New Songs, Timeless Theme

I was listening to my daughters singing along with some popular music last night.  I knew it must be popular because they were singing along and I didn’t recognize it.  In between songs, they talked about the nuances of genre.  Folk, pop, rock, some combination.  But what I noticed were the lyrics, which shared a theme.  Though I couldn’t tell you what they said specifically, the words had that same aspirational, eternal, absolute conviction that good love songs thrive on.  Now, my girls are on the imaginary side of that divide.  They have had, depending on their age, their various crushes or hoped for attachments.  But, unlike Dad, they have yet to experience that aching certainty that the person you are sitting across from in some restaurant or walking hand-in-hand with or driving home is the person you want to, need to, must be with for the rest of your life.  After 35 years of marriage it would have been quite easy for me to descend into lecturing my daughters about how unrealistic the portrayal of love is in a three minute song on the radio.  Really, you could live without that other person.  After all, you were alive before you met them, right?

Then, I thought back to the time when I was in that place.  When the longing and the wondering were actually realized in a magical young woman who said “Yes”, who said “I Do” and started that life together that seems much more than the two of us.  While I know that it is true that a form of life would go on if one of us was no longer there, I also know that there would be a vast emptiness that would never be filled.  That is how love should be.  You give it all you’ve got, flaws and all, and something grows up and out and together until where one ends and the other begins is less and less discernible.  And to tear that apart would indeed be tragic.

So, I suspect the love songs will just keep coming.  As unique as each relationship, as familiar as that ‘tale as old as time’.

Just an old-fashioned love song, 

playin’ on the radio, 

and wrapped around the music, 

is the sound of someone promising they’ll never go.

You swear you’ve heard it before, 

as it slowly rambles on.

No need in bringing ‘em back, 

‘cause they’re never really gone…

An Old-Fashioned Love Song

Performed by 3 Dog Night, lyrics by Paul Williams

My Job Description

I don’t know much about the habits of other fathers, since I’m the only one I observe on a regular basis.  But one habit I have is using the refrain “It’s in my job description” when my delightful daughters question aberrant behavior I exhibit while performing my fatherly duties.  After several years, decades in fact, of getting away with this claim unquestioned, a younger daughter got wise to my ploy.  She wanted to know exactly where this job description was so she could review it.  

Awkward.

The best I could come up with was that it was all in my head, a notion which naturally did not fly well in the face of daughters taught to think logically and do research before asserting a particular viewpoint as authoritative.

“Well, Dad, you’re just going to have to write it down for us, or we won’t believe that you have one.”

I was stuck.  So for the last several, ahem, weeks (ouch), I have been promising to write down my job description.  Because my credibility was at stake.  You can’t simply say you have a job description and not be able to deliver it (although I have heard of employers who do just that).  After much deliberation about the full import of what it means to be a father, I came up with a list of duties that seems fairly representative.  Perhaps another father or two out there needs something similar.  I cannot say I fulfill all these duties absolutely without fail.  It may not work for all Dads, as it is skewed towards raising daughters and, more lately, the arrival of grandchildren.  But, then, it IS my very own.  And, like all job descriptions, it is subject to revision.

1. Must tickle children regularly.
2. Must laugh at silly jokes.  
3. Corollary to #2: must be able to tell corny jokes that invoke extreme eye-rolling and exclamations of “Oh, Daaaaaaad!”
4. Must be able to see invisible friends.
5. Must be conversant in stuffed-animalese.
6. Must be able to reach the top shelf.
7. Must go on dates with daughters.
8. Must have a certified contract with the tooth fairy for timely, discreet tooth redemption.
9. Must be able to make bizarre facial contortions.
10. Must watch childish cartoons with apparent interest.
11. Must be appreciative of the subtle qualities of “stick figure” art.
12. Must be able to fix anything.
13. Must read to his children at night without falling asleep in the middle of the best parts.
14. Must be adept at splinter removal.
15. Absolutely must do all the icky jobs including, but not limited to, unclogging toilets and removing the remains of dead animals the cats deposit on the lawn.
16. Must not take losing at games too seriously.
17. Corollary to #16: Must not take winning at games too seriously.
18. Must not excessively embarrass his children in public.
19. Must be able to tutor all school subjects at all grade levels.
20. Must perform the ‘Daddy Dumpster’ function: let no plate leave the dinner table with perfectly good food on it.
21. Must patiently endure emotional episodes when he in all likelihood hasn’t the faintest clue what the cause may be.
22. Must have arms that never tire of pushing children in swings.
23. Must say a goodnight prayer.
24. Must always keep his promises.
25. Must give really good hugs.

Why Dads Need To Take Their Sons To See Cinderella

Not just your mother's Cinderella

Given the way Disney and other movie producers have been revising fairy tales in recent years, I was unenthusiastic when I heard there was a new Cinderella movie.  It did have in its favor a PG rating, so excesses of passion or violence would be missing.  Then a reliable media critic that I know personally, my teenage daughter, went with a group of her friends to see it and came back with a glowing report.

Clearly, I needed to do my own evaluation.  So, I took our 12-year-old daughter for her date to see Cinderella.  As might be expected, there were a lot of moms and little girls when we arrived for the early matinee.  There may have been other dads there, but I didn’t see them.  I settled into the reclining theater chair, sure I would at a minimum enjoy my daughter’s reaction to the movie and my tub of popcorn.

Two hours later, I am not sure who was more enthralled.  Yes, it was the same story, yet fresh and grand.  Surprises were few and complimentary.  Most surprisingly, I realized that this is a Cinderella that fathers should take their sons to see.  Because this Cinderella captures the essentials of what it takes for a ‘happily ever after’, for a man and a woman to join in a lifetime partnership of doing and being together what they could never do or be on their own.  

Here are the father-son lessons from Cinderella:

Values Matter
A simple narrative thread was woven into the tale: have courage and be kind.  While some ardent feminists object that Cinderella was just a door-mat for her evil stepmother and stepsisters, Cinderella was actually embodying a counter-culture ethic in a time that idolizes power, especially "girl power" that looks like nothing so much as immature "boy power".  Cinderella instead chose this path:
“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” 
That takes an entirely different kind of courage than the "kick your enemy's butt" kind.

Not Just A Pretty Face
The prince and Cinderella first meet while she is riding in the woods.  At this chance encounter, he discovers a girl who is willing to confront him with her compassion for the stag the prince and his party were hunting, a girl who speaks the truth that just because something has always been done is no reason it should be done.  When his father the king accuses him of having his head turned by ‘a pretty girl’, he responds:
“She isn’t a pretty girl.  Well, she is pretty.  But she is more than that.”
When the prince eventually discovers that the mystery girl from the ball is truly a dirt-poor commoner with no parents and no dowry, he has a decision to make.  And he makes the right one.

Be Truthful, Especially About Yourself
The prince keeps his royal identity secret when he happens upon a simple country girl in the forest.  He introduces himself to Cinderella as ‘Kit’, an apprentice learning a trade from his father.  When she discovers his true position, he reiterates his claim that he is an apprentice.  He had the humility to recognize that in spite of advantages of position and wealth, he had much to learn about life and the responsibility of being a king.  

Honor Your Father  
While his growing regard for Cinderella brought tension into the royal court, the prince was always respectful of his father’s wisdom.  He would do what his father thought best for the kingdom, even to the point of accepting an undesired marriage if Cinderella could not be found.

The Right Person Is Worth Everything
The prince searched until he had found Cinderella.  At the end of the movie, he takes Cinderella by the hand and asks, “Are you ready?”  To which she replies, “For anything, as long as it is with you.”  Then they step out onto the balcony to join the celebration. That ending captured the essence of why our culture for so long has given each princess their fairy tale day called a wedding ceremony.  That day when for one shining moment, he is a prince, and she a princess and they are declaring to the world:
“We are ready for anything, as long as we are together.”
I have been with my princess for 34 years now, and cannot imagine facing the future without her.

Recap
To sum up the lessons fathers can teach their sons from Cinderella:
You start life as an apprentice.  Keep learning.
Listen to Dad.
Have courage, especially when faced with overwhelming obstacles.
Be kind, especially to those who have it harder than you.
Do what is right, not just what everyone is doing.
Inner beauty is far more important than outer beauty.
When you find the one who is willing to share a lifetime of uncertainty with you, never let her go.

I should mention that the prince agrees that boys should see the movie.  Oh, and one final reason dads need to take their daughters to Cinderella: I have daughters and need them to be raising the right kinds of sons.

Quality Time

I need this at 6 am on Saturday

It was a typical Saturday morning.  I headed to Starbucks at 6 am for what I informally call the Starbucks Breakfast Bible Club.  Our small circle of men share the Baby Boomer cultural framework.  We also share a desire for stalwart camaraderie on the journey of life.  So, we spend a couple of hours together on Saturdays wrestling with how the truth in Scripture should continue to shape us.  It is a good time, a time ‘with the guys’ that has become vital to me.  

Early Saturday mornings at Starbucks seems to fit our demographic.  I suspect the younger crowd populates the ubiquitous coffee chain in the evening hours, when I am shutting down at the end of a long day.   After we have been there an hour, the foot traffic picks up.  Looking around, I see individuals plugged into their requisite electronic devices taking the occasional sip while intently engaging whatever is on the screen, couples conversing over steaming latte’s, a few younger guys in another corner who may be gathered for the same reason we are.  Starbucks is to this era what the classic diner was to an earlier generation. 

On this particular morning, when we had been there long enough for the coffee to do its good work of energizing my synapses, I noticed a young father with his infant daughter, likely about a year old, close to the age of my youngest grand-daughter.  She was dressed in “footy jammies”.  You know the kind: all-in-one flannels that zip from the ankle to the neck and have the non-slip coating on the bottom of the feet.  The contrast was striking between the tiny toddler with her wisp of light hair and her strongly built father with his shock of dark hair who carried her as lightly as he might carry a kitten.  They sat down in one of the cushioned chairs by a window, about half-way across the dining area from us.  Though still engaged in discussion with the guys, I couldn’t help watching this father-daughter moment.

Every child should have these

She was perched on his lap, nibbling on something from the bakery case.  He was drinking his coffee.  Every so often, he would bend down and kiss her on the top of the head or ruffle her crown of hair.  As people came and went, she would point and say something.  He would look and smile and comment.  When, as inevitably happens with small children and food, a piece of her breakfast didn’t make it to her mouth, he would carefully help her recover it from her lap or his.  Not so extraordinary, this.  Yet, as I watched them, in their own little world though surrounded by people, I realized what a precious, magic time they were sharing.  This daughter was learning at an early age that she had a father who loved her so much that nothing else but being together was important.  He was supremely content just to simply be with her.  No agenda, no schedule, just being with his little girl while she enjoyed her pastry and the people strolling in and out and the morning sun peaking in the window of that Starbucks cafe.

Then I thought about the date I had coming up later in the day with one of my own daughters.  And I was grateful for this young man and his reminder.

Safe With Me

A bruised and battered woman, a celebrity male.  Emotion, passion, codependency, a baby, money, fame.  All on awkward public display.  The sad story of NFL player Ray Rice and his wife Janay.  It has played out many times in many ways as long as men and women have been uniting in love or lust or both.  In the middle of all the conjecture about why his anger leads to violence and why she is so ready to defend him, something stands out to me.

Regardless of whether you see marriage as ‘fair’ or not, the majority of women end up hitching their lives to a man in a vast leap of faith.  Granted, the man is taking some risk, too.  But, culturally and biologically and practically, it is the woman whose identity becomes subsumed in the relationship.  She becomes wife and mother.  He remains identified by what he does.  

One feminist response has been: Women must be independent of men if they are to thrive.  Men cannot be trusted.  Who am I to blame them?  When we live in a culture where the first thought upon seeing a woman with a bruise is “Who hit her?”, something is dreadfully off track.  But in spite of that, men and women keep trying.  We still need each other in ways profound and mysterious and fundamental.

In the ‘Why I stayed’ narrative, we hear horrific tales of other women trapped in dangerous relationships.  We hear about why women are afraid to leave and what may be the root cause for men’s anger.  But I wonder, where are the men saying: we need to be worthy of the trust women place in us?   

In the “Liturgy of Solemnization of Matrimony" from the Anglican Book of Common prayer, mostly unchanged since 1559, are these familiar words: 

I _________ take thee ________ to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.*

That section is followed by one that has become less popular over time: 

WITH this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Those lines “with my Body I thee worship” call to mind even older words: Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her.

In the middle of calls for prosecutions and resignations and “something needs to be done”, the most compelling alternative is the man who can answer with one, and only one example: his treatment of the woman who has risked her personhood by committing her life to his.  The testimony that this woman has always been and will always be safe with him.

For those men I know who are walking that path, thank you for the example you are setting in your home, your extended family, your community.  Thank you for teaching by example that women are to be honored, protected and cherished.  Thank you for laying down your life for the sake of another.  That is manhood.  And that is why she will stay.

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*Here is an excellent explanation of “I plight thee my troth”.  But to spare you the lengthy, delightful linguistic detail, a more modern rendering and just as meaningful is “I promise you I will be true”.

Children, Government, and Business

I received two important notices recently having to do with my children.  The first came via the U.S. postal system.  It was an envelope full of information that boiled down to a threat: prove your children are yours or you won't be able to have them covered by your health insurance.  Apparently this is a new provision of the euphemistically named 'Affordability Care Act'.  I have company insurance and have never had to do more than provide social security numbers and birth-dates.  The new requirement is two forms of proof -- a tax return showing my children as dependents and a copy of their birth certificates.

Contrast this with the cheerful, colorful e-mail from Barnes and Noble announcing that one of my children in the B&N Birthday club was eligible for a free treat in the cafe.  What did I have to provide to get that notice?  Simply a first name and birthdate.  What do I have to do to redeem it?  Simply show up with said birthday club member and coupon in hand.  No other proof required.  Were I inclined, there are any number of ways I could 'game' that system.  But B&N assumes that their customers are generally honest, trustworthy people.  They believe my daughter is my daughter because I say so.

The government is not trying to win my patronage.  They already know they have a monopoly.  Theirs is a raw exercise in power and control.  Underneath it is a presumption that everyone who signs up for health insurance is prone to fraud and the truth needs to be weeded out by this faceless bureaucratic exercise.  The information I collect and send to 'prove' my children are truly mine will do nothing to change the reality of their existence or our relationship.  It is simply a large waste of my time.

Barnes & Noble on the other hand, is doing their best to convince, not coerce, me that a trip to their store will be worth my time, my daughters time and their time -- a mutually beneficial interaction.      And I can't wait to get over there and prove them right.

Utah's Best Music

Our family has fond memories of Utah.  Of sweating in Zion National Park on family vacation; of stops at obscure bed&breakfast locations at the approximate midpoint of the 1200 mile trek to and from Wyoming where my Mom lives.  But until a few months ago, other than geography, Utah held no other interest for us.  Then, friends of ours told us about this musical group with the unlikely name of "The Piano Guys" and that we "just had to check out" their video on YouTube.  Generational note.  When I hear 'YouTube', I think "biggest digital dumping ground of wasted time and mediocrity imaginable"; when my children hear 'YouTube', they are filled with anticipation.  Still, we all gathered around the computer to view the Piano Guys signature video.  It is hard to describe.  Five guys playing a piano. I mean, the whole piano.  Not just the keys, but plucking strings, using horse-hair strands from a violin bow to play the strings, smacking the sides.  It was truly playing the entire instrument.  Not long after this discovery, one of our daughters found out they were coming to California.  So, after months of waiting, we got to see them at the Grove in Anaheim last Friday.  They were great, the venue was full of enthusiastic music fans of all ages, and they finished with that signature number.  Somehow, our girls - the biggest fans ever - managed to be first in line to get autographs.

Check out The Piano Guys.  Something different, something worthwhile in the sphere of 'entertainment'.  It is still out there.  People creating beautiful music for the love of music.

The Odd Life of Every Family

Friday night movies at our house have been dominated for several months by history, starting with the Civil War and moving slowly forward.  We decided at the beginning of the school year to do this for two reasons: First, not nearly enough good movies crawl out of the Hollywood swamp to supply a new movie every week (astounding considering over 700 movies were rated and released in 2012); secondly, we have watched most of the content in our small library numerous times.  This semi-educational approach allowed us to set expectations that movies can be more than simply 'entertaining'.  Of course, most history headlines are full of conflict, so among our choices are Gettysburg, Gone With The Wind, All Quiet On The Western Front, War Horse, and A Bridge Too Far (the latter being a bit intense for the younger set).  

Naturally, Dad could thrive on this serious weekly war diet.  The rest of the family, not so well.  In the search for a true family movie, last week we found a gem: The Odd Life Of Timothy Green.  In fact, we enjoyed it so much we watched it again this week with our extended family.  An excellent review is here.  There are other reviews that snipe at the movie for being 'unbelievable' or 'smarmy' or 'simplistic'.  I suspect these same reviewers have long since forgotten childhood or harbor some resentment about their own family life.  To vastly oversimplify the reaction to the movie in our home, the parents loved it for the parenting angle while the girls loved it because Timothy Green is an endearing kid.

So many realities about family life were captured in The Odd Life Of Timothy Green.

• The searing pain of childlessness.
• Learning to love your child for who they are.
• Enduring comparisons, by yourself and others, of your child, your parenting, your metrics for 'success' to those who are seemingly doing it better.
• The disappointment of crushed expectations.
• How parenting raises the specter of the gaps in your relationship with your own parents.
• Facing your inadequacy to be what your child needs most of the time.
• The unique opportunity for love that we call adoption.

Leo Tolstoy opens the great novel Anne Karenina with this famous line: "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."  It seems to me that is the essence of what 'Timothy Green' captures.  There is no end to the number of ways that families can mess up and find unhappiness and bitterness.  But as TOLOTG shows, those same moments are an opportunity for applying the simple ingredients that make happy families alike: to love, to forgive, to never give up.

The movie uses as a thematic wrapper the mom and dad explaining to adoption authorities why they should be allowed to adopt.  In doing so, they are telling the story of Timothy Green, his impact on them and their efforts to be good parents.  At one point, the barely credulous official asks, "So, what would you do differently?"

"We would make better mistakes," was the answer.

That is the essence of parenting.  In all the accumulated experience of raising multiple children by God's grace, my progress as a parent is best summed up by this ambition: that I will make better mistakes.  And, perhaps I should add the hope that our little miracles will become all they are meant to be, in spite of our best efforts.  

4 Books, 4 Fathers, 4 Daughters

In 2013, I have read four books which highlight the importance of fathers to daughters.  Of course, those are the kind of books I SHOULD be reading, given my parental status.  [While I am on the topic, the absolute BEST book dealing directly with the subject is 'Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters' by Meg Meeker, which distinctly influenced the title of this post.]

The books, in the order I read them, are:

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith

Moon Over Manifest - Clare Vanderpool

The Diary of A Young Girl - Anne Frank

The Hiding Place - Corrie Ten Boom

Two things stand out as I consider these books collectively. First, that daughters will love their fathers in spite of a father's flaws, many or few.  Even for a father who fails regularly, a daughter's love is remarkably resilient.  The other thing that struck me was the rarity of the father who is a source of strength to his daughter.  In 'A Tree Grows In Brooklyn' and 'Moon Over Manifest', the dads are well-meaning, but weak, controlled by bad habits, unable to be the foundation their daughter's should have.  Anne Frank sees her father as a distant, though well-meaning "old" person.  This must be tempered by her immaturity combined with their uniquely tragic circumstances that would put any relationship under duress.  Though experiencing much the same hardship as Anne Frank, (they were only 10 miles apart during the Nazi occupation of Holland in World War 2), it was only from Corrie Ten Boom that I read of a father and daughter knit together, a strength from a lifetime of living out a deeply abiding faith.  Corrie hearing of her father's death is one of the most touching moments in a deeply moving story.

Of course, such reading leads to reflection.  What kind of Dad am I?  So I am not a chronic drunk or rail-riding bum.  Perhaps I am like Anne Frank's father -- a thoughtful, reasonable man who provides for his family.  But that is not enough.  I want to be the spiritual bastion that Corrie's father was, so that when my daughters launch out into life, or life storms in on them, they will have a sure foundation, a heritage of faith to carry them through.

Words of Wisdom from Corrie Ten Boom's Father:

After Corrie as a small girl asked innocently about an adult topic, he asked Corrie to carry his heavy watch repair bag.  She tried to move it…

"It's too heavy," I said.

"Yes," he said. "And it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his daughter to carry such a load.  It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge.  Some knowledge is too heavy for children.  When you are older and stronger you can bear it.  For now, you must trust me to carry it for you."

After Corrie experienced the dread of death when a neighbor's baby died.

"Corrie, when you and I go to Amsterdam--when do I give you your ticket?"

I sniffed a few times, considering this.

"Why, just before we get on the train."

"Exactly.  And our wise Father in heaven knows when we're going to need things, too.  Don't run out ahead of Him, Corrie.  When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need--just in time."

After Corrie learned in her early 20's that the man she loved was engaged to be married to another woman.

"Corrie, do you know what hurts so very much?  It's love.  Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked, that means pain.

"There are two things we can do when this happens.  We can kill the love so that it stops hurting.  But then of course a part of us dies, too.  Or, Corrie, we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel… Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way."

Doubling Down On UNO

Piled high on the shelf of our hall coat closet are a number of board games: Monopoly, Sorry, Yahtzee, Clue and more.  These are games of chance, each with an element of 'the roll of the dice' or 'the luck of the draw'.  In spite of this component, even the most random game of chance can be affected by the choices each player makes.  In other words, the skill of the player does matter.  This is why people gamble.  They think they are smarter than chance.

Our youngest daughter Mercy is, at seven, not quite up to the complexities of many of our board games, but she adores UNO.  UNO, for the uninitiated, is a classic card game.  One evening this week, her other sisters were occupied with other things, so Mercy asked if I would play a game of UNO.  I had a few minutes to spare and said "O.K., one game".  A single hand of UNO can go on for quite a long time before someone goes out, which is why I agreed to play ONE game.

I Can't Win. 

Part of the reason Mercy likes UNO so much is that she has developed a reputation for winning.  I am sure she is not gifted enough to be consciously calculating the odds of which order of card play offers the highest likelihood of achieving victory.  However, she does have a knack.  She wins far more often than she loses.

I knew this going in.  So, it was not unexpected that I would lose.  And I did.  In very short order.  We didn't even make it through the 'draw' deck once, leaving us with time to play more.  As any self-respecting man who has been so soundly thrashed would do, I challenged her to 'the best two out of three', meaning that one of us had to win two and I hoped it would be me.  Please reference my opening remarks about skill.  Surely I had more skill than a seven-year-old.

Game Two was a repeat of Game One.  I came close to going out once or twice, but again Mercy won.  I was beginning to feel like Megamind in his contests with Metroman: She would win some, I would almost win others.  In desperation, I cried out, "Best three out of five!"  This, of course, meant that I would have to win three in a row, a highly unlikely scenario.  In Game Three, I had a decent hand, played carefully, and lost even more quickly than I had the first two games.   In suspicion I looked at the discard pile.  Then I counted it to confirm.  There had been 14 cards discarded, which meant that as 7 cards are dealt to start the game, my brilliant opponent had never had to draw even one!  All along, Mercy played calmly, with a sweet smile on her face.  She would even apologize when she had to foist a 'draw 4' card on me (see "I Can't Win" above). 

Rather than gracefully accept my defeat, I made a classic mistake.  I doubled down on a  bad investment.  I had already played longer than I should have.  But, in a rather graceless attempt to salvage the remnants of my pride, I stated boldly that there was 'no way' Mercy could win four in a row and I would pay her a dollar if she did.  So, now I was into my UNO investment with both time and money.

You can guess the outcome.  After a slightly longer hand than humiliating Game Three, I was on the brink of winning.  I had one card left and called 'Uno'.  But, my discard, while not the color of Mercy's remaining card, was the same number, and she went out.  My other daughters swear I was rolling around on the floor howling in agony for several minutes afterwards.  I can assure you I was not that undignified.  Finally, I trudged back to my bedroom and returned to pay one quarter for each game Mercy had won.  And she accepted each quarter with the same cheerfulness as she had each victory.

I did learn from this experience.  A couple of nights later, when we played another game of UNO, I stopped after losing the first game.

Robbie - R.I.P.

For the second time in a decade or so, we buried a cat on the hill on the back side of our house.  Robert Malcolm was unique.  He drank by dipping his paw into water and licking it off, ate by scooping his food out of the dish and nibbling it off the garage floor.  He would go down the slide of the play-set in the back yard.  He endured patiently my grand-daughter's petting, pulling, and poking.  He assumed if you sat on the patio that was an invitation for him to climb on your lap.

Of course, he had bladder issues for his first year, turned the play-set area into his own gigantic cat box as an adult, and left any number of bloody carcasses in the garage.  Still, of our three cats, he was the only friendly one.  Jane, the female, prefers solitude.  Baron, the other male, moves for food and not much else.  Robbie liked people.

It started one morning last November, when I tried to go out the door from our kitchen to the garage and something was in the way.  It was Robbie, lying on the doormat, obviously in pain.  A trip to the vet and he was diagnosed with a blocked urinary tract, apparently a common ailment for cats.  Immediately, we were confronted with life-and-death decisions that involve cost of care.  The vet's office is not a good place to be making those decisions for a cat.  I cannot imagine how it would be at a hospital with a parent or child or spouse.  In any case, Robbie had surgery and spent a couple of nights with the vet.  I suspect the final tally was close to the combined total for everything we had spent on cats over the years up to that point.  Robbie came home with mild bladder control issues, but after a couple of weeks appeared to be better.  He would not eat the special food proscribed, but did take all the antibiotics.  So, we hoped for the best.  

But the first of January, symptoms returned.  Almost exactly a year after a sinus infection kept me home from work, I had another one.  As I reclined in the sun looking out my bedroom window, I saw Robbie huddled on the lawn, still wet with dew.  He was too miserable to move.  As the sun warmed the lawn, he stretched out and spent most of the day there, motionless.  Our options were to let him go or make another costly trip to the vet with no real hope of long-term recovery.  So, we decided to let him go.  He spent the next day laying on a doormat in the garage.  My wife said he moaned occasionally through the day and once looked at her piteously.  At that, she said a simple prayer asking his Maker to shorten Robbie's suffering.  When I came home from work not long after, his breathing was slow and shallow.  It was almost over.  We had an evening engagement that we had to attend, so we took our youngest girls and left our two older daughters at home to keep an eye on Robbie.  Less than an hour after we left, a short text message told us Robbie was gone.

It was a sad drive home and a sadder home-coming.  There were tears and tissues, hugs and an uncharacteristically quiet bed time.  Children have not yet learned to restrain their affections, to guard their hearts against loss, so the death of a 'simple animal' pained our girls more keenly than it did me.  Later, as I dug Robbie's final resting place in the clay on our hill, I wondered whether my reserve had caused me to miss something important.  I will miss that pesky cat.

Skirts

After long hesitation, I have a confession to make: I like skirts. That is, I like my wife to wear them and I like my daughters to wear them.  Frankly, I prefer that all women wear skirts or dresses rather than pants.  Not because I have an overt desire to see more female legs, though as a man I cannot deny that an ankle or calf (not the bovine type) is a very interesting piece of anatomy.  Rather, I appreciate the differences between male and female.  I want daughters who value those differences enough to resist trends that trivialize distinctions God created.  It may seem silly, but I don't want my wife or daughters to have a wardrobe that is essentially interchangeable with mine.

One only has to observe a few youthful androgynous couples wearing their matching skinny jeans, t-shirts, and knit caps to realize that the eradication of differences between male and female fashion is nearly complete in some circles.  My girls live in jeans most of the week, a habit that is hard to overcome.  Jeans are becoming regular attire for women in the corporate world I work in.  But on Sunday, my wife and I expect our daughters to look, as we so quaintly put it, like young ladies.  

Call me chauvinistic or old-fashioned, but instead of dismally unflattering mannish garments or overtly provocative attire, there is a form of feminine dress where the mysterious female otherness is apparent, yet modest.  I have no formula, no dress code.  But, I know it when I see it.  Somehow, I want to help my daughters see it, too.