I Am Not Hamlet

     Having children has to be one of life's top three pleasures (also one of life's top five annoyances).  Guiding them as they grow, watching how they navigate the wonder found in the world is a slow-burn of joy.      In addition to one's own children, joy is found in the babies of creatures we share the world with.  If one can combine animal babies with one's own, one may have stumbled upon an alternative energy source that cannot be usurped by corporations.      My children and I have watched infant praying mantids leave the relative safety of their egg case and venture into a world of danger, and for a fortunate few, maturation.  We've set a luna moth free that we observed from caterpillar to cocoon to adult.      Most recently, we've watched Eastern American toad tadpoles ( Bufo americanus americanus ) metamorphose into tiny toadlets. At the toad "delivery room" It's hard to believe these tiny...

This should have been obvious, but I realized tonight that not only were my children born in a different century from me, but they were also born in a different millenium.  Call it epochal parenting.

     What is it about water that draws us to it?  Obviously, there is our biological need, but I'm thinking beyond thirst and cellular replenishment.  I've heard that fire and flowing water are mesmerizing to humans like few other phenomena.  Think of how one stares into the dancing red and orange of a campfire or in a fireplace on a cold evening in midwinter.  Remember the breathy sound of surf, the constant roar of a whitewater river, or even the arrhythmic patter of rainfall on a roof.  Then there's the sight of water: foamy, white highlights on a blustery day, tranquil hues of blue, coffee rivers, black ponds.  Ripples, waves, riffles, the motion of water, its (usually) fresh odor, and the variety of life it attracts; bodies of water supply a nearly inexhaustible supply of beauty and fascination. My daughter at the Gulf of Mexico, Florida      Water is not only necessary to sustain life, but is used in heal...

It starts like this: the word comes from the Latin nescius meaning ignorant and came to English via Old French essentially meaning stupid. By the time the mid-eighteenth century comes to be the meaning has been changed to pleasant or agreeable. Nice moved from insulting to innocuous. So tell me, should I have stupid or pleasant children? I say neither. The former meaning should be obvious as to why nice should be avoided. The latter? Do you truly want your children to be pleasant? That’s unremarkable, blah, and mediocre. I want them to be kind, compassionate, thoughtful and reflective, and concerned about and willing to work for justice. Nice, in any form, just doesn’t do that. Hey, nice outfit, by the way.

Here's a minor rewrite of a descriptive exercise. Thank you, Stacey. Cai He just as easily smiles as pouts when he doesn’t get his own way. Cai is a speedy ghost—his pale form and blond hair streak past you jumping, running, or clambering on his way to some activity be it riding his bike, practicing his fishing casts, or throwing rocks. The freckles smeared across his nose and under his grey eyes lead you to think he’s all summer’s child, yet he was born early in the morn of Christmas Eve. The clouds do roll in when he is frustrated or when he commiserates in empathy with your pain or misery. Then, like the blink of a firefly, as if the painful incident never happened, he’s off to growl with his dinosaurs or storm his castle. Like most boys he’s full of contrasts: his appetite balances swinging from glutton to a faster nearly everyday. Tears drop easily, too easily at times, but a few moments later the emotion disappears like a stone flung into a lake. He doesn’t like the s...

My son had his pre-school "graduation" this past Thursday. Normally I look on these things with a bit of disdain--do we really need to ritualize every progression we make in life? Honestly--if everybody is a winner then are there any winners at all? OK, so I attend the ceremony and enjoy it. What took me by surprise was the tiny corrugated shard of sadness I felt, knowing he would never be this age again. Knowing I would never drop him off at his school (my old building) nor pick him up there again. When he was an infant I couldn't wait for him to mature--let's face it, on many levels babies are boring. They don't much of anything--sure, sure, they possess an ontological sweetness, but really...they eat, sleep, cry, and void waste. Slugs can be more fascinating at times. I derive much pleasure from his age right now (most days) and look forward to when we can discuss ideas--metaphysical and cultural--but I enjoy the journey too. He will never pass this w...

OK, so nearly everyone has already read this book. Anessa picked it up last year at either the Sleeping Bear Dunes gift shop or the big bookstore in downtown Traverse City. Essentially, Richard Louv makes the case that all of us need direct contact with the outdoors, not just soccer fields or mowed urban parks, but nature (not necessarily red in tooth and claw). Children even more so. It helps physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually to move about in the woods, around the edge of a pond or marsh, touching the rough bark of a red pine, glimpsing the flap of a heron as it takes off. Children thrive in this stuff. I know I did. I still do. I'm attempting to pass that on to the terrible two I care and feed. Anyway, a good read. Pick it up sometime.

I've been ruminating off and on for the last couple of years about how we (as a society) raise our children. It seems, given our economic and lifestyle circumstances, we foist our children off on church and state to raise them. How many hours do most children spend in school each week? Who determined this amount? Is it arbitrary? If you send your children to Sunday school have you spent any time in the room or with the program? What exactly are they teaching them? Have you worked through it with your children at home? I find myself guilty of my own accusation at times. But then again. . . I am aware of the this trade-off of kids for money or time or leisure (not in the Pieperian sense ). Why do our children spend so much time away from us? We can blame the industrial revolution for its mixed blessing or variegated curse, but really we ought to blame ourselves. Why do we think others can raise our children better than we? Why do we think others can teach our children be...