The Perfect Gift for a Father and a Daughter

Recently, GoofGirl actually allowed me to stay and watch her in gymnastics class. This was unprecedented, previously as soon as she was changed she started yelling, "Go away daddy! Go get coffee or beer or something!" And I did.

I wondered what brought on this change, growing self-confidence perhaps or just general maturity?
Of course, knowing my daughter the real question is, "What does she want?"

A friend suggested that it was obvious, she wanted a pony. But I know that's not it, she's already got one.

Several years ago my wife asked me what I wanted for Father's Day. I told her I wanted a Daddle. A central responsibility of being dad is horsey-back rides. My son was never interested, but my daughter went for them from the beginning (I've also got my niece into horsey-back rides and she pesters her dad - one more bit of torture I've inflicted on my younger brother.)

The discussion occurred in the dark in bed, but I could hear her eyes roll back into her head. I was not going to get my Daddle.

Now, at least five years later I still give GoofGirl horsey-back rides. She hits me in the tuchus with a wooden spoon, yelling, "Mush, mush!"

She also stands on my back as I crawl around the room, like a circus act. She makes me gallop and jump (this is very hard for crawling bipeds.) So I'm not as good at jumping or galloping as a real horse, but I go up stairs. Even Mr. Ed couldn't do that.

But it was all worth it the other day when my wife said, "If I had known you would still be letting her ride around on your back, I would have gotten you the Daddle."

Which means I was right! This one time, I was right! (It doesn't happen often.)

Of course I still don't know what GoofGirl wants...

Hoof it to Ft. Foote

Today The Washington Post’s Weekend Section featured A Tour of Civil War Washington. Great stuff, including Lincoln’s Summer home and a fort (now surrounded by apartments) which was the site of the Civil War’s only battle within DC, but Father Goof would like to add a stop.

A few winters ago I needed to take the kids somewhere. A few months before I had taken GoofBoy to Ft. McHenry and GoofGirl wanted to see a fort too. She particularly wanted to see the “cannon-shooters.” I was willing to drive, since we were listening to one of the Harry Potter Books. So I thought I would take them down to Ft. Washington, an enormous fortification on the Potomac that guarded the nation’s capitol. However, I couldn’t find it – I have an extraordinarily bad sense of direction.

But I kept passing signs for Fort Foote. (I’d never heard of it) but finally I gave up on Fort Washington and went to Fort Foote. There was just a dirt parking lot and some woods. We walked around a bit and didn’t see much of anything (although the kids were pretty excited about brightly colored pebble they found – probably from an aquarium).

Then we found a path into the woods. There were some odd little hills. Then we found historic markers that explained that Ft. Foote was an earthwork so there were no massive stonewalls, just big piles of dirt. We started wandering around. We found some ruins of barracks, cannons, and spectacular views of the Potomac River.

I love our National Parks and will go on Ranger walk after Ranger walk (I’m the guy asking annoying questions!) As a visit to the website shows, this is not one of the gems of the system - no events, no talks, not reconstructions, not much of anything. But that made it awesome! I let GoofBoy take the lead, GoofGirl followed him and I took the rear (in case there were any Confederates infiltrating.) When we came to a creaking bridge – there was no one around to tell us not to climb on it.
We just run around, exploring and climbing onto and into.

Gettysburg it ain’t, but the site’s lack of importance and development of the site gave it its charm and made for a great day of exploration and adventure.

Skin Diseases of Antiquity

Every week Jews around the world read from the Torah, better known to many as the Pentateuch. At the age of 13 Jews stand before their congregation read a portion of the Torah and give a little lesson about it. The lesson usually is part interpretation and part about how this portion will inspire them to further their Jewish study and commitment. Then they never come to synagogue again (just kidding, sort of…)

Different cultures have different rituals for bringing young people into adulthood. In many societies young men have to hunt or fight or something else physical. For Jews, we have to prove that we can read, do so in public, and show that we understood what we were reading. It is an open question which path is more frightening. I wouldn’t want to face a dangerous animal in combat, but trust me you don’t want to read and speak in front of my great uncle Moishe. As a mechanism for cultural survival, public reading would seem to be at a disadvantage to hunting. But Jews are still around and you don’t run into many Hittites or Assyrians these days (has Ninevah risen?)

Some Torah portions are pretty good and easy to talk about, like the parting of the Red Sea, Cain and Abel, or anything with Jacob! Others can be a little tough, like the extensive instruction about how to construct the Tabernacle (which doesn’t seem to have a lot of contemporary relevance since we don’t wonder around the desert anymore.) Sometimes our G-d is a harsh judge and sometimes our G-d is an extremely demanding interior decorator.

My own portion, about a century ago was the story of Balaam, which was kind of awesome since it features a talking donkey. There is another word for donkey and I made sure I used it before the congregation while giving my lesson.

This past Shabbat we read the portion Tazria. It is about leprosy and skin disease. It gets quite specific, describing different kinds of rashes, eruptions etc. Depending on the color, sometimes a priest needs to be called. Not the easiest stuff to discuss, especially in front of your aunts, uncles, and grandparents. But that is not the end of it. Classical interpretations of this portion conclude that it was not the disease leprosy, but a dermatological outbreak brought on by impure thoughts.

A skin condition brought on by impure thoughts, just the kind of lesson a teenager needs.

I think GoofGirl might get this portion – by then I’ll want something that gives her some second thoughts.

Boredom Emergency

Driving home with GoofBoy, he asked for my iPad to play with while we drove. The drive was going to last less then five minutes and I couldn’t reach it easily so I said no.

“Child abuse!” he shouted. “I’m calling bubbe!”

My mom was a social worker who served children in foster care. (Bubbe is the Yiddish word for grandmother and implies an old woman with a shawl over her head. I pressed for the kids to call my parents bubbe and its masculine equivalent, zayde. The former took, my father fought off the latter. My youthful and professional mother hates this.)

“You want to tell her,” I asked.

“Yeah, so she can report you.”

I passed my phone back to him and he called her.

“Bubbe it’s your grandson. I want to report a child abuse incident!”

“Really,” my mom answered (it was on speakerphone), “What happened?”

“Your son," he began, "Won’t let me play on his iPad while we drive and I’m getting bored,” he explained.

“Is it child abuse?” I asked hopefully, “Will you have him taken away?”

“I’m afraid not,” my mom replied, “and while it is nice chatting, I was just out the door. Sorry kid, but being bored isn't child abuse, it's part of life.”

“Darn,” I said, “I’m sure a few weeks away from my precious son would help me reconsider my miscreant ways.”

“It’s ok bubbe I’ve got his phone now. It has games too.”

Coconut Fears

On one of our regular trips to LA, I noticed GoofBoy looking warily at the ubiquitous palm trees. His efforts to give them a wide birth made orderly family locomotion impossible.

"Buddy, what's going on, why are you walking so weird?"

"Dad, aren't you worried about the coconuts," he answered, glancing nervously upwards.

"What?"

"Remember what we heard on the radio?"

Months earlier, while driving to school, some DJ mentioned that every year coconuts kill more people then sharks. GoofBoy can't remember his chores, his homework, or the names of his friends, but this factoid stayed with him. As he mentioned it, I remembered joking about it: "Oh-oh, watch out for the coconuts."

When he and carpool buddy get out of hand I threaten to bang their heads together like a pair of coconuts.

GoofBoy hadn't gotten the joke, and instead had mulled over the danger for months - and completely inaccurately.

"Buddy, do you think coconuts kill people by falling on them?"

"Uh-huh," he said nervously.

"Buddy, the people who die from coconuts die because they are allergic to coconut and they eat something with coconuts in it. Also, those aren't coconut trees, they are palm trees. So you have nothing to worry about. You don't have to worry about walking under them."

"Wow, so coconuts are a sneaky double-threat?"

"Buddy, didn't you hear what I said. There are no coconut trees in Los Angeles. Nothing to worry about," I said exasperated.

He didn't mention it again, but I did notice furtive glances upward throughout the trip.

I let it slide. I remember misinterpreting parental instructions. My mom told me not to run in front of cars. I interpreted that as meaning that cars, like dogs, could smell fear and that if I was going out into the street I should walk slowly and confidently. Fortunately we lived on a quiet street.

Still, I didn't tell GoofBoy that in Miami (where MamaGoof and I are enjoying a little getaway) coconut trees are common. I wouldn't want him to worry.

Our Purim Shpiel

The phone ringing while I am preparing breakfast for the little Goofs is rarely a good thing. This morning it was Carpool Clan's mom.

"This is a strange request," never a good beginning - put it probably doesn't mean she will ask me drive carpool - which means I don't have to put on pants soon.

"Do you have a set of handcuffs?" she continues.

"Ah..." Two thoughts go through my mind here, first do you really want to borrow handcuffs from someone who owns handcuffs? Second, which Carpool Kid had driven her over the edge and needs to be taken into custody. My interest here is not strictly academic, there is a betting pool on this (I've got 300 quatloos on the new guy).

"The little one needs it for his Purim costume," she continued, aware of how such a request must sound without context.

Purim is the Jewish Halloween/Mardi Gras: up is down, right is wrong, and a people characterized by a low tolerance to alcohol tries to keep up with their Eastern European neighbors. It is wacky day for a wacky people.

It can also be a hassle, particularly the costumes. Interestingly, GoofGirl hasn't been a problem. Last year we went to the party store without any ideas. She picked out a tail and some cat ears and announced she was going as a cat. Couldn't have been easier!

GoofBoy on the other hand yelled out, "Daddy, can I make a costume with this pimp stick?"

"No!"

"Why not? It looks cool." It said "pimpstick" right on the package. No good would come from any aspect of continuing this conversation. There was nothing about this that I wanted to explain, so I pulled rank and threatened major sanctions if he didn't just drop it. This time he obeyed.

Instead he found a Mohawk wig and a costume gold chain and said, "Can I go as Mr. T?"

"How do you know who Mr. T is?"

"World of WarCraft commercials."


Now I have another conundrum. Mr. T is African-American, is it OK for my son to dress up as an African-American? He won't be wearing black-face or anything truly offensive. Barack Obama is president, we live in post-racial America. The guy who does Obama impressions on SNL isn't African-American. Besides, Mr. T is a public figure. And I pretended to be my hero Eddie Murray when I was a kid playing modified baseball in the parking lot at the abandoned glass factory next to the Midas Muffler (if you hit the d it was an automatic grand slam.) Another white kid pretended to be Ken Singleton.

In one of those odd coincidences an acquaintance who is Jewish and African-American was also at the party store buying Purim costumes for his kids. He heard everything and only laughed (of course he was wrangling his own kids).

GoofBoy had no idea that any of this could in any way be an issue. Which I guess really says it all.

To help GoofBoy get into character for his costume I found some old videos from the A-Team online. But I also found this incredible video.

What gets me is that Mr. T is wearing short shorts and tube socks - he dresses like I did when I was eight!

This year Purim has been easier. GoofGirl is going as her brother, which is easy since they are twins separated by three years and GoofBoy is going as Bill Gates, which in his mind means wearing a hat.