago (I only got a few pages in.)

A few words from Mama Goof and GoofGirl settled down, but suddenly GoofBoy was antsy. "We are going to be late, I'm going to get into trouble!" He kept repeating.

"Buddy, it's the first day, don't worry about it. It is on me, I'll talk to your teachers."

But GoofBoy's mood had soured.

When I dropped them off, late, the front desk person explained, his teacher lets the kids who get there early pick on the first day pick their desk for the year.

If only I had known. Of course, Mama Goof knew, he had mentioned it - once! He has no problem bugging me constantly about other things (like his allowance), but something like this he mentions once and is upset that I forget it. Of course I have nothing else to concentrate on, like GoofGirl's hair, getting their lunches together - despite the school's endless food restrictions, my job (I do work), and of course writing a blog entry about all of this.

I feel bad about starting GoofBoy off on the wrong foot, but not that badly. This is a lesson he has to learn, the fine art of reminding without nagging. First day of school and he is already learning something.

LA Vignette: Cat Called

For me, one of the treats of visiting my in-laws is their cat, Winky. I like cats. In my dissolute youth, I went through a period of lengthy (voluntary) unemployment. During that time, my roommate got a kitten and I fell in love (I’d never had a serious pet before). We used to play when he got his crazies in the wee small hours. I’d throw tinfoil balls and we’d chase them around the apartment. The roommate, who remained employed, soon regretted the adoption.

As much as I liked cats, I liked MamaGoof more and she had allergies, so no more pets.

But before the kids were born, we’d stay with my in-laws and I could heed the call of the wild yet again and join the hunt (for foil balls and strings.) Usually after our week of visiting the cat would curl up and sleep for several days.

Unsurprisingly, running around in the dead of night, I tripped and fell with a huge crash. I shook the house. In LA, this isn’t funny. Everyone woke up and went into earthquake mode. (In fairness, my in-laws tend to worry. When adverse weather hits anywhere on the east coast, they call. During Irene we pre-empted them providing hourly updates: “We have power, we aren’t flooded, do not drive here to rescue us.”)

I calmed them down and promised to stop riling the cat and go to bed. The next day, I met one of my closest friends for lunch. I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Why are you so tired,” he asked.

“I was up late playing with Winky!”

“Dude, I know we’ve driven cross country together twice, but that is way too much information.”

The Heart of Disney

Having visited Los Angeles over a dozen times with the Little Goofs, the Disney corporation issued us an ultimatum: Take your children to Disneylandor face the consequences.

The ultimatum was unspoken, but it was clear and powerful nonetheless – like a prophetic vision of being subject to a Disney rendition, hooded for days and then forced to don a Tweedledee costume and suffer blows from an acrimonious Tweedledum for the amusement of children.

So, I visited the very useful Disneyland Vacation Tips site and took the Little Goofs (and their aunts Tias C & T) to Disney. Pictures from the day show me grimacing at the entrance. Theme parks aren't my thing and I was not looking forward to the heat or the crowds or the prices. I was hoping to get some blog-fodder out of it though.

On the way, we listened to the classic young adult novel Anne of Green Gables. Set on Prince Edward Island in the late 19th century, Anne is an orphan girl who very much wants to own a pretty dress with puffy sleeves. Although GoofGirl is a bit of a fashionista, she does not grasp why Anne so desires puffy sleeves. Still heading off future demands, I declare, “No daughter of mine shall have a dress with puffy sleeves!”

GoofBoy perked up, “You didn’t say anything about sons!”

Our running joke at Disney was that GoofBoy wanted me to buy him a princess outfit (or Tinkerbell). He is all boy, loves sports, comic books and fishing. But he really has no worries about girly stuff. He loves to sing, happily wears pink and when my sister-in-law Tia C hung out with GoofGirl to paint finger and toenails, GoofBoy volunteered his nails too. I am jealous at how comfortable he is in his own skin – as ten year old I shied away from pink and any hint of anything “girlie.” I was poorer for it.

So I was hoping to get and post a picture of him in a princess outfit, but he leveraged the situation well, refusing to try one on unless I actually purchased it.
This led to me, standing in the middle of a Disney store announcing, “Son I am NOT buying you a princess outfit so stop asking!”

Other dads looked at me sympathetically.

Then we got into a fight with the plastic swords.

The Rest of the Park
Visits to Disney inspire sociological analyses of the state of American culture, or is it cultural analyses of the state of American society, or post-modern takes on the spiritual emptiness of modern society.

But my primary interest, as always, is wearing out my children. For a blow-by-blow of our adventures at the Magic Kingdom (including pictures) follow Father Goof on Twitter (with great pictures!)

After a hard day of rides, GoofBoy and my other sister-in-law Tia T relaxed by shooting stuff at the arcade. Tia T is a surprisingly good shot. GoofBoy bought himself some toy guns – now that our semi-official ban is ended (it wasn’t that we opposed guns, but we really hoped he would go to the Jedi Academy while his sister attends Hogwarts.) Later on those toys became a source of stress because GoofBoy had them in his carry-on at the airport. He worried that security would detect them and we’d have a big problem. We were stopped, not because of GoofBoy’s arsenal but because the freezer-pack with our carryon meals had started to defrost and somehow this set off alarms. I would like to think this reflects highly sophisticated scanning technology deployed by TSA.

Anyway Disney was fun (except the Tiki Room where I had a bit of a breakdown – singing robot birds just freak me out – but on the plus side I was not required to go on a “It’s a Small World.”) It is hard not to marvel at how effectively Disney maneuvers crowds and sustains order. This has a dark-side. An old friend from grad school happened to be at Disney with her husband and son. Her son was banned from Splash Mountain for having a splash fight. But it is splash mountain, what do they think would go down there. This reflects the Disney ethos, you will have fun our way and our way only!

There were smaller indicators of Disney’s dark heart. In the restroom, the gent cleaning up engaged me with full eye contact and asked, “Are you having a good time? Can I help with anything?”

I really try to keep my mens room interactions to a bare minimum. I don’t need the experience improved upon, but for Disney’s motto could be, “Ve have vays of making you have fun!”

And in fairness we did and I got my blog post out of it. I also learned that at the neighboring Disney California Adventure Park adults can walk around with beer - I might really enjoy corny Disney humor that way. I guess they do have ways of making me have fun.