Generational (part 2)

Once upon a parent teacher conference night...

...a mother and her daughter walked into my classroom, and the mother gasped, "Oh my God, you can't be Mr. Monson. You look just like him, but you just can't be him... that was so long ago..."

I've had some strange conference conversations before, but this opening was a first. "Excuse me?" 

"Oh, as we were walking up the steps I looked at her schedule, and I noticed we we're going to go see a Mr. Monson. I was telling her that I had a Mr. Monson as my principal in elementary school, and I was joking that it was going to be the same guy... I can't believe it, but you look exactly like my old principal!"

I gave her a polite laugh, and a slight smirk,  "Well, where did you go to school?"

"Oh," she waved a hand in front of her face, "it's a small school, way up north, called West Lyon."

This time I smile for real. "That was my dad. He was principal there in the early 70's." 

"Are you serious?" 

I assured her I was, and the rest of the conference went fairly smoothly, except I kept catching the mom staring at my face instead of the transcript I had giver her. At the end of our meeting I shook both of their hands, and as mom was walking out she informed me, "Except for the modern haircut, you look just like him. Your dad had this Mike Brady-style haircut."

"Yep, Dad was rockin' that doo back then." 

"He sure was."

My Profile Photo

Sleeveface [slev fas]
one or more persons obscuring or augmenting any part of their body or bodies with record sleeve(s) causing an illusion.

How to sleeveface: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVt4jOasujc

Since I was alone and using my laptop's camera, I couldn't see if I had the LP in the right spot. Looks like I got lucky. 

It also looks like Andy Williams has skinny arms.

Eating Cookies at Homemakers Furniture is Always a Good Time

Sometimes our day care provider emails me a picture from Charlotte's day. It's great seeing her having fun, but I get a bit bummed knowing someone else is making her smile.

"Urgh!"

While growing up, one of my most consistent memories of my dad is of him coming home from work and then falling asleep in his living room chair - a newspaper lying flat against his chest. If you asked Dad how his day was during dinner he'd softly snort and say "Busy." If you asked him what he did that day he'd reply, "Kept busy."

Later, in the TV room, we'd eat air-popped popcorn and watch TV - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dhpSp3sG20 -  until it was time to go to bed (always 10:00 PM). Dad didn't talk in his sleep, didn't talk with food in his mouth, and he didn't talk when the TV was on. So, when I was a kid talking to dad wasn't ever an option.  

You can then imagine what a jolt it was when one Saturday morning, before he left for work, Dad leaned into my bedroom and said, "I taped a show off of cable for you late last night. It's all about music, and looked like something you'd like." I was shocked into silence, and dad quickly turned away.

My first thought was, "How'd he know I liked music?" - as if he hadn't heard music blaring out of my upstairs room since I was five - and my first action was to hop out of bed and run down to the TV room to fire up the VCR. Sometimes our cable provider would give our town a free weekend of HBO, and my dad would borrow a VCR from work so we could record as many programs as possible.

The movie he recorded for me was a 1981 British release called "Urgh! A Music War", and it featured live performances by 38 different bands from around the world. Talk about an eyeopener, I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing.

I was only 12, and I had no idea there were so many strange bands in the world.

When I got to the 23rd performance, The Cramps performing their song "Tear it Up", I quickly closed the TV room's door in fear that my mom would see what I was watching and destroy the tape. I kept thinking "Are you supposed to put a microphone in there?" and "What is that guy wearing? Are those actually pants? How does he keep them up?"

Then I thought, "Thanks, Dad!"

Well, my "Urgh" VHS tape eventually wore out, but thanks to the kind folks at Warner Archive I recently got a chance to time travel back to 1981. The movies available from the archive haven't been available on DVD before, and are burned onto DVD-R "on demand". In other words, you can't find these in any stores.

http://www.wbshop.com/category/wbshop_brands/warner+archive.do

Although the movies are described as not remastered or restored, you can watch a quick clip to check out the video's quality. I ordered "Urgh" on a Wednesday, and it was in my DVD player in three days. The widescreen presentation looks and sounds great, and I still wonder "How does that guy keep those 'pants' up?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kC4LqiRoIE8

Running at the Mouth

Although I sometimes regret it, I don't listen to music when I run. If I'm going for more than thirty minutes, then I'll eventually have to venture out of my neighborhood. Strange dogs, cracks in unfamiliar sidewalks, and hidden driveways are all possible dangers. Considering how fatigue slows down my reaction time, I can't allow myself to get lost in the music. 

This isn't to say I don't get lost inside my head. When I'm by myself I can get stuck in protracted, imaginary arguments for miles. That's not very helpful emotionally, and the resulting negative attitude makes the workout all that much harder. Luckily, Charlotte pops in to help me out.

I don't obsess about my daughter when I run, but I can't stop myself from using her vocabulary when I see some of her favorite things. When I pass by a school bus my immediate thought is, "That's a lellow buth." When I spot a startled rabbit darting under a bush I say, "Hellooo, Hop-hop." A bird passes overhead? "Bird fly! Flap, flap." I can't help saying these phrases, and I can't help smiling, either.

But the worst is when I feel pressure on my bladder, "Oh, I think I have to potty."

Seriously? Potty? I have to be careful to not say that in front of people.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fcPfaMpSeE

Generational (part one)

My mom recently visited us, and she brought along three old photo albums for me to have. The albums aren't of me exclusively, but put them together and they represent my first three years. 

I was almost startled when I got to my nine to 12 month photos and could see my daughter in there too. Forty one years ago my parents could have looked at me and also gotten a glimmer of their future granddaughter?

The genes are strong with this one...

Here's me at nine months:

Here's Charlotte at 12 months:

By the way, my Spice Girls shirt is meant to be ironic. Sadly, the smokes in my grandpa's shirt pocket are not. Eventually they killed him.

Spring Break 2011 or Why Daphne still misses Theo

Last year we had our first spring break with Charlotte. We didn't travel anywhere exotic, but we did manage to get in a lot of nap time. I like the "circle of connection" in this photo:

 According to Ben Stein, we were doing the right thing:

http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=7360204n&tag=cbsnewsVideoArea.0

Better Than Winning the Lottery?

Charlotte doesn't understand money, but she understands Mo Willems' great cast of cartoon characters. So, bringing home a surprise batch of EIGHT "new" Elephant & Piggy books (plus one Cat the Cat book) from the library made Dad look like "The Bringer of Happiness".

And really, how many times will I get such an easy chance to look like "The Bringer of Happiness"?

Winning the lottery: 0
Dad looking cool for once: 1

A Gift from the Heart

On March 20, Daphne and I had our first date night in months. Grandma had Charlotte while we went out to dinner at Irina's. While we were waiting for our food to arrive a young man about 25 years old approached our table and asked if I was Mr. Monson and also a teacher at UHS?

I said yes, and he replied, "My name is Graham, and although I didn't have you as a teacher I remember that my friends said you were always talking about music." He then handed me a CD case featuring this on the cover:

"Have you heard of The Head and the Heart?" I slowly shook my head, not sure what he was talking about. 

"They're a mix of folky pop, and I have this feeling that you might really their music," he then pointed to the case now in my hands, "Music makes the word go round, right?"

I had to agree, and once I was sure he was giving me the CD and not just showing it to me, I shook his hand and thanked him for his kindness. It was really nice of him, and I wish I could have caught his last name. But you have to admit getting a strange looking gift from a complete stranger is, well, also a bit strange. 

After dinner, our waiter spotted the CD case and asked, "Ohhh, is that the movie Halloween?" and I tried to explain that I wasn't sure exactly what it was. I couldn't even point to where Graham was sitting at the bar because he had left. Once we were home, I got as far as placing the CD on our kitchen's island. I didn't find it again until Thursday. 

Little did I know much I was going to like The Head and the Heart. I can't really put my finger on it, no one track stands out as a favorite, but as a whole the album delivers the goods.

And I'm not alone in my enthusiasm for this record. The first track, "Cats and Dogs", has often calmed down an upset Charlotte on the way to daycare. With lyrics about gardens, mice, and other animals, Char thinks it was written for her. Plus she can hear her grandma's violin in there too.

Thanks, Graham. I hope I get to tell you sometime how much we enjoy your gift.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvZtVoItXxQ

What we've got here is failure to communicate

Charlotte's almost into her 20th month, and the size of her vocabulary seems to grow with every breath she takes. But I don't always understand every word she says, and I can't get by with a "Uh huh, yes, that's right." anymore, either. Char knows what she's trying to tell me, and most of the time simply nodding my head in agreement is not the appropriate response.

Last week I was in the kitchen working on dinner. Charlotte walks in, grabs my index finger, and leads me from the stove to the middle of the room. "Egtthhs," is all she says.

I'm clueless, so I reply "Yep, that's true."

"Nooooo. Egtthhs," she patiently repeats.

  
I pause for a moment to try and decipher her request, but I draw a blank. "Yep. I believe it."

  
"No. No. No. Egtthhs!" Her head is shaking, her volume is rising, and I can see tears of frustration start to well. We're just about ready to cross the Tantrum County Line.

  
Then Mom comes in and saves the evening, "What's wrong little one?"

"Egtttthhhhhssss..." 

  
"Oh, your Easter basket? It's right here." Daphne retrieves the basket from the kitchen’s island and hands it to Char. "All your Easter eggs are in there, honey. They're all okay." 

  
Charlotte smiles, grabs the basket with one hand, takes her mother's index finger with the other, and they both leave the room without giving me a passing glance. 

Once again I'm left alone to wonder if Charlotte's beginning to suspect that dad's lovable, but he's also kinda dumb.