There is one way in which I feel I am failing my son miserably. In the birds and the bees department I truly suck. The extent of my mother's sex talk with me was, "BOY, DON'T LET THESE GIRLS GET IN YOUR PANTS!" (Thanks, Mom. That really helped). And my father never had "The Talk" with me at all. So in truth, I honestly don't have any real-life background on how to broach this subject with my 14 year old boy.

Since the age of 10, my wife has asked me to go down this road with him. At 10 I was morally opposed. At 11, I don't remember what I said. At 12, I believe I threatened him when he went away to summer camp. At 13, I spoke to him about not doing anything I wouldn't do (which is probably the last thing I should've said to him). And twice this year, before the summer, in which I had a threatening, comical heart to heart with him and once again at the end of the summer I was asked/pressured/demanded to have the talk again.

"How many times am I going to talk to this boy about this?" I half pleaded with the wife. "You don't think he gets it?"

"He went away this summer and now he's in high school he needs to be spoken to. If you don't I will." This is something neither he (my son) nor I need or want. Think of Sam Witwicky's mother in Transformers.

As much as my parents didn't talk to me about this subject I did have church to fall back on. And here is where I feel I'm failing my son. We currently and haven't gone to church in years. So what he would probably already know via Sunday school, he does not.

About a month ago, I brought it up again on the way home from football practice.

Me: "So I just wanted to talk to you about the summer and the upcoming fall. You're getting older, and you're going to be playing sports and you're an attractive young man." [This has already started wrong]

Son: Listens intently.

Me: "And I just want you to know that I know you have a little girlfriend and although I didn't date when I was your age (or even have girls like me), I can understand the thoughts that may or may not be going through your head. And with the music on the radio these days, that's not helping matters at all because music is just... [I trail off realizing I'm going off topic]

Son: Continues to listen intently.

Me: "All I'm saying is that you can flirt, even kiss if you must, but I don't want you bringing home any babies or diseases." [at this point I feel like I did the first time I jumped into the deep end of a pool without knowing how to swim] "I want you to be respectful at all times, that's all. You have your whole life to act as a adult, you don't have to rush and do it now. Got it?"

Son: "Yeah, dad."

[I should've ended here]

Me: "Because even though I'm married now, a few years ago I used to be a man and I used to do my thing, I mean, I was out there." [DANGER! DANGER! ABORT!] "So you can always come and talk to me about anything when it comes to the ladies."

This was a Freudian slip and a half that left me choking on my words and wanting to rewind time. I looked out my driver's side window and mumbled, "That went great..."

Me: "Well, that's all I've got to say. Just be respectful and don't do anything that will put yourself in danger or mess up your education."

I sighed and then groaned. My son went back to sending text messages from his phone.

I didn't want to holler. I wanted to scream.

For more information about giving "The Talk" to your pre-teen and/or teen check out 4Parents.gov and Talking With Kids About Sex And Relationships.

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A week ago today my wife and I celebrated our 2nd year of wedded life together --- our Loving Day as my daughter puts it. 2 years ago we were on a mountain bluff off the South coast of Barbados exchanging vows at 4 pm. This year at 4pm I was sitting on cold metal bleachers watching my son's football team stomp out their opponents like someone had stolen from them (they are currently undefeated). My daughter was yelling at the sun to go away because it was in her eyes. And it wasn't warm at all. But it was all good.

The good people at Volkswagen helped out by giving me a loaded Campanella White Touareg TDI to drive for the week; I had semi-detailed plans for a weekend jaunt to Toronto, Canada or Philly (as a backup). I knew my son would have plans for the weekend as he seeks to be out of the house as much as possible these days. The plans hung entirely on someone being able or willing to watch babygirl for the weekend.

Here is where my plans crashed and burned.

That's the way life goes sometimes for parents, particularly parents of little ones. Desperate to go anywhere, I initially begrudgingly included our kids in our plans and shifted gears to plan a family weekend trip. Needless to say, everything was booked and what wasn't was either overpriced or charged by the hour. I went to bed a sad and sorry chap.

The next morning my son abandoned us after football practice to spend the night at a friend's house (after begging me to set him free). On a whim I decided I needed some retail (window shopping) therapy and dragged the wife and daughter to Woodbury Commons. We stayed until the place closed and none of us left empty handed. On Sunday, we picked up the boy and headed upstate to Wilkens Fruit And Fir Farm for an afternoon of spontaneous apple and pumpkin picking and some amazing apple cider donuts made from scratch.

Bottom line: Things don't always go as planned. What are you gonna do? Bitch about it on a blog, or have a good time anyway? I/we opted to have a good time. Hopefully sooner, rather than later we will celebrate our Loving Day.

When have you had to go with plan B, or C, D, E, or F? Did it work?

Photo Credit: Flickr

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So, I was going to post a nice, happy frivolous post today, a Friday. Instead, I turned on my computer and was stunned to see that President Obama has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

This isn't a political blog so my reasons for being stunned are mine and I have no desire to share/impose them. But the Web 2.0 in me simply won't allow me not to call attention to this event in real time for the sake of a post about a loaf of bread.

Stay tuned.

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I was initially warmed by my daughter's love for all things Dora. She talks to Dora, she creates stories around Dora, she draws pretty convincing portraits of Dora, she is even convinced that there is a Dora version of everything, such as rocket ships, houses and computers. She insists that her Dora toothbrush matches the Dora on the toothpaste tube. There are at least 7 Doras that go for a swim with her at bath time. Clearly she is utilizing her big imagination to the fullest. Even on the days when it's a bit much, I'm not going to knock my child for being a child.

Then I saw the following the other day:



I am now convinced that the Church of Dora is secretly recruiting acolytes ages 2 - 8. My jaw dropped when I saw the girl (who was too convincing to merely be a budding actress) in this commercial stating, word for word, things my own daughter says all day long. Even my daughter was silent with awe as she watched with me. When it was over she turned to me and asked, "CAN YOU BUY ME THAT?! THAT WALL OF DORA TOYS AND BOOTS AND DIEGO?!"

"Sure, honey," I answered wearily. First it was my son with Power Rangers, and now this...

What (if any) kiddie obsession does your child have? Do you have to pay for it?

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October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. My brother in blogging, Mocha Dad wrote a poignant and candid piece on the subject. Here are some straight and sobering facts:

• Each day in the U.S., three women die as result of domestic violence.


• More than one in four women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime.


• More than three out of four Americans know someone who is or has been a victim of domestic violence.

You can read the entirety of Let’s End Domestic Violence: A Challenge to All Fathers at MochaDad. Please do more than just read. Please respond to his challenge, and in your own life, in your own way do your part to bring awareness to this epidemic that destroys children, families, spouses and lives. Also keep in mind it's not just people in the married lane who are victims.

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It has always surprised me and I consider myself blessed that I haven't been attacked for anything that I write (except one instance on AOL Black Voices) as I don't believe this is something I am built to handle. I don't do well with confrontation.

September 2009 has come and gone. I went into it knowing that I might lose a reader or two or at the very least leave them scratching their heads. I wrote a total of sixteen (16) posts for the month, down from my usual twenty (20), and out of that total, four (4) of them were less than positive. Please also keep in mind that these 4 posts which all were published over a 30-day span belong to a body of work that now has reached a total 360 posts: exactly 1.1% of my posts on this blog. It was something I was very wary of doing. I debated it for many days before diving in. But I did it fully prepared for the fallout and consequences. I shined a light on my imperfect side. Not that I have a side that's perfect, but what I did was share my gripes, my insecurities and frustrations.

Why?

Because this is my blog and I can do whatever I want. Honestly. But way above this base reason I wanted to show that despite all the positivity and love I've tried to promote as a not-so-new family man, I'm very much made out of flesh and blood, my thinking can go South, there are things I don't like, they aren't funny and can't be spun to be read as funny, and some of them actually arise out of my house. As of late several men who typically have not commented here have reached out to me to share their frustrations with me, by email, Facebook or a comment or two here and there. I don't know them. I don't know if they're right for how they feel, but it was nice to know that I connected with the guys who aren't so sure about being husbands, who are struggling with being dads, who may not have their ish straight. And several women let me know the same via their comments. With these 4 posts I let them know they aren't alone and I learned I wasn't either. Besides, who in 2009 wants to be alone? I'm sure plenty of people do, but you get my drift.

For whatever reason, I thought it was my duty to be transparent whatever the fallout might be, here on this blog and in my home. And there was fallout.

My point is that I went into September with every intention on being transparent about me because I was beginning to feel a little silly writing about the usual stuff I write about here with so much else weighing on my mind. It was giving me writer's block, for starters. So I wrote out what had my soul in knots. Even though it's here for all the Net to see, this is a journal of my comings and goings, my hopes, dreams, sorrows and fears. Something that maybe one day my children can see and read through as a cheat sheet and a testimony of my love for them and their mother, and also a journal about their dad --- who I am as a human being navigating real human problems --- sometimes well, sometimes not so well. And then of course, there's plenty of stuff that will never see the light of day.

For the people who don't know me from a can of paint, I hope that even in the midst of my bitching I was able to shine a light on something for you. Even if that light was, I don't need to be bitchin' like this guy! For the friends and MMWH followers who saw through the layers of text in these 4 particular posts; felt the pain, saw that clearly I needed to vent and/or someone to help make sense of my mess, to tell me it really isn't all that bad because we humans do have a tendency to make more of what is there and what isn't there (not dismissing anything I've written) and reached out to me directly in the comments (namely Damon who succinctly told me to "Shake it off.") or shot me emails with words and videos of inspiration or made calls of concern (primarily married folk who've been married a whole hell of a lot longer than I have and understand that this marriage thing is a journey of peaks and valleys no matter who's right or wrong) I appreciate you more than you'll ever know. And for those of you out there who I have a pretty strong sense read my posts and saw a man merely bitching and moaning even to the point of being ungrateful...well, you're entitled to your opinion too, as you have stated it either directly or indirectly to me.

When it was all said and done, September was a mixed bag of results. Despite or because of these 4 posts along with the other 12 I published for the month, my visits dropped by 6% but my new subscribers/readers/followers increased by nearly 6%. Go figure.

Thanks for reading! This month, Makes Me Wanna Holler is going to experience a revamp, or a re-formatting to put it best. An idea came to me the other night and I hope you all will like it. If you don't please let me know. Constructive criticism is something I can take.

Stay tuned.

Photo Credit 1: Flickr

Photo Credit 2: Flickr

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Tuesday was a day I've been waiting for for a long, long time.

My 14-year old son is hard headed. Not that anyone at 14 isn't, but a hard head makes for a soft behind, goes the old adage. My father went upside my head so much when I was growing up (something he now claims to not recall) I have no desire to lift a finger or raise my voice to discipline my son. All the same, I've had a run-in or two with him over the years. I clearly remember in the midst of fracases with my father I stared him down with bloody rage in my eyes. This always made things worse. My son, on the other hand, has collapsed to the floor, a screaming, hysterical mess. I wasn't even able to stay angry at the sight of his theatrics.

My, how times have changed.

Besides, why do anything when Life is such a better instructor? My policy is to warn, once, twice, maybe even repeatedly, but I make sure to give full disclosure.

With fall comes football and on Monday, sonny-boy missed football practice because he didn't know what time it started. The night before I asked him to check. He said, "Okay." This meant it wasn't going to happen. He was visibly upset when his teammates called to tell him he missed practice but got over it quickly since his school had off for Yom Kippur. Over the course of the day he repeatedly insisted that it was a light practice. I have no idea how he knew this since he wasn't there.

My warning to my son: "That's fine, but you are the co-captain of the team. You're supposed to be the example. You not showing up tells the people you lead they don't have to show up either. This isn't going to fly for long. It's unacceptable that you don't know when you have practice. And it's not going to happen again."

My son gave me a legitimate, "Yes, Dad." He understood.

Unfortunately for him, I wasn't the only one who felt this way. When I arrived to my son's game Tuesday afternoon with my daughter, I saw him on the sidelines standing suited up. And that's all he did --- stand --- for the entire game. I missed the first quarter and initially thought to myself, what could he have possibly done to get yanked out of the game so early? Finally, I realized he never entered it. And neither did a few other starters who paced the sideline with him.

After the game I introduced myself to his defensive coach (a man who looked like he could eat me for lunch) just for the sake of being polite. Incorrectly assuming I wanted to know why my son didn't play he shook my hand and immediately stated that he had to make an example out of my son because he's missed practices (this was his second time for the exact same reason).

I told him that was my son's problem, not mine. My job is to get him where he needs to be. His job is to know when and where he needs to be.

My son got a nice bitter taste of what it means to be a man --- something he covets as a football player and an aspiring Air Force pilot. You mess up, you pay the consequences. He's heard this a thousand times from me, but this time it was something that truly mattered to him. And based on the size and demeanor of the defensive coach, I'm almost certain he was dealt with harshly.

My son sobbed loudly in the car on the way home. I told him it was one game, that he needed to accept responsibility for his actions, that he had the opportunity to turn himself around, to shake it off and to do his best to ensure this never happens again. "This," I said, "is what being a man is really about." He ran inside our building dragging his uniform and backpack behind him and closed himself up in his room to cry some more. Part of me laughed and part of me truly felt his pain because I know it myself and experience it often as a Man. An hour or so later he emerged from his room to eat dinner and do his homework. He left his trash everywhere around the house and didn't do any of his chores for the night. He was a miserable, gangling, teenage mess.

Next lesson for another time: Your bad day has nothing to do with me or you not fulfilling your responsibilities.

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