Today is April Fool's Day, but yesterday I felt like quite the fool...

A couple months back I had a conversation with my daughter's godmother and it went a little something like this:

Me: I don't want to say this, but sometimes I just want to give up...let them handle this mess and I'll just deal with babygirl.

DGM: Aww...you know you can't do that.

Me: Can't I? They're the ones that passed that boy around and left him up to his own devices and now everything is coming to roost and I'm the one who's gotta deal with it. My entire life centers around making things work for him and I'm tired of it. I don't even know what to do. I didn't sign up for this.

DGM: I know, I know, but it'll get better. Have faith. Besides, if you don't take care of things, who will?

An emotional outburst that isn't 100% correct, but it was 200% emotional. The godmother's last charge stuck with me. My father first uttered this to me when I was barely 20 reeling from the accidental shooting death (one of his idiot friends pointed a loaded gun at him) of one of my closest cousins. Grieving something awful, I didn't want to do anything but just get by in life. My father told me and promised me that that was not acceptable.

Here at MMWH as transparent as I am, I am edited. I give you guys all of my joys, but I rarely share the full extent of my sorrows or even my woe. What follows is an unedited piece of me.

I am not my son's biological father. Where that joker is is anyone's guess. Technically it should've made my entrance into his life easy. But it didn't if you take into account that his mother was both his mother and father for the first 5 (arguably 10) years of his life. And if a man is already present, even if she actually isn't a man, then you're in for a world of trouble.

The second the woman who would be my wife decided I was the one I was plunged face first into this trouble. I went from boyfriend to husband/father material overnight and quite honestly having only spent roughly 6 months as a capable adult (at the age of 28) I wasn't prepared for any additional responsibility. But that didn't stop me from trying and complaining. And for all you novice stepfathers out there reading this, don't be dismayed, you will get your stride but only after beginning your walk through a minefield. Unless somehow either mother or child welcomes you openly. No matter what it takes time. It takes the comfort of both you and the kid(s) and it will call upon more patience from you than you ever thought imaginable.

What made my walk so trying was that I simply could not please my future son's mother. Friends began to take notice and speak disparagingly of the situation I was in. And I disparaged them for their words, though I secretly wondered if they were right. To make a long story short things got better when I discovered that I needed to have a relationship with my son-to-be that was independent of the girlfriend. One she couldn't touch or pass judgment on. I taught him how to swim. I got him into superheroes. I began attending all of his little games. I talked with him as much as he would talk with me.

But even still I found myself on the fringes --- good enough to cart the boy all over the tri-state area, but never good enough for a hardline opinion on how the boy should be raised. Not slamming his mother or any of the other key players for how he was being raised, but just offering a different perspective. A man who truly is a man (I know this is a very mysterious thing) has a vantage on what being a boy means that no woman will ever have. Sorry, moms. My father was practically unbearable to live with, but he instinctively knew how to deal with me in a way my mother never could.

Now to the point: In the fourth or fifth grade, my son was diagnosed as ADD-inattentive. He zones out in the classroom. He zones out if you talk to him for too long. He doesn't get up and start acting out, he just sits there goes bye-bye. This has affected my son's academic career and as I've documented here on the blog his grades are getting worse as more responsibility is being heaped on him. It has his mother and I scared for him, scared for his future and angry with him for not trying hard enough. But no matter how angry I've been something has always caused me to hold back. I've always feared there was something more beside some attention issue and a willful child. And I've caught some flack for it. Often I've asked my wife, what if we're punishing him for something he can't control? My son is practically 6 feet tall and has a savvy about him that in the eyes of most makes him responsible even when he is not... To my absolute distaste, I've sat with my wife at my son's school in entirely too many jive-turkey seances with scores of teachers informing us (me specifically) of absolutely nothing helpful. But I've been somewhat alone in my displeasure. I've been the naysayer, the killjoy, the one who pointlessly holds on to the fact that both my parents were educators and I've only seen one or two of those in all my meetings with these people.

Enter Dr. Bruce Roseman, an absolutely lovely wisenheimer (sp?) and a very capable pediatric neurologist. Yesterday he re-evaluated my son, initially on the premise that maybe he could give him something to help him focus. And if focus had been the issue then maybe I wouldn't be blogging this. Instead Dr. Roseman decided to open a Pandora's box on me: My son has a language comprehension issue. Similar in nature to dyslexia, the way he takes in, computes, packages, absorbs and regurgitates written and spoken info is off kilter. It definitely explains all the who's on first moments I've been having with him this year. What made matters worse is that the principal at his kindergarten caught it, named it and labeled it. But nothing happened for reasons that I don't know because I really wasn't in the picture back then. As Dr. Roseman sifted through all the paperwork I provided, he discovered a rather alarming trend. His current school system identified the issue without actually naming it and never took the necessary/required steps to address it. Then they branded him ADD which puts the responsibility on him.

"If you can't comprehend what's going on, you start looking around for visual cues. If you can't find those cues, you zone out. I mean wouldn't you zone out if you weren't grasping something?" Dr. Roseman asked me.

"Wouldn't anybody?" I asked him back.

As the picture became clearer and clearer I became overcome with a mix of anger and sadness. I thought of all the anger, all the confusion, all the punishments and my beautiful, beautiful son just taking it. It was too much to contain. As the doctor concluded his session with me my face was wet with quiet tears that I kept wiping away so the boy wouldn't see. But the doctor did. He patted me on my back and told me, "It's hard when you know something and you know it by yourself. I went through the exact same thing with my own daughter. You're a good man to do this...listen to what I had to say and not get riled up. And it can be fixed without medication. I have tremendous respect for you. You're not his stepfather. You're the father who sets the steps and I'm marching to your beat. You stepped up. Don't ever diminish yourself (which was something I definitely did when the consultation began) like that again.. ."

"Okay."

None of this excuses my son for his complete ridiculousness as a teenager. But it definitely changes the course of his education and puts learning, or rather the facilitation of that learning, squarely on his teachers' shoulders where it should have been in the first place --- not simply cranking out a curriculum, shrugging and stating he won't pay attention.

After the doctor visit I dropped the boy to the Y so he could shoot hoops for the rest of the afternoon with the rest of the on spring break kids. The tears kept coming for a while, but they eventually passed. And now I'm optimistic and encouraged.

Bottom Line: If you're a stepdad or even a stepmom and you're giving you're all despite the results, despite the gratitude, despite what might even make sense to you, just keep doing it. It's not about you or the biological(s). It's about that kid needing you more than you'll ever know. Keep on fighting...for them.


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Someone I know recently launched a blog and her second post inspired me, so I decided I'd follow suit today in a similar vein with some food for thought...

It's better to live alone in the corner of an attic than with a quarrelsome wife in a lovely home.
Proverbs 21:9 (NLT)

Better to live in a desert than with a quarrelsome and ill-tempered wife.
Proverbs 21:19 (NIV)

A worthy wife is her husband’s joy and crown; the other kind corrodes his strength and tears down everything he does.
Proverbs 12:4

And what about men?

The man who finds a wife finds a good find; she is a blessing to him from the Lord.
Proverbs 18:22

But if any man does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.
1 Timothy 5:8

A husband must also love his wife as he does his own self.
Ephesian 5:28,29

Husbands must "honor" their wives.
1 Peter 3:7

Her price is far above rubies.
Proverbs 31:10

Everyone all together, now...

The commandments, "Do not commit adultery," "Do not murder," "Do not steal," "Do not covet," and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this one rule: "Love your neighbor as yourself." Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.
Romans 13:9-10 (NIV)

You don't have to be a believer to know love is the message. How many believers acknowledge love is the message but then don't give their all to put this into play? (Am I raising my hand by myself?)

I'd even argue that most days those who aren't all "churched" up get love in a way that those who are rarely do. But that's a different conversation, not for this blog...ever.

Feel free to share, if you dare.

Peace.

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Congratulations to the following winners of the Princess & The Frog DVD Giveaway:

#5 - Michelle @MrsMChappelle

#70 - Audrey @mrsbynoe

#62 - Nicole Lynn Lewis @NicoleLynnLewis

Please Contact Me no later than Friday, April 2 with your US mailing information. Responses received after 11:59pm, April 2, 2010 will not be considered and a new drawing will be conducted for a winner(s). Winners are selected via Random.org.

Congratulations to the winners! And thanks to everyone who participated!

Stay tuned for future contests and giveaways on my Facebook Page.


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You can view my entire Bye Bye, Backfat...Hello Boxing Gloves Series to date and more at my Vimeo Page.

Stay tuned for prizes/giveaways on my Facebook Page.

Happy Fatherhood Friday!

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Her first time...















































And most likely my last posting pictures here. Look for my new photoblog/website in the coming weeks.


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Last Saturday, as the storm that took down many of New York's trees began to brew, I was at Chuck E. Cheese's with my wife and daughter. We were celebrating the birthday of one of my daughter's best friends. The party was fine. Chuck E. Cheese's was a nightmare.

My son, of course, opted not to go and was given one set of very simple instructions: Clean your room. He was on punishment for breaking curfew the night before and had nowhere to go anyway. He had begun the process before we left.

When I arrived home, traumatized by bad pizza, bad children and greasy wings, I found my son sitting in the living room blasting hip hop and playing xBox, which he had attached to my flat screen in the living room.

• The kitchen was a mess...
• His room looked almost exactly as it did when we left...
• The living room looked vaguely like did back when I got my first apartment and didn't know what to do with my freedom --- it was a mess!

His mother was not happy...at all. She asked him to clean up his mess in a surprisingly calm voice. He said, "Okay," and kept playing his game. She asked again and I don't think he said anything. She asked a third time and he relented and went to turn up his music that was playing from the iPod dock in the living. Finally, I had to ask:

"What are you doing?"

"Putting up my music so I can clean."

"In the living room?"

"Yeah, why what's wrong?"

"You had the house to yourself to do what you were supposed to do and do it at your own pace. Turn that off and get your stuff out of the front of the house." (I thought to myself that I desperately need a man room where only my daughter and maybe a dog are allowed.)

From there he turned sulky, put his headphones on and did what he should've done hours earlier. Every time we asked him a question he didn't respond because of the music blasting in his ears. Finally, unable to take it anymore his mother tore in to him, but not as much as I expected - maybe the birthday party had sapped her strength. Right then and there I decided it was time to be honest and earnest with my son, but how was I going to do it in a way that made sense to him?

About 30 minutes later I went into his room and closed the door behind me.

"Turn your music off."
"Turn the TV off."
"Put your phone on your desk."

My son's eyes were wide. I had his full attention.

"You make trouble for yourself...In football what happens when you run your plays right (correctly - for all you English majors out there)?"

"You don't play," he answered without hesitation.

"Let me ask you another question...if you're on the sidelines texting and Coach "I Can't Get Over My High School Fame" calls you onto the field and you say, 'Gimme a second' and then never come off the sidelines, what do you think is going to happen?"

"I wouldn't play."

"Would you get in trouble?"

"Yes."

"Then why is it okay for you to do that here? You have one simple, single play you have to run here: wash the dishes, take out the trash, take out the recycling, clean your room and your bathroom...and there hasn't been a single day that you've ever gotten that unbelievably simple play right. And then have the nerve to have an attitude about it. So what am I supposed to do?"

Gotcha...it was all over his face that there was no way around my question. It didn't matter anyway because I didn't let him answer.

"I before any and all these other clowns you call Coach, am your head coach. Everything that happens in your life either happens because of me or I have somehow signed off on it. It is an insult to me to be blown off when I tell you to do something and you say, 'Gimme a second.'"

He nodded his head.

"I was a boy just like you, so I understand. But you, sir, seem to go out of your way to make trouble for yourself. You had almost 5 hours to get your room clean, and you messed up the rest of the house acting like it's yours? It's not yours, it's mine. An you're not my roommate, you're my son."

"Eventually I got it through my head that if I want them (us) to leave me alone then I gotta do what they ask me to do. I have to not do things that will bring them coming, like being on the phone at 4 in the morning. Best believe had the house or your room been clean, you wouldn't have gotten kicked out the living room."

He sincerely looked like he understood. But I wasn't finished.

"At the rate you're going, I have to tell you, you have one foot already in the door of military summer school. Nothing's been paid for, but the arrangements are already in place."

Shock registered on my son's face. "Really?"

To be continued...

Bottom Line: Speak to your kids in terms, or utilizing scenarios that they can understand. It will make things a little simpler.

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You just learn how to endure the pain...



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