A Novel Idea

Bryce and I arrived at the author reading at Bookshop Santa Cruz a few minutes early, but there were no seats left. We stood in the back and waited. It had been a lovely summer day and now I was excited to bring Bryce to the bookshop. 

Earlier in the week, my wife Amy asked if I wanted to take Bryce to an author reading at the bookshop. I said I did as it would be a fun outing for us. We'll all readers in our house, but our youngest daughter Bryce is our little super reader. She's always reading multiple books at the same time and we've been reading together before bedtime for a few years now. Amy takes her on regular library runs, too. 

Reminds me of me when I was her age. At 13, I read all the time, too. And even though she has devices today to watch shows and listen to music, something we monitor with both girls, reading is still the winner. I remember staying up late in the summertime (and during the school year) reading chapter after chapter of a good book. 

The author reading was about to begin. I did find an open bench with a great view left of the stage area in front, but Bryce didn't want to sit there. I don't think it was because she didn't want to sit with me, she just liked the view from where she was standing. At least, that's what I told myself. These teens today. 

The author reading was with Karen M. McManus who wrote the One of Us Is Lying series. This reading launched the newest book in the series called One of Us Is Back. She writes young adult mystery thrillers, a genre Bryce really enjoys. Reminds me of my Stephen King obsession back in the day. 

I bought a copy of the new book for Bryce to get signed after the reading was over. During the public question-and-answer session at the end of the author interview and reading, I texted Bryce to ask a question. She said she didn't have one, but I did.

"What is it about good thrillers and mysteries that engage you the most?" I asked the author. 

"Good character development with all the suspenseful mini-mysteries interconnected throughout that drive the over-arching mystery," Karen M. McManus said. "That's what engages me."

"Thank you." Good answer, I thought. 

Afterwards Bryce and I waited in line to meet Karen to have her sign Bryce's book. 

"Did you like this?" I asked.

"Yes," Bryce said. "I did really enjoy it. I just didn't have a question for her."

"You heard mine, right?"

"Yes, it was good."

I smiled. "This is inspiring me to write my novel."

"You want to write a book?"

"Yes. I've written a couple of business books, but I really want to write a novel now."

"What about? Will it be young adult?"

"It won't be young adult or be a mystery thriller, although someone will die in my story. It'll be a small town family drama," I said.

Bryce frowned. "You're not going to write about me, are you? Don't write about me." 

"It won't be about you. It will be fiction with made up characters."

"Good. You should write it. I would read it."

That meant a lot coming from a reader like Bryce.

I laughed. "Maybe there will be a character like you who I name Bruce instead of Bryce."

"Dad!"

I loved watching Bryce as she talked with the author Karen M. McManus and told her how much she enjoyed her books. Karen signed Bryce's book and told her she loved her hat. When I was her age, I never got to meet authors whose books I loved. I'm so glad I took her this author reading and will do it again and again. And for Bryce to tell me she'd read the novel I've always wanted to write made the moment even sweeter.

This wonderful bonding experience with my daughter was more than just us having a good time together. It again sparked the idea of doing something new and different that I never thought I'd ever do in life. Like have children. Or travel the world. Or try different careers. Or write a business book. Or play the drums. 

Or, write the great American novel. As parents, we're supposed to be the ones who encourage our kids to dream the big dreams, but they can do the same for us. What a novel idea. 

Why They Are And Who You Are

We recently watched Footloose again, this time with our teens, but they didn't really like it. How dare them! My wife Amy and I loved that movie growing up. Besides being a fun teen coming of age story, there's a heavy part when the church members start tossing library books into a burning trash can because they feel they destroying their children's souls. This is after banning dancing a few years prior due to a horrible accident that killed some local teens. The minister is mortified seeing his congregation burning books and he implores them to stop. He tells them all: 

"When did you decide to sit in judgment? When you’ve burned all of these [books] what are you gonna do then? Satan is not in these books, he’s in here … He’s in your hearts. Go on home, all of you. Go and sit in judgment of yourselves."

Amen. And in a way, books actually saved me. From 10 years old onward, I read all sorts of books, mostly fiction, science fiction, fantasy, and even suspense and horror (I loved Stephen King). I'd stay up late into the night reading. Growing up with domestic violence and sexual abuse, I could escape into all the stories read. Fantastical stories that transported me to other worlds, peoples, pleasures, and pain. Those that weren't mine, even if I could relate to what was happening to the characters, how they responded, and how they were transformed. 

In 7th grade, The Lord of the Rings embraced me. I even learned to write in Dwarfish runes and would role play with some of my friends. I also remember reading The Phantom Tollbooth in class that year and the wordplay was enchanting. I loved the story and that began a parallel reading journey of all that I consumed inside and outside the classroom. 

The English literature curriculum I had throughout junior high and high school was transformative for me. I had no idea that reading books like Brave New World and 1984 back then would be so relevant and scary today. I also don't remember if any books at the time were banned from our schools, but looking back now, books like The Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men, and The Color Purple were banned by many school districts across America in the 1980's due to profanity, sexuality, and violence. 

Even growing up evangelical, I never fully understood why so many books were banned outright, instead of simply ensuring age-appropriate consumption if there was explicit material. However, for a 6-month stretch my sophomore year in high school I reactivated my evangelical upbringing by attending a weekly youth bible study where we were told that most things that weren't of God were evil and should be destroyed before they destroyed us. Thankfully I didn't burn any books back then, but I did burn some of my record albums. Eventually I woke from that dystopian Christian stupor even hungrier for new ideas and perspectives and escapism, and my voracious appetite for reading (and the truths in life) continued without delay. 

What's with book banning today? Are we more enlightened and inclusively empathic with what we want our children to read and learn? The short answer is no.

In a recent report by PEN America, the nonprofit free speech organization cited 1,477 instances of books being prohibited during the first half of the 2022-23 academic year, up 28.5% from 1,149 cases in the previous semester. Overall, the organization has recorded more than 4,000 instances of banned books since it started tracking cases in July 2021. And many of these books are largely by and about people of color and LGBTQ individuals. 

4,000 banned books from school districts across America since July 2021? What the hell is going on? What are we so afraid of? Now that we have kids, teens actually, we encourage them to read every day and we're grateful for our school district's inclusive curriculum. Both have been readers since they were little, and while they each have their own reading tastes today, we encourage them to read without any heavy-handed parental censorship. Of course we want to know what they're reading and what the content entails to ensure it's not age inappropriate, but we also want them to learn about other worlds, peoples, pleasures, and pain, just like we did growing up and why we still read so much today. 

Our teens will experience their own angst and heartbreaks, but we want them to understand what others experience as well, to learn about other cultures and ideologies and see the world with eyes of love and empathy without whitewashing the tragic truths throughout our history. This includes everything they're taught in school besides what they read outside of school.  

Writer James Baldwin wrote, "You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive."

That's exactly how I felt growing up. Reading books of all flavors can help us become better humans, to feel connected to other humans, and we want to nurture who are teens are becoming, not what we want them to be out of fear and prejudice. So, read a banned book today and open your eyes to a new world of perspectives. It doesn't mean you have to agree or live in that world, but it does mean you'll get a better understanding of why they are and who you are. 

Our Sleep Slide

Sometime before noon, my dad would tickle my feet. That was his ultimate way of waking me up when I was an early teen, sleeping in late after being up until past midnight reading and watching TV (yes, reading). No rattling pots and pans. No berating me to get up. No yelling at me. He'd just tickle my feet. Softly.

If that wasn't creepy enough, and highly efficient by the way, he'd say something softly like, "Time to get up, little Kevin." And just like that I'd pop up like burnt toast from a toaster, smoking and angry. 

But again, it worked well. Decades later our own children are now new teens and the sleep slide has only just begun for them. It's fascinating how our bodies develop and change over time. I remember when we put our daughters to bed between 7:30-8:00, and then it slid to 8:00-8:30, and then it slide to 8:30-9:00, and then 9:00-9:30, and now it's sliding past 9:30 PM. And sometimes they're still not going to sleep until after 10 or even 11. Except no TV late for them, but they can read, draw, meditate, etc., to get to sleep. 

They're not sleeping in until noon yet either, although on the weekends our youngest Bryce can sleep until after 9:00 AM. Our oldest Beatrice still doesn't sleep that late, at least not yet. Both their teenage journeys have only just begun. We don't tickle their feet to wake them up, by the way. Or use pots and pans. Or berate them. Just a regular "time to get up" wake up. Many times they tell us when to wake them when they have to get up earlier to do homework or work on a project before school. 

Sleep experts tell us that teens experience a natural shift in circadian rhythm, and this makes it more difficult for them to fall asleep before 11 PM. Teens also need 9 to 9½ hours of sleep per night—that’s an hour or so more than they needed at age 10. This is because teenagers are going through a second developmental stage of cognitive maturation and additional sleep supports their developing brain, as well as physical growth spurts. It also helps protect them from serious consequences like depression or drug use.

Amen to that. Sleep is so important for all people -- kids, teens, and adults. And yet as adults, we don't always get more than 6 hours of sleep on average. My wife Amy and I make it a priority to ensure we're getting 7+ hours of sleep per night, and hitting 7 can be a challenge at times. 

Because what's just as important as all of us getting our proper sleep? Amy and I getting our TV and reading time in. Seriously. The kids' sleep slide is causing us to now slide later and later for our nighty-night time wind down. 

That means our adult TV time and reading time are incremental. Any shows or movies we watch are usually in mini-installments, even staying up later, because sliding fast to the morning floors still comes early for us. Maybe we squeak in 30ish minutes, but most of what we watch are longer shows and movies sometimes, so it takes a few days. Plus, sleep science may tell us not to use our devices before bed, but that's how we read after TV time, even if it's only for a few pages at a time. 

I know, boo hoo for us. Dang kids. At some point there may be the waiting up past curfew due to them blowing past curfew, so for now we're going to make the best of our sleep slide.

Forging Life Paths

When she was 3, we had no idea what would come from her developmental delays. Now that she's nearly 13, we're so grateful for how much she's thrived. And she's only just begun. Our oldest, Beatrice, will be going into 7th grade this fall. Mercy me -- 7th grade. After a year and a half of pandemic and mostly distance learning, except for the last two months of the school year, she did well. And for someone who dislikes math so much, she did really well. We made a big deal out of that. She, however, did not. 

Reading isn't a favorite of hers either, but graphic novels have found a home in her heart and her mind. One of her favorite authors/artists is Raina Telgemeier who wrote Smile, Guts, Drama, different iterations of The Babysitters Club (based on the novels by Ann M. Martin). Not just reading them either; she's working on multiple stories herself. She's writing her own story lines, developing characters, drawing her characters and story lines, giving them depth and back stories. She runs her stories by her mom and I, and we give her feedback and ask her questions, which helps her think through them even more. 

When our youngest Bryce was 3, she didn't have the same delays her sister had. She thrived in school from the very beginning, with math and reading being some of her favorite subjects. Science, too. It wasn't too long ago when we took the girls to the Kennedy Space Center in Florida, and Bryce was convinced she wanted to be an astronaut. Today we watched the Virgin Galactic space flight, and while Bryce has moved onto an interest in marine biology and the ocean, another unexplored space itself, I can see how she watched the Virgin Galactic livestream with curious intensity.

Bryce will be going into 5th grade this fall. Mercy me -- 5th grade. Bryce also survived the distance learning and unlike her sister is an avid reader. She loves chapter books (and graphic novels, too), and some of her current favorites are The Mysterious Benedict Society series (which I read to her at night; never gets old to read to your children), Wings and Fire series (just like my love of fantasy when I was their ages), The Magic Treehouse series, and others, as well as reading marine biology books for kids. 

Besides academics and reading, we're also so proud of how both girls have developed socially. They are good friends themselves, treating each other with empathy and respect, looking out for each other. They treat their friends the same, both sharing mutual friends and having each their own. This summer they've both gone to a daily summer camp and are now in summer school (which they both enjoy, but Bea says it's too much like school-school). They've gotten to know some of their current schoolmates better (since they weren't in person for over a year) and have also met new friends. 

They are also fiercely independent, as much as you can be when you're almost 11 and 13, and we continue to help them practice boundary setting and find their voices. Each week at our family meetings we discuss managing our emotions, providing positive support and engaging in positive communication with each other and others in our lives. 

And now Beatrice is developing her mentoring and leadership skills by wanting to work with younger kids. She's already helped as a junior leader in different after-school programs like Kids in Nature, and next year she wants to be a junior leader at the summer camp both girls attended this summer. Soon she'll help out with the little kids at another day camp a friend of ours is running. Babysitting is right around the corner too and she's already putting the word out she wants to start practicing. We're sure Bryce's leadership development isn't too far behind.

As their parents, we don't always get the leading with eyes of love right, and we're blinded by our own flash floods of bias and fear. We know the world is full of precarious canyons and cliffs, and yet, they are forging life paths for themselves with compassion and empathy we could have never imagined for ourselves when we were their age. We're so proud of them both. 

All Kinds of Creative Solace

Beatrice entered her school's talent show to share her artwork. It's wasn't a judged talent show, and yet that doesn't matter. Out of the few hundred kids in her middle school, less than a dozen individuals (plus their school choir) participated in the virtual talent show. Bea submitted a short video with her showing some of her favorite art pieces from the past year. There were also other singers and musicians and voice actors and artists and film editors and more who entered. Bryce entered her school's talent show and shared her artwork as well. 

When I was 12 and my sister 10, we helped our mom break into the house of our first step-father, who was mentally ill and abusive, while he was at work. We had already gotten out of the house, but there were still too many personal things we didn't want to leave behind. In less than a day, he had changed the locks on the house, so the only way we could get in was to break in. We broke the bathroom window on the side of the house and then laid a towel over the bottom edge of the windowsill. The only person who could fit through the window was my sister. We were all scared out of our minds, with visions of him waiting quietly inside with a gun. The same gun he pointed at my mom multiple times. We got our things and got out, with no sign of him anywhere. 

Quite a juxtaposition from then to now. We're grateful that we've been safe and well and have been able to provide a stable and loving family environment for our girls. And while I did grow up in a less than stable environment, I wasn't without my creative side that my mom encouraged. I was always an avid reader (so was Amy growing up -- and we still are). We've instilled these positive habits in the girls as well; Bryce is more the avid reader overall and Bea loves her graphic novels. I also drew a lot when I was the girls' age, and was writing short stories then, too. Bea is also interested in writing her own stories in the form of graphic novels. Both girls are drawing and painting and experimenting will all kinds of art, and we continue to support them both. 

Even though the girls are back to in-person school again (5 days a week for Bryce and 2 days a week for Beatrice), we've all been fortunate to continue to be active and to nurture our creative sides over the past year of pandemic. We also know that there has been an exponential increase in stress, fatigue and depression throughout the pandemic, with many families socially isolated from family and friends. There have been too many people out of work, struggling financially to keep their families sheltered and food on the table. Domestic violence has been on the rise globally during the past year. There are families who have struggled with illness and mental health problems. And there are those who have split up for many of the reasons above.

Even when we're beyond this pandemic, the psychological and emotional impacts will be felt for years to come. Creating safe and healthy environments for our children is certainly the best intention for most parents, even when there are factors beyond our control. Leaning in on faith, on counseling, on mental health services, on the support of other family and friends are critical. Getting out of dangerous situations when there is no other alternative for safety is also critical. Through it all, encouraging our children to have a growth mindset, even in the face of extreme circumstances, can lead to all kinds of creative solace. 

Stigma Be Damned

"But there you give me one - another you just finished
You're my library - always open for business
But you never show it
You're just sitting with it
But I know the score, and you're killin' it
Line after line - when you're taking it in
Time after time - when you try to fit in
To some white shoes, or a blue collar..."

–Arkells, Book Club

When I picked the girls up from theater class, Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 played from our car stereo. Really loud. Probably too loud for a responsible and respectable parent picking up their children from anything school related. Especially since they were rehearsing in a church.

"We don't need no education
We don't need no thought control..."

I quickly lowered the volume and went inside to get them. They were wrapping up another class rehearsing Trolls, a kid-friendly musical based on the popular movie.

The Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) had wanted me to help Beatrice ask the play teacher a question. Bea wanted to know what she was supposed to do after saying her line "Branch, watch out!" when the Bergen scare her.

"Go ahead, ask her," I said.

"Um, what do I do after the Bergen scares me? Fall down? Run away?" Bea asked.

The theater teacher frowned, as if maybe she'd answered this question with every kid in the play at least 1,000 times.

"You run away," the teacher said.

"Thank you."

The teacher smiled, exhausted. The girls and I got back into the car and I asked them how the class went that day.

"Good," said Bea.

"Good," said Bryce. "I really like the singing and dancing."

"Right on. Bea, are you glad you asked the teacher your question? Now you know what to do!"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "I do."

"Excellent," I said.

I turned the radio back on and Van Halen's And the Cradle Will Rock played.

"Dad, turn it back to our channel," both girls echoed. They were referring to the local pop music station. They aren't fans of Daddy's rock and roll.

Too bad. I wanted to rock.

"I will in a minute."

"Dad!"

"Fine."

Right before I turned the channel, David Lee Roth sang:

Have you seen Junior's grades? And Eddie Van Halen's guitar riffed on.

And I had recently seen their grades. That sent me reflecting on where the girls were both at in school.

For the most part, they're both doing pretty good. On most subjects, especially science. And on being social. And on being involved in extracurricular activities like sports and theater. All these things are important for their development. We're not pushing them too hard at this age, but encouraging them to try different activities besides focusing on academics.

However, Beatrice, nine years old now, continues to struggle with reading and reading comprehension. When she was three years old, we discovered she had trouble processing the information she heard in the same way as other kids because her ears and brain didn't play well together. It's called auditory processing disorder (ADP). That in turn affected the way her brain recognized and interpreted sounds and how she reacted to various stimuli -- too much stimuli always overwhelms.

We knew then that, no matter how much help she got, there would be future setbacks academically and/or socially. We just weren't sure exactly what and how prevalent they'd be.

Bryce, seven years old now, didn't have the same problem early on, although recently we worried about her reading ability, too. So, it was time to escalate the reading at home. For Bryce, it's been the recognition and pronunciation of words she should've already been getting at her age. For Beatrice, it's recently been figurative language, metaphors and similes and the like, comprehending was she had just read and able to answer questions about it. To also be able to infer meaning from phrases like "reading is as easy as pie."

We've been working on it for awhile now, with the Mama institutionalizing regular reading times for both girls. We read with them in the mornings and after school and every night before bed. We read all sorts of articles and books, have them read to us, and then for Bea ask her questions about what she read, testing her inference ability, her vocabulary and retention.

Both girls are making great progress. Bryce is reading better and pronouncing new words more readily. And as for Bea, she's much better reading and comprehending at home than at school -- literally and figuratively. We know (as does her teacher and other school specialists) that the overstimulation from a myriad of classroom inputs inundating her regularly hinders her ability to understand written instructions in class, and then she gets overwhelmed and anxious, her synapses backfiring on her. Her teachers are willing to give her auditory and visual directions in conjunction with the written word, which we know from experience will help.

Even with the progress they've made, we have no idea what will happen in the next few years, just as we didn't know what would happen when Bea was three. We do know that the pressure to excel will only increase exponentially from all directions, in addition to the stigma of struggle if and when either girl struggles to fit in. But stigma be damned; as their parents we will do whatever we have to do to give them both the tools and resources they need to improve, adapt, thrive and live their best lives.

"But I know the score, and you're killin' it
Line after line - when you're taking it in
Time after time - when you try to fit in..."

A Summer of B-hive Thrive

We didn’t realize our youngest struggled, too. The sounding out phonetically. The reading from left to right consistently. The transposing of letters in same-sounding words. The writing of numbers and letters backward so that if you placed them in front of a mirror, they’d read correctly.

We didn’t realize she struggled. But not exactly for the same reasons as her older sister. At least, not that we know of. With Beatrice, it was most likely the auditory processing disorder from early on that continues to cause some delays with her reading comprehension (although academically overall she’s doing pretty well). Bea’s spelling is solid, too. Just the reading skills and comprehension lag.

The Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) had noticed something was up with Bryce, since she does most of the daily reading with both the girls outside of school, although I had noticed the writing of letters and numbers backward as well. But it wasn’t until her kindergarten/1st grade teacher pointed out Bryce was behind with her reading skills based on the new state standards. That’s when we realized at least some kind of delay was in play. Possibly. We don’t know what we don’t know yet.

What’s interesting to me is that with Bea, the ability for her to filter what she heard early on was like a radio trying to tune into a station; she never really got there so translating what she heard and the appropriate comprehension and reaction was more difficult that other kids. She’s come a long way, that’s for sure.

Bryce never exhibited that behavior. Socially and even early on academically she's been doing fine. However, her speech was difficult to understand, almost muddied, with “r’s” and “l’s” soft and muted. It’s improved since preschool and now kindergarten, but her teachers had never noticed anything significant to highlight. Now, with the awareness of this possible reading delay, it’s time for us to get in front of it.

Again, we don’t know what we don’t know yet. The word dyslexia has never come up in any teacher meeting with either girl, or occupational or speech therapy session with Beatrice. It’s possible now that there’s a learning disorder present, one characterized by difficulty reading due to problems identifying speech sounds and learning how they relate to letters and words.

Possibly. When your child struggles with anything, you run yourself through the wringer thinking about why, and if it was something you did, or didn’t do. Did you let them watch too much TV? Let them play games too much on their iPads? Didn't work with them enough on their homework and all their basic academic skills? Why are some kids the same age reading Harry Potter and yours are reading Captain Underpants? Do you give them enough attention in between all the work and life stuff you’re doing as adults? (And yet, they're constantly inventing things, writing stories and illustrating them -- and right now they're in the backyard creating a sushi machine. Right on.)

Or do you blame their schools and their teachers? That they aren’t doing enough for your children? That the latest curriculum is just friggin' crazy?

Of course there’s been a little second-guessing with us and what we’re doing and how we’re parenting. We’re human. For any parent who's ever struggled with parenthood and working and volunteering and investing in other endeavors alongside raising your children, and feeling guilty about not spending enough with them, I recommend listening to a recent Startup podcast from Gimlet Media. Being straight with your kids, nurturing their voice and giving them the tools to thrive are key.

On the other hand, we could sit around a Kumbaya campfire and sing the praises, or the lack thereof, of public versus charter versus private versus common core versus current standards versus Godzilla.

Instead, we will continue to do whatever we can to help them breakthrough and build their confidence to tackle anything. To bridge the gaps and instill adaptation skills in both girls, working within the confines and the opportunities of a public school system we still believe in. Ultimately there may be walls they hit in school and in life no matter the intervention we provide and/or facilitate.

None of that matters in the moment, though. We're in it for the all of them and are planning a summer of B-hive thrive, to read with them more frequently (me included), and to help sound out the words and improve comprehension of what they just read.

Wait, a sushi machine?

Into the Open Air

It's strange because I've never gone skydiving. Yet that's what I imagined in order to stay focused while she read to me. Metaphorically falling fast through the air with literally no ability to think about anything else except the unrelenting presence of those seconds. 

And it worked. At least the idea of it helped to narrow my flailing attention to a fine focal point mindful presence. 

There's just been too much going on up in my noggin of late. Work, travel and seemingly a gazillion decisions to make and actions to take every day. And that's not even counting the other gazillion decisions and actions to make every day at home and helping to take care of each other and our children. That's not unusual for many people today raising a family and keeping a roof overhead, food on the table and squirreling some nuts away for always imminent rainy days. The Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) experiences it even more than I do, being the primary child-rearer as well as working, running a girl scout troop and now volunteering more. Something I'm doing more of now as well.

Of course not all of what we do are absolute necessities, but they are important activities nonetheless that give us personal joy, like the writing of these pieces for my blog, Get Off The Ground. They are critical to our personal learning and development, our passions and even our sanity. We are fortunate enough to be able to do these things while still squirreling those nuts away and praying for continual sunny days.

And every day the Mama works with our girls on reading and getting their homework done. Beatrice has more homework than Bryce being in 2nd grade, reading and math in particular, although Bryce has recommended work in her combined kindergarten/1st grade class.

The Mama does most of this work with the girls. It can be quite rewarding and very frustrating at the same time, since like most kids wanting to only play, doing homework is a painful distraction from just that. The girls could be playing with their toys, playing with our Guinea pigs, playing games on their iPads, drawing pictures, writing stories or watching a little television.

"Beatrice, it's time to read and do your reading log," says the Mama.

"No, I don't want to right now," replies Beatrice.

"The longer you take doing it means the longer it will take overall."

Sigh. "Okay."

Homework happens both before school and after (there's a lot of homework for 2nd graders these days). Sometimes it all goes well, and sometimes the Mama gets frustrated with the girls. And with me too, because maybe I'm sitting there working or even writing like I'm doing this moment, when she could really use some more help than what I usually give in the homework department.

So I do more helping now. As it should be, helping my children learn and grow, because that isn't an optional requirement of parenting -- it's required parenting. Beatrice has also needed more focused investment due to the early delays she's had.

However, the other morning, when the Mama called down to me from upstairs to "please help Beatrice with her reading," my head was a flutter with a gazillion butterfly effects and other things to do. Beatrice sat next to me and started reading out loud Miss Brown Is Upside Down! and I didn't her a word she said for the first minute.

I'm the one who preaches about mindful presence and being in the moment and focusing on the things that matter in the immediacy -- and yet it's a continuous struggle when there are a gazillion things to be done, which there always will be. This time, for whatever reason, the image of me jumping out of a plane and into the open air, literally jumped out of a plane and into the open air.

I jumped and still remained tethered to the mothership of my frontal lobes. Nothing else mattered except me falling over 100 miles per hour, my cheeks pulled back and flapping in the rushing wind, while Beatrice read next to me. Within seconds everything went silent around me as I fell, except for Bea. All I could focus on was her forming and speaking each word, her cadence and her periodic query about how to say a word that wasn't familiar. She finished her 15 minutes of reading and then had to pick one of the exercises in her reading log to complete. I read the choices and she picked the one where she had to identify 10 action words from the book and write them down.

Afterwards, I pulled the cord, my parachute opened and yanked me up and away from Beatrice, and then I floated gently back down into the cacophony of a gazillion decisions to make and actions to take.

Beatrice's depiction of Daddy's metaphor

The Dog That Ate The Moon

“Imagination is the golden-eyed monster that never sleeps. It must be fed; it cannot be ignored.” —Patricia A. McKillip

Back then it was The Hardy Boys and The Three Investigators. Stories of boys, teenagers actually, solving mystery after mystery, with lots of action and adventure along the way, plus encountering and then explaining strange phenomena. I read what seemed like hundreds of these books, from the day of first getting my library card around 3rd grade until early adolescence. I never actually counted the number, though. I just kept on reading and reading.

And I wrote my own mystery stories and illustrated them as well. I even sent one of the detective stories I wrote in 6th grade to a publisher and never hear a word either way. In retrospect, they were cathartic creative explorations that allowed me to escape a sometimes harsh environment of domestic violence and sexual abuse. My imagination gave me an outlet to create fantastical worlds with words and images, sometimes just designing inventions I longed to make real, made up or based on something that inspired me, yet never fully realizing them in real life. Like the time I desperately tried to figure out had to turn my little red wagon into Herbie the Love Bug.

Then there was my long-running obsession with fantasy, like J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and Stephen R. Donaldson's The Chronicles of Thomas Convenant, two of my favorite series. In fact, in junior high I actually learned to write in Dwarvish runes. Really, I did. And I had a whole bunch of amazing nerdy friends that did, too. And Elvish and more. Also, for a short while early in college I played Dungeons and Dragons and my character was a bad-ass Dwarf who wielded a deadly battle-ax.

That's why imagination cannot be ignored as Patricia McKillip wrote above, regardless of circumstance. To me it was and is a wide-eyed monster that never sleeps and must be fed constantly. Whether growing up with violence, or a much more stable and loving environment, one that the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) and I have been able to provide for our girls, our imaginations have boded well for us for thousands of years of evolution and survival. It's helped us to innovate and problem solve and advance our fragile but resilient species as well as given us a powerful storytelling ability and varying filters and perceptions and differing ways to see and explain the world around us. We imagined gods and devils and reasons for living a good and just life.

Beatrice and Bryce have been imagining and articulating various worlds, creatures, science, inventions and stories since the very moment they could speak. Us encouraging imaginative play and reading, along with their teachers and others, have also helped to feed their creative beasts.

We just had a full moon and that evening the Mama said, "Since we have to spring forward with the time change, why don't we go down to the water before bedtime to see it. Otherwise it'll be lighter later and we won't be able to go."

At first I said, "Ugh. Really?" But I knew these were the moments to never let slip by, so I changed my tune.

"Okay, let's do it. It'll be fun."

The girls were excited, something adventurous to do before bedtime, so off we went. It had finally warmed a bit to our usual early spring nice weather, and the night was lovely. As we walked along the water with the girls running ahead of us, they began to imagine stories about the moon and the stars.

Bea came up with her own folk story, one about a dog named J.J. who stole a rocket ship from an unnamed man. J.J. flew to the moon in the rocket ship, not because he wanted to be an astronaut, but because he thought the moon was a waffle, and he was hungry and wanted to eat the waffle. (Both girls love pancakes and waffles.)

However, he soon found out that the moon wasn't a waffle at all -- it was just a big yucky rock glowing in the night sky -- so J.J. spit out the pieces, creating a meteor shower that lit up the night sky.

And this is why we have meteor showers. Right on, Bea.

That's when it struck me -- the fact that, this folk tale that Bea created from her own limited but pretty positive experiences to date and her own imaginative interpretation, was a metaphor for the beauty of life around us. Prevalent for some, fleeting for others.

And the fact that sometimes we all have to eat big yucky rocks to see the light.

Reading Time Well Spent

Here we were again with the constipated fear. It was reading time for both girls, but Beatrice pushed back. Way back.

"I don't want to read right now," Beatrice said, face contorted.

"All right then, let's flip a coin and see who reads first," I said.

"I want heads!" shouted Bryce.

"No, I want heads!" said Bea.

"Bryce called it first, Bea. You get tails."

"Okay. Whoever wins gets to chose."

I flipped. It was heads. Bryce said Bea goes first. Bea said no way.

And so it went. Round and round until Beatrice was near tears from a paralyzing panic attack implosion, and finally Bryce conceded and said she'd read first. Now, Bryce has only just begun learning to read, so we're helping her with the words, but Beatrice is solid reader now. The problem has been that she gets intimidated at the sound of her own voice saying the words out loud and when others are listening. This most likely goes back to her auditory processing disorder (ADP) issues she had early on (which Bryce never had).

At three years old, we discovered she had trouble processing the information she heard in the same way as other kids because her ears and brain didn't play nice together. That in turn affected the way her brain recognized and interpreted sounds and how she reacted to various stimuli -- too much stimuli always overwhelms.

That in turn created anxiety for her, anxiety she had no way to process or express, so it was internalized instead. When pressed, she shuts down and says she doesn't want to do something, and then doesn't do it (just like her dear old daddy unfortunately).

However, she's come a long way from five years ago, that's for sure, but the reading was something we had to tackle head on. We always knew that, even when she's improves year after year, there would potentially be residual effects of ADP long term. School would get progressively harder for her, and she'd have to work harder at building those confidence callouses we all need when it came to reading, writing and communicating, and the speech and occupational therapists have concurred.

Both girls love storytelling and we read together every day. Beatrice actually creates stories all the time, writing them out and illustrating them as well. The Mama and I grew up avid readers, and Bryce now has the fever, so we want to ensure Beatrice perseveres. Plus, she takes the girls every week to our public library to check out a bagful of books, and they also pick out books from their school library. We don't always read verbatim each and every book, but most of them are eaten up like the sweetest of eye candy.

So reading is one of those things we instill in the girls that "isn't a choice" and we've had to press on with her to ensure daily reading. For this I thank the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife), because without her daily persistence in keeping Beatrice completing all her homework, especially the reading, we'd have a much steeper mountain to climb in the years to come. And what's matters the most when it comes to both our girls is their becoming of something better, smarter, stronger and resilient for whatever life throws their way -- and throw things it will, lots of things (damn all those things).

Of course I help, but the Mama is the innovative leader here. She's recently developed a motivating incentive plan for Beatrice when it comes to reading: every minute she reads -- and that means reading anything (books, signs, pamphlets, etc.) -- she gets a star on a reading chart she created.

I don't know what a star's market value is at your house, but at ours, for every 100 stars earned, she gets to pick out a new book. Not a toy or a treat -- a book. And she just earned her first 100 stars this last week! We then went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and she picked out an ocean animals book. Right now we're playing a game where we break into teams, and one team picks an animal from the book, and the other team has to guess what it is from clues. Once guessed, Beatrice reads aloud the description of the animal -- 10 more stars please!

So far, it's definitely reading time well spent.

To Be A Man Of Letters

I'm not a purist. Not by any stretch of the imagination. There are those who prefer longhand, sketching stories in pencil or pen on legal pads. Not me. 

No, I can barely read my own printing today. It's progressively gotten worse over the years, especially since I predominated type everything I write and have for decades.

The irony here is the fact that, throughout most of high school, I wanted to be an architect, and my printing was impeccable due to all the drafting courses I took.

But thanks to one typing class my freshman year in high school on an IBM Selectric III, my printing went to hell in a handbasket from then on. 

That's when my grandfather gave me his typewriter, a Remington Noiseless from the 1930's (hence my using the Courier font in this piece). The ribbon was a pain in the butt to manage, but mercy me I loved that typewriter. I typed many a poem, story and class paper on that old machine, and it was the only "word processor" I had my first year in college. Yes, white out was my best friend that year during all my late night typing fests. 

I dug up an interview I did with my grandfather the year after I learned how to type, one that I typed up on the very typewriter he gave me. We talked about the Great Depression and it's fascinating to me now since I've become a self-taught student of economics.

"Well, I [my grandfather speaking here] was 21 years old when the depression began, and my wife was 20. We lived in Bloomington, Indiana. We had gotten married just 6 months before the stock market crashed in 1929. The thing I noticed the most was that banks started closing and closing fast. People were losing money everywhere. People were also losing their homes.

Oh, yes, I remember the stock market crash! Besides losing money and banks closing, I was hearing of people killing themselves. Also, I had a friend that had lost all of his hair besides his money. He ended up separating from his wife and heading for the hills to pan for gold.

Most of the people I knew had lost their jobs. I was lucky. We lived on a farm. But the farm wasn't that good of an income then. I also chopped wood for making railroad ties at $0.10 an hour, 10 hours a day. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it helped a lot."

Ten cents an hour. Wow. Well, the writing for me continued and the typing went from the Remington to a Magnavox Videowriter (remember those?) to an early Apple home computer to a variety of PCs to my MacBook and iPad of today.

A big part of being a writer is reading and I've been fortunate to have such rich access to both. I grew up buried in books, tunneling through character and plot. Words were sustenance for heart and mind. I've always thanked my mother for feeding my primal critical thinking mind by reading to me and encouraging me to read and write. My wife grew up with a voracious appetite for reading as well.

So when the Mama and I had children, of course we planned to ignite our same love of books and story in them, which we've done successfully. The imagination fire in their bellies burns bright and we read every day and every night. 

The Mama takes both girls to the library every week and they bring a big bag of books home each and every time. This summer they've been in the Read to Rhythm program sponsored by the Santa Cruz Friends of the Santa Cruz Libraries. And speaking of economics, they're incentivized to read -- the more they read the more "book bucks" they get to spend on yummy treats around town.

Both Beatrice and Bryce are rich storytellers and have been telling them visually through drawing and play-acting (just as we did at a very early age as well). And now that Bea is learning to read and write, her heart lights up with story, which in turn lights up ours. Bryce isn't far behind either, already writing her name and other letters relaying animated visions as if the world were her stage.

I've been fortunate to write regularly with modest success and visibility, to publish a weekly column about empowering a better workplace, and to have published a children's book and a career management business book. My girls and the Mama also inspire me to one day write that great American novel as well, to be a man of letters I've always aspired to be.

Maybe someday...

Just don't ask me to handwrite anything. It would be like trying to read Tolkien Dwarvish runes. Trust me. 

The Unapologetic Parents Who Integrate It All

There we were, sitting at dinner, talking away, while the girls watched shows on their iPods. One of us asked Beatrice a question, but she didn't respond. We asked again, and then she quietly and reluctantly answered with one clear disclaimer: "I'm watching my show."

Dinner with friends and family at restaurants has included childhood distractions for decades. I remember getting crayons and coloring pages when we'd go to Sambo's or Bob's Big Boy, whether supplied by the restaurant or by my parents or grandparents. Usually both.

So, with iPods active, I made the definitive statement: "Yes, we unapologetically bring our devices everywhere we go."

Then I added: "Amy and I grew up with the TV on all the time, and our brains didn't melt."

Which is not entirely true, for us or for our children. The Mama and I are big readers, always have been, and this is one of many activities we encourage with Beatrice and Bryce. In fact, every week they go to the library and bring back a big bagful of new books to read, which we do every night before bed.

There are those child development experts who agree all things in moderation and integrated into everyday family life that includes talking with your children, doing arts and crafts projects together, reading together, writing together, drawing together, engaging in make believe together, or build forts (and even buy one once in a while), or watching a show or playing a game together. In fact, Bryce and I designed a unicorn video game together recently and then imagined we were actually playing it.

And think of it from the kids point of view while out at dinner. Having to listen to adults blather about this and that as they eat painfully slow with no consideration of the fact that the kids are missing out on valuable play time and reading time with the Mama and the Daddy.

As I write this, the girls are watching Little Einsteins on Disney Junior learning about music and art. And then we'll watch some more, and then they'll play on the devices, and then we'll do some art projects together, and then we'll read some new books, and then...

We are the unapologetic parents who integrate it all into some semblance of family time, even when they want to draw daddy's foot when he's working.

Amen.

Pee and pride of another kind

With guys it's easy: we can pee anywhere we want, appropriate or not, legal or not. And we're damn proud of that fact.

With women, not so much, although when the Mama proved to me how utilitarian she was soon after we were dating, my heart swelled with damn proud manly love.

She had me at hello, wearing a baseball cap and peeing in the woods. Mercy me I love that woman (and it is almost Valentine's Day).

But now we're dealing with pee and pride of another kind. The B-hive kind. The toddler potty training kind that boggles the adult mind.

I've written before about how Bea has a slight speech delay, and now her speech therapist's evaluation has confirmed it's more than likely auditory processing disorder (APD), which affects less than 5% of school-aged children.

What this means is that Beatrice has trouble processing the information she hears in the same way as other kids because her ears and brain don't play nice together. That in turn affects the way her brain recognizes and interprets sounds. Also, loud background noise or any sudden loud noise really bother her, and that further complicates and distorts the sounds in her head and the processing responsible for composing speech.

Although it hasn't slowed her academically (for a toddler), it has slowed some of her self-care progress, primarily potty training, but look out world -- Bea's on a pee roll.

For months now, getting the elder B to pee in the big T is what the Mama and me have been working on. Actually it's been more Mama than me, but I help with consistency when I can (I've been working on that previous rhyme, though).

We're focused on the child-centered method, which means, "I'll go on the potty when I damn well ready to." If you've ever experienced potty training, you know that forcing or pushing only leads to meltdowns and breakdowns -- and the kids suffer too. Seriously, forcing them to go when they don't "own it" is a bad scene and doesn't work. At all.

Back to Bea pee -- at first we started bribing with chocolate chips, a variation of the M&M payoff. But then our preschool discouraged the bribing and instead encouraged encouraging the positive behaviors of sitting on the potty, etc.

Which we did. And it kinda worked to get her to sit on the potty, to then still pee in her pull up.

Screw that. Back to bribery. One of her favorite toddler shows now is Super Why!, a show about learning to read (which she's close to doing actually). In this show are four primary characters, each of whom become a reading and problem-solving superhero in Storybook Land.

So the idea was to start putting stickers on the calendar each time Beatrice went pee on the potty, and when she got to 5 stickers, she'd get a Super Why superhero character.

As of last night, she's collected two of the four characters (we're gonna have to get more goods). And just the night before when she went pee she then stood proudly from the potty and said:

"I did it!"

Right on, baby. We are so damn proud of you!

The act itself sure makes for empathic bookends

You know what hope is?
Hope is a bastard
Hope is a liar
A cheat and a tease
Hope comes near you?
Kick it's backside
Got no place in days like these…

--Picture Window, Ben Folds & Nick Hornby

He never read to us.

At least, I have no memory of hearing stories fall from his tobacco-stained lips, for me or for my sister. And if there were any, ever, they've long since faded like print on the yellowed page.

No, my father never read to us when we were children. He was never the bookish type, and the few times I saw him beyond the divorce, my bookishness was always a joke to him.

My mom read to us, though. A lot. That's what got me hooked on books. An addiction I embrace to this day in the middle age of young fatherhood.

We read to Beatrice while she still was still in the Mama and then kept the practice alive beyond the womb and then back again with Bryce.

The Mama and I both are avid readers, from the printed page to e-book, so it's hard for me to imagine those who aren't, especially with their children. And there are a lot. No judgement other than it's so important for learning and language development and for reinforcing the imagination's synaptical backstops.

You know, the magical ability to adapt when the balls are comin' too fast. Or when your mom's being thrown against it. Or you. Agaist the wall. Againt the floor. Or the door.

Seriously. The little boys I watch at the women's center have lived in varying levels of domestic violence, just as my sister and I did when we were children. This week I read them books and they were riveted, leaning against me on either side as well as scrambling for my lap.

This from rough-and-tumble boys, who although are fairly well-adjusted considering their circumstances, are still boys who are loud and break stuff and are angry and frustrated and I bet, at times, think hope is a liar, a cheat and a tease.

Until they were read to.

Now, I'm not saying that reading alone is the simple antidote that reverses a destructive environment, but the repetitive act itself sure makes for empathic bookends.

We could use a lot more of those.

The joy of reading the classics aloud: She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

It's time once again for Fatherhood Friday. Fatherhood Friday is hip place at Dad-Blogs.com for dads and moms to share stories, ideas, photos and movies with one topic in mind – fatherhood.

How I love reading out loud to Bea. Mama and I both revel in the joy and awe that beams from Bea’s tiny face. Her arms flap, her eyes and mouth open wide, she screeches with joy – it’s such a pleasure to hear our little Hindi velociraptor sing along to the bouncing red ball bounding off our words.

Reading aloud is one of the best ways for your child to learn language in their first few years. But, have you actually stopped to pay attention to the words you’re reading? Way back when Bea was still in the womb last summer I wrote:

You ever notice that reading some children's books as an adult can be an unsettling experience. Take The Story of Babar. I just bought it yesterday to read to Mama A and Baby B. One of my favorite books visually as a child.

Two deaths, a kept elephant, and Babar marries his cousin.

Really.

Oh, and it gets better. We have a fun little book called The Lucy Cousins Book of Nursery Rhymes. These are classics, and although there is historical context around the content, we grew up sing-songing these as happy as clams (what the heck does that mean anyway?).

For example, if you read Oranges and Lemons:

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement’s.

It ends with:

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

That’ll make for some sweet dreams. Then there’s the heavily litigated prose from Jack and Jill:

When Jill came in, How she did grin To see Jack’s paper plaster; Her mother, vexed, Did whip her next, For laughing at Jack’s disaster.

Why hasn’t anyone called CPS? You know the neighbors heard the whole damn thing.

Oh, and what about if I don’t say my prayers? What’s gonna happen to me?

Goosey, goosey gander,
Whither shall I wander?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady’s chamber.
There I met an old man
Who would not say his prayers,
I took him by the left leg
And threw him down the stairs.

Nothing like putting the fear of God into children (and adults).

And lastly, there’s classic story of the old woman who lived in a shoe:

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread;
She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

Nadya Suleman and Radar Online.

Enough said. What are your favorites?

A forced metaphor, a parent’s delight

It's our little Beatrice's six-month birthday today, and although the past six months have flown by, we definitely have lived in the moment embracing each one as if holding her for the first time.

What to give her?

Words and the empowerment of proper language (yes, it's a fragment). Words were the only children I thought I'd ever birth into this world, but now that we have Beatrice, we want to ensure that becomes a voracious reader and skillful writer and communicator.

It doesn't mean that she has to be a Pulitzer prize-winning author or the award-winning journalist who saves us from the slanted 24/7 30-second media blitzkriegs. It means she needs to be a critical, independent thinker with the ability to string sentences together correctly.

And a best-selling, award-winning author.

Isn't that the way it is? We want the best for our children and even when we say we're not going to push them, we push them nonetheless – a forced metaphor, a parent's delight.

Ugh, I'm up way too early yet again and catching up on work and personal play and as I peruse my latest SJSU Washington Square magazine (I'm a proud Spartan alum!), I came across an article titled Struggling for Words. Here's the first paragraph:

More than 50 percent of San José State's incoming students are not prepared to write at the college level. Much more than incorrect spelling, comma splices and run-on sentences, the problem is that these students lack a critical life skill.

That's staggering and not unique to the CSU system. According to some SJSU faculty and administrators, these obstacles contribute to the problem:

• a declining culture of reading
  
• budgetary constraints at all educational levels
  
• increasing numbers of English language learners
  

The long-term effects of Prop 13 have added to the education budget woes, and the latest California budget fiasco includes the continued gutting of public education in this state. It's bad enough that we rank 49^th in the nation in terms of class size – fast forward to today's anemic business climate and we rank dead last in a national ranking of the best states to do business in.

Can you feel the Golden State pride?

I'm not going to tackle that one today myself, but to help combat the illiteracy entering college every year, SJSU launched the Writing Center two years ago and offers one-on-one tutoring, workshops, and classroom "house calls" for everyone on campus.

As parents we can help combat this problem much earlier starting in year one. Reading aloud to your children, even when they're still in the womb, is crucial. Your children witnessing you reading is as important as encouraging them to read in their formative years.

Plus, making sure they're absorbing the grammar skills learned in early childhood and beyond will help them remain competitive in the ever-changing workplace. According to Cheryl Allmen-Vinnedge, director of the SJSU Career Center, "wherever San José State graduates go, they will find that written and oral communication are among the top 10 skills employers are looking for."

Alas, I know jet ski too much I know. I took the grammar skills test and need some immediate remedial help. Between helping to run a marketing/PR software and services firm, unending work e-mail, multiple clients, blogging for work and pleasure, spending an ungodly amount of time on Facebook and Twitter, I'm amazed that I still make time to read poetry, short fiction, and God willin' and the creek don't rise, a novel every once and awhile.

And right correctly. I mean write.

So Beatrice, our gifts today and tomorrow are words and language and proper grammar (maybe two languages if get our schtick together).

Happy Birthday Baby!

Forced Metaphor

My children are my words,

and their lifelong sentence deems

freedom from the illegitimate divine

premise of defined procreation that rattles

millions of already confused and angry sperm.

They beat themselves senseless over a few fertile eggs,

ragged helix river salmon channeled blind to genome sea.

My children are my words,

from their afterbirth clauses and baby babble spelling bees,

to their young rebellious phrases so inarticulate and fierce

that evolve and grow into dusty volumes upon volumes

revised over years resilient, their elder text

now nurtures my bones, yellowed heart

and brief testament crumbles.

My children are my words,

and at the end of my story

they write my legacy wish weeping

for a forced metaphor, a parent's delight.

--KWG, March 2000

(Talk about forced. Ugh.)

Reading to Bea: Suspenseful thrillers with a hopeful twist

I grew up buried in books, tunneling through character and plot. Words were sustenance for heart and mind. I've always thanked my mother for feeding my primal critical thinking mind by reading to me and encouraging me to read. My wife grew up with a voracious appetite for reading as well.

So when we decided to have a child we knew that reading would be a big part of that child's world. Even when my little sweet Beatrice was still in Mama A's belly, she was reading and talking to Bea (didn't know she was a Bea during the entire pregnancy) and I read and talked to her as well.

Now that she's almost six months, we've found that one of her favorite books is Ten Little Ladybugs by Melanie Gerth and illustrated by Laura Huliska-Beith.

And now that I've read it at least a few hundred times to her while she sits on my lap spellbound in ladybug land, little hands caressing each page and ladybug bump, I've realized that this little book is quite the suspenseful thriller with a hopeful twist.

Think about it for a moment:

TEN little ladybugs sitting on a vine, along came a butterfly – then there were…

And then there nine. Dear God, what happened to the lady bug. What did the butterfly do?

Reading on, the story becomes even more horrific, ladybugs disappear left and right, innocent animals vanish at the hands of other species. Bea bounces on my lap, arms flail, eyes wide, mouth a giant "O".

SIX little ladybugs flying near a hive, along came a bumblebee – then there were…

This one stuns me. It's my daughter's namesake (kind of) stealing away the sixth ladybug. Will the madness ever cease? Will there be a ransom note? Where are the police? Bea's drool leaves her chin, striking me on the hand. I jump!

ONE little ladybug sitting all along, along came a breeze – then she was…

What's with these random acts of violence from these dark creatures of the meadowland netherworld? Butterfly, caterpillar, bird, grasshopper, bumblebee, fish, turtle, duck, frog – and my God, even the breeze joins in on the unforgiving crime spree!

Where are the ladybugs!

Home!

Then she was…home. Home. All the animals are there, smiling, and all 10 little ladybugs are happy and safe. These were random acts of kindness from complete strangers. A community helping its neighbors. A village raising its young.

That's the kind of world I want my daughter to grow up in. Reading should foster dreams of hope.

What we do when we grow up is ours to make – a hopeful mindful living and personal responsibility reality.