Lovin' this Country

This weekend I went to a wedding reception where the groom was Hindu and the bride was Muslim (the happy couple are both American born, their parents are immigrants). Why was I there? The groom’s sister married my brother (Anglo Christian) four years ago. For more cross-religious romance, I can look to my wife’s side where her Roman Catholic uncle married a Jewish woman (he later converted).

I don’t have to say all of this happened in America. You know it happened in America because where else does this happen regularly and with no fanfare? Not only do these kinds of marriages occur every weekend, they occur without so much as the thought they might lead to violence. Sure, not every family is as warmly welcoming as those involved in my ever-growing list of relations, but our culture supports this blending of peoples and traditions like no other. Being American is not about ethnicity or religion or country of birth -- it's a moral and intellectual ideal to which anyone can subscribe.

At our best, we are a wonderful people with a magnanimous culture. It doesn’t and it shouldn’t take grand events to make us proud of who we are and where we live. Sometimes, just a few cocktails with new relations is enough to make you thankful to be American.

One More Fatherhood Moment

Inspired by my friend’s fatherhood poem, I add this bit of a story. All true expect for the names:


The day's last moments lingered in the ribbons of pink clouds dipping to the west. They could still hear the carnival, the children's voices endless like a waterfall, the deeper hum of parents conversing, laughing, scolding. They had barely pulled Ian away, spending the last of their cash on a child’s football game requiring too much skill for a three-year old. The game operator gave him a toy anyway, just enough of a bribe to get the boy to finally leave.

He sat now in Dad's arms, clinging on in that way only tired children do. "We go 'gain tomorrow?" he asked.

"It's just here tonight," Dad answered, pretty sure the carnival would be around tomorrow but damn sure he wouldn't be going back.

"I wanna go tomorrow," Ian insisted.

"We're done with the carnival. It'll be back next year."

"I wanna throw foo'ball 'gain."

"We'll throw one at home."

"I wanna win."

"You can win." Dad stopped there, suddenly aware of a warm wetness against his side. "Ian?" he said, not really wanting to ask. "Did you just pee?"

"Yeah," the boy answered, drawn-out as if he too had just realized what happened.

"You peed on me."

"Yeah." There seemed to be almost a giggle to Ian's voice.

Feeling the wetness spread across his ribs and down his side, Dad walked on. There were three more blocks to go and he couldn't set Ian down now. In the end, the son always wins.

And Now, A Moment of Fatherhood

From good friend Rob over at NoFrowns Nation. If this doesn’t capture what it’s like to be a young father, I don’t know what does:

You asked for a hug
and to sit on my lap
But you couldn’t admit
your desperation to yack

I picked you up
to prevent your tears
you wretched and proceeded
to puke in my beard

You declared “I don’t feel good”
while I rubbed your back
You said “I don’t like this”
I thought, “Ditto that!”

Mom came to bathe you
and dispense of your clothes
while I cleaned the floor
and purelled my toes

But I’ll tell you what
as sure as can be
I’d gladly trade places
so you can puke on mommy

Yeah, I Did it Myself

Yesterday was a Big Project day. I don’t do a lot of Big Projects. I’m more of a Sunday afternoon handyman rather than a guy who takes on extended fixer-up jobs. But yesterday I returned to the task of making the nasty little back part of our yard useful—specifically, I worked on repairing an old gate and finishing the sandbox I began a full year ago.

The last Big Project I undertook and actually finished was the complete renovation of the kitchen in our DC condo. The result was quite nice but getting there did involve a small fire, a minor electrocution and the need for a tetanus shot. Not a bad accident tally for a month of unskilled labor.

My wife enjoys amusing guest with the laundry list of injuries I sustained. But, for me, the best part of that kitchen was telling visitors, “yeah, I did all this myself.”

Yesterday, I did a hack job fixing the gate. But the sandbox looks great. As I dug out all the earth that had collapsed back into the hole since I did the initial digging last year, my 3-year old helped with his little plastic shovel. He even managed to get a few clumps of dirt into the proper pile.

We finished the digging and then I finished the framing and the anti-weed tarp laying. My wife applauded the end result and was even kind enough not to mention it had taken me a year to build something most people could complete in a weekend. It was nice to see something useful appear in that section of the yard. But the best part came that evening.

As I was tucking the boy into bed, he looked at me and said “you make me a sandbox.” I said, “yep, and you helped.” To this he grinned and replied, “yeah, I did it myself.”

I could have hired some day laborers to build the sandbox. Heck, I pay people to mow my yard, I’m hardly adverse to spending money to save myself some labor. But there’s a solid satisfaction in do-it-yourself projects. I don’t think once-a-year Big Projects keep me real but they keep me at least a little more connected to my home.

That’s of value. And I’m glad I was able to share it with my son.