Another Doctor Story. A hatful of sky and a handful of...

 I think Doctor stories are becoming my biggest issue on my blog.  There must be three or 4 of them

up by now.

Dads, I know there are a lot of you with muscles of steel and iron will temperament.  A lot of you have seen action and seen your buddies get their legs blown off.  I remember reading Viet Nam war stories with the sentence, "I strapped my best buddies innards back inside of him waiting for the medic to come."  Or, "I looked at his leg, it was hanging together by one tendon. `You are going to be all right`, I lied to him."

That is not me.

Sure, call me a coward, call me a wuss, whatever,

But the point I am leading up to, is that, I hate trips to the doctor.  And now my wife says as a 40 per cent Dad, I have to take the kids to the doctor more.   I am the Dad, I have to live up to my position and moniker,  Dadnamit.

Taking a trip to the doctor gets me as nervous as having to take a bus trip (see this story).
I start getting nervous the night before.  I have a few trips to the doctor already under my belt, and I think I have it in control.  Uh..... maybe, maybe not. 

Yet, the further point of this story is is that I experience everything my daughter experiences.  Its not like I can close my eyes when she is getting punctured and is screaming and then say, "See, that wasn't so bad now was it?  Keep a stiff upper lip little girl".  So I have to watch and...  I don't like the pain.   Lets face it, many women can take the pain and the blood and punctures better than men.   For certain reasons they are used to having blood run out of their bodies and can take or watch pain better.   I assume. I  may be wrong or stereotyping.  I hope I am not Donald Trumping.

Fathers, prospective Stay at home Dads, I hate to say it, but some of your duties will call you to view the pain of your children at the hands of the doctors.  I have seen enough of them, my daughter crying when they punctured a ball in her ear to let the pus out.  I was at the major one when they took her out of Mothers stomach and she was hanging by a thread so to speak to her Mother, which was actually a strange one to see.  But today's view was having to watch them stick a Kleenex into each nostril all the way to the bridge of the nose.  She didn't scream, but I could see when they were putting it in it was terribly uncomfortable for her and she wanted to cry.  I have to admit I nearly broke down crying for her.  While looking at your buddies leg hanging by a tendon would be 10k times worse, having to watch your helpless, very sweet daughter who you love more than anything, nearly life itself, sitting there in discomfort with two Kleenex up each nostril...  just drives the adrenaline from my body, drains me out, saddens me, depresses me ad nauseum.

What is worse is she probably has some allergies, so I will have to be bringing her to the doctor from the Fall once a month for all these tests, and, ......... I wont get the medal of honor for doing so.  Just all in the days work of the stay at home Dad, bringing up daughter, but who cant stand to see his little girl in pain or discomfort.  Lord give me strength.

B.  A Hatful of Sky.  A Handful of...
So we are riding back on the tram back from the doctor.  And this is the second ear nose and throat doctor, and after a complete test for allergies earlier in the year, this second doctor tells us it is probably allergies, it is not due to sickness and your daughter is not sick. Come back in the Fall.  My daughter is suddenly very tired, has a headache and her stomach has been hurting all morning.  She is sleeping on my lap.  "Not due to sickness," were docs words. 

"Daddy,  I think I am going to throw up" were her sudden words while riding back on the streetcar.   Now for someone who rides the street cars every day, the disdain of having what you think is drunks puke on the floor is mighty.  So, these words caused just a bit of forward movement in the noggen muscle;  it got the wheels in the head turning VERY quickly.  I said, "We have one more stop, after this one, can you hold it?"  With stupid questions come answers.  Within two seconds, I knew the answer would be  a resounding NO.

So, I put my hand up to her mouth and caught about 50 per cent of the vomit.  The rest, as it turns out went on her jacket, pants and my pants.  But none, let me repeat that, NO VOMIT got on the floor of the street car.  So for the next ten seconds until we reached a stop, I was holding a handful of vomit.  Now believe it or not, this did not bother me at all.  And the interesting part of it was that she had eaten exactly nine strawberries, strawberries being in season at the time of this writing, for breakfast. So in fact it was strawberry vomit.  In those ten seconds, I thought about all the Strawberry Shortcake and Pinkalicious story books I read my girls and thought it a perfect oxymoron that here I am holding a handful of strawberry vomit.

Without any problems I hoisted all our stuff, my 22 kilo daughter and a handful of strawberry vomit all off the street car without spilling a drop.  She promptly threw up on the sidewalk outside the tram.  Cushlemacree.   I have to say the whole thing was pretty amazing.

As I am wiping her down on a bench in a park at the stop, I again remembered that wonderful Joan Rivers joke where Joan Rivers has absolutely no problem taking a piece of food from her daughters mouth that her daughter doesn't want to eat and eating it herself.  Parents do these things.  Like holding a handful of strawberry vomit until it can be displaced in a not so unreasonable location.  I was totally calm through the whole thing as I wiped the vomit off her pants and coat and my pants.

One for the grandchildren.  One for the Gipper.    

The Big Bully. Part 1

It is a big topic.  I intend to write a book about it, but I have to say, as a Father concerned and taking time to be involved with his kids upbringing, I think there is one thing I don't want my children to be.  A Bully.  If my children are being bullied, I am going to go to the proper authorities and make some noise.  If my child is bullying and I find out about it, and she initiated the bullying then there is going to be some serious talking to my child and probably some crying too and guilt on her part.

In fact both have already happened.  My girl was pushed into the boys bathroom and they barred the door on her once, and then she was tripped on the stairs.. and things kept happening.  My wife went to talk about it with the teacher and the teacher agreed there was a problem.  The bully`s parents came in and it appeared the bullier was having trouble at home because of a new baby brother.  She probably didn't think she was getting the love she used to get and was probably angry about it and took it out in part on my daughter who was actually her friend.  They never stopped being friends, but it was touch n go for a while.  We didn't want her to be friends with someone who was pushing her around and hurting her physically sometimes. 

The thing is, it seems, bullying and bullies existing in childhood is endemic,  even across all generations and countries.  Can we divide kids into three groups?  The bullies, the bullied, and the bystanders who usually don't do anything but are usually a friend of bully or bullied.

It makes me wonder, the sociologist that I am, whether there is some inherent purpose for bullying?  It  either plays a role of vying for head of the group or functions as socializing youngsters to act the way of the group.  For example the bullied can often be the weaker "weirdos" who profess an alternative way of thinking or acting than what is normal.  Then you get the bully to put them in their place and make them act "like the rest of us" and doesn't let the person be alternative because that would destroy or weaken the mores, the social fabric, of the group.  

Or else bullys form some pecking order of strength, like in a gang or a circle of people.  The best bullyers will of course be the leaders. The real tough guys.  In the past the biggest bullies in fact might have been rewarded with the best food or the best mating choices.  Maybe they still do.  

Bullying grows out of some social purpose for carrying forward group mores and group socialization.  Or else it establishes the leader and hierarchy of the group.  And humans are a very hierarchical animal.  Here is a good article, strangely from Forbes magazine, which puts the finger on the issue  

That is,  in the old days when it was Us vs Them.  Haven't we evolved to, "Us vs Ourselves"? 

 Haven't we evolved, outgrown this earlier "need" for both the method for achieving a hierarchy (through bullying) and the necessity to spurn those different from us?  In fact  these days, we need differences in communities and groups.  The more diversified a group you grow up in, the stronger the individuals we have for society and for even leading society.  Sadly, the bullying still exists and has not kept up with our evolutionary growth.  Or, just as sadly, bullying still is an effective method for both "putting people in their places" and establishing who carries more weight around in this street, school or community.  

In my next installment I will be remembering a bully from my time and see where he is today.  

Memory Dept 1: A Couple Crude Things I Might Teach My Children

I am not happy about this.   I don't want to be a crude Father and I am not the type of Father to let my children say bad words, use bad sign language (the middle finger), or bathroom humor in general.  My older daughter got a serious yelling at recently when she gave the middle finger to some older kids.  

That said, I have to admit that some crude and rude things will be learned and TAUGHT by myself and I wont be able to help it.  It will be.  After long thinking I have come to the conclusion that the following, when the time comes, will be taught to my kids even against my better judgment not to.

1. Raspberry

This first happened already several years ago.  My first daughter was only three years old and couldn't do much motor wise with her mouth or fingers.  So it was a big thrill to teach her how to blow a raspberry.  At the time vocal sentences had just begun, but she couldn't even say all the letters of the alphabet, like L and forget about saying things like "thing" and th words.  So to teach her a rather crude, but tongue twister was a victory.

It was a Pyrrhic victory as it turned out.  Something I shouldn't have taught her.  It turned against me.

She did the raspberry so much and to everyone, but when she did it to Grandma, "No I don't want that Grandma, pftthh" (or however you spell the sound of a raspberry)  I had to yell at her hard and tell her she DOES NOT give Grandma the raspberry, not to mention people in the stores or walking down the street in the town.  Well.... I had to teach her.  But I think she has forgotten it by now and I wont teach it again.


2. Arm Fart.
These are really for boys and I actually learned how to arm fart from my older brother who was much older and thus a seasoned veteran, a professional, at arm farts.

Boys love farts.  Well, lets face it, all little kids love farts.  It is a source of joy for all toddlers and young kids (kids is defined loosely here, say age 5 to 15, or 65).  Girls at some point become too polite to fart, maybe when they go off to college or start dating older boys.  Women do not know what a fart is and will send you to the doghouse if you suggest that you heard them fart. Its not possible.  But boys love a fart, kind of the way drunken teenagers love to burp on the street that stops traffic several blocks away.  Or a two am burp on a deserted street which shuts up all the barking dogs not to mention stops all the church clocks from chiming. 

The arm fart is so satisfying because you can sit there like a chicken without its head, running all over the place with your hand under your arm flapping your arm and producing joyful squeaks till the cows come home.  Seriously, once you start doing it, it is hard to stop.  My brother the professional would fart out whole nursery rhymes which I remember 40 years (and counting) later.

Though I haven't yet, I am sure the day is coming soon that i will teach my girls how to arm fart.  The youngest one couldn't get it yet, so she would probably cry if I tried to teach them today.  But one day soon.  Rome wasn't built in a day you know.  But I am actually still in debate in my head whether I should teach my polite girls the awful crudeness of arm farting.

3. Exploding small milk cartons.
(Wait a sec.  I am not referring to the really dumb prank which was big a couple years ago of smashing pretending to fall in a supermarket while carrying gallon jugs of milk and the jugs smash and milk goes all over.  I am totally against that, and those were incredibly stupid. )

I have to admit that the memory of exploding milk cartons (after the milk was all drunk, we couldnt waste the milk) in lunch time is one of my fondest memories of grade school.   I don't know if they still sell the small milk cartons in school these days.  I think they wised up and give the milk out in a glass.

We had those little half pint/ 100 ml  ptl milk cartons which when empty and smashed upon with your shoe had the capacity to sound like a hand grenade went off.  I remember the two lunch ladies gave you hell if they caught you.  Sometimes they even sent you to the principals office and a serious penalty was waiting for you.  For that reason you had to wait till both lunch monitor ladies were way over on the other side of the room with their backs turned on you or that you were behind a pillar when you did it.  Timing was of the essence.  You had to sit down quickly and kick the carton away and get your best poker face on before either of them turned in your direction.  Difficult when your ears were ringing from the explosion.   Ah but such good memories I have of personally exploding milk cartons not once, but several times in one rather mischievous year.

I really want to teach my girls how to explode a milk carton, no doubt about it, rude and crude or not.  It is a must.  That I have already decided.  I only wonder if they still make the cartons.  I haven't seen too many around these years.  I think the national union of lunch monitors petitioned against them and they have been fazed out.  Pity if so.

On the other hand, these days it could be dangerous as people might think it was a bomb going off and maybe there would be a school lock down, the police called, fire engines, basic turmoil, turbulence, cacophony and chaos.  I am not too sure I want to be called down to the head of the police and made to pay some huge fine for the national guard being called out.  I better think this one through with precision and risk vs reward.

My how times have changed.



 

I Neanderthal pt 2: The ego in Men

I will continue from part 1, the story I started.  Here is the link to part 1

I got on the street car a couple weeks ago with my youngest daughter.  I was taking her to her doctor for a control review after she had been home for over a week with the disease which every little pre schooler was getting at the time.  She had gotten on the tram on her own two legs, but all the same I was quite surprised when some youngster, a teenager in fact, got out of the seat he was sitting in and offered me and my daughter the seat.   There were no other seats available.  It was the proper thing to do, but 1)  I am an able father with a toddler who stands, not a baby, I would think people would say "they can stand I want to sit."  2) He was a frigging teenager.  Teenagers don't offer their seats to anyone.  Well, it made me quite happy and proud in fact to be offered a seat.  Boy did I feel proud.

But it made me think that some tipping point has taken place, at least in my city.  It made me think that there are so many Fathers at all times of the day being "Dad" taking their kids, toddlers, babies here and there in strollers, or in those strap on baby carrying pouches.  It is so commonplace, that people give up their seats to normally strong males who are with kids, just like they would give up their seats to a Mother with a baby, toddler or kid.  What is the difference between a Mother or Father travelling with their toddler who needs a seat to sit in?  In fact no difference.  At least that is my line of thinking.

This wasn't always true. Or perhaps, maybe I didn't always feel this way.

We used to live on a quiet street with no trees.   Quiet street does not always mean "nice" and or "quaint".  It can mean desolate with loads of isolation.  That is how I felt about that street.  Still do.

As I stated and left a photo in my last post linked above, I had to go under a viaduct with all the cars and trucks and buses streaming through.  I didn't like it.  I felt everyone was looking at me.  There was nothing I could do about it.  I had to take my daughter through there on the way to the park around 10 am  just when all self respecting "gainfully employed" fathers should be in work at their desk, not even on break.  If I went later, it would be after 12 noon and my daughter would fall asleep in her stroller coming back which meant I would have to put her to bed without lunch or wake her up for lunch and she would have trouble going back to sleep for her nap.

The problem was that I had a terrible inferiority complex and a big ego at the same time which made me too conscious of being the "stay at home father" taking care of his daughter while his wife was working.  When you are the only one WALKING under that viaduct with a little girl either in a stroller or on a little red motorcycle the perceived stares and thoughts of all the vehicle drivers passing you by can wreck total damage on your psyche.   Either it was the part of town, or the year, but there weren't that many Fathers passing my way with kids.   Also at 10.30 am, it was only Mothers or the local kindergarten kids with their teachers in the park. 

The street I walked down (pic courtesy Google maps)

Three years later with a new daughter and a new living location I would take my second daughter to a park just 7 minutes walk down the street.  I would walk along one street which had other people sauntering on it. True, it was mostly Mothers at that time, or males with some delivery errand.  I tried to go around 11 am so it would look like I was home for early lunch taking my daughter out.  She took her nap later, so I could go later.

It was a bigger park.  At that time and park there were usually two or three Dads there with their kids, even at 11am.  I think one Dad there really was home on his lunch break.  I talked with another.  He was a University teacher and didn't have classes every day, so he was home with his boy some days and took him to this park.   We talked a bit, didn't become friends, but it was a day in the park with a monkey who was similar to myself.   That was important.  In fact that was the point I think.  To have the support of the same species and sex type so you see that other people are just like you and in the same boat as you are.  There are some strong Dads out there who don't care what others think or do, sometimes I tell myself that I am one of the strong willed ones, but... who am I kidding?

These days another three years on, as I said at the beginning, at least in my district, in my part of the city, I see Fathers walking down the street with strollers at 9am.  I see Dads holding the hands of their two year olds maybe doing the grocery shopping or going to the park.  I wish I could tell them I am not staring at them because I think they are losers being "stay at home dads", but I would like to give them a thumbs up and say, "Hey, you are doing a wonderful job, keep it up.  Its great and important work."  When school lets out for the day and I bring my daughter (s) to the same park at 4pm,  the split is pretty often 50/50 Dads to Moms.

My how times have changed.   Maybe my ego and complex have changed too?  Mm, probably not.

Tram Tips

 Young and old, are very well versed in tram etiquette. It is courteous (and let’s just say expected) to offer up your seat to elderly people, pregnant women and children. Also, it’s looked on favorably to use your “inside voices” on the tram.