Unsung Heroes

I want to sing a particular group of professional's praises. Well, not literally, as I don't so much sing as mimic a rusty hinge. But these folks labor day in and day out in a thankless and, for the most part, low paying profession. I am talking about those women (men are extremely rare in this profession for reasons that will become apparent), that are charged with the task of educating our preschoolers. That's right, educating. I say this because if you are foolish enough to call childcare "babysitting" the ladies that do it for a living will immediately set their phasers on "kill". For those that work with children with special needs, that goes double.

Although I am reluctant to admit it, I recently discovered, despite all evidence to the contrary, my wife is a saint. Actually my wife and her colleagues everywhere are saints. OK, maybe not Sue K, but the rest are spot on! My discovery stemmed from my "volunteering" to help out at one of her classes. This is an activity that I highly recommend for any adult, especially those that no longer have any use for their shins, kneecaps or various other joints and muscles that you don't even know exist. My wife teaches preschoolers that focuses on integrating children with special educational needs. What used to be known as "mainstreaming" which has evidently become politically incorrect so I don't know what the current jargon allows. The children in the class I visited have various learning disabilities which make education a particular challenge. ADD, ADHD, Autism and Asperger's (which, it turns out, is not the name for a new sandwich at Burger King) are involved with some of the children in the class.

Anyway, while mothers are common volunteers for these classes, fathers rarely venture in. That's because most men truly fear working with little children. It's no fun being outwitted by your average 3 year old. Male teachers in this line of education are even more rare. Why, you ask? Because male teachers are genetically incapable of teaching anyone that can't be ordered to run laps or do pushups (swats used to be included until those damned lawyers got involved).

Being a rarity in a classroom can have its advantages. For about 3 milliseconds the children hold you in a kind of reverent awe. After that, you become fair game for endless streams of questions and observations ranging from "Do you really live with Mrs. LaForce" to "My dog gets eye boogers!" And that's the easy part. Most of your time is spent bending, squating, sitting cross legged on the floor on a carpet made up of various shapes in a circle. I got to be on the triangle, and heaven help me if I would sit on the circle, for God's sake. Then there is the matter of hitting. Every once in awhile, one of the children gets frustrated beyond his or her means to cope and wallops someone, usually the nearest adult, with a force that get's you to thinking "DOWN GOES FRAZIER, DOWN GOES FRAZIER!"

Thankfully, the teachers have learned to recognize the warning signs and can usually nip such contacts in the bud. The untrained, inexperienced observer is usually not so lucky. As a consequence, I find the occaisions where some parents, either through blissful ignorance or outright denial of their child's condition, berate, belittle and criticize these professionals and their recommendations or activities. I know of these parents because once in awhile, when Sandy comes home and tries to tell me about her day, a few molecules of actual information make it into my brain and sinks in. Just a general tip to Sandy's colleagues and women in general. Husbands say they are listening, and in actual fact they are listening, as best they can. But men are hard wired by nature and thousands of years of evolutionary programming to allow about 2 syllables of the spouse or girlfriends comments enter into his pea brain, before that brain, acting wholly on its on, refocuses on things like "Who are the Browns going to lose to this week" or "I wonder if Anna Nicole Smith donated her hooters to science. If not, she should have!"

Anyway, I tip my hat to you ladies that are in the trenches, doing the dirty work of educating our toddlers because we men are damn sure not going to do it! And, if you want to make sure that your man is really listening, you might want to open the conversation with something like, oh, I don't know, maybe...

"That Jayne Mansfield had some big breasts!"

Love
Dad

My daughter be jammin'

I blame myself. I was the one that took up SCUBA at the ripe old age of 54 and encouraged my offspring to take up the fun and adventurous activities while they were young and their bodies had not yet put one foot on rigor mortis and the other on a banana peel. First of all, most parents recognize that their children generally take their advice about as often as the U.S. Congress gets anything worthwhile accomplished. Which is never.
Even so, I thought, well, the kids are smart, both college graduates and Melanie, has spent more time and money on education than God. Surely, my thinking was, they will take up something more strenuous than text messaging and get out there and get into physical activity. I knew that my intelligent, fun loving children would have the sense not to get into something like being money couriers in Baghdad, or go duck hunting with Dick Cheney. No they would never do anything dangerous. I am of course, a total moron!
Melanie, aka Dr. LaForce, called us to proudly announce, not that she is expecting our grandchild, no nothing so mundane as that, but that she is, and I hope everyone is sitting down, going to play on a Roller Derby Team. Get it? That's ROLLER FREAKIN' DERBY! For those of you too young to remember or those old enough but whose brains have been fried by recreational drug use, roller derby is a "sport" where teams of roller skaters fly (and that is somtimes literally the case) around an oval track. The object of the "game" as I understand it is to skate as fast as possible, while rearranging the various anatomical features of the opponents all the while. The first team to make most of their opponents look like a painting by Dali wins.
Is it me, or does someone else out there think this is a tad, uh, risky? First of all, anyone who knows anything about skating knows that the whole premise was dreamed up by someone with two basic characteristics. They were:

1. A guy.
2. Blowing somewhere between three times the maximum legal alcohol limit and dead.

A possible third characteristic may have been he was either a frat president or a phys ed major. I mean think about it. Who else would be sitting around one day, after consuming large quantities, and come up with the major brainstorm of "I know, let's put wheels on shoes and see what happens. That should be fun"!
To give you an idea of how much "fun" this roller derby stuff can be is, Mel sent me an email seeking advice. Was it "How do I get in shape for this"? Or "How do I keep my balance while some 300 pound gorilla is treating my face like her own personal game of whackamole"? No, she asks "Hey dad, do you know where I can get some disability insurance"? DISABILITY FREAKIN' INSURANCE! Are you kidding me? She's not even 30 for God's sake!
But, that is the price you pay for being a parent. You love, nurture and teach your kids not to go out and do anything stupid and the next thing you know, they're getting married. Just kidding Dave. However, this is confusing, I don't know what to say to my kids anymore. I was thinking of recommending more education to my son, but he is liable to run off and go to law school or something.
I just need some time I guess to get used to this. I got used to the kids leaving home, moving to Chicago, and to some extent, body piercing and tatoos. I want to be supportive of my children even when they decide to do things that make my own skin crawl. Like eating sushi. Anyway, be careful out there and know that your mom and I are behind you. We damn well aren't going to be participating, but we're behind you.

For anybody interested her team is the Windy City Rollers www.windycityrollers.com/league/


Love
Dad