The Last Class Picture

Does this look familiar? It does to me.  My daughter brings home a picture just like it every year.  My brother and I did too, and so did our folks before that. At some point, like a lot of parents, I'll find them, jammed in a drawer, covered by a tangle of wires for devices we tossed out long ago.  WIFE and I will take them and hold them. We'll sit, put them together, and marvel at how much MONSTA has grown in what will surely seem like almost no time at all.  

But this one is different.  It may not look it, but it is.  This picture is of 15 kids, all the same age as my kid, who were gunned down by a guy out of his head and stocked like a small army. This is their last class picture.  When their parents find it hiding in a deep, forgotten drawer, it will be alone.  For these children, there will be no more class pictures.  

I've tried hard to avoid looking at these faces. I pretended that like the other stories of tragedy, this too would be pushed from my memory by the million things vying for its attention. But it's not happening. This isn't going away.  My daughter is a first grader, and my wife is a school teacher.  And two years ago, we lost a beautiful, but too fragile, newborn baby. Sandy Hook has made a deeply profound and heartbreaking impact on me, and I'm not sure when that will pass.  But I think of their parents, and am quietly grateful knowing that for me, it will.  

Here's all I ask: take a close look.  Please.  Then look at your own kid, or nephew, or friend's kid.  See if you can't make out some resemblance. No matter where you come from, I bet you'll see at least some similarity. Then, when you get a chance, ask yourself: "Is this really the best we can do?"

The Tooth Fairy Comes to Town

You're right, Rock.  We can't.

Last night, MONSTA lost a tooth.  Bottom row.  Her fourth total.  It had been hanging on by a thread, ala James Franco's arm in that hiking movie, for a couple months, and while I was too squeamish to pull it, I'm happy to see it go.  It was becoming a real problem.  "Don't touch the tooth," she would scream at me every time I pulled out the tooth brush.  Plus, the permanent tooth (aka Union Tooth) was coming in behind it.  When your time is up, your time is up.  We all saw it coming, and now the tooth sees it too.

Before MONSTA went to bed, we put the little rice grain into a baggie for the Tooth Fairy.  I guess she doesn't bring her own containers, because we always put it in a baggie.  Once asleep, I waited until she was good and groggy before slipping dos Jorge Washingtons under her pillow with a note: "Thanks for the tooth. - The Tooth Fairy."  Of course, we never found the actual tooth.  It disappeared in the night, so if MONSTA gets to it before me, Tooth Fairy is going to have some 'splaining to do.

Now you may think two dollars isn't much.  Or, you may think it's too much.  Either way...I DON'T CARE!  I'm including the amount here for informational purposes only, and not so you can say, "Two bucks?  Wow!  In my day, the tooth fairy only carried quarters.  I guess the recession is over!"  I don't know when it became okay to comment so freely and obnoxiously on how much parents put under a kid's pillow, but that cat is way out of the bag.  It's time we put it back in, tie it up, and toss it the East River.  Two dollars is what we give her, and if you think this sort of frivolous spending will leave her dreaming of Ponzi schemes and golden parachutes, please keep it to yourself.

Whether a quarter or two dollars, all that mattered was how happy MONSTA was when she woke up. She had been upset that with the holiday over, she'd have to go back to school.  But none of that was on her face today.  Just a big, toothless smile and the following conversation:

MONSTA:  She came dad, and she left me two dollars.  And I saw her.

ME: You did?  What did she look like?

MONSTA:  She's brown, like mommy.  And small.  And she can fly.  She flew behind my bookcase.  I wonder if she has a house back there?  

Wow.  The Tooth Fairy owns her own  house?  In New York City?  I guess she's doing better than any of us thought.

Halloween: It Ain't Just For Kids

Maybe the Catholics are smarter than I thought. A holiday after Halloween?  Not a bad idea, right?  The first pope must have had a couple kids for him to come up with that one.  I certainly wish public school kids got off for All Saints Day.  Who knew taking 2 1/2 hours to walk around three blocks with a group of kindergartners could be so exhausting?

MONSTA went out on Monday.  She was an Angel, which is pushing it if you ask me.  For her first Halloween, she was a devil.  Five years later, an angel.  I guess that Catholic-school education wasn't a total wash.  We went to Sunnyside Gardens in Queens, which is like a tiny English village plunked down a few miles from Times Square.  It's a great place for T&T. Lots of good candy (read: not Tootsie Rolls or those hard strawberry things), fun decorations, and happy candy givers.  That seems to be key. No matter how top of the line the candy is, no one wants to take it from a jerk.  

But the older she gets, the more cautious I become.  I guess it's one more change that comes with age. When I was young, Halloween meant complete freedom.  Dress how you want.  Stay out a little late.  Get an apple that may have a razor blade?  Caution to the wind, baby - we're rolling the dice!  But from the other side - the guardian side - it's fun, but there are worries. How many Whoopers are too many Whoopers?  Where the hell am I going to find her a bathroom in this place?  Should we be taking candy from a grown man wearing a shirt and tie with Tevas? For this last type, my friend and I played a game.  She'd have her Blackberry out, and when a Senor Creeperton answered the door, I'd call out the address and say "Run it!" We never did, but I can guarantee a couple hits.  

Being the adult does, however, have one benefit: you are now what Marx would call "management."  While I did have to walk around with MONSTA and supervise, I'd hardly call that work.  She had the real job.  And yet now, because of her toil and sweat and demanding of strangers, I'm sitting on a stockpile sweet, delicious candy.  Sour Patch Kids.  Starburst.  Candy Corn/Pumpkins.  All the hits!  And because she's only five, I can take as much of it as I want. And if she doesn't like it, well, there's always the gulag, or as we call it, the time out chair.  Ah yes, it is good to be on top.  

A Five Year Old's Thoughts on...Drunk Driving

According to my MONSTA, the real danger in drunk driving is "when your car turns into a robot and starts dancing."  Seems like an easy thing for the cops;  just look for the giant crumping robots.  

ON THE DAILY GRIND...

Unless you've been living under a rock, or just not reading my blog, or avoiding me completely, then you know that in a couple months, WIFE and I will be welcoming our second kid.  He's a boy, and though he's still without a name, he does have a penis.  I've seen the picture.  We're both really excited, for many reasons, but as his "MOVE OUT OF UTERUS" date draws near, I have to admit to some slight panic.

Having one kid is tough. It's a complete adventure, full of giant laughs, lots of danger, and a man's share of the unexpected. Just last night, MONSTA got a bug bite, but instead of a tiny welt, her entire hand blew up like a birthday balloon.  I didn't even know that could happen. Surprise twists and turns aside, however, most of parenting is about the ROUTINE. Curiously, any discussion of this DAILY GRIND was left out of my pre-baby guide books.  But it's true. Once MONSTA could walk, our daily life became defined by routine.  And the taller she, and her hair, gets, the more rigid and complex the routine becomes. If my life were a math problem, it'd look like this: 

So if this sunny outlook is rattling in my brain 24/7, imagine what I'm feeling about tossing in a little multiplication.  

ABOVE ROUTINE X 2 = HOLY ^%#$!

We'll make it.  It's been five years, and MONSTA is still alive.  She's playing hooky right , on account of the  lobster claw she's sporting, but the swelling will eventually go down.  And when it does, she'll go back to school, and when that happens...welcome back, Routine.  What would I ever do without you?