Will Your Kids Survive Middle School?

by Playstead on September 3, 2010

in Fatherhood

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How to suvive middle schoolMy daughter started middle school this week. I won’t bore you with all the “where did the time go?” and “it feels like only yesterday that she was torturing us with colic for the first 6 months of her life.” While it’s all true, I’ve made peace with it. Hitting 40 has a way of doing that for you.

Watching her get up an hour and half earlier, take more time with her hair than ever before and haul off a backpack that made her look like she was attempting Mt. Everest brought back memories of trying to survive middle school myself. Some good, most horrifying.

Starting middle school is a defining time in your life. Well, it was for me at least. I knew that leaving 5th grade for “the show” meant that I had to change up my entire world. It’s when I made the life changing decisions to feather my hair, not always wear a shirt with a Seattle sports team on it, and I knew I had to get a girlfriend. A major line had to be crossed from kid to guy. And I’ll be damned if I wasn’t crossing it.

My daughter begged us to let her ride the bus. She just had to — and would “die” if we didn’t let her. Just like I knew that I had to start feathering my hair, she knew that she couldn’t have her dad drop her off at school and risk someone hearing 80′s music (gasp) or having him yell out one of her 77 nicknames with toilet paper on his shoe. I was hesitant since nothing good happens on the bus. Nothing. The bus was witness to some crazy moments back in the early 80′s.

It was on the bus during my first day of 6th grade when I decided I needed a girlfriend — it almost less of deciding that I needed one, and more that I thought you just had one. Almost like they issued you one on the first day. Or just paired you up. I started surveying the bus finding a couple candidates that still wouldn’t look my way 5 years later.

I sat further back than I wanted to because legend has it: some 6th graders never returned from the back of the bus with the stoners, bullies and burnouts. And while I wasn’t technically in the back of the bus one day during on my way home, I was close enough to hear what was going on. They were taking mushrooms, and not the kind that saute up nicely with a little butter. I stuck my head in a book and held my breath the rest the way home. These were the kids that we’re horrified that our kids to start to hang out with. They scared the hell out of me back then, and still do today — for a completely different reason.

This all brings me back to the title of the post,  “Will Your Kids Survive Middle School.” To a certain extent, how we’ve raised them the past 11 or 12 years will be telling.

If you’ve done your job as a dad and taught them the skills and lessons of how to survive in the real world, then you’re good — that’s 90% of the work. And remember, next to providing and protecting, teaching them how to survive in a cruel world is about the most important thing we can do. If you over-protected them, it could get rough. The last 10% however; has to be done tactically. It has to be short, to the point and it has to stick.

I only really gave my daughter two big pieces of advice about middle school, but in reality I could have written a book about it. I could have told her about how others will start gunning for her, about how the showers after P.E. bring little surprises and horrifying sights, that tuna fish is a terrible choice in a paper bag, and how kids go completely insane when they hit 12 or 13.

Instead, the two pieces of advice I chose were: stick up for yourself and your friends, and realize that boys will start looking at you in a whole new light, so proceed with caution. I didn’t beat this into the ground and we had the discussion while shoe shopping so I think she was actually listening.

This is the first real test for us as parents. Middle school/junior high is their first step out into that real world by themselves — and one with real world problems.  Now we’ll really see how we’re doing as parents.

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How to Go Back in Time

by Playstead on August 27, 2010

in Guy Wisdom,Music

Black Happy - black happy reunion showHow often do you get to go back in time? I don’t mean spending a weekend with a friend from college– I mean really feeling like 15 years hasn’t actually flown by? Well, I lived it last Saturday night. I went back in time to a place where I didn’t have kids, a mortgage, the Internet didn’t exist and I had no idea who I was going to be.

If you went to college up in the northwest part of the country in the early 90′s then you know who Black Happy is, and also how important they were to people of that era. The music was like nothing you’d ever heard before. Was it metal? Jazz? Rock? Funk? Country? Yes. And they weren’t just a college band, they were something else.

The band broke up after making a huge impact on the Northwest music scene, but just before hitting it big in 1995. They vanished from the scene and the rest of us got on with our lives and eventually migrated into the workforce. We had three of their CD’s to listen to (which I still do) and the occasional discussion would pop-up about a possible reunion show. We were almost oblivious to the fact that almost 15 years had gone by — and who gets back together after 15 years? Especially with just regional success … this wasn’t Van Halen. It was different.

Well, the band got back together this past weekend. Our 1% chance actually came through. Fifteen years had gone by, and while their fans had put on weight, lost hair and had families — you couldn’t tell when the music started.

Back when the band was big, most of us were finishing college. It was a time in our lives where we partied like hell, seemed pretty shallow and didn’t have a clue of what we were going to do. On the outside it looked pretty sweet, but on the inside no one really knew what was going to happen. For the first time ever, that next step in our lives wasn’t so clear. It was a defining moment. We were officially on our own.

When you have a defining moment in your life you remember something as special as music. Music isn’t TV, it isn’t a movie and it isn’t a painting on the wall. It’s more. While it means something different to everyone, the music you experienced at an important time in your life has added importance. Especially when the band doesn’t sound like anything else you’ve ever heard before.

Most people at the show last weekend had become parents, and damn, it would have been cool for their kids to see them. Not only were they having a blast — they were alive. They sang every word, made every “inside chant” that only Black Happy fans know and bounced up and down for over two and a half hours. For the first time in a decade I saw stage diving and crowd surfing. And the stage-divers went from weighing 170 lbs. in 1993 to 220+ lbs. in 2010. It was a little scary. Like a hammered Doug Heffernan coming at you after 7 vodka and Red Bulls.

While all were enjoying the music they never thought they’d hear live again, they couldn’t help but think back to a simpler time when they had their whole life ahead of them. They had a career to tackle, a significant other to meet, and mistakes to make.

My expectations for the show were tempered. I expected the band to be older, with less energy and I decided I could live with a show that was good, but not great. I just wanted to be taken back in time and hear those timeless songs again.

The band had aged. Instead of long hair and skinny guys jumping all over the place, the hair was short, receding and they were a little thicker. But all be damned if the music wasn’t better. They just didn’t rehearse a couple times and pick up a check. These guys had really worked out the kinks. They were tight, excited and produced a wall of sound. Like they got that one last shot in front of an insane crowd that they never thought they’d see again.

The funny thing is that I’m sure there are bands like this all across the country. Bands who have touched an entire region, but never broke big. Guys in their 40′s from California to Boston still talk about them and listen to old CD’s while on their way to work, thinking about a different time. Not necessarily better, but different.

Black Happy 2010 at the Croc in Seattle

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playing youth football - tackle football

Shockingly enough, this image struck fear into the heart of no one

With a lot of research, deep thought and a little nervousness, Foxy Wife and I finally relented and let Boy #1 play tackle football this year. I’m helping out as a coach and I have to say — the first two weeks have been a blast. The kids love it, safety is always paramount and it’s insanely organized.

A funny thing happened when the kids were finally cleared to start tackling each other last week: all my insecurities and memories of being small and slow in my own football career came rushing back. As they lined up for a tackling drill, I had flashes of me standing in line during the 1983 season in a helmet that was two sizes too big, and my eyes as big as beach balls just waiting to take my punishment.

When I played in 9th grade we usually had two lines going for a tackling drill; one for the ball carrier and one for the tackler. If I was 4th in line I would count to see who I would be going up against — praying like hell it wasn’t one of the crazy bastards that played football because it was a talent second only to bullying.

(Side note: the 80′s were prime time for bullies. The normal kids would take off their shirts for P.E. and you could see all the bruises from the “titty-twisters” that the bullies would dish out. They had long and distinguished careers back then — a real treat.)

Compared to today, the coaching we had growing up was terrible. Our coaches were better at saying, “you’ll get water when you earn it!!” rather than any kind of positive reinforcement. They loved nothing more than when you destroyed some guy. Especially if he wasn’t looking. “You ear-holed that SOB — nice work!!!!”

“Sloberknockers” were also another big deal. As in “knock the slobber out of him.”

But what put fear into me worse than anything else was when our coach would yell, “Gentlemen, we goin’ live!!!!!!!!!!!” That meant hitting/tackling drills. And the “live” portion meant that it was full-speed, so lock up the kids.  The worst thing is that no one really taught us step-by-step how to properly tackle someone like we teach now.

It didn’t help that I had one hell of a smart mouth and that someone was always gunning for me. I never passed up the opportunity to make a joke in class or let someone have it. You’d think I would have learned, but never did. Guys would skip places in line to be sized up with me — payback.

My crowning moment came when the coach would pick one poor son of a bitch to get on the 10 yard line with the ball and try to run 90 yards for a touchdown with the ENTIRE team chasing him down and trying to knock the shit out of him. On a cold day in October, he was picking out the ball carrier when I made the stupid decision to look the other way and make myself shorter behind the other guys.

“PLAYSTEAD!!!”

I swear, when I heard those words I froze. We had some mean, fast, crazy guys on our team, and that did not mesh well with my talents of being small and slow. I slowly walked out and coach threw me the ball and pointed at the ten the same way a cattle farmer points to the spot on the cow’s head where it meets its maker. He then riled up all 50 of the guys.

“He ain’t gonna make it to the end zone, is he?”

“NO COACH!”

You’re gonna get him after 20 yards, aren’t you?”

“YES COACH!”

And then it happened, the coach whipped around at me and screamed, “GO!!!!” with spit and humiliation flying everywhere.

I have never run faster in my entire life. Thank God no one took a picture of the look that must have been on my face. Sheer terror mixed with confusion and a dash of adrenaline.

I was shocked when I looked down and realized that I’d made it to the 50 yard line. The worst thing is that I could hear them gaining like a pack of deranged bulls. A stampede mixed with horrifying screams.

I hit the forty and really kicked into high gear. Then the 30, the 20 — they were getting really close so and I decided when I hit the 10 I would dive for the end zone. It never happened — at the 11 someone dove at me and grabbed my foot, sending me ass over tea kettle. And that wasn’t the bad part. It was the other 20 guys that piled on top, dying to get the credit.

It hurt.

And yes, when my son’s team lined up for those first tackling drills, every one of these moments came rushing back into my head. All at once.

The question that any normal person would ask is, “Why the hell would you keep playing a sport that would – at times, put the “fear of God into you?” Great question. Well, because it’s fun as hell, you get to be part of a really close-knit group and it’s good for you to have a maniac in a windbreaker and shorts yelling at you about going “across the bow!!”

The worst thing is that no one ever told me that getting hit hurt a lot less if you hit them harder. It makes too much sense, but I didn’t figure it out until it was too late (even thought I played through high school). It’s one of the first things I tell our kids. It’s coupled with the fact that if you don’t play “balls-out” at all times, there’s a much better chance that you’ll get hurt too. Two great tips.

The best part? Now, I’m the maniac in a windbreaker and shorts. Although I think I’m having more fun than they are.

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Albums to Rediscover: John Lennon, The Plastic Ono Band

by Playstead August 21, 2010

You feel great music more than you can hear it. It can bring you to the place when it was made, and how the musician felt. That’s exactly how you feel when you listen to former Beatle, John Lennon’s The Plastic Ono Band. Few CD’s are brilliant from top to bottom — but this one [...]

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50 Rules Every Man Should Live By

by Playstead August 17, 2010

1. Always think of your legacy (Hint: it has nothing to do with meetings). 2. Call bullshit when necessary. 3. No brown liquor at office parties. 4. Your shoes should be darker than your pants. 5. Always look at your buddy’s girlfriend/wife as a sister. She can be a good looking sister, but still a [...]

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This is Why We Have Kids

by Playstead August 9, 2010

I read an article once that said parenting is 90% frustration and pulling your hair out, but the other 10% is so friggin’ good that you look past that crappy 90%. This picture is part of that 10%. Related Posts:Teaching Your Kids About LosingHow to Name Your KidsWarning: No FilterWill Your Kids Survive Middle School?Uh, [...]

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25 Years of Rush

by Playstead August 7, 2010

This is a re-run of a post written in 2008 about my first concert — and my first time ever seeing Rush. I went with my good buddy Beans – we were only 13 and hard rock shows in the early 80′s were insane. This is timely today because I’m going to see Rush live [...]

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Bill Clinton and the Bridesmaid

by Playstead August 3, 2010

Boy #2 came downstairs the other night and asked for dating advice. His actual comment was, “how did you get mom to like you?” That little nugget was followed up by this statement: “I can’t wait for kindergarten so I can meet my wife.” Chance Bill Clinton made a bridesmaid uncomfortable at Chelsea’s wedding: 96%. [...]

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8 Killer Wines Under $10

by Playstead July 29, 2010

You have kids. You have a job that’s driving you insane. You also have no money. You need wine. With so many people in the same boat I thought I’d give you 8 killer wines under $10. I’m borderline impossible to please in most parts of my life, and wine is no different. When I [...]

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The Friends

by Playstead July 23, 2010

I’ve been hanging out with the same core group of guys since grade school. When I add it up, I’ve known a few of them for a staggering 35 years now — which blows my mind.  Not to mention it makes me feel old as hell. I know how rare it is to have any [...]

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