Keeping Journals for My Children

                I have kept a journal ever since I was ten-years-old. I don’t why I started doing it, but I know why I continue to do it now. Our lives are stories. If our stories don’t remain after our lives have ended then it is almost as if we never lived at all. When I think of the millions and millions of people who have lived and died—and I have to use my imagination here—of whom there is no record I feel a great injustice has been done. I keep a journal not really thinking about someone in the future reading about me, but because I don’t want to forget my own life. I have noticed that my eighty-year-old father tells me the same stories over and over again. I know that there is so much more to his life than what he is telling me, but he can only tell the parts he remembers. I know this will happen to me (it already has happened) if I don’t keep a record.

                A major part of my life are the lives of my children. Three of my eight children are already grown and out of the home. I have five others between the ages of fourteen and six still at home. When I look at my eight-year-old and then look at one of my grown sons I realize that I cannot remember him at that age. It takes a lot of energy to bring up an image of my oldest son was a child. I can turn to a photograph, but even then I can’t remember the details of his childhood. What a tragedy to lose his childhood, and all it meant to me, except for some pictures and a few faded memories. Fortunately, I didn’t lose my sons’ childhood.

                When my oldest son was two-years-old I realized that I was going to forget all the little, seemingly mundane things that made up my life with him. I didn’t want to forget these little things that brought me so much joy, so I started keeping a journal for my son. This wasn’t a stretch for me since I always wrote in my journal every week anyway. After I got done with my journal I would write an entry in my son’s journal. These entries are pretty much just short letters to him describing something—anything—that was happening in our lives. I’m not pretending that you will be interesting in my son’s life, but here is an example of what I would write:

October 7, 1990

You talk a lot more now.  You repeat everything we say with some accuracy.  I love to listen to you talk.  It isn't always easy to understand you.  Sometimes I have to ask Mom what it is that you said.  Between the two of us we can usually figure out what it is you are saying.  The other morning you woke up and came in to me with a little plastic bag.  You said, "Look daddy. Stuff in it.  See, crayons."  Right now you are saying, "Need shower.  Need shower.  Need shower Daddy."  You like to take showers with me.  I will get in first, and then you will crawl in and sit on my feet with your back against my shins.  When I get out of the shower I will usually turn the shower off, but continue to fill the tub.  You like this because then you can play. 

You have finally learned how to ride your tricycle properly.  You used to push it around with your feet because you couldn't reach the peddles.  Now you can reach the peddles and you peddle all around the apartment complex.  It is fun to watch you. 

You like to sing.  We play tapes for you each night when you get in bed.  Some of the tapes are of primary songs and you are learning how to sing them.  The one you sing right now is Jesus wants me for a Sunbeam.  You get a lot of the words right, but they are not in the right order.  You are great to have around.     

                You see, these are just mundane things I have recorded, but things that are meaningful to me. I do not have an active memory of these things now, but since I wrote them when they happened I trust them and it makes me feel so good to read them. This boy is married now and moving on with his life.

                Of course when my second son came along I started a journal for him also. Then my third son. Finally I have eight children and keeping a journal for each of them keeps me busy. Actually it isn’t that hard. I don’t write in their journal’s every week, and when I do the entries are often just a paragraph or two. But in those paragraphs I make sure I write something that I know I will forget in the future.

                For my oldest son’s wedding gift I presented him with a printed and bound copy of “his” journal. It consisted of nearly two-hundred single spaced pages of letters from me describing his life as he grew up. But not only does it describe him, it describes his father and their relationship as they grew together. It definitely takes time and energy to keep a journal for each of my children, but I can’t imagine what else I could have done with the time I spent making those journal entries that would be of greater worth to me today.

How Computer Games Have Strengthened My Family

Back in the 70’s (yes, I was a teenager in the 70’s!) my family came into possession of an Atari 64 Game system. I spent many hours in front of the TV trying to beat my brothers or friends at “Pong.” You remember “Pong?” The ball goes one way with a beep and then with a boop it goes back the other way. I found that great fun. At that time I had no idea what was in the future of computer gaming. For those of you who haven’t kept up with computer games these games have become extravagant compared to the games of the 70’s. Some are visual and storytelling masterpieces like “Mass Effect.” Some are just pure simplicity and fun such as “Mario.” Others are dark and violent like “Grand Theft Auto.” Others are down-right addictive such as “World of Warcraft.” While there are some games I would not allow in my home, with a family of eight children and six computers I have learned to take advantage of computer games to bolster my relationship with my children.

     When my oldest children were very young they gathered around me when I fired up a computer game. They just watched as I played. The original “Alone in the Dark” scared us all. I can still hear my two oldest boys yelling, “Turn off the music! Turn off the music!” because it was so creepy. Eventually the “Kings Quest” series came out and my boys were old enough to take the controls. This series took them on adventures in imaginary lands with a strange, engaging cast of characters. They had to make decisions and solve puzzles. I’ve never been much of a puzzle solver and found myself just watching as the son on my lap solved the puzzles. I helped make the decisions. Together we had fun.

     As we moved into the 90’s “Doom” came out. This game changed the gaming world and our lives. “Doom” was a network multiplayer game. You could actually see your game-mates in the virtual world of the game. When playing together we could play a deathmatch where we hunt each other down and shoot each other with shotguns, rocket launchers, or ye olde crowbar. Yes this sounds violent, but it was pretty much the same as playing army like I did when I was a kid. On the other hand we could play cooperatively also. We would meet in the virtual world and work together to destroy the mutant aliens that sought our destruction. We would cover one another or lead one who was low on health back to where we last saw a first aid kit (more health). We had hours of fun and still talk about the “days of doom” today.

     My oldest son was quite captured by “Starcraft.” It not only has a fascinating single-player storyline, it has a huge competitive side to it. In Korea there are professional Starcraft players who make over $100,000 a year (no exaggeration) competing at Starcraft. My son would download the replays of these competitions and I would watch them with him while he explained the strategies and mistakes in the match. Now married and in college he no longer has time for Starcraft, but we will always have those enjoyable hours spent together excitedly watching and discussing those competitions.

     My second son discovered the “Final Fantasy” series of games. This game takes a player on a long journey. The journey is so long that it takes a lot of commitment to finish. The commitment comes easy for most because the art is beautiful, the characters  full and engaging, and the storyline enchanting. After playing Final Fantasy by himself he suggested playing it again as a family. Once or twice a week we would sit down as a family and enter that magical world. As new characters were introduced we were able to tag them with our family names. The names appeared on screen and the kids loved it. Playing an hour or two a week it took a few months to finish the adventure, but it is an experience we will never forget.

     In a busy, fast-paced world like today any activity can come between a child and his parents including computer games. I have learned that by becoming sincerely involved in what my kids are interested in the activities actually bring us closer together. I haven’t actually played a computer game in years and yet by taking the time to ask questions, listen to their explanations, and even sit down and watch as they show me the games my relationship with my children grows and my life is enriched.

The Joy of Reading

The magazines and newspapers are filled with statistics how reading to your children has a very strong positive effect on their lives. They tend to grow up valuing reading more and they tend to be more curious and more anxious to learn.  I read to my children. I started reading to them long before I heard these statistics. It never occurred to me to read to my children because it would make them smarter. I read to my children simply because it was fun!

Many of the books I read to them are books I read as a child. What a joy it is to have the opportunity to read these books again with the new eyes of my children. I was almost giddy when I brought home “A Wrinkle in Time.” I still have images in my mind from that book from my first reading nearly 40 years ago.  But not all the books I read to them have I read before. For some reason I ended up with a copy of “The Fellowship of the Ring” from the “Lord of the Ring” series and started reading it to my then six year old son. My four-year-old son listened in although he usually fell asleep. What a wonderful experience we had traveling together through Middle-Earth. I discovered my four-year-old was listening when one day I heard him say “my precious” while he was playing by himself in the living room.

My three sons are grown, now, and out of the home. But I have the five younger children and am getting to read them all my favorite books all over again. At the same time we are discovering new books and experiencing them for the first time together. The “Abhorsen” series had us staying up late for several weeks. “Saffy’s Angel” and the follow up books on the Casson family charmed us. We grew closer as a family with “Homecoming” and the other books involving the Tillerman family. Of course we thoroughly enjoyed the Harry Potter series. We read the “Golden Compass” series long before the hubaloo about the movie came about. Reading out-loud to my family had created some of the best memories I have.

Currently I am reading three different books with three different children. With my ten-year-old son I am reading “The Secret Garden.” It is a classic written long ago. Its power remains and my son is enthralled with the images of sickly Mary, the moor, the long corridors, and, of course, the secret garden. My twelve-year-old daughter and I are reading “River Secrets” by Shannon Hale. We’ve already been through “Goose Girl” and “Enna Burning.” My seven-year-old daughter and I are traveling through the enchanted, but dangerous, world of “Fablehaven.”

It takes time to read so many books at once. I can’t read to each child every night. Our house is not a clockwork house and so there is never a set pattern to the schedule. I end up reading to whoever is still awake and ready to be read to when my other evening activities have ended. Tonight it was my ten-year-old and “The Secret Garden.” Mary Quite Contrary is finally getting a bit healthier from playing in the cold moor air outside. For the first time she found an appetite and ate all her porridge. Amid the “wuthrin’” of the wind she heard a cry from down the hall. I can’t wait for the next chapter.

Of Teeth and Tears

                The tooth fairy has been the source of a lot of fun in my home. With eight children many teeth have been lost over the years and we are still losing them. Losing a tooth in this home pretty much follows the same patter.

                “Dad, I have a loose tooth. See!” The child opens his mouth and pushes a tooth forward with his tongue.

                I cringe, because it looks painful to me, and then say, while making a fist in front of their face, “I can help you get that tooth out.”

                “No thanks,” he answers without much worry. I’m not a very scary father. Actually, my making a fist is a kind of joke among the children because they know that I can’t stand the sight of blood. My two attempts at pulling teeth in the past with my finger and a string ended in miserable failure. The stories have been passed down from my older children to my younger children and is still a joke. No, all of the teeth that have been lost in this home have been of the “do-it-yourself” variety. It is always a relief to me to have a child excitedly run in to show me the tooth that is in their hand and the bloody spot where it had been in their mouth—and I didn’t have to do a thing.

                The child will put the tooth in a little ceramic “tooth” container on top of the piano. Then the “wait” begins. The tooth fairy never comes the first night. He might not come the second night. In fact he might not come for three weeks. I think that is the record. When my kids remind me that the tooth fairy hasn’t come I will consult the “tooth fairy blog” (you may have trouble finding that blog) to learn where he has been. He might have gotten caught in hurricane in Mexico. It might be that he was over in Russia at the time of the tooth loss and it just takes time to work his way this direction. Once he was on vacation (even fairies need a break). His GPS has been known to go out and it takes a bit to get repaired.

                Eventually the tooth fairy does arrive. This is usually about the time my child’s patience is running thin. My wife will quietly come out one morning before the kids have arisen and ask, “Has the tooth fairy come yet?” With that little prod I will hurry over to the tooth holder and find that, yes, indeed, the tooth fairy has finally arrived. My child will come and excitedly show me the loot while at the same time giving me the “it’s about time” look.

                Recently my ten-year-old son had been waiting for an especially long time for the tooth fairy to arrive. The big snows on the East Coast had really messed up his schedule. Checking the tooth holder became a daily ritual with him. He would be full of anticipation on his way to the piano and then resigned to the quirkiness of the tooth fairy schedule as he walked away empty handed.

                On the morning the tooth fairy finally arrived my son had not kept his scheduled visit with the tooth holder. His seven-year-old sister, even though it was not her tooth in the holder, was not so remiss. She checked and found the tooth had been replaced by a dollar and immediately ran and told her big brother. Instead of being excited at the news he puzzled us by breaking into tears and running to his room. This son has a record of being a little moody and everyone just rolled their eyes at his behavior. I had inkling that there was something more to his behavior than usual. Could it be that he was unhappy that his long wait had only produced a dollar? I didn’t think it was that because greed and ungraciousness has never been his style. I learned that it was the amount of money at all. It was the disappointment that he hadn’t discovered the exciting arrival of the tooth fairy himself.

                When I told others the reason for his behavior they just rolled their eyes again and thought that he shouldn’t be such a baby. I had to agree that he was acting like a baby, but on the other hand  I could  understand his bitter disappointment. Each morning he had had the delightful anticipation of checking the tooth holder. He knew that on one of these mornings his anticipation would be rewarded with the prize. As the days went on the anticipation of that moment grew. Finally, just when the moment the anticipation was to be rewarded his little sister had let the air out of his balloon with her untimely information. She had basically told him the ending of the mystery he was only half-way through reading. She was the cold-sore on the lip of his girlfriend who he was going to kiss for the first time. She was the one who used up the hot water right before his shower.

                This son will have to grow up and learn to handle disappointment better. There are unpleasant places I can go in my mind where the residue of memories of disappointments in my life remain. I wish I had the right to cry about each and every one of them, but as an adult I no longer have the right. This son is still young. He still has the right so I let him cry it out and pretended he was also crying for me.

Dancing with the Stars

With so many children in the home I often come upon scenes that unexpectedly delight me or confuse me or do both. The other day someone was playing Christmas music on the stereo. It was loud and filling the house with joy or with irritation depending on the mood of whoever was hearing it. I came around the corner to find my five-year-old standing on an ottoman, facing the stereo, leading the music. His eyes were closed as his arms swung out the beat. There was a bounce in his knees as he directed. I know better than to think he is going to be a great director someday, but it was good to seem him enjoying the music so thoroughly.

My fourteen-year-old daughter was teaching that same five-year-old how to dance. She first showed him the "old-fashioned" way with one hand on the waist and the other held out. They bent back and forth a minute in mock dance. Then she showed him how most kids dance slow dances today--basically a bear hug. He loves his sister and made the most of it. Then, suddenly, he pushed her away and showed her his dance--he pinched his nose with one hand, held the other in the air with a finger pointing, and then wiggled his hiney as squatted  to the carpet and rose again. The '60s are the days of antiquity to him so where did he come up with that.

This morning I got up early to enjoy some peace and quiet while studying and writing. To my great dismay my twelve-year-old daughter appears rather suddenly with a DDR dance pad in her hands. She looks at me and points at the TV quizzically. Her meaning was all too clear. She wanted to use Dance Dance Revolution to exercise. This wouldn't be so bad except that she would be set up and dancing to rock music right in front of me--and it is only 6:30. Next thing I know my ten-year-old plunks down next to the fire next to me. He rubs his eyes as he attempts to wake up. It slowly becomes clear to me he isn't up by accident. He is up for the sole purpose of exercising with his sister. He has been on an exercise kick lately. What is with my children? I would go somewhere else, but the house is cold and I want to stay by the fire. So now they are chattering happily as they stomp out the rhythm to "Won't You Take Me to Funkytown." Sigh, I suppose if I didn't have any children I would be enjoying the peace and quiet I had first sought this morning. On the other hand, if I didn't have any children I wouldn't be listening to happy chatter and happy feet that belong to me right now.

Boomeranging

    I went boomeranging with some of the kids again today. We own three acres out back of nothing but weeds. The weeds are in their short grassy stage now and so it is a perfect place for boomeranging. Throwing boomerangs is fun enough by itself, but I have added some extra sugar by offering my kids  a small sum of money for each catch they make. This would be a perfect way to go broke for someone of small means like myself except that boomerangs are hard to catch—at least the boomerangs I throw are. I have seven different models of boomerangs and each has a unique flight path and difficulty level. Some can be gone nearly 15 seconds before (if) they return.

    Tonight when we arrived in the field we found out quickly that the sun was directly behind the returning boomerangs. I threw one that came back to me perfectly. I saw a glimpse of the  'rang as it spun in on a perfect trajectory for my face just before the sun swallowed it. I held out my hand in front of my face and reflexively closed my fingers around it as it smacked my palm. Talk about a lucky catch.

    We decided to throw the flying ring for awhile to give the sun a chance to move a little. This was a lot of fun except for the frustration level the youngest two children added to it. Little Glory and Story are excellent for retrieving errant throws and they do it without slobbering. However they like to retrieve on their own terms. Four-year-old Story will run full speed after the ring and then stop ten feet from it. While we all wait impatiently suddenly he does the Frankenstein walk and approaches with maddening slowness. Finally he squats down and pounces on the ring. When he finally picks it up he naturally looks at the person the farthest distance away who he has no possibility of reaching with his throw.

    “Throw it to me,” I yell since I am closest.

    He ignores me.

    “Story! Throw it to me!”

    He turns toward me grinning. “You get a dollar if you catch it,” he says. He looks at me and launches the ring, but it flies off at a right angle to both of us where no one is standing. “Whoa,” he laughs and trots after it. I trot after it too and we grab it at the same time.

    “Let me have it, “ I day in all seriousness. He won't let go and we start a tug-o-war. I am 250 pounds. He is 30 pounds. I can't use my weight to my advantage without hurting him and so this is a very difficult task to get the ring. I finally win when I tickle him. With the ring in my hand I feel like a starving man who had to wrestle with someone for the next bite of food. I feel horribly impatient, but luckily he thought it was all great fun.

    After twenty minutes or so we decide to try the boomerangs again. We start off with the Aspen. This is because it is relatively light which makes it easier to throw and not as scary to catch. I can sometimes throw the Aspen perfectly enough to catch it without moving. But often enough it lands in front of me or behind me and Jory and Lory chase back and forth trying to be in the right spot to catch it. Jory tends to judge more accurately and gets some skin on several without being able to catch it. He knows enough to respect the boomerang when it is coming too fast. The other night the Yanaki hit in the stomach and knocked him down. He came up gasping for breath. I thought he was overplaying it until he pulled up his shirt and I saw the red welt across his stomach. Ouch.

    After a good twenty throws he has managed to nab a couple out of the air with panache. Lory has considerably more trouble, but finally she reaches up and gets her fingers around the spinning wings. The look on her face was pure joy. She screams and hops up and down while spinning around. She runs to me and throws her arms around me. It is a sweet moment.

    After a while we switch to the Erang. This is a bigger boomerang that flies much farther and usually comes in much faster. Both kids are wary of this rang and back off on many catchable landings. After more throws they get a little braver and are rewarded with a cut and a bruise, but no catches. On one throw the Erang came in so low that Story, who was sitting on the ground next to the gear had to flatten himself out. The Erang whizzed by a couple of feet over him. I'm glad he is paying attention. I am offering $3.00 for an Erang catch so they try a little hard. Finally something clicks in nine-year-old Jory's head and he snatches the Erang out of the air. I heard the thud of wood against bone, but he shrugged it off. Then he catches it again. And then again. Seeing bankruptcy on the horizon I cut him off from the promise of more money for more catches. Jory is satisfied though. He has just powered up in skills and ability. It is probably five more throws until Autumn pulls in the Erang. She squeals and dances another victory dance and gives me another hug.

    The sun is touching the western mountain tops now. The red cliffs in the East are glowing bright. Someone's dog is barking insanely somewhere toward the middle of town. The scent of burning weeds tickles our nostirls. We are hungry and happy as we gather our gear up and head back to the house. Even then we spread out and toss the flying ring back and forth as we go.

Defying Gravity

The family pattern today for married couples seems to be "two-income, two children." "Two-income, one child" is common also. There are a couple of comic strips I follow where the cast of characters is Mom, Dad, and one child. In both comic strips Mom and Dad each have full-time jobs out of the home. In both comic strips there have been references to how difficult it is to survive financially and there are dreams that have to be sacrificed. I can't quote the sources or numbers, but I have run across magazine articles and heard reports on how much it costs to raise a child today. When I look at the numbers and then look at my eight kids I realize that I must be very rich indeed to see them so healthy and happy because I am reportedly spending a fortune. What concerns me more is that I am doing this with only one income. My wife does not work outside the home and I earn what I would think is a very middle-class income.

I am a little confused at the disparity at what I see in our culture and what I am experiencing. My children have a secure home. They are healthy. They are comfortably dressed. Two are attending higher education. They are all happy, hopeful, and active. Perhaps I am missing something here, but is there something more I should be wanting for my children?


Perhaps I need to look at this differently. There are plenty of things that my children do not have. Maybe I should make a list:

1. They do not have their own bedrooms (except one who somehow scored one, but that is a new development). But when I walk by their rooms at night and hear them telling each other stories or listening to Books on Tape I am actually pleased at this inconvenience.
2. They do not have a Playstation 3 or even a Wii. Seeing them build creations with Legos, drawing pictures, riding bikes, or reading books takes the sting out of this.
3. They mostly do not wear new clothes. Except for the odd infusion of new underwear and socks hand-me-downs have been the name of the game for 24 years. And yet my children have always gone to church and out on the town with confidence. Good looking second hand clothes seem easy to come by. As the kids reach the teenage years and desire something new they have done very well in earning enough money to buy clothes of their choosing. Perhaps I am hard-hearted, but teaching them the value of a dollar and responsibility does not make me feel bad.
4. Most of them have never been to Disneyland yet. On the other hand they have been to so many beautiful and fascinating places around the Western States that Disneyland would just be another place and nothing so extraordinary. I find that Disneyland is more a place I want to take them too than a place they are dreaming of going.
5. They have to plan on paying their own way through college. No one in my immediate or extended family has ever had a parent pay their way through college. As much as I would like to help (and I would) I don't feel guilty about teaching them to work for scholarships and expect to get jobs and work their way through college.

The list of what I have not given my children could go on much longer than you would care to read, but it would make no difference. I am a firm believer that it is a very short list of necessities that makes all the difference in a child's life or, in my experience, eight children's lives and that this list requires far less money than the little that supports our home.

1. There needs to be secure shelter, enough to eat, and clothing to wear. Far less needs to be spent on these things than most think to make children feel secure and happy.
2. There needs to be a foundation of love and support in the home to build a healthy self-image in children. This takes lots of time from both parents and is something that many don't “spend” enough on. Money is not required.
3. They need to learn to love learning. This is the parents' job and no other. Schools, public or private, are just support structures. Money is not required.
4. They need to learn how to work hard for worthy goals. Money is not required.

According to what is written about American life today I am in very sad shape. There is only one income in our home. The one income there is does not bring in enough money. I have too many children. My home is too small. My cars are too old. And yet, just as the bumble bee defies gravity and flies, my family defies the “cultural norms” and is happy, hopeful, and productive. Yes, I have my worries. There are dreams I have given up. But I know there are two-income homes out there with far greater worries than mine. And the lost dreams? I am seeing dreams that I never knew I dreamed coming true that make the dreams of my youth seem trivial.