Ever notice how nasty the adults are in Christmas specials?
Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve curled up with a cup of hot chocolate and a stop-motion animated classic. If so, here are some reminders. (more…)
Ever notice how nasty the adults are in Christmas specials?
Maybe it’s been a while since you’ve curled up with a cup of hot chocolate and a stop-motion animated classic. If so, here are some reminders. (more…)
In Tom Rotanz’s impassioned 109-second plea to the Shoreham-Wading River School Board Nov. 19 to keep his job as the varsity boys lacrosse coach, there was one notable omission.
He spoke of being “disappointed.”
He asked Superintendent Steven Cohen for “guidelines. Do’s and dont’s.”
He said he didn’t want to be “controversial.”
What he never said was: I’m sorry.
Of course, he’s the victim here, he’ll be quick to tell you. In 19 years, he’s never done anything wrong, always putting the kids first. And anyone who says anything to the contrary is out to get him for their own personal agenda.
It’s always the same script.
I’ve known Mr. Rotanz since the spring of 2006, when I covered Shoreham-Wading River’s county championship win over Mount Sinai. The Wildcats were in the midst of one of their most successful runs in program history, capped by a state championship the following year in Syracuse.
I’ve always respected him for his ability to mold teams into winners and rally the community around the game of lacrosse. His résumé speaks for itself.
But I’ve also known Mr. Rotanz to be a polarizing figure, a larger-than-life coach who can be awfully persuasive. Most coaches shy away from the politics; not Mr. Rotanz, who has always been a vocal advocate for the lacrosse program. After word got out that Mr. Rotanz would not be rehired, Mr. Cohen and the school board declined to provide any specific details, citing it as a personnel decision. The school’s attorney, Greg Guercio, spoke at a school board meeting.
“I’ve directed the board … that they are not to release any of the contents of a personal file or any of the information that forms a basis for the superintendent’s decision not to make a recommendation,” Mr. Guercio said.
Given the lack of information provided by the school, it’s worth examining all aspects of Mr. Rotanz’s record. One area worth consideration is Mr. Rotanz’s company, The Power Shaft, and how it relates to Shoreham-Wading River.
In 2010, Mr. Rotanz, a retired teacher, invented a weighted lacrosse shaft that’s designed to connect with the head of a player’s regular stick. Training with the weighted shaft improves shot speed for offensive players, increases hand speed for face-off specialists and puts a “pop” in defensemen’s checks, according to The Power Shaft website.
After launching the product, which retails for between $89.95 and $125.99, in 2011, Mr. Rotanz made a promotional video that was featured on the home page of the company’s website.
The video details some of the benefits, before a narrator says: “Don’t take my word for it. We brought the Power Shaft to a collection of amateur and professional lacrosse players and, boy, were they amazed at the result.”
The video features demonstrations by several lacrosse players from Shoreham-Wading River, who are wearing Power Shaft apparel.
The video appears to have first been uploaded to YouTube on May 4, 2011. Mr. Rotanz uploaded clips from the video to his YouTube account in August 2011.
At least one athlete in the video is now a Division I lacrosse player. There’s no evidence that the player sanctioned the use of his image once he became an NCAA athlete.
When asked if that could cause a potential issue with the player’s NCAA eligibility, Mr. Rotanz said: “No, it’s not. We looked into it. They’re all sophomores and juniors in high school. That was checked.”
However, once a student becomes an NCAA student-athlete, he cannot appear in a commercial video promoting a product, according to Emily James, a spokesperson for the NCAA, who deals with eligibility and infraction issues and provided a description of general guidelines.
“Once the prospect becomes an NCAA student-athlete, the high school coach could no longer use the promotional video containing current student-athletes,” Ms. James wrote in an email. “If the coach did, the current student athlete’s school would have to issue a cease and desist letter.”
After Mr. Rotanz was contacted for this story, the video was removed from the Power Shaft home page and deleted from Mr. Rotanz’s YouTube account. Some clips still remained on an inside website page.
The newest video is a 12-minute instructional video featuring drills to use with the Power Shaft. The video was filmed this year at Shoreham-Wading River High School and features Shoreham lacrosse alumni who are no longer in college programs. It was uploaded to Mr. Rotanz’s YouTube account in October.
Shoreham Superintendent Steven Cohen confirmed that filming such a video on school grounds violates the school’s facility-use policy.
“Not acceptable,” Mr. Cohen said.
For-profit organizations can use school grounds under certain conditions, Mr. Cohen said, such as contributing to educational programs. The board is currently considering prohibiting all for-profit organizations from using facilities, to clarify the rule, Mr. Cohen said.
Filming the video did not appear to factor into Mr. Cohen’s decision on rehiring Mr. Rotanz. The superintendent said he was unaware of the video when contacted for comment a few weeks after making his decision.
Mr. Rotanz said he was unaware the video violated any policy and was never told he couldn’t film on school grounds.
“If you go to the library, there’s people that do tutoring there privately,” Mr. Rotanz said.
Asked if that was a fair comparison, he said: “They’re making money off it … I think it’s pretty much the same.”
Mr. Rotanz said the video serves as an instructional film for anyone to see, and is not merely to sell his lacrosse shaft.
Asked if he ever made instructional videos before inventing the Power Shaft, Mr. Rotanz said, “Not really, because I had no avenue to get it out there.”
While Mr. Cohen said that, from the school’s perspective, there was no issue with students appearing in a commercial video filmed off-campus, the circumstances certainly raise ethical questions about whether it’s appropriate for a coach to use his athletes to promote a product he sells.
Mr. Rotanz maintained the students in the video were not compensated, which would have been an NCAA violation.
Mr. Rotanz added a philanthropic note to his website with a message saying: “For every Power Shaft sold, The Power Shaft will be making a $1 donation to the New York Police and Fire Widow’s and Children’s Benefit Fund.”
Out of curiosity, I checked with the organization to confirm whether it had received donations from The Power Shaft. Mr. Rotanz said he spoke with a representative of the organization Dec. 2.
Afterward, Lauren Profeta, associate director for development, wrote back to me in an email: “We will be receiving our first installment this week.”
I asked Mr. Rotanz when he started donating from Power Shaft to the benefit fund.
“For a period,” he said, adding that the charity hits home on a personal note because he benefited from it growing up.
The message explaining the donation was taken off the website shortly afterward. It had appeared there since at least February 2011, according to a screenshot from archive.org, which takes periodic snapshots of websites and stores them in an online archive.
Taken individually, the mishaps and missteps and misinformation swirling around Mr. Rotanz may not seem like such a big deal. But questionable judgment adds up. As the coach of young men, Mr. Rotanz needs to hold himself to a higher standard, whether it’s in his role as coach or as the owner/operator of a private company.
As chronicled in the adjacent story, turnover in the athletic director position has been rampant at Shoreham.
At the Nov. 19 board meeting, former Shoreham assistant lacrosse coach Mike Delia spoke in Mr. Rotanz’s defense. In part of his statement, he said, “Why not wait for the AD to come and make a decision on coach Rotanz?”
In my opinion, Mr. Delia misses the point.
Dumping this onto a brand-new athletic director only sets him up for failure. How could a new athletic director possibly make an objective decision about Mr. Rotanz without taking ample time to review the background? The new athletic director could never make a decision against Mr. Rotanz and come out alive.
That’s why I believe Mr. Cohen made the decision when he did, fully aware of the backlash that would follow.
Despite the grim forecast from all of Mr. Rotanz’s supporters, I don’t believe his departure will mark the end of Shoreham lacrosse as we know it. The passion for the sport runs deep. I don’t see that fading.
I couldn’t believe 60 first-graders could stay so captivated for so long. Every kid’s eyes were glued to the center of the room, heads tilted, little mouths agape. They were spellbound. But this wasn’t “Fantasia” or a more modern Disney movie. This was science.
Material science, of all things. This particular lesson was called States of Matter. And when it came time for the children to retreat to individual work stations for some hands-on lab work, the room and the other children around them seized to exist. They had a task to complete, after all, and that was to apply a special solution to the dozen or so pebbles waiting for them in petri dishes.
They were then told by the instructor that, in a few days, they would begin to notice crystals forming on those little rocks. Soon, they’d have their own crystal gardens. Of course, they’re still kids; delayed gratification isn’t exactly their thing. And so began the second part of the lesson, which ended with the Sachem School District students making ice cream. Ice cream!
This is the type of pure magic that goes on almost every day at the Long Island Science Center in downtown Riverhead, and for an adult like myself, who had never stepped inside the center, it was a lesson on how a properly managed and sustainable nonprofit group with a purely altruistic mission can offer a huge public benefit to children and parents alike, not to mention the local school systems.
“A lot of the elementary schools don’t have science teachers, especially with all the recent cutbacks,” said the center’s executive director, Michelle Pelletier. So the schools use the science center for “enrichment” alternatives, she said. While that’s good for business, Ms. Pelletier can’t help but feel opportunities are being missed in the schools, as the younger kids seem to be the most engaged when learning how things work. That enthusiasm is plain to see during any day at the center.
After each lesson, the students — usually on a field trip or a weekend birthday party — are invited to roam the Exploratory Enrichment Center, an interactive, educational display play area. The rules for the kids are simple, and just the opposite of what they’re told to do at home: Touch everything. (Oh, and no running.) So the children will fan out to the interactive weather station or the dino-dig, to look for fossils. They’ll check out the snakes and Madagascar hissing cockroaches or just play with the magnets or building blocks. On Saturdays, this museum side of the center is open to the public, with admission just $5 a head.
Among Ms. Pelletier’s favorite and oft-repeated quotes from the children who visit the center are:
“I didn’t know that!”
“You guys like dinosaurs too?”
“Are you a scientist?”
“I’ve never been to a museum before.”
She’s hoping to hear more of these types of adorable phrases, as the center is planning a big move from its aging West Main Street building to the vacated West Marine storefront on East Main, closer to the Long Island Aquarium. The new space is planned to be much bigger, allowing the center to remain open to the public throughout the week, even when lessons are going on in the classrooms.
You’d be hard pressed to find a more worthy — yet often overlooked — organization in the town or county. Not only does the science center offer programs for children but high school interns build most of the hands-on exhibits. Teenagers from Riverhead, Mercy and other high schools also sit on its Board of Youth Trustees, charged with keeping the exhibits fresh and, presently, improving community outreach through social media.
The museum is in contract to purchase its new space, with real estate developers in contract to buy the current museum building. When the move is complete, the new center will feature more professionally built displays, including a state-of-the-art Leonardo da Vinci exhibit currently mothballed in the science center’s storage room for lack of space. The Board of Trustees, which includes two Brookhaven National Laboratory scientists, also envisions placing an emphasis on technological breakthroughs that are happening, and have happened, right here on Long Island.
It could even be a place where Intel Science Talent Search participants show off their work, I’m told.
By far the most popular exhibit in the museum right now is the dino-dig. Ms. Pelletier said, pointing to a square table covered in sand. The kids brush the sand away to unearth planted fossils that are explained on a chart nearby.
“I would love to have a big dino-dig that the kids could step into,” she said. “But this is our space. I wish it were bigger. But we’re working on it.”
To learn more about supporting the Long Island Science Center, visit 11 West Main St. in Riverhead or lisciencecenter.org.
Michael White is the editor of the Riverhead News-Review. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or (631) 298-3200, ext. 152.
When I first heard of “Movember,” an international charity event that raises awareness of men’s health issues by encouraging men around the world to grow moustaches during November, I thought for a moment I’d let my own whiskers blossom this month.
But just for a moment.
That’s not to say I didn’t really want to participate. It’s just that I can’t.
I’m one of the rare men who, despite being four months shy of my 35th birthday, doesn’t have the ability to grow a proper mustache.
Several years back, during a 10-day holiday break from work, I decided not to shave. The goal, for comedy’s sake, was that I’d return to the newsroom a moustachioed man. But while my beard filled in nicely across most of my face, one of my coworkers kindly pointed out just how obvious it was that the moustache was “lagging behind.” I’m sure Abe Lincoln <I>could<I> have grown a moustache, but not me.
The next year I didn’t shave for a month to prepare for a Halloween costume that required a nice thick goatee. In the end, I would have been better off just drawing one with a brown Crayola crayon.
Perhaps it’s because I grew up in the 1980s that I always wanted to grow a moustache.
Born a Mets fan, unfortunately, I wanted nothing more than the ability to grow my own Keith Hernandez. I’d have even settled for a Wally Backman or a Terry Leach.
And it wasn’t just in baseball where I grew jealous of men with hair above their upper lips. Everywhere I looked as a kid it seemed someone was rocking a moustache. Magnum P.I. used his to reel in the ladies on TV, John Oates of Hall and Oates fame fought off “maneaters” with his — and who could forget the glory of Hulkmania? Even “Weird” Al Yankovic had a nice moustache.
I can remember as a kid praying I’d one day be able to grow facial hair. Instead, God gave me body hair in all the places that aren’t cool. If it were possible to style a nice moustache out of triceps hair, I’d be a real modern-day Burt Reynolds.
Of course it didn’t help growing up when my good friend Matt was already using an electric razor in the fifth grade. By the time we were in high school we all still looked like kids, while he looked liked Andy Sipowicz. As I was writing this column this week, I texted Matt to see how long it would take him to grow a moustache. His wife responded, “He could grow one in five minutes.” If I had Matt’s hair-growing abilities, I’d pull a Rollie Fingers one month and a ZZ Top the next. Instead, Matt joked, I’m like Benjamin Button, becoming more and more baby-faced the older I get.
So it’s smarted a bit the past couple months as I had to watch the Boston Red Sox relish the power of a fine October beard last month, followed by the sweet “Movember” moustaches growing all around me this month — including a group of about 20 police officers who decided to let their moustaches grow out and pitch in an entry fee to help out one local family in need. The officers are also selling pins to people who want to help the cause.
It’s certainly nice to know there are people out there picking up the slack for me, but sadly, I won’t be celebrating “Movember” again this year. For me it’s just plain old “November” — as in no ability to grow a moustache.
Grant Parpan is the executive editor of Times/Review Newsgroup. He can be reached at email@example.com or by phone at 631-354-8046.
I set out to write about my vision for Wading River’s historic hamlet center, believing it has the potential to become the “hippie capital” of Long Island’s North Shore. I figured the owner of BarnStock Trading Post and Woodstock Home Improvement — right in the heart of the district — could help me in those efforts.
And I finally had Glenn Townsend on the phone.
“The historic district reminds me a lot of those artsy, upstate towns, like New Paltz. It’s got the old barns and old buildings, and hills. Unlike many other Long Island downtown areas,” I said, hoping he would say that’s why he came here.
But Mr. Townsend has never been to New Paltz, I learned. He’s from Ohio.
“Well, I just ask because, some of those areas upstate have adopted the whole, y’know, hippie culture — excuse the term,” I continued. “Do you think that could be what attracted you to the area?”
He said simply that the presence of Bob Dylan probably had a lot to do with the culture up there.
“What type of items do you sell in your store, BarnStock?”
“Well,” he said. “Basically, I’ve got a lot of classical rock and roll music.”
Then he let it slip — reluctantly, but with pride in his voice — that he’d been one of the 500,000 people who had actually attended the Woodstock Festival in Bethel, N.Y., in 1969.
I congratulated him on not being an impostor, given his businesses’ namesakes.
“So … would you call yourself a hippie?”
“As they say, I’m a licensed contractor,” he said, dodging the question.
I figured Glenn Townsend has had enough of labels in his lifetime. I wouldn’t push it anymore.
What I did learn about Mr. Townsend, who operates out of the landmark Red Barn building, is that he’s also one of a few people trying to bring life back to an area that’s been suffering from a general lack of foot traffic recently. (Or, depending on your vantage point, maybe since the time of Woodstock.)
First, he’s been doing contracting work for his landlord, who owns the Red Barn and other properties, to help beautify the area.
He’s also been helping to run a weekend farm stand for the past couple months.
He even tried to plan a big farmer’s market in the hamlet center’s main parking lot, but hit a wall with Riverhead Town.
“If you want to do something like that, you have to have insurance and go through red tape as if you’re putting on a concert or something,” he said. “So unfortunately that didn’t fly.”
The smaller farm stand has been running from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. every Sunday, outside the Red Barn and overlooking the Duck Ponds.
“Basically, we’ve got a farm stand and a lady who does some cookies and some bakery things,” Mr. Townsend said. “Somebody that does crystal, dream-catcher things. There’s a knitting person.”
Mr. Townsend has been working with the owners of the neighboring Thrifts & Gifts store, as well as the Wading River Historical Society, he said.
“We’re just trying to revitalize,” he said. “If we can get enough artists or something to set up an art show in the fall. We’re all looking to promote the area.”
He may not have given me the hippie money-quotes I was looking for, but Mr. Townsend’s vision for the hamlet pretty much jibed with the one I was hoping to lay out. One way or the other, the area needs to become a mini mecca for small shops offering artisanal foods and crafts. That would likely require conversion of the mothballed mechanic’s garage on Sound Road into a horseshoe of small rental spaces and chasing away the inactive financial planning and accounting offices.
We also agreed that this asphalt-happy historic district needs more green space, with picnic tables and room to throw a Frisbee. Perhaps this could be achieved by clearing some space around the ponds, Mr. Townsend suggested — or if the parking lot was trimmed down. Certainly a few cars parked on the streets wouldn’t hurt; it could even help slow down traffic.
As much as he’s hoping to attract more craft-makers and artists to the area, Mr. Townsend also knows a couple of well-received eateries would be paramount to creating more of a buzz downtown. And, he assured me, things will be happening in the near future.
“Things are going to be on the upswing soon,” he said, hinting that there are people very interested in investing in the district while reminding me that he works for the area’s principal landlord.
He also believes people are yearning for that connection with the past, and with trees and nature — all offered in historic Wading River.
“As you well know, they’re trying to develop up on the hill, the main strip on 25A, and the people are up in arms,” Mr. Townsend said. “You can see what’s happening to Riverhead, everything is getting developed.
“As Joni Mitchell said, ‘They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.’ ”
And they may just be chasing people back to historic Wading River.
Michael White is the editor of the Riverhead News-Review. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or (631) 298-3200, ext. 152.
Follow him on Twitter at @mikewhite31
Here’s a not-so-bold prediction on an uncertain future.
State officials are going to have to backtrack mightily on the Common Core State Standards now being used in public schools to, supposedly, better prepare all American children for college and “21st-century employment.” It’s going to be quite a drastic reversal and, for many outspoken officials, an embarrassment. But like the Department of Transportation having to count a certain number of fatalities at an intersection before erecting a stoplight, there will have to be victims first.
And those victims will likely be the poorest among us.
Consider that many children in poverty-stricken areas will still be living in single-parent or no-parent households in our new, Common Core world. They still won’t be eating or sleeping properly. They won’t be getting proper medical attention for physical or emotional issues that interfere with school. They won’t be getting help with homework, or even having their homework checked at home. In fact, extra attention for such students will be increasingly funneled away from them, as the focus shifts to teaching to the Common Core assessments.
For these kids, school’s simply getting harder, with no significant amount of funding set aside to provide them better access to school supplies, computers and internet access, or any plans to expand the school day or school year or bulk up after-school enrichment programs. With higher test failure rates, there’s also sure to be a huge spike in students in need of additional support through mandated programs such as academic intervention services. Where does that money come from?
State officials keep arguing that we must adopt Common Core because America’s education system lags behind those of other industrialized nations. But they never acknowledge that much of the disparity is accounted for by the performance of students in poor and non-English-speaking immigrant communities, which aren’t as prevalent in more homogeneous nations like Finland and South Korea.
While the performance of top-scoring students may improve under the more vigorous Common Core standards — they and their parents and tutors are up to the challenge! — students in many poor and working-class households will see scores dip. Eventually, as these children grow increasingly frustrated with school, dropout rates will rise. This will lead to higher unemployment and incarceration rates, prolonged cycles of generational poverty and a widening disparity between rich and poor.
Let’s use some common sense to break this down.
Trust that most kids from Long Island’s Jericho, Syosset and Commack school districts, for example, will be fine in college — no matter how they perform under the Common Core. And many of them will be just fine after college, too, no matter how they perform in college. This is thanks to engaged parents — and many of those parents’ connections to people already established in their child’s career field of choice.
The aforementioned districts and others like them will likely see their state assessment scores rise across the board, though without much real-world benefit — other than maybe having graduates attend marginally better colleges.
In the economically diverse Riverhead School District, the state has revealed that for the 2012-13 year, 74.7 percent of students in grades 3 through 8 failed to meet the state’s math proficiency standard, and 73.8 percent failed to meet the ELA standard.
Those numbers will change very little moving forward (at least not after some initial curriculum adjustments). Here’s why. In Riverhead, scores will increase somewhat for wealthier students but will fall at about the same rate, with potentially disastrous results, for those who don’t have the same support systems at home. Those in the middle will break one way or the other.
When these disparate results between wealthier districts and the rest of the state become apparent — especially in New York City — the backtracking on these numbers-driven policies will begin.
Yes, it’s my prediction Common Core will be reversed. But it’s also my hope. My fear is that so much money will be tied up in pricey books, testing materials and other increasingly entrenched funding sources for this initiative that the politicians and policymakers won’t ever budge.
Meanwhile, our teachers will remain handcuffed and will continue teaching to tests, and more and more students who lack either a natural aptitude for learning or parental support will disengage from the classroom and the educational process in general.
Eventually, we’ll be wondering how we slipped even further behind Finland and South Korea.
Michael White is the editor of The Suffolk Times and Riverhead News-Review. He can be reached at (631) 786-5708 or email@example.com.
The first time I wrote an obituary was Feb. 27, 2012. It was for my mother-in-law, who had died the day before. She was a wonderful person whose life was cut short by a terrible disease. It was the hardest piece I’ve ever written.
My husband’s family designated me as the writer at the funeral home, mostly because I worked at the local paper. I had never written anything using Associated Press style, and was a distraught family member. Did I include how much she loved her husband? Did I include how much she loved her sons and her grandsons? Do I mention how much she loved all of us — even those who came by luck and not by blood?
Each time I read the obituary, I cried. I cried when I called my coworker. I kept saying, “We thought we had more time.”
This was about a year before it became my job to write obituaries for this newspaper. If you’ve ever seen the movie “Closer,” you’ve heard Jude Law’s character discuss his job as an obituary writer, stoically, in a British accent, and then discuss the euphemisms they use to reflect alternative lifestyles.
When people find out I write obituaries, they ask me if it’s depressing. I usually tell them I balance it out with weddings and births, but that’s not true. I see many, many more obituaries than I do weddings or births, thanks to social media.
But I don’t really find obituaries depressing. They’ve taught me some important lessons about my own life, and given me some healthy advice, which I will now pass along.
Write your own obituary now
I have met with best friends, life partners and grieving family members. Some know every intimate details about the life of the person they’re telling me about. Some don’t know much at all. Each of us has a different part of our life story.
For me, my parents have the beginning piece; my husband, family and friends can fill in; and my children and, hopefully grandchildren, will have the later chapters.
Each person would tell a very different story. Nobody will tell my story the way I want it. They’ll all be grieving. They’ll be trying to remember the meals I made, the hugs I gave them and the way I made them laugh. They don’t need a stranger asking them what my mother’s maiden name was.
If I write it now, they can celebrate, remember, cry and fill in the new details. I’ll update it from time to time, put it in a place where everyone can find it, and won’t have to worry about anyone spelling Catrow with a K.
Live a life worth writing about
I’ve written and read about people who sailed around the world, served in wars, taught children to read or took care of their grandchildren.
Whatever you do, do it with passion and love. Don’t care if anyone else thinks you’re crazy. If you love to write, start a blog. If you love music, play it loudly. If you love car racing, get on the track. You are more than the desk you sit behind or the children you birthed. Live passionately, at least a little bit, every day. Love what you do and who you are.
Have empathy for the grieving
Everyone grieves differently. When I talk to a woman who can’t find her purse because her son just died, I listen. When I speak with a woman who is angry with the coroner’s office, I listen. Sometimes, I get off the phone, I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes and move on to the next obituary. I have to.
My heart breaks for these people, and their loss. Each one of the living has a story and a connection, the same way each obituary tells a story.
Live each day as if it’s your last
I’ve written obituaries for infants, teenagers, people my age, people in their 90s. Each day is a gift, and the next one may not be there. However you live, live life as though it may not be there the next day.
Take time to hug your children and tell them you love them. Don’t hold grudges with family or friends. Hug your parents, even when they drive you crazy. Someday, they won’t be here.
After I hang up the phone with families, I hope that I have helped each person in a small way. I’m just a tiny piece of the puzzle, but I’m really lucky to learn about so many different lives and people.
We all have stories, and I’m privileged to tell them.
Ms. Huber is an editorial assistant with Times/Review Newsgroup. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org or 631-298-3200, ext. 250.
My eyes lit up when the doctor gave us a canvas bag full of goodies at the end of our first appointment.
Surely, somewhere beneath all the samples of vitamins and other baby products would be the book I’d waited for my whole life. You know, the one that tells you everything you’ll need to know as a dad. When I was a kid I always marveled at how my pops seemed to have an answer for everything. It wasn’t until I got a little older and wiser that I realized he’d just been making things up as he went along, and he was correct only about 3 percent of the time.
Now, it’s going to be my turn to have all the answers. The Mrs. got through the first trimester this week and, if the calculations are correct, I’ll be a dad for the first time come New Year’s Eve. (This is the moment when, if we were speaking face-to-face, you’d make a comment about a tax deduction.)
Since we found out the news, I’ve found myself asking, “Am I ready to be a dad?”
I’ve used this column space many times to write about how I don’t really know how to do anything; how I have no man skills. If something needs fixing I call a handyman. And when it comes to working in the yard, my thumb is far from green, the color of my pool the one summer I tried to maintain it myself. A few months back, my father-in-law asked me a question about my car’s radiator. When I froze, he said, “Well, I guess I wouldn’t know how to write a newspaper article.”
It’s safe to say I’m not a so-called man’s man. I’m more like a boy’s man, still holding out hope of one day being a man’s man, which is why I was disappointed there was no dad manual in the doctor’s goodie bag.
Surely, at one of the 11 remaining U.S. bookstores, there’s that perfect book: the one that teaches you how to change a diaper with one hand while hanging a shelf with the other. I’d imagine that book would also dedicate an entire chapter on how to beat your son at various backyard games while simultaneously grilling a steak and drinking a can of cheap beer.
Just like everyone before us, the Mrs. and I find ourselves talking about the baby 99.4 percent of the time these days.
After every meal we talk about how the baby must have loved what we just ate and then we discuss how the baby will enjoy every little thing we perceive as cool. If this baby is anything less than tall, dark and beautiful with Carl Lewis’ speed and an encyclopedic knowledge of independent cinema, it will have failed to live up to the early hype.
The baby talk even extends to our conversations with others. “Yeah, that was a great game, dude. The baby would have loved that game.”
Of course, the good thing about us always talking about our little North — didn’t we come up with the coolest name? No one else will ever think of that — is all the productive talks we’ve had with folks who have been down this road before.
The advice has been tremendously helpful, especially from the friends who told us to never listen to anyone’s advice. I think that carefree style is the attitude we need to adopt. There shall be no more stressing over which type of diapers to use or what to do when the baby’s crying. The nursery will get painted, the crib will be assembled — likely by someone else — and the kid will grow up loved.
There’s still six months to go and I’m refusing to spend the rest of this time worried. I’m confident that when the time comes I’ll have enough of the answers at my fingertips.
What will happen when I don’t know what to do? Like my old man before me, I’ll just make something up.