Monday, October 25, 2010
Fatherhood at Fifty: MY SANCTUARY...
Fatherhood at Fifty: MY SANCTUARY...: "Today was a nice, cool, chill out day for me and Shiloh. That consisted of taking another trip to the Magic Johnson 24 Hour Fitness Center. ..."
MY SANCTUARY...
Today was a nice, cool, chill out day for me and Shiloh. That consisted of taking another trip to the Magic Johnson 24 Hour Fitness Center. Shiloh liked it a lot better her second time around. More kids her size and her age to bop around with. After some mid morning prowler drama upon our arrival home, I needed to just decompress. Nothing like a steady diet of law enforcement and insurance adjusting to make you want to enjoy one of those Calgon take me away moments. Instead of the long soak in the tub with the bubbles, scented candles, and a long stemmed glass filled to the brim, I resorted to propping myself down in front of the PC and hitting up Youtube. I love the easy access to music these days. It's not like when I was a kid and you had to manually place the record player arm on the desired cut. I always wound up scratching the vinly album while simultaneously damaging the "needle" used for transmitting the music. Isn't it crazy that I find the need to explain how that outdated contraption works? There may be young teens out there that haven't a clue as to what I am describing. Things are so much more convenient nowadays. In fact, when you ask young people to identify their favorite songs on a particular CD, they tell you the number of the selection rather than the tiltle. One of Shiloh and my favorite ways to spend time together is listening to music. She gets this glint in her eyes and starts bounding up and down. Put on Cameo's "Word Up" and it's automatic "party over here." Recently I have been in a Rock and Roll mood. That may be a misnomer because I like a variety of different sounds. From Nirvanna to Steely Dan, to one of my all timers, Joni Mitchell. Something about the hauntingly melodic, octave alternating style of hers. And the lyrics these old time song writers come up with.
Steely Dan;
You been telling me you're a genius since you were seventeen.
All the time I've known you
I still don't know what you mean.
The weekend at the college didn't turn out like you planned
The things that pass for knowledge I can't understand.
And, of course, Joni;
Late last night I heard that screen door slam
A Big Yellow Taxi came and took away my old man.
Everytime that doggone screen door slams, something happens to put a damper on Joni's happiness. A Big Yellow Tractor does a number on the house and land. She watches the taxi take away her old man, again.
Will Shiloh appreciate any of this later in her life. I read the comment section on Youtube. It's filled with nice little tidbits that supplement my listening experience. For example, Mick Jagger, Paul and Linda McCarthy sing the background on Carly Simon's You're So Vain. There's also comments about what those old songs represent for some of the listeners. I've read countless times how a certain song reminds someone of their Father. They remember their Dad sitting in his favorite chair, enjoying his music. I've been accused of not broadening my musical taste at times. That I like to spend too much time reflecting, with some old school Jazz, or Rock or R&B as the backdrop. That's okay. Maybe my little Girlie Girl will harken back on these days and have a vague recollection of her and her old man spending our afternoons together. Music will be the cornerstone that connects her world with mine. Even after they pave paradise, and put up a parking lot.
Steely Dan;
You been telling me you're a genius since you were seventeen.
All the time I've known you
I still don't know what you mean.
The weekend at the college didn't turn out like you planned
The things that pass for knowledge I can't understand.
And, of course, Joni;
Late last night I heard that screen door slam
A Big Yellow Taxi came and took away my old man.
Everytime that doggone screen door slams, something happens to put a damper on Joni's happiness. A Big Yellow Tractor does a number on the house and land. She watches the taxi take away her old man, again.
Will Shiloh appreciate any of this later in her life. I read the comment section on Youtube. It's filled with nice little tidbits that supplement my listening experience. For example, Mick Jagger, Paul and Linda McCarthy sing the background on Carly Simon's You're So Vain. There's also comments about what those old songs represent for some of the listeners. I've read countless times how a certain song reminds someone of their Father. They remember their Dad sitting in his favorite chair, enjoying his music. I've been accused of not broadening my musical taste at times. That I like to spend too much time reflecting, with some old school Jazz, or Rock or R&B as the backdrop. That's okay. Maybe my little Girlie Girl will harken back on these days and have a vague recollection of her and her old man spending our afternoons together. Music will be the cornerstone that connects her world with mine. Even after they pave paradise, and put up a parking lot.
Monday, October 18, 2010
IDIOSYNCRASIES
It can be so interesting watching a one year old. They start developing characteristics, habits and mannerisms that are peculiar to them. My daughter Shiloh for instance, does this thing where she crimples her nose and starts pushing air through her nostrils, like really hard. All the while she is doing this, she gets this bizzare frown on her face. This being the Halloween season, we have taken to calling her Chucky, as in the doll from the Child's Play movies. That's one of the many positives about Fatherhood at Fifty, the appreciation for the minutia. At previous stages of parenthood, there was a tendency on my part to be preoccupied with me. What was happening in my life, issues to be dealt with as they pertained to me, feelings to be navigated through, that affected me. But for some strange inexplicable reason, I am enthralled by my daughter's "Chucky face" antics.With my theatrical background, I've envisioned doing a Shiloh/Chucky video vignette. Maybe even post it on Youtube. Get a close up shot of her going through her crimpled nose routine and the labored breathing through the flared nostrils, then cut to some grisly mass murder scene staged in the house somewhere. We'd have to be really careful with the ketchup for blood mixture. One drop spilled on the sofa or floor and it's curtains for real. Instead of her lethal weapon of choice being some faux knife or ax, I would have her wielding the wooden ruler she likes to amble around with. After she performs the dastardly deed on her intended victims, she could then take their measurements, in case they are needed for some reason in the future. Another great shot would be to have her scaling the stairs, deadly ruler in hand. I would shoot this from an overhead angle, cajoling her to make the "Chucky face" as she ascends. This would be a pretty simple task, she seems to get a kick out of us laughing hysterically every time she does it. The only challenge is I have to keep doing the "Chucky face" over and over, until it registers that this is what I want her to do. My mucous is a lot looser than hers. We would then cut to a shot of her older brother Cyrus screaming, with a terrified look on his face. She gets tickled to pieces when he does stuff like this with her, so the struggle would be to get her to stay in character.
My biggest concern is how she'll react to it all later in her life, at the age of six or seven. Will she be really pissed off at her Dad for making fun of her like that? Of course I would emphasize that we weren't laughing at her, but laughing with her. Somehow I'm sure she won't buy that. I suppose some memories are better left as just that, memories. I certainly wouldn't want some of my grosser habits immortalized. But dog gone it, it's just so friggin' cute. What the hey, places everyone. Shiloh/Chucky, scene one, take one, and...action!
My biggest concern is how she'll react to it all later in her life, at the age of six or seven. Will she be really pissed off at her Dad for making fun of her like that? Of course I would emphasize that we weren't laughing at her, but laughing with her. Somehow I'm sure she won't buy that. I suppose some memories are better left as just that, memories. I certainly wouldn't want some of my grosser habits immortalized. But dog gone it, it's just so friggin' cute. What the hey, places everyone. Shiloh/Chucky, scene one, take one, and...action!
Monday, October 11, 2010
BABY STEPS
Some of these "Fish Story-like" tales of early childhood development can really put the pressure on Daddy. Specifically, I keep hearing these reports of toddlers walking at earlier and earlier ages. One parent bragged to me that 9 months was the time that her daughter was up and at 'em. Another made the unbelievable assertion that her boy was fully upwardly mobile at 7 months. What's next, babies Moonwalking out of the womb and exchanging fist pounds with the Doctor? Or maybe even being still ensconced in the amniotic sac, but clearly visible on the ultra-sound, teaching all who watch and care to learn how to Dougie?
Which leads me to my own little bundle of precociousness, scooting around on all fours, Shiloh. She had her first birthday a couple of weeks ago. I have been working with her diligently, giving the proper positive encouragement and inducements. I guess you could say I have been her private personal trainer when it comes to walking. I have nearly neutered myself with the ultra high pitched pleadings, "come on girlie girl, you can do it girlie girl." In case you didn't notice, my pet name for her is "girlie girl". She seems to take much amusement in watching her Mother and I go through all the histrionics, standing on her own between the two of us beckoning like idiots. She then lowers herself into a squat that would make a Latino street-corner O.G. proud. Ultimately it's back on all fours, as she scoots away from us to find something or someone else a little more interesting.
Then it happened without the usual prompting from us. She went from propping herself up on the circular table in the den, to taking three tiny, little "baby steps". You would've thought our favorite team had won the big game on a last second shot. The pure elation registered on our faces was palpable. This was the beginning all right, the beginning of the end. The end of that initial stage of life before your kid becomes homo erectus. There is something endearing about watching Shiloh scoot. She is the quickest little scooter that I have ever seen, a real flesh and blood Soap Box Derby race car in action. She gets going in one direction and quickly picks up incredible rates of speed. Like zero to sixty in three point five seconds. I remember those old television shows back in the 60's would have actual crawling baby race segments. Shiloh would definitely be the Secretariat of the baby racers, hands down. Leave the rest of them stranded at the gate, choking on her dust.
For now she's kind of stuck on those three baby steps. That's her limit, one, two, three, drop. Once she drops, she's back into full scoot mode. And I am really okay with it. After all, she'll start walking full time, then before you know it she'll be ready for school. Then it's high school and dates and proms and dudes showing up at the house and blowing their car horns from the street, screaming "Shiloh, you ready yet?". Man, I am soooo cool with those three baby steps for now...slow down, girlie girl.
Which leads me to my own little bundle of precociousness, scooting around on all fours, Shiloh. She had her first birthday a couple of weeks ago. I have been working with her diligently, giving the proper positive encouragement and inducements. I guess you could say I have been her private personal trainer when it comes to walking. I have nearly neutered myself with the ultra high pitched pleadings, "come on girlie girl, you can do it girlie girl." In case you didn't notice, my pet name for her is "girlie girl". She seems to take much amusement in watching her Mother and I go through all the histrionics, standing on her own between the two of us beckoning like idiots. She then lowers herself into a squat that would make a Latino street-corner O.G. proud. Ultimately it's back on all fours, as she scoots away from us to find something or someone else a little more interesting.
Then it happened without the usual prompting from us. She went from propping herself up on the circular table in the den, to taking three tiny, little "baby steps". You would've thought our favorite team had won the big game on a last second shot. The pure elation registered on our faces was palpable. This was the beginning all right, the beginning of the end. The end of that initial stage of life before your kid becomes homo erectus. There is something endearing about watching Shiloh scoot. She is the quickest little scooter that I have ever seen, a real flesh and blood Soap Box Derby race car in action. She gets going in one direction and quickly picks up incredible rates of speed. Like zero to sixty in three point five seconds. I remember those old television shows back in the 60's would have actual crawling baby race segments. Shiloh would definitely be the Secretariat of the baby racers, hands down. Leave the rest of them stranded at the gate, choking on her dust.
For now she's kind of stuck on those three baby steps. That's her limit, one, two, three, drop. Once she drops, she's back into full scoot mode. And I am really okay with it. After all, she'll start walking full time, then before you know it she'll be ready for school. Then it's high school and dates and proms and dudes showing up at the house and blowing their car horns from the street, screaming "Shiloh, you ready yet?". Man, I am soooo cool with those three baby steps for now...slow down, girlie girl.
Monday, October 4, 2010
THE WORKOUT
Today being Daddy/Daughter Day throughout this great land of ours presented the perfect opportunity to introduce Shiloh Johnson to Magic Johnson. Now before you loquacious, taletelling types jump to conclusions, chill out and let me explain. I workout 5 to 6 days a week at a fitness club owned by the former Laker Hall of Famer. It is a great place to get your lift on. Terrific panoramic view of the Westside of the city, including beach and airport. At the top of every stairwell, there is a larger than lifesize poster of Magic. Lifting weights in one shot smiling. Shooting hoops in another, smiling. Even adorned with silk robe and boxing gloves, and of course, smiling. Hey, if I had the success he's had in business and as an athlete, I'd be smiling too. Even the life changing HIV situation was handled with the aplomb that only Magic could muster. He is truly amazing. {Hold up a minute, it's Shiloh's time to bang on my computer keys, and my time to repeat "NO", over and over again and hope she loses interest. Good, she found some semi-important document to mangle}. Where was I, right, Magic's 24 Hour Fitness. First time I met Magic, we were at the center jump circle at Pauley Pavillion before his rookie year. He was all of 19 years old and had captured the attention of the sporting world, we NBAers included. After I received thunderous applause when I was introduced at the start of the charity game, he said to me, "this is your city". I prophetically retorted, "if you play like you did in college, it'll be your city." How right I was.
But I digress, I mean seriously digress,which becomes more exciting the older you get. Anywho (Seattle people say that), Shiloh and I were headed for the workout. Talk about your multi-tasking. First, figuring out these new fangled car seats, you need a crash course in bio-engineering. I got it right, for the most part. Then, trying to juggle my workout bag, Shiloh's diaper bag, and oh yeah, Shiloh, was no easy feat. Throw in some rain slickened stairs leading to the driveway, and I was one misstep away from slipping into disaster. Once parked at the Health Club, I had to repeat the bags plus Shiloh prestidigitation. Oops, her knit hat bites the dust and falls on the dampened asphalt. As I slide it back on her head, I say to myself, "what Mommie doesn't know won't hurt her."
As I enter the club, I have to check-in using the new fingerprint technology. Am I entering Langley, or is this Magic's 24? I am greeted by the always ebullient Ebony from behind the counter. Her friendly smile and positive attitude as consistent as death and taxes. She then utters that question in the midst of her statement that makes me cower, "look at Mr. Johnson, babysitting. Is this your Granddaughter?" Ouch. Touche. All that. "No, this is my daughter." In eye roll midstream she asks her name and I tell her. So it's off to Kid's Club for Shiloh, and off to my futile attempt to stave off the gravitational inevitability for Daddy. Did my 40 minutes of cardio on the low seated stationary bike, or "Big Wheel", as the younger guys call it. Next, got in my customary lift on the rope extension machine. Just my luck, one of the over inflated exercise balls was available and I was in crunch heaven. Just a little over an hour and it was time to hit the pool, and then a steam and shower. Alas, it was not to be, for at that very moment, an ominous voice blared from the intercom, it was Ebony the Ebullient, "Mar-kweese Johnson, please report to the Kids Club. I dare not look anyone in the eye as I unobtrusively made my way toward the stairwell. A bunch of wisenheimers that would love to have a little fun at my expense populate the second floor. I acknowledged pugilistic Magic and headed down the stairs. I got to the Kid's Club, unscathed, to find Shiloh sitting in the caretaker's lap, one nearly evaporated tear on the left side of her face. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me, reached out her arms. Time to blow this popsicle stand...
But I digress, I mean seriously digress,which becomes more exciting the older you get. Anywho (Seattle people say that), Shiloh and I were headed for the workout. Talk about your multi-tasking. First, figuring out these new fangled car seats, you need a crash course in bio-engineering. I got it right, for the most part. Then, trying to juggle my workout bag, Shiloh's diaper bag, and oh yeah, Shiloh, was no easy feat. Throw in some rain slickened stairs leading to the driveway, and I was one misstep away from slipping into disaster. Once parked at the Health Club, I had to repeat the bags plus Shiloh prestidigitation. Oops, her knit hat bites the dust and falls on the dampened asphalt. As I slide it back on her head, I say to myself, "what Mommie doesn't know won't hurt her."
As I enter the club, I have to check-in using the new fingerprint technology. Am I entering Langley, or is this Magic's 24? I am greeted by the always ebullient Ebony from behind the counter. Her friendly smile and positive attitude as consistent as death and taxes. She then utters that question in the midst of her statement that makes me cower, "look at Mr. Johnson, babysitting. Is this your Granddaughter?" Ouch. Touche. All that. "No, this is my daughter." In eye roll midstream she asks her name and I tell her. So it's off to Kid's Club for Shiloh, and off to my futile attempt to stave off the gravitational inevitability for Daddy. Did my 40 minutes of cardio on the low seated stationary bike, or "Big Wheel", as the younger guys call it. Next, got in my customary lift on the rope extension machine. Just my luck, one of the over inflated exercise balls was available and I was in crunch heaven. Just a little over an hour and it was time to hit the pool, and then a steam and shower. Alas, it was not to be, for at that very moment, an ominous voice blared from the intercom, it was Ebony the Ebullient, "Mar-kweese Johnson, please report to the Kids Club. I dare not look anyone in the eye as I unobtrusively made my way toward the stairwell. A bunch of wisenheimers that would love to have a little fun at my expense populate the second floor. I acknowledged pugilistic Magic and headed down the stairs. I got to the Kid's Club, unscathed, to find Shiloh sitting in the caretaker's lap, one nearly evaporated tear on the left side of her face. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me, reached out her arms. Time to blow this popsicle stand...
Year One
The jokes, the rolling of the eyes and just overall looks of disbelief. What misdeed has been carried out that would elicit such responses? What is it that you could be guilty of that would cause folks to stare at you with such wide eyed wonder? Confessed some heinous crime against humanity (some equate it as such), or maybe even the polar opposite extreme of having been touched by the Holy Ghost and proclaimed it my duty to preach the Gospel to the disenchanted of the World, starting with the Tea Baggers. Okay, maybe that is a little too far fetched, but you get the idea. Dealing with Fatherhood at Fifty is fraught with its own unique set of challenges. Starting with my own questions of whether or not my health and longevity will hold up adequately.
Shiloh became a one year old a few days ago.She is the essence of beauty, a complete source of joy. But this deal ain't for everybody. It takes a level of commitment and more importantly, energy, that I thought was long dormat, never to be awakened. Ever again. But it is what it is, and what it is is, another opportunity. When I was told it was blessing before she arrived, there was a little bit of scoffing. Since she has been here, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am the lucky one. Things happen how they are supposed to and this little Angel is one of the greatest gifts I have ever received in my life. So, despite the aches and pains that come from being my age, despite the soiled diaper changes(wish I could outsource that),and possessing the roving acumen of one of those little energizer bunnies, it has been a blast. Hard work, mind you, but a blast nonetheless.
Funny moment: Why did Shiloh get super agitated when I tried to put on purple sweat pants to go with her pink onesy top. She kept reaching for the still damp pink pants that matched the onesy top. When I pulled her away from them, she looked at me like my fashion sense was totally out of kilter. This at one, what will the future hold? I'll keep you posted...
Shiloh became a one year old a few days ago.She is the essence of beauty, a complete source of joy. But this deal ain't for everybody. It takes a level of commitment and more importantly, energy, that I thought was long dormat, never to be awakened. Ever again. But it is what it is, and what it is is, another opportunity. When I was told it was blessing before she arrived, there was a little bit of scoffing. Since she has been here, I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am the lucky one. Things happen how they are supposed to and this little Angel is one of the greatest gifts I have ever received in my life. So, despite the aches and pains that come from being my age, despite the soiled diaper changes(wish I could outsource that),and possessing the roving acumen of one of those little energizer bunnies, it has been a blast. Hard work, mind you, but a blast nonetheless.
Funny moment: Why did Shiloh get super agitated when I tried to put on purple sweat pants to go with her pink onesy top. She kept reaching for the still damp pink pants that matched the onesy top. When I pulled her away from them, she looked at me like my fashion sense was totally out of kilter. This at one, what will the future hold? I'll keep you posted...
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