The Rainbow Parade

"You guys look like corporate Pride," our youngest Bryce said with a half-smile.

We all laughed. My wife Amy and I proudly wore our rainbow colors as straight allies.

"Corporate Pride?" I said with my own half-smile. And then I thought, That's quite the oxymoron today since DEI and inclusivity have been on the corporate rocks. Thankfully that's not true for all companies -- thank you Disney and many others. 

Still, it was funny coming from Bryce, who is proudly queer, has a quick sardonic wit, and loves to tease their parents (both our kids do). We were all at our local Pride parade in downtown Santa Cruz with thousands of others from our community. It was a wonderful celebration of joy and love. The first same-sex couple to be officially married in Santa Cruz County in June 2008 were the grand marshals, alongside California Assemblymember Gail Pellerin, who officiated their wedding.

Pride celebrations are annual global events honoring the culture, history, and resilience of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQIA+) community. It's primarily celebrated in June to commemorate the 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York City. During a routine police raid at the Stonewall Inn, patrons and local residents fought back against harassment, sparking days of protests that galvanized the modern gay liberation movement. Thank goodness you can still find this information on the Library of Congress website. 

When our kids were younger, we called it "The Rainbow Parade". Not because we didn't want to talk about the LGBTQIA+ community, but because it was such a sweet way to explain why "love is love" no matter who you are or how you identify, and why tolerance, acceptance, and inclusivity make for healthy and vibrant communities. 

Love is love. When Bryce told us they identify as they/them and were queer, we were grateful they felt safe enough to tell us. There was no shame or judgement; we've always wanted our children to be who they are. The same teen coming-of-age parenting happens whether straight or gay, and we engage in both with our kids. Bryce and I were on a local radio show back in January talking about these very things, from their perspective as a young person and from my perspective as their parent. 

"Beatrice, please take a picture of me and Mom," I said to our oldest. 

Beatrice took our picture and then both kids took off with their friends. Amy and I watched the parade and cheered for every organization that passed. Thousands of smiles surrounded us as "The Rainbow Parade" filled us with hope and love for this country and the world. 

Love is love. Straight Corporate Pride allies and all. 

Safe and Sound

Bryce's dot on the map app hadn't moved for 23 minutes. 

That usually wouldn't have worried us, knowing exactly where they were, but they weren't responding to our texts, which they usually did.

The day neared dusk and Bryce wasn't responding. They said they wanted to go take pictures in the "canyon" as we call it: a trail that cuts through the mountainside near where we live. They had a new vintage film camera purchased at a garage sale and wanted to put it to the nature test. 

The "canyon" is a weekly hike that Amy and I take and is only a few minutes from our house. There are homes that run along either side of the mountain about 100 feet above the trail. It starts off as a dirt trail that quickly turns into a paved trail weaving its way up the small canyon to a city park. It's lined with eucalyptus trees, wild blackberry brambles, and overgrown brush along the way. There's also a tree swing at the bottom of the canyon we constructed after the last one was cut down. Both our kids (and us) used to swing away on it when they were younger. On our hikes we've seen other hikers, runners, dog walkers, and sometimes deer, rabbits, squirrels, and coyotes. 

The coyotes have never been an issue, but we've never hiked at dusk or at night. It can also feel a little creepy sometimes in the canyon, where in the past there have been homeless camps hidden in the brush and trees, and who knows what else. 

"Stranger danger" is extremely rare, accounting for less than 1% of all reported missing children cases in the US. The vast majority of missing children and teens are runaways, or those taken by family members in custody disputes, or taken and/or hurt by other people they know (intimate partner violence). We live in a relatively safe and supportive community, but for those like Bryce who identify as LGBTQ+, they can be and are targeted with harassment, bullying, and worse. 

Bryce still didn't answer our texts. We called multiple times. No answer. Their dot on the map didn't move.

"Should we go look for them?" I asked my wife Amy. 

"Yes, I'll drive around," she said. "You walk up there."

Both our kids are teenagers, Bryce and their sibling Beatrice, and have been immersed in Kidpower safety skills since they were children. They understand to always be calm, confident, and award of their surroundings, to always move away from danger, and to defend themselves and fight back only if there is no other recourse. 

I took our dog Jenny and headed to the canyon. Still no response from Bryce. Amy drove around the neighborhood, parked near the canyon trail, and walked in ahead of me. Nightfall was coming fast. Walking along the trail at dusk creeped me out. Jenny was all too happy to go for another walk, oblivious to her owners' trepidation. 

Amy was maybe five minutes ahead of me on the trail. I checked in twice, but both times she hadn't found Bryce yet. It's a horrible feeling thinking that something happened to your child. Your heart rate speeds up. Your gut cramps. Disturbing images you don't want to imagine swarm your sanity and you move faster towards where you'd hoped they'd be -- to that static dot on the map app. I pulled Jenny along by her leash and she reluctantly sped up unable to stop at prime sniffing spots.

Amy called me, relieved. "They're fine. They're up here at the first small pond taking pictures and trying to catch frogs."

"Good God," I said. "Frogs? At least they're safe."

Amy and Bryce walked back to me and Jenny and then to the car, and I drove us all home in the early darkness. Bryce apologized that they didn't check their phone, but we still reiterated our safety rules and the fact that they should've checked in when it started getting dark. 

We're light years from the days when Amy and I grew up staying out until dusk. No cell phones. No GPS. No way to check in. Just showing up on our doorsteps before it was completely dark. 

We trust our kids to follow our safety rules, most of the time, and they're grateful we have them, most of the time. Your heart rate returns to normal. Your gut relaxes. And the disturbing images are banished by the sanity of being safe and sound. 

Let's take it from the top

The first and only time we watched the musical Hamilton was when it streamed through the Disney+ app on Apple TV in July of 2020. That was during the heart of the pandemic summer. The only one in our family at the time who liked watching it was me. Hamilton was created by Lin-Manuel Miranda and it blends hip-hop, jazz, R&B, and traditional show tunes to tell the story of America's first Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton. 

It was fascinating to watch and the music catchy, but it was difficult to understand at times when the fast-paced music and scenes blurred by across the screen. Thank goodness for closed captioning. Now, both our kids love the music from Hamilton, especially our youngest Bryce, literally singing the lyrics for every song (and Hamilton was all songs).

My wife Amy and I haven't been the big musical fans throughout our lives, though, at least not until our kids became interested in the theater, so that's changing now. Otherwise, the movie Grease with John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John was always our only go-to musical. Because John and Olivia. C'mon. But we did take the kids to see a Broadway production of Wicked a few years ago in New York and that blew us all away.

Pre-pandemic both our kids participated in a sweet theater troupe called Musical Mondays. They got to play a variety of roles, which was so much fun to watch their fun. Bryce participated in another private theater program after that, and then Beatrice got involved in the student-run high school theater. Bryce joined the high school theater as well their freshman year. There is a teacher-advisor for theater who helps guide each production, but it's still mostly student run. 

The high school productions that both our kids have been in to date were fantastic. Such talented kids (including our own!). The last musical they were in was Little Shop of Horrors, which was something neither of us had ever seen. Not even the 1986 movie with Rick Moranis, Steve Martin, and many others. I've known what it was about since the movie came out back then, but it wasn't until we saw it in its entirety that we realized what we'd been missing. The doo-wap 1950's music kept our feet tapping and dark comedy kept us laughing. 

We did end up watching the movie the day after we saw the high school production, and while it had its moments (Bill Murray's character was hilarious), we preferred watching the kids sing, dance, and act. Beatrice even got to be one of three puppeteers, working the smaller plant puppet during the "Grow for Me" song. 

Bryce has three years of high school theater left and Beatrice has one year left. Both kids have had minor roles and been in all the ensemble scenes, and the more confident they get, the more they'd love a bigger part. They'll keep working at their craft and keep auditioning.

After every high school production, there's a tradition where the kids give a "theater robe" to a student who they feel went above and beyond during the show. The robe has memorabilia from past productions sewn onto it, and the student they pick then sews something onto the robe from the last production they did. After Little Shop of Horrors, the kids gave Beatrice the robe. 

Not only that, Beatrice is also on the theater committee for her senior year and gets to help decide the next play and musical. And the murder mystery play she recommended was picked for the fall! And she's going to be the director, too! We're so proud!

Both our kids have found their people in theater (and choir), as the saying goes, and we're so grateful. And next semester, Beatrice gets to call out, "Let's take it from the top".

We can't wait!

All of You

It was a trick question not in the form of a question. I knew I couldn't answer "all of you" because our youngest Bryce would scold me like they always do. 

"You can't say all of us, Dad," Bryce would say to me. "You have to pick one."

What led to the trick question not a question was playing a fun game friends of ours had shared a few years ago. Fun in its simplicity. Fun because it tested how well we knew each other. I don't remember exactly what the game's called, but it goes something like this.

One person starts and picks a number from 1 to 10 in their head and doesn't share it with the others. Then, the other players -- in this case me, my wife Amy, our oldest Beatrice, and Bryce -- proceed to offer categories like food, clothes, music, and more. The person with the number in their head gives an answer for every category asked of them (question not a question). Lastly, the other players try to guess the number.

Again, fun in its simplicity. Which was great, because Bryce wanted to play when we were out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants on the wharf. At first our kids didn't want to go with us; the plan was to go out to dinner and then watch the drone show at the Beach Boardwalk. But then they changed their minds. We were glad, although we told them no "whining after dining" since we'd be sitting on the beach to watch the show. 

"Dad's getting fussy," Beatrice said. 

"Dad always gets fussy," Bryce said.

"I just don't want you both whining after dinner wanting to go home," I said.

"So fussy."

Yep, Dad always gets fussy. With our teens, it's become regular comedic banter about Dad's fussies. It's fire, dude.

At dinner we played the "number" game, or the "favorites or not" game. Whatever the name, the game brought joy to all of us as we sat and waited for our dinner. During the last round when it was my turn to pick a number (in my head), I picked "10", which meant my favorites.

The categories were then presented to me one by one. Amy's was "favorite family member". 

Both kids sighed aloud. "You know who he's going to pick."

All of you, I thought. I imagined the kids' response, You can't say all of us, Dad.

"Mom," I said.

"See, we knew it!"

I smiled and gave Amy a kiss. 

"Ew, stop!"

"I thought he'd say Jenny," Beatrice said. (That's our dog and another long-time family joke that Jenny's my favorite.)

After dinner, which we all agreed wasn't as tasty as it had been previously, the sun was setting and it was cold and windy. Bryce decided they were too cold and wanted to wait in the car for us. Beatrice, Amy, and I walked from the wharf where we were parked, to the main beach in front of the Boardwalk. Ten minutes later the drone show started. Ten minutes later the drone show ended. I took a few pictures, one of which came out artsy due to the night exposure and the drone light trailing off. I showed Amy and she agreed.

"That was it?" Beatrice said.

"I guess so," I said. "It was still fun, don't you think, Mom?"

"Yes," Amy said. "It was short but cool."

I don't think Beatrice was convinced. We packed our chairs and blankets away and made the trek back to our car. That's when we saw the line of cars exiting the wharf was long and slow. Thirty minutes later we finally exited the wharf and headed home. 

It didn't matter that the food at one of favorite places wasn't that flavorful this time. It didn't matter that Bryce wanted to wait in the car. It didn't matter that it was cold and windy. It didn't matter that the drone show was shorter than what we expected. 

All that mattered was that my favorite family members were with me and we enjoyed each other's company. Because the answer to who's my favorite will always be "all of you".

To Take Their Mother's Lead

One of the best things we've done for our kids, besides the positive discipline parenting, the Kidpower parenting, the empathic parenting, is to let them be and become.

Meaning, to let them become who they already were, are, and will be. 

Of course, we've had our own thoughts on what we've wanted them to become, but never at the expense of their own decision making. Their own mistakes. Their own regrets. They own successes. 

A teen's prefrontal cortex is still in its infancy, and it has until later in the 20's to fully develop. This means that teens often rely on the amygdala, which is the emotional center, and that leads to heightened emotions, risk-taking, and impulsive behavior.

But that doesn't mean they can't learn the coping mechanisms they'll need to deal with the adulting stressors of life that have only just begun. Because it begins in childhood today, no matter how loving and supportive you are as parents.

Kids can be more resilient than most parents think they can. We struggled and stressed about our own kids' struggles and stresses about their own social anxieties and mental health. At some point, both have had their own breakthroughs; they've adapted, overcome, and are thriving. These are great personal leadership skills to develop and practice whatever those "anxieties" are. That includes us the parents getting them whatever supports and resources they may need at the time they need. 

Kids can also know more about who they are and how they identify than most parents want to believe. That makes it hard for adults who have specific beliefs and ideologies about who their children are and who they should be. Sexual orientation and gender identity, for example. Our youngest was clear when they told us they were queer and identified as they/them. We've been nothing but supportive parents, and staunch allies, ever since. They were even nominated for a youth leadership award this year for the march they organized last year. 

Before we wanted to have children, it was my wife Amy who opened me up to endless possibilities with our lives. To always look at life through eyes of love without judgement or shame. To learn and adapt as best I could. That was hard at first, but I got there. 

When we changed our minds about children, then we were all in on being the best parents we could be. That they would learn to embrace and manifest endless possibilities that we believe in. That we would guide them and teach them as best we could. Again, they have to develop their own decision making. Make their own mistakes. Own their own successes. And hopefully learn to limit regrets. 

That's a constant work in progress, and no matter what, one of the best things we've done for our kids is to let them be and become. 

One of the best things I've done for myself and our kids is to take their mother's lead. For that, we are all grateful. 

Happy Mother's Day.

Curbing the Bluto-Bloat

Beatrice said I sounded like Popeye. The Sailor Man. The old cartoon from the 1930's that I watched in syndication growing up in the 1970's. Popeye the pipe-smoking protagonist who loved his sweetheart Olive Oyl and protected her against his nemesis Bluto, the bully who was constantly trying to take her away. Popeye was always the underdog until he ate his supercharged superhero food: a can of spinach. 

Yes, kids. Eat your spinach so you can grow up to be big and strong...I didn't think either of our kids had ever watched Popeye. 

"Do you know who Popeye is, Beatrice?" I asked her. 

"He's a pirate," she said. "You sounded like a pirate."

I got so tickled I nearly spit up. I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, laughed because they realized why I laughed.

I caught my breath and said, "Nope, not a pirate. A sailor. Literally, 'Popeye the Sailor Man'. Toot-toot. That was the theme of the old cartoon." I say it for them. 

"They both sailed the seas, Dad," Bryce said.

I snorted laughter. "True, but Popeye was a sailor, not a pirate. Now, do you know what made Popeye big a strong?"

I waited. It was now clear they didn't really know the Popeye cartoon, but I wouldn't stop this comedy train.

"Fish?" Beatrice said.

"And beans," Bryce added.

Another round of laughter between the three of us.

"What? Sailors eat fish," Beatrice said.

"And wouldn't you have cans of beans on a boat?" Bryce said.

I couldn't stop laughing. It was just so funny to me. So sweet and honest. 

"Oh my, kids. That's so funny. No, Popeye would eat a can of spinach, get big and strong, handle the bad guy, Bluto, and save the girl, Olive Oyl."

"Spinach?" Beatrice said.

"Are you mansplaining Popeye, Dad?" Bryce said.

More laughter. The whole thing just kept cracking us up. I love these kids! It's since become an ongoing joke for us, what Popeye eats to get super-powered strong and fight the bully Bluto, instead of spinach. For example, I'll ask what everyone wants for dinner, and I'll hear the kids call out:

"Fish and beans!"

Goodness, we need more of this levity today. In a world filled with bullies and worse, sometimes I don't think there's enough supercharged spinach, fish, or beans in the world to curb the Bluto-bloat. 

But our kids give us hope that there is. And laughter, too. Toot-toot. 

Celebrate the Safety of Everyone

Medieval Times reminded me of how we still like to be entertained by strong men and physical games. This was staged fighting, being a dinner show and faux tournament, and no one was purposely maimed or killed. But there was no mistaking physicality of the fighting and I'm sure the actors were exhausted after the show. 

After our high school choirs participated in a music festival, we went to Medieval Times for the dinner show. The huge auditorium was divided into sections supporting specific color-coded knights. In addition to our two high schools, dozens of other high schools from multiple states added to the raucous cheering for their knights. 

I know. It was only a show. Nobody died. The fighting was fake. We were very much entertained and the food was better than I thought it would be; we had to eat with our hands. Good times.

We always want to be entertained. Don't we? Today's professional sports feature both men and women battling it out with rabid fans cheering them on. The same with high school and college sports. I've loved sports in my life. Not so much now, but I still like to watch football now and again. 

We celebrate champions and shame the losers. And because we like winning so much (I use the collective "we" loosely here knowing it's not everyone), we forgive the transgressors of their greater sins. Time and again it's the men who fall into this category considering thousands of years of patriarchy and misogyny. 

Men in sports who harass, assault, rape, and perpetrate domestic violence on other women, usually girlfriends and spouses. Otherwise known as intimate partner violence. There have been many high-profile cases in the past two decades, and probably more so since the reporting of domestic violence, assault, and rape may be higher than it's ever been. And many of these athletes had little to no punishment and continued to play sports and receive paychecks for those who played professionally.

We want to be entertained regardless of who gets hurt. We want to win regardless. 

Even with reporting supposedly up, it's impossible to exactly know how many men in sports have committed harassment, assault, and/or rape across professional, collegiate, and youth levels across the globe since 2000.

However, data indicates the number is in the thousands, with reports showing that 96% of perpetrators in these cases were male.

It's not just athletes. Men across the socioeconomic spectrum continue to be entrenched in our ongoing culture of patriarchy and misogyny. According to Jackson Katz, Ph.D., "They’re all men who were socialized into a misogynous culture that dehumanizes women, turns them into sexual commodities and licenses men to mistreat them." He was specifically talking about the men in the Epstein files and the men who raped Gisèle Pelicot in France, but this applies to all men from every facet of life. 

Jackson Katz, Ph.D., is the co-founder of the Young Men Research Initiative and a prolific writer about violence against women. I've started his new book titled Every Man: Why Violence Against Women is a Men’s Issue, I've read and watched a lot of his work and can't wait to read his book. 

Only 2%-10% of reported harassment, assault, and rape turn out to be false. But again, that's based on the victims who actually come forward and report the crimes. And too many of us still blame the victims in the end. 

We celebrate the men and we shame the victims. Again, the collective "we" meaning society in general, but not everyone specifically. There are those of us who want to change the misogynous assault and rape culture that's so embedded in our lives from birth. Mr. Katz has also said, "If it takes a village to raise a child, it also takes a village to raise a rapist."

We can break the latter without sacrificing the former. And it all starts at the beginning. Only then can we celebrate the safety of everyone.