Being More Emo

"Oh I get so emotional baby
Every time I think of you
I get so emotional baby
Ain't it shocking what love can do..."

–Whitney Houston, So Emotional

"You know, Bryce, he's so emo," Beatrice said to her sister.

"I know, so emo," Bryce echoed. 

"Who are you talking about and what does that mean?" I asked. "What's the context? Does it mean that the person is too emotional?"

"I don't know," Bryce said. Beatrice didn't answer.

"What do you mean you don't know? You say it all the time."

"Not all the time," Bea said.

Well, maybe not all the time, I thought. But many times a week I hear our girls, now 12 and 14, use that expression.

Most of the time they're using it in a light, self-deprecating way. At least, that's what Bryce ended up telling me. When I told my wife Amy, her Kidpower training popped open and she said we need to talk with them about minimizing other people's emotions using that term. Then she laughed at herself, although still serious.

The term emo literally means "a person who is overly sensitive or emotional." And the term is used to make fun of people who do show their emotions more than others. It can also mean someone who is shy, brooding, and dark and who listens to Emo music, which is a rock music genre, post-hardcore and hardcore punk, characterized by emotional, often confessional lyrics. Not quite Whitney Houston, that's for sure. God, I'm getting old. I had no idea what all this meant when I started looking for answers online. 

Based on what I learned, I've always been emo. Never the toughest guy in the toolshed, I was always sensitive and emotional, although I struggled early on with managing my feelings, expressing myself, asking for help when I needed it. I learned over time that it's empowering being vulnerable, to be able to express my feelings and relate to other's feelings.

When I think about the broader implications of living in a society that does not embrace sharing one's feelings, especially for boys and men, I agree with my wife. We shouldn't minimize other's emotions when they're vulnerable enough to share them, because they most likely need support; we have to meet people where they are. It's much healthier to express how we feel and to be given empathic understanding in kind. Unfortunately, misogynistic societies have always denigrated others for being emotional and caring and why women are the weaker gender and are less than effective leaders than men. 

Of course, that's not true. I've got a household of effective female leaders and am proud that we talk about how we feel, how we manage our emotions, and how we provide love and support to one another and to others. So proud of our BhivePower! Our teen girls know that being more emo is the way to go and to not minimize others who are, or who aren't. 

A Renewal of Faith

"'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me..."

–B. J. Thomas, Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head

"Jenny," I said to our dog. "It's raining."

Jenny yawned and did a downward dog stretch. I thought her eyes said, I hear it, Dad. Ugh, that means I'm going to get wet.

While I waited outside for her to do her morning business, towel at the ready to dry her and wipe off her feet, I celebrated the rain. The rest of the family was still fast asleep on this dark and wet early fall Sunday morning. Our rabbit was safely snuggled away in his hutch. 

I reached my hand out to let the raindrops fall onto my open palm. Cool, wet, and soft. Soothing. No other sounds or smells but the rain. Like a therapy session for the soul. All the adulting things we have to deal with and worry about day after day washed away temporarily. The unstable world around us – the drought where we live, fires, the pandemic and other diseases, the economy, inflation, making a living, cultural and societal divides, crime, mental health issues, dangerous misinformation, and of course raising our children in the middle of it all – restabilizes into refreshing and nurturing raindrops for a world longing to heal. I placed my wet palm to my face and smiled.

Rain has always had this effect on me; God's way of inspiring a renewal of my faith in humanity and my place in it. We all want to be loved, to be safe, to be healthy, to be ourselves without fear of shame or discrimination. 

As I dried off our dog Jenny, "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" played inside my head. That was followed by a a line from "Three Little Birds":

"...don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing gonna be all right..."

Jenny and I sat next to each other on the coach. Everyone else was still asleep. I love my family, I thought. Jenny sighed a doggy sigh. I sighed a hopeful sigh.

Yes, a renewal of faith. Because I'm free, nothing's worrying me. 

Day One All Over Again

Our girls were excited for us to see their classrooms and meet their teachers. It would be the first in-person open house since before the pandemic and we were all looking forward to attend. I was already to go for more than our children because earlier that day I had met with the presidents of the teacher and administrative/support staff unions to talk about their priorities. I'll be on the school board starting next year so the timing was good before our open house. 

But I have to admit, I was a little apprehensive for this middle school open house. The ghosts of decades past school anxieties always bubble up for me before these current in-person school events. 

Onward I went. It was great to see old friends and parents of kids we've been going to school with since preschool and kindergarten. Our youngest Bryce is in beginning choir this year, so before the class tours started we watched her perform with the rest of the kids and the school band performed as well. 

Our oldest Beatrice had looked forward to showing us around the school and wanted to make sure we knew where we were going. Again, it had been nearly three years since our last open house, prior to Bea starting 6th grade. The girls have been back in school for the past year, but more of the parent events have been virtual until now.

Our plan was to divide and conquer and then switch. Meaning, my wife Amy and I would go to each girl's first three period classes, then we'd switch for the last three periods. We'd been having a heatwave and the first few classes were really hot and stuffy, which triggered my anxiety. I pushed through though and kept my focus on what the teachers shared with the parents in the room. 

But then I misread Bryce's third period room number on the schedule she wrote out for us and went to the wrong room. The teacher was one that Bea had in 6th grade, one of her favorites in middle school so far, and I knew Bryce didn't have him. I felt bad, but a few minutes into his intro I knew I had to go find the right room. I apologetically got up to leave and he was gracious with my exit, giving me a fist bump on the way out. 

When it was time to go to Bea's physical education period, I asked another teacher where to go. She pointed to the field where a group of parents gathered, so that's where I went. Later Beatrice would point out that was the 6th grade PE period, not the 8th grade one. Hers was in the gym, so I missed out on that one. 

The last class of open house was Beatrice's history class. By then the outside air was much cooler and flowed into the open classroom windows. We all sat down and the teacher started her overview. I heard music playing in the distance and it sounded like it was coming in from the outside windows where all the kids played waiting for their parents to be done. But then it sounded like it was inside the room somewhere. I thought, who's playing music right now? 

The music persisted and now I could tell is was Abacab by Genesis. Great song, I thought. And then it hit me -- the music was coming from me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone that was playing the music. Somehow I had started playing iTunes as we entered the classroom. I apologized and everyone laughed. The teacher didn't look too happy about it and I actually worried she would take my phone away. A dad in front of me said, "I love that song." 

That's how our girls' open house went for me. Just like that, it felt like my first day of junior high all over again. Anxious, sweaty, going to the wrong classes, feeling shy and withdrawn, accidentally playing music in class (which I never did way back when because I didn't have a phone then), and generally feeling out of sorts. And it wasn't just a coming-back-from-summer-break out of sorts. It was a coming-back-from-a-crazy-pandemic one.

I'm sure others felt the same way. Students, parents, teachers, and administrators alike. It's like day one all over again; the first time in a long time. But day one leads to another year of learning and out of sorts becomes in the zone. I thought about my meeting earlier in the day with the teacher and support staff union presidents. As long as we can recruit and retain quality teachers and support staff (not easy without enough affordable housing where we live); meet our children individually where they're at academically and provide the learning support they need; and provide them the social, emotional, and physical safety skills needed throughout life, we'll be okay. No easy task for sure, but a mission we're all signing up for. 

Keep All of Our Students Safe

The email from our middle school principal read:

I am writing to inform you of an incident that happened this morning.  Everyone is fine, but we want to share this information with our families.  A student was approached today on the way to school by a bright blue four door sedan occupied by a few people.  The people tried to coax the student into the car.  We are bringing this to your attention for two reasons.  First, to remind you to talk to your child/children about safety and being approached by strangers.  Second, if you see a car that matches this description, please reach out to the police.  We will have additional police presence today at dismissal.  We want to help keep all of our students safe. 

Yes, we want to help keep all of our students safe. I immediately texted my wife Amy since she was out running errands. As soon as she returned home, she contacted our school principal and the other school principal (where it happened) to thank them for notifying us all and to remind them about Kidpower. Kidpower is the nonprofit organization my wife works for that includes social, emotional, and physical safety programs for children, teens, and adults, including parents. 

Our kids have been raised with Kidpower and we wouldn't have it any other way. Although "stranger danger" as it's called isn't as common as running into safety issues with people you may know, safety first is always our way every day no matter who is involved. Even when our tween and teen daughters give us eye rolls when we discuss safety issues, which they do, they still listen, and they still know what to do. 

So, after school the day the incident happened, Amy again reviewed our safety plans:

"You move away from danger. If anyone stops in a car and tries to get you inside, or is walking and just tries to get you to do something, you run away and find help and safety. You don't have to acknowledge or stop or talk with anyone trying to talk to you who you don't know, no matter what they say. 

"Because they may say, 'Hey, your mom and dad have been in an accident and I need to take you to them.' But if you don't know them, you do not go with them. Since you have phones, you get to safety, get help, and call us. 

"And even if you do know them, you know there are only a few people you're allowed to go with in an emergency. The only exceptions are if you can't get a hold of us and you need to get to safety and you do know the people who can help, and they know us, even if they're not those designated you can go with. 

"We cannot emphasize this enough -- you never have to go with someone or even acknowledge or talk to someone you don't know no matter how convincing they may be. You always move away and get to safety and to your adult in charge, whomever that is."

Eye rolls aside, our girls echoed these lessons back to us and confirmed our safety rules. Since school is back in again and now they'll ride their bikes to school sometimes, we want to help keep all of our students safe.

Be Here Now

As we walked to our local farmers’ market, I told my father-in-law about how I think I hurt my right leg recently. “Well, as the expression goes,” I said, “I’m no spring chicken anymore.”

“No, we’re not,” he said.

“It’s the same when Amy pulled her hamstring,” I said. “We just can’t do the same things we used to do. Moving furniture, running, the list goes on.”

He nodded and added, “But I still want to do the things I can do and be here now.”

“Amen,” I said.

Be here now. That rang the old gong in my aged head for the rest of the day. He’s had his own health issues including partial knee replacements. But I still want to do the things I can, he had said. That also rang the gong for some time afterward.

I definitely still want to do the things that I can, but he reality of age and body parts deteriorating is here. Has already been here for years. In August 2014, I had knee surgery due to a torn meniscus and disintegrated cartilage in my right knee. Ugh. This after actually hitting a personal best of a 8.5-minute mile at age 48. Not bad for a big old ex-smoker with two young children. 

Ah, yes. Two young children. The two children we didn't want to have until we did that we're so grateful for. I was 42 when we had our oldest Beatrice. 44 when we had Bryce. My wife Amy is six years younger than me, so she was still in her 30's when she had our daughters. I read that the average age of first-time mothers in America today is now up from 21 to 26, while for fathers, it's increased from 27 to 31, so we both skewed that average. But there are a growing number of people waiting longer to have kids for whatever reason (finances, jobs, changing minds like us, etc.). 

Knowing that I'd be a much older father of two children didn't really bother me until now. Only because of what I outlined above -- my body can't do what it used to do. Even after coaching both girls in soccer for six years that included me running around with the the teams, changing directions quickly, and kicking the soccer balls back and forth. I felt good. I could do it then. Not so much now. 

We have family and friends dealing with debilitating illnesses, paralysis, and more, and so Amy and I are very grateful that we're relatively healthy and are able to keep ourselves in good shape with regular exercise. However, we are more easily injured these days and it takes a lot longer to recuperate. It doesn't change the fact that we live our lives fully, but it does mean we have to be more realistic with what we choose to do and how we do it. 

Which is why we want to remain relatively healthy (as much as we can control) and keep ourselves in good shape for us and our children, now 12 and almost 14 years old. Not just physically healthy, but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Those latter two things can break as well and I'll be way north of 60 when they're in their 20's. Which is why we exercise them all regularly. Why we're always pushing ourselves to learn and grow. Why I started drumming at age 56. Why Amy is an avid puzzle person. Why we meditate every day. 

I heard a great quote from Florida Scott-Maxwell, a playwright, author, and psychologist who said:

"You need only claim the events of your life to make yourself yours. When you truly possess all you have been and done, which may take some time, you are fierce with reality."

It took some time for me, but that's how Amy and I live our lives; we embrace all the things that we've been and done; all the ups and downs and aches and strains and pleasures and pains; we are fierce with reality. Our daughters have benefited from that, will benefit from that, and we hope will live their lives that way in their 20's and beyond, especially after we're both long gone. 

Again, my father-in-law's words keep banging the gong in my head: I still want to do the things I can do and be here now.

Be here now, fierce with reality. Always. 

With My Own Two Hands

I took woodshop in 7th grade. I don't remember exactly why I took woodshop in 7th grade, but maybe it was because my dad worked with wood and built furniture, toys, and other gifts. He was definitely inspiring over the years with all the things he built. Our home garage was full of table saws, and circular saws, and jigsaws, and so many other saws and routers and so many other woodworking tools. 

So, I took woodshop. And I made a cabinet. An actual working cabinet with shelves and hinged doors. I stained it, too. I used that cabinet for decades. Painted over it more than once. I wanted to refinish it at some point but haven't got to it yet. May never get to it, but I still have it and use it in our garage. And I made it with my own hands. 

I never really did any woodworking after 7th grade, and over the years I never really picked up anything else like it, meaning another trade of similar sorts. Drum playing more recently, yes, but that's not the same thing. I've built things and put things together and tried to fix broken things. We originally did the backyard ourselves when we bought the house. We replaced a garbage disposal, too, so there's that, but anything else above my pay grade as I like to joke, well, was above my pay grade. Somebody else had to help no matter how much Amy thought we could figure it out and do it ourselves (and many times she was right, I'll give her that). 

Recently we started doing home improvement projects. After living here for 16 years, it was time to do some things. Stuff we've talked about for a few years and we finally started doing them. New flooring to replace tired carpet for starters and the list goes on. We also hired a renovation professional who's installing a window and doing some other projects for us, and who knows what the hell he's doing for sure. 

I on the other hand, do not. I really wanted to paint a few walls with a new color in our living space, and convinced Amy we should do it, something we've never done before. I've never really painted much in my lifetime, maybe touch-ups here and there, but never full walls, trim, etc. My wife Amy and I, and our kids, checked out many different color swatches and went back and forth between lighter and darker. Our oldest Beatrice liked the darker colors, but our youngest Bryce wanted a lighter one. Amy and I settled on darker one in the end, kind of a terra cotta, orangy-reddish-brownish color. 

At first, I was confident I could do it, that I could paint just the designated four walls we picked out over one weekend. I taped off the ceiling and the baseboards and laid drop cloths down where I'd be painting. Then I started to paint. I had to paint up high and in awkward places, too, and it went smoothly for the most part. But once I removed the painter tape, I realized painting clean lines on textured walls ain't easy. The much harder part was trying to fix all the places that looked off, and that was a pain in the butt for sure. No matter how much I tried to clean up the lines, when you look closely, they're still off. 

My attempt at painting only four walls in our house got me thinking about people who have actual trade skills -- carpenters, electricians, plumbers, heating and air conditioning technicians, and so many others. And painters, of course. 

I've always respected those who trained in a trade, learned specialized skills, and made a profession out of it, and a living as well (and for some, a pretty good one with so many trade skills in demand today). We've had family and friends who have helped us out because of the trade skills they know. Even those hobbyists like my dad and his woodworking. Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on not learning a hands-on trade for a career. I'll tell you this, if our daughters ever wanted to learn a trade, I am all for it. 

For now, I'm exhausted from painting only four walls in our house, and if you don't look too closely, it doesn't look too bad. Amy and our daughters said they liked it, even though Bryce still thinks it's too dark. 

Sigh. That still made me smile, though, because I did it with my own two hands, and they watched me do it and encouraged me the entire way. 

The First Day Every Day

The first day of school was always awesome for me. Fresh off a hot summer break, wearing new clothes that our mom scrimped and saved for (put on law-away for many years early on), sporting a new hair cut, catching up with old friends, meeting new ones, seeing old favorite teachers, meeting new ones, and all the learning.

Yes, all the learning. I always loved the learning. Still love the learning. 

And the obligatory first-day-of-school picture. My sister and I took them out front of our house every year before we braved day one, and we've done the same with our children since nearly day one. 

No matter how exciting it was, apprehension never failed to arrive. Being nervous for day one was normal and the night before brought little sleep. But after the first week of back to school, I always settled into it, even after the bigger transitions of going into junior high and then high school. 

And now after a #BhivePower summer of camps and leadership, our kids are together in middle school. This is one of those transitions that our oldest Beatrice had a much different experience with, since her first year in middle school was all distance learning during COVID-19. It sucked and was a blessing at the same time, but then came 7th grade, and one of the biggest stressors for Bea was remembering her locker combination (which she did).

Now Bryce transitions into middle school and has her big sister there to help her if needed. Bryce was definitely nervous the night before, and Bea was anxious too (just like I was back in the day). The week before they couldn't wait to get their schedules and to know the teachers they'd get. In fact, once their schedules started to come out online, that's all we kept hearing about -- the good, the disappointing, and the unknown. After the first few days of school, both kids are settling in nicely. Bryce was stressed like her sister about remembering the locker combination, which she didn't have a problem with either, but poor Bea was the one who had a jammed locker on day one and had to get a new one. Bummer.

The first day of school is always awesome for our kids and we wouldn't want it any other way. We're grateful for the public education they’ve had over the years and for what's to come. They've had caring teachers, empathic friendships, and no bullying to date. If only it could be like the first day every day in life today. No worries except for locker combinations and class schedules, and looking forward to seeing old friends and meeting new ones. Blessings for all the first days.