Needful Things

A few months ago, when we were just beginning to look into building a home, Tricia and I contacted a builder to see about coming in to ask some questions. Our goal was to see how much it would cost to build a house that would provide shelter for four adults, four children, and one very large dog. The salesman asked us to create a list, before coming in, of the things we needed as well as the things we wanted in a house.

This was hard.

"What does he mean by 'what we need?'" I asked afterward.

"I don't know," Tricia answered.

So we did what we usually do when we're unsure or uneasy about a task - we put it off. Days and days went by. A few times I sat down at the computer and tried to start brainstorming things but to no avail. I didn't know how to get started. I grew up in a series of small two-bedroom apartments and houses. Our living space was fairly tight compared to what most  Americans have come to expect but we still had a kitchen, bathroom, living room, laundry, and bedrooms - the real "needs" of a house. Should we list more than this as something we absolutely had to have? A garage? Playroom? An open floor plan?

The fact was that we certainly didn't need these things to survive...but we did need them to make going through the process of building a new home worthwhile. This was a chance to get a few things right that we failed to think of four-and-a-half years ago when moving into the suburbs of Northeast Columbia. We wanted less dead space. And rather than a sun room we wanted a screened porch that would allow us to eat outside without having to wage war with an endless army of flies.

There were things we really liked about the house we have now that we wanted in a new home as well. Hardwood floors, open spaces, natural light, a big kitchen with plenty of counter space, and a decent sized front porch. These things were, of course, all "wants." There wasn't a legitimate "need" to be found anywhere on the list. But within the context of what we were trying to do they felt a bit like needs.

I really think our concept, as Americans, of needs versus wants is quite skewed. As skewed as our sense of entitlement to many things. Most likely, the two are closely related. I've always thought of myself as a minimalist. I like to joke that if I lived alone I'd probably have bare walls with lots of empty spaces. I  imagine one comfortable chair with a collection of folding lawn furniture surrounding it. Just in case I had company.

The reality, however, is that I have two bikes (mountain and road), a scooter (foot, not motor), and roller blades. One could argue they all serve the same purpose. I also have three guitars (acoustic, classical, and electric). They definitely serve the same purpose. Even my backpacking stuff, which would lead you to think is the ultimate in minimalism, is growing to be quite specialized and expansive. The combination of pack, tent, and gear take up probably half of my closet space with other outdoor paraphernalia stuffed under beds and in corners around the house. I'm definitely not a pack rat (I still wear the same three or four pair of pants and five shirts to school every week and keep very few things for sentimental reasons) but in a global sense I have a lot.

The kids do too. I see this when they struggle to figure out where to keep their toys, stuffed animals, and other things. I know they have probably half of what most middle class kids have but still I cringe every Christmas when I think about where all these new pieces of plastic are going to go.

A few days ago my growing sense of "We have too much stuff!!!" came to a head. I was trying to find my shoes in the front closet and found that over the past few weeks and months it had become littered with what seemed like a million pairs of kid shoes. I marched out to the garage where we keep an "overflow" bucket of shoes and drug it back in. Slightly larger than a recycle bin, I dumped the overflow bucket out and began pairing up the shoes and laying them out in the art room floor. I carefully lined up all little girl shoes in one row and little boy shoes in another. I placed all the boots at one end, grouped the tennis and sports shoes in the middle, and put sandals and flip flops at the other end. When I finished with the bucket I returned to the front closet and began emptying it to add to the rows.

"What are you doing?" Muluken asked as he made his way down the stairs.

"We're playing shoe store," I answered. "Everyone gets a shopping bag and shops for only the shoes they really want and need."

"Oh." He headed back to the closet to help.

Pretty soon the rest of the kids came down with Tricia.

"Oh my," Tricia said when she saw that the front room had turned into what appeared to be a shoe stockroom.

"Not my flip flops!" Harper shouted, knowing the game of shoe store only too well. She went running across the room to protect her most prized possession in the whole wide world. "You're not getting rid of my flip flops!"

"I'm not getting rid of anything," I assured her. "You are."

Soon I started pulling out all of my shoes and making a row just for me. Embarrassingly, it stretched almost across the entire room as well. As I finished up my row I noticed that Tricia was beginning to pull out her shoes also. Now, I'm not stupid. I was not about to suggest that Tricia size up her shoe collection against the rest of ours. I was certain this would be seen as an attempt to guilt her into going without a shoe for every occasion. One of the reasons we hardly ever get upset with one another is because we work to avoid pushing each others' buttons. At least most of them.

"Where's the camera," I asked. "I want to take pictures of all these shoes."

"You're going to put this on your blog, aren't you?" Tricia asked, looking as though maybe I was about to push one of those buttons.

"Heck yeah!" I gloated.

I crawled down onto my belly trying to get all those shoes in one shot but it was impossible. I grabbed a piece of paper and had the kids help me tally up everything.

"Now before you write anything," Tricia warned, "I want you to know that I've only bought three pairs of shoes since we moved here."

"Okay," I said. "How many girls shoes are there Harper?"

"Forty-two."

"My gosh!" I exclaimed. "That's a lot. Definitely more than two little girls need!"

"And also," Tricia continued, "I had some of those in a bag in my closet to donate. I do not have nearly as many shoes as most..."

"Tricia, I didn't say a word," I interrupted. "I haven't said anything at all about your shoes; yet,  I feel like I'm on the defensive."

"We have fifteen dad!" shouted Muluken.

"Huh, that's a lot less than forty-two. Perhaps the female fascination with shoes is a learned behavior," I suggested. Because I'm that dumb.

Tricia finished putting her shoes out and said, "Look, I don't have that many more shoes than YOU do!"

She was right. I counted my shoes and saw that I had twelve pair. She had twenty.

"And some of mine were bagged for Goodwill so we probably had about the same amount!" she boasted.

Between the four of us we had eighty-nine pairs of shoes. That's a lot. One could argue that shoes have become a need of our everyday lives. But not eighty-nine pairs. This was ridiculous. From the smallest member of our family to the largest, we all had more than we needed.

"Okay, everyone pull out the shoes they definitely don't want anymore - either because they're too small, too torn up, or you never wear them," I directed. The girls started carrying armloads over to the wall by the stairs. The boys, perhaps too excited by the task, tried to unload just about every pair of shoes they had.

I looked down my row at my twelve sets of shoes. One pair of beat up lawn mowing shoes. Hiking boots. Tennis shoes. "Dress" shoes. Sandals. Crocs for camping. Cycling shoes with a plastic cleat on the bottom. Water shoes. It seemed I had one pair of shoes for just about any activity you could ever want pursue. I pulled out an old pair of hiking boots, an extra pair of sandals, and another pair of shoes I didn't even remember having. I had reduced my shoe count by 25% yet still had nine pair. I wanted to get rid of more but kept convincing myself that I really did NEED all those shoes for one reason or another.

In the end we wound up getting donating about 37 pairs of shoes. Tricia was right. She really didn't have that many shoes. Certainly not as many as just about every woman in her family, and mine.

My mom sat on the outskirts of this little show watching quietly. Muluken asked her at one point if she was going to bring down her shoes.

"OH NO," she was quick to respond. "I'm not putting my shoes into rows!" I suspected she was watching to see if I was going to do or say something stupid. Somehow I hadn't.

After we bagged the old shoes up and put all the keepers neatly away into the closet and bucket my mom disappeared. About half an hour later she reemerged.

"Alright, you guys inspired me to go through my own shoes," she said. "I found a number of shoes I don't need anymore. I put them in a bag and set them by the door with your bags."

"How many did you have?" I asked.

"I'm not telling you," she laughed. "More than twenty!"

We still have far more than we need. But in the end we were able to lighten our loads just a bit and free up some room around the house.  Maybe even enough for a fourth guitar!

Belly Achin'

We were out to dinner a few nights ago at Wild Wings Cafe. We are pretty knowledgeable when it comes to when and where there are "Kids Eat Free" or other special discounts. Our entire family of six can eat for less than $17 at Firehouse Subs on a Wednesday night. Moe's costs us about $25 on a Tuesday night and McCallister's will run about the same on either Sunday or Wednesday.

Our routine is to eat out one night each week. Tricia and I don't eat fast food which means that, by default, neither do the kids. I haven't eaten at a McDonalds in more than nine years and wouldn't even know what Hardee's, Burger King, or Rush's has on the menu beyond the usual burger and fries.

Tricia and I used to eat a whole lot of fast food. Taco Bell was our favorite. However, after finding out about ten years ago that Tricia's cholesterol was high, and then later finding out that she was pregnant with Harper, we decided that we better clean up our act. After all this time it's really easy to avoid foods that are greasy and fatty. Our systems are so unaccostomed to them that if we were to stop by and have a burger from, say, Steak 'n Shake our stomachs would scream in protest the rest of the evening and maybe even the next morning.

The kids don't eat this type of food either. A few of them don't mind because: (1) They don't know what they're missing, and (2) They aren't big meat eaters. A couple of the others, though, do miss it - or at least long for it. This divide seems to be framed by gender which may or may not be a coincidence, I don't know. When their grandparents come in town twice each year they'll usually wind up going to a fast food place while Tricia and I are out running an errand, going for a hike, or seeing a movie. They are also allowed to pick the restaurant each year for their birthday dinner. Ty has talked the past few months about going to McDonalds but fears that "dad won't eat anything there." I made the mistake of telling him this. I promised that I would be happy to take him to McDonalds if that's where he really wanted to go but that I'd probably wait to eat when I got back home. I felt bad about this afterward but I'm still not so certain it was all that wrong.

Because we wind up eating at the same small collection of restaurants over and again we sometimes make a conscious effort to find somewhere new or, at least, less frequented. This is where the decision to go to Wild Wings came from. We eat here maybe two or three times each year. It's not great but it's not bad either. The kids love all the TV screens plastered to every wall. There's no sound and all the programming is sports but they don't seem to mind. Generally Ainsley will sit and color on her placemat while the other three allow their eyes to dance indecisively from screen to screen.

When the waiter came over to take our orders the kids took turns telling her what they wanted. Ty tends to choose anything with the words "nuggets" or "dogs" attached to it. Ainsley and Harper seek out the word "chicken." And Muluken often begins by asking if he can order off the adult menu. He has the appetite of a Samoan. Sometimes we let him but often we don't. We have a very well defined budget for eating out and are careful to stay within it's confines.

However, the waitress explained that Tuesdays are dubbed "Two for Tuesdays" which means that if you order six chicken wings you get twelve, order eight you get sixteen, and so on. I asked Muluken if he wanted to split an order of sixteen with me. He began licking his lips and excitedly agreed. Chicken wings, for me, are like donuts. I hardly ever eat them. But each time I do I wind up with a belly ache and a sense of stupidity for doing this to myself. The problem is that after a few months I somehow allow myself to forget all this.

So Muluken and I looked over the menu at all the sauce options. There were all kinds of crazy choices I didn't even recognize or understand - Red Dragon, The General, Colorado Coppers. All-in-all there were thirty-four different sauces to choose from. Not a big fan of too many choices, I keyed in on the top eight or so at the top. They had simplistic, if not boring, names that I could comprehend - Virgin, Medium, Hot, Cherynobl. These were obviously in reference to each sauce's degree of heat. Liking spicy foods to a reasonable degree, I decided I would try the Hot.

I looked over at Muluken and saw that his index finger was sliding down the menu past Hot and Cherynobl to China Syndrome. "Very peppery, very hot, and very good" it read. He then pointed to Habenero Hots: "Something special for the insane." The last one, with a dark - almost black - picture of a pepper next to it, was Braveheart: "So hot you can lose your head over it."

These last three sauces were, according to the pictures of the peppers, the hottest they offered on the menu.

"What are you thinking about getting?" I asked Muluken.

"Habenero Hots," he answered.

"Buddy, those are going to be REALLY hot," I cautioned. "It says they're for the insane."

"I'm not insane!" he replied.

"But maybe if you order those you will be," I said.

He was not to be undeterred. When the waitress made her way over to him he ordered his wings.

"Oh, those are really hot!" she said with a slight look of disapproval.

"I know," he said and she looked down at me as though waiting to see if I'd override his choice.

I did not.

Once the wings came he ate all eight as he eats everything - fast and efficientlt. There was nothing left but a small stack of bare bones piled on his plate. We kept watching for signs of discomfort but he really hadn't even taken many drinks from his water. He reached across the table and accepted two of my mom's wings, with a more forgiving Medium sauce, and devoured those as well.

And then it hit him.

He started by constantly licking his lips as though he were trying to cool them. Then he started in on his water. Small trickles of tears began emerging at the corners of his eyes and he clutched his stomach. After about a minute or two he was beyond tearing up and full-out crying.

"What's wrong Muluken?" we all asked.

"MY STOMACH," he responded. "I DON'T FEEL VERY GOOD!"

'Was it too hot?" I asked.

"No," he argued. "It wasn't too hot." He doubled over and rested his forehead on the table. "I feel like I'm going to throw up!"

This was about the last thing Ainsley wanted to hear. She too began to tear up and hid her face in her arms. As we made our way out the door Muluken let out a very audible burp.

"I feel a little better now," he assured us.

Three burps later and he was soon in the back of the van with Harper laughing and playing again. And swearing off hot wings.

We'll have to make a deal - I'll keep him away from the wings and he can keep me away from the donuts.

Home

Before the snow and ice moved through the midlands of South Carolina last Monday our family had started a new morning routine. Tricia and I were rolling out of bed at 5:25 each morning, heading upstairs to get the kids out of bed, and bringing them back down to exercise with us. Tricia and Ainsley made their way into the sunroom to do Pilates while Muluken, Harper, Ty, and I  bundled up for a run around the neighborhood.

It was dark. And cold. And early. But still the kids popped right out of their beds excited to join us. Starting with just a short one mile jog, we laughed and chatted to pass the time. Muluken and I counted the number of houses that had someone awake. Ty alternated between buzzing ahead of us and then falling behind. Harper lifted her gaze to enjoy the brilliant glow of Venus. We all made plans for extending our runs to a mile-and-a-half or even two miles.

I kept expecting the kids' excitement to peter out. I knew from my own experiences with running, cycling, and swimming that everyone eventually hits a brick wall. It's at this point that you either give up or push through it and make exercising a normal part of your day. It becomes an important part of who you are.

However, that wall is hard to push through. Early on there are many mornings, or evenings, when it'd be easier to stay in bed or watch TV or do absolutely nothing. That's why I kept expecting the kids to ask if they "had" to go. But they didn't. Rather, each night they asked if we were excercising in the morning as though they were afraid we wouldn't. They applauded and cheered when told we would be getting up.

It's only been a week so I know the moment of truth is coming at some point. This past week we haven't been able to get out for a run because of all the snow and ice covering the streets and sidewalks. Going stir crazy, we've been driving over to the YMCA for a run around the indoor track and a swim in the pool. Harper and Muluken even joined me in the lap lanes for about thirty minutes of lap swimming. Expecting them to just splash around and play, I was very impressed.

I realize we're really lucky to have the YMCA literally right around the corner from our house. We're lucky, too, to live in a place where frigid temperatures and snow accumulation is very rare. We can get outside pretty much year 'round - often times in shorts or t-shirts. Our friends Betsy and Mike moved to International Falls, Minnesota a few years ago. Located near the US/Canada border, it is crazy cold there. Temperatures drop well below zero for weeks at a time and their kids can't stay out more than fifteen minutes at a time for fear of getting frostbite. Their town is also very remote so there are no indoor tracks or swimming pools. It makes me wonder how people in areas such as these get any exercise. Their reality is far beyond snow shovels or snow shoes. Everyone has a snow blower and most have a snowmobile. I can only imagine the amount of time spent watching television or playing video games in places such as this must be far above the national average -which is embarrassingly high  itself.

I find more and more that where you live is really important. We moved here from the Midwest because we wanted warmer temperatures and shorter trips to the ocean. Once here, we found that we love the mountains too. And the forests. And, especially, the trees. Like so many other parts of our new home in South Carolina, they have become a part of who we are.

We're making another move in the coming months. But not so far this time. We've found seven heavily wooded acres that we love in a nearby town. It backs up to a small fifteen acre lake where the kids can swim and splash and kayak. There are trees to climb. Trails to clear. Footbridges to build. Animals to watch.

It was tempting to stay where we are, in suburbia. Our house will be paid off in another fifteen years and our budget is much more forgiving than in years past. We are close to the grocery store and restaurants. Our drives into school each day are less than fifteen minutes. We have a neighborhood pool that becomes our second home in the summertime. But in the end none of those reasons were enough. It is important where you live. We're fortunate enough to be in a position where we can be choosy and seek out a home that matches our interests and lifestyle.

I envision many hours spent outside. We're building a screened porch in the back to escape the spring rains. We'll enjoy the shade of tall trees in summer and then watch their colors change in fall.

And winter, we'll take it as it comes. Hopefully, though, it will still find us waking early each morning for a chilly predawn run. This time through the country.

Parenthood: The Book

From the moment the baby arrived,
it was obvious that he was the boss.
He  put Mom and Dad on a round-the-clock schedule,
with no time off.
And then he set up his office right smack-dab
in the middle of the house.
He made demands.
Many,many demands.
And he was quite particular.
If things
weren't done
to his immediate
satisfaction, 
he had a fit.

So starts The Boss Baby, one of the newest picture books in our classroom. When I first read this book, chuckling to myself after every page, my immediate thought was "Who do I know that's having a baby?" It seemed like the perfect gift.

Of course someone without children probably couldn't fully relate.

He conducted meetings.
Lots and lots of meetings,
many in the middle of the night.

This story is probably much more humorous a few months into parenthood. In fact, maybe it's better suited for a first birthday. In addition to a nice bedtime story it would provide parents with an opportunity to look back and laugh at all they have survived - so far.

There are many books written to help parents do just that. Survive. Tricia and I read a couple. The first was What to Expect When You're Expecting, followed by What to Expect the 1st Year then ...the 2nd year and so on. This series is like the Dr. Spock's Baby and Childcare for this generation. We read the first book on pregnancy. Or, more accurately, Tricia read it and I browsed. It explained what was happening with the development of the baby in each month of pregnancy. It was fun to follow along and know that whatever was lurking in Tricia's stomach now had fingernails. Fingernails!

"It could start clawing it's way out of there at any moment, Tricia."

We also read the second book on the first year with the baby. We were a bit concerned that we didn't really know anything about babies and how to keep them alive. Later we found that keeping them alive was really easy. It was getting them to sleep that was the impossible part. With Harper we just kept picking her up and rocking her. Each time we would lay her down for a nap we'd gently, and ever-so-slowly, set her into her crib and then embark on the five minute scoot across the floor toward the door, trying our best not to step on a squeaky floorboard or to let the door squeak as we walked out. Many times it didn't work out and she awoke again, screaming her head off.

Harper didn't sleep at night either. We'd have to go get her and rock her to sleep on a fairly regular basis. Tricia probably did this more than I did. I hate to fit into a gender stereotype but I was pretty good at staying asleep - or at least pretending to. By the time Ainsley came along I decided we couldn't do the sleepless nights again. We needed help.

We went to the bookstore and picked up a copy to Dr. Ferber's much controversial book Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems. I desperately wanted to know how to teach a baby to sleep through the night. Unfortunately I found that I had to read - or at least skim- four or five whole chapters before I got to the good part. The first hundred pages or so was dedicated to helping us understand babies and their behaviors. This one time in my life I didn't want to understand. I just wanted to be told what to do. In specific terms.

I finally found the right chapter and learned why the book is so controversial. Dr. Ferber teaches that the best way to get a baby to sleep through the night is essentially to allow them to cry it out. The first night you wait maybe ten minutes after they start crying to come in, rub their back (never picking them up), speak softly to them, and walk out again. Each time they cry you wait ten minutes before coming in. The next night it's fifteen minutes, and so on. The idea is that you're reassuring them that you are still there but teaching them to ultimately put themselves back to sleep. We do this as adults. We actually wake up, at least partially, throughout the night and put ourselves back to sleep without even noticing it. Babies can do it too.

It took Harper a year-and-a-half to sleep through the night. After reading Dr. Ferber's book and putting it into practice (you had to wait until the baby was at least six months old or so to do this) Ainsly was "cured" within two nights. I suddenly became a big believer in Dr. Ferber and recommended it to every droopy-eyed parent I knew or met at the playground.

As the kids grow older I find we don't really ever seek out these types of books anymore. We've learned to trust ourselves and to watch and listen to others we respect and admire. And, of course, much of what we do as parents was modeled for us by our own parents who succeeded in not raising us to be pychopaths or even Republicans (a little joke for Tricia's dad).

I did, however, recently come upon a book on raising older children that I really love. Of all places, it was already on our bookshelf. Titled Raising Children: A Guide to Raising Children, by Children, it was written for me nine years ago by my fifth grade students at New City School. After Harper was born I took a six week paternity leave. When I returned my students had created, on their own, a book to teach me all I needed to know about being a parent.

It is organized into various sections:

The Rules About Kids
You don't have to tell us we look like rag muffins when we go to school.
We will shut up as long as we are eating.
We will always love you. 
We are only kids. 

School Days
Always pick a school where both you and your child feel welcome.

The Top 10 Things That Kids Hate That Parents Do
Hanging up underwear when we have friends over.
Think that the ugly clothes that are cheaper look "exactly" the same as the brand name ones.
Show naked baby pictures. 


Interests
Your kid has his or her own interests. They may not be the same as yours but support them fully. Encourage your kids to do fun after school activities...That will give them a chance to do more of what they love.
Also try to share your kids interests. Maybe they could teach you a thing or two. 
Always remember that they will explore new things and may like something for a while and then stop liking it. But don't ever force your child to do something that they don't feel comfortable with. Have fun!


Top Five Things that Kids Like Their Parents to Do
5. Let us see PG-13 movies when we are at least 10 years old.
4. Let us get our ears pierced whenever we want.
3. When we don't get such a good grade encourage us instead of ripping our heads off.
2. Buy us things.

and the most important...

1. Love us. 

Now that's sound advice.

A Tough Crowd

A number of weeks ago our school faculty got together to listen to a small collection of inquiry project presentations from our early childhood student interns. Each of the four student-teachers took a turn sharing with us what they had worked on during the past semester- building community, conflict resolution, etc - and how it turned out for them. Afterward, they invited questions and comments from the teachers.

I mostly sat and listened. That is, until one of our fourth grade teachers decided to share a quote that he felt had some connection to the project being shared. It evidently was a humorous quote. Or at least it was intended to be because when he finished, and everyone in the room sat silently, he exclaimed, "That was funny!"

"Oh, is that how your finishing your jokes now?" I asked, "by telling us 'That was funny?'"

He laughed.

"Is this something you find you need to say after a lot of your jokes? Because if it is you might want to stop telling them," I said, further rubbing it in.

Jokes are like that, though. Sometimes people find them funny. Sometimes they don't. And sometimes they're just flat out put off by them.

I once had a meteorology professor that started our first day of class with the following two jokes:

"How does Kurt Cobain collect his thoughts?"
"...with a mop."

"Did you see the flight plan Bob Richards turned in for his last flight?"
(he drew a line gradually lifting up from the ground then then nosediving straight back down)

Both jokes were about people who had recently died. Kurt Cobain committed suicide by shooting himself in the head and local meteorologist Bob Richards, also committing suicide, drove his plane into the ground to escape the growing rumors about his supposed affair.

Neither man was necessarily a model citizen but I didn't like the fact that this teacher was making fun of thier deaths; none-the-less, on our very first day of class together. Perhaps there are some types of jokes you reserve for friends, or at least close acquaintances. I would think jokes about death would fall into this category.

My dad used to tell all kinds of really bad jokes. He enjoyed them whether they made you laugh or not. And he didn't shy away from making fun of the fact that people had died. One of his favorites was "Do you want to see my impersonation of John Wayne?" He would then fold his arms across his chest and close his eyes as though he were lying in a casket. He had a similar impersonation of Elvis, but with a snarled lip.

Neither impersonation was all that funny but I doubt anyone was ever offended. Sometimes people didn't even get it. They'd stare at him and wonder what in the hell he was doing. "So go ahead," they'd suggest.

Some of my own jokes are like this. I definitely inherited my sense of humor from my dad because most of my jokes aren't funny either but I still enjoy telling them. Every once in a while, though, I'll tell a joke and be disappointed no one else found it as humorous as I did - if for no other reason than to share a laugh.

This happened a few nights ago. Tricia, the kids, and I were at a holiday party saying our goodbyes before heading out the door. I stopped by to wish our friends, Tim and Heidi, a happy holiday when Heidi leaned in and quietly mentioned that she had something to give me before I left.

"Head back to the bathroom," she said. "I also have something I want to talk to you about."

The bathroom? I was  pretty sure I must have heard that wrong. Still, I walked back toward the bedroom where all the coats and bags were being kept. Once I entered the bedroom, with Heidi right behind me, I looked back over my shoulder and she looked as though she was waiting for me to continue. So, taking a chance of thoroughly embarrassing myself, I hung a right and walked into the bathroom. And sure enough, she followed me in!

So there we were standing together in someone else's bathroom. It was pretty big with a nice green marble tub and all. But still, if you wanted to sit down it'd have to be on the toilet because it was the only seat.

As if things weren't weird enough Tim showed up. He just walked right in too. Like he was expecting to see us there. If they weren't both so nice I would have suspected that maybe I was about to get beat up or something. "You lure him into the bathroom," Tim might suggest, "and I'll be right behind you to jump him!"

But he didn't. Instead Heidi handed me a gift bag and, unsure whether she wanted me to open it then or wait, I pulled out the Christmas card and commented on the great picture of their boys in Hawaii. Heidi then proceeded to talk about the book she's writing for Heinemann (a big-time publisher of texts for teachers and educators) and some of the issues she's having with how it will be written.

She suggested that she, Tim, and I think on these issues over the break and get back together to discuss it after the holidays. These are the types of discussions and I love and, without doubt, the fact that she would even think to include me in this task is tremendously flattering. Yet I still couldn't get over the fact that we were hanging out in the bathroom together. And that they seemed so at ease as though they had had many important talks in other people's bathrooms.

As we wrapped up the conversation and made tentative plans to meet again in a few weeks I suggested "That sounds great. But next time let's meet in YOUR bathroom."

Two blank faces stared right back at me. Evidently they hadn't spent the past five minutes thinking about that bathroom. Evidently they didn't find this to be even remotely funny - a fact I couldn't stop talking about on the drive home.

"Seriously," I pleaded to Tricia. "I was making light of the fact we were standing around exchanging gifts and having a professional conversation in the very same room that our principal uses to flush her system - and yet nothing."

And then it hit me. I forgot to tell them.

"That was funny."

Ainsley

The first thing Ainsley does each morning when she comes down for breakfast is to come over and wrap her arms around my waist to give me a big, tight hug. She’s very tender-hearted. Over the course of a day she’s likely to give out a dozen or more hugs, kisses, and “I love yous” to her family and teachers. While other kids might feel a bit embarrassed by a hug or kiss in front of other kids Ainsley still seeks them out. I often wonder if she knows that this is no longer the social norm for a second grader or if she realizes that she’s  a bit more affectionate than most seven year olds but doesn’t care.

She’s sensitive, too. A few nights ago Tricia and Ainsley were alone in the car on their way home from running an errand together. As they passed a nearby school Ainsley looked out the window and asked, “Mommy, is that a high school?”

“Yes, Ainsley” Tricia answered.

“Is high school where you sleep at school?” she asked.

Tricia thought a moment, trying to figure out what Ainsley was talking about.

“No sweetie. You don’t sleep at school in high school,” she answered. “That’s college you’re thinking of.”

“Oh.”

Ainsley became very quiet. After a few moments she spoke again - this time her tiny voice beginning to quiver.

“I don’t want to go to college.”

“Why not,” Tricia asked.

Ainsley began to cry.

“Because I don’t want to leave my family,” she sobbed.

Tricia gave her a moment to calm down.

“I want to be a cashier when I grow up,” Ainsley said. “Grandma said you don’t have to go to college to be a cashier.”

“That’s true,” Tricia answered. “But you still might want to go to college.”

“No, not to be a cashier,” she said. “I want to be a cashier at Publix. Because that’s where you shop.”

After a few more moments of whimpering and thinking about all this Ainsley said, “Mommy, could you not tell anyone I cried?”

There was a time when Harper used to constantly tell us “I love my family!” She still asks to sit in our laps after dinner and gives out the occasional hug. However, she’s getting older and trying to find a balance between being our little girl and acting like the older kids she sees at school and in movies and television shows. She's now careful to avoid kisses on the mouth and often fails to acknowledge a good night peck on top of the head while reading in bed. She has a number of really close friends and can go whole weekends barely seeing either of us.

Ainsley is just two years behind Harper and I wonder if our days of being the most important people in the whole wide world will soon draw to a close. I wonder if we'll have to go looking for those hugs and kisses. Looking at Ainsley right now, it’s hard to imagine that could be true.

Super Shopper

I don't really care much for shopping. I don't like crowded stores, carts with a bum wheel, or long lines at the checkout. I also don't like the time it takes to make an informed choice. Trying on clothes is the worst. I'd just as soon grab something off the shelf or hanger and take my chances when I get home as find a fitting room. Maybe it's all those mirrors. I've managed to go thirty-six years without knowing what I look like from behind and I see no reason to take a peek now. Pretty much if a pair of pants don't fall off my hips while I'm walking then they'll do.Perhaps this is why nothing ever seems to fit me right.

I also hate having too many choices. Last weekend Tricia sent me to Target with a list of things to get. Most were easy things - granola bars, cereal, face wash, Expo markers. I was doing fine until I hit the shampoo aisle. I knew that we use Pantene which narrowed down my choices. But not by all that much. There were formulas made specifically for fine hair, curly hair, medium-thick hair, and hair that had been artificially colored. Sensing certain defeat, my shoulders slumped and my eyes glazed over. I noticed that the top shelf contained another choice: classic care. I assumed this was the formula for men who didn't know enough or care enough to match a shampoo to their particular hair type. As much as I wanted to believe that this was the right choice it was blue and I knew our bottle wasn't blue. But what color was it?

After studying my choices I finally decided that we had the red bottle for curly hair. I reached to grab it when I noticed yet another choice. There were multiple red bottles for curly hair. One was labeled "Curls to Straight" and the other was "Dry to Moisturized."

"You've got to be ****ing kidding me!" I mumbled under my breath. "Why isn't there one that just says 'Dirty to Clean?'"

By this time I had spent what felt like ten minutes staring at the same bottles over and over again with little hope of making any sense of it all. In the end I decided to randomly guess. I don't know which one I chose but Tricia hasn't said anything. Maybe she didn't even notice. Or care.

Or maybe I got lucky and picked the right one. That would be nice.

Virginia is for Drunken Murderers

A few years ago Tricia and I spent an afternoon in Hot Springs, North Carolina. We enjoyed a light lunch, picked up some trail snacks, and headed out to hike a mile or two on the Appalachian Trail. It was our first trip on the trail and we really didn't know anything about it other than that it was pretty long. All of our previous hiking had been on a variety of tame trails in heavily visited state parks.

As we approached the trail we stopped to check the map and message board. There at the center - in very large letters - was a warning: BEWARE: BEARS HAVE BEEN REPORTED IN THIS AREA. The sign went on to suggest that anyone hiking carry "bear mace" and plan to slowly retreat from any evidence of bear activity on the trail. This startled us a bit.

"Are we going to die?" Tricia half-joked.

"I hope not," I answered.

The first stretch of trail was nicely graded. There were many switchbacks but because of all the thick foliage it was impossible to see what was awaiting us around each corner. All we could think about was bears. We were certain we were only moments away from a certain mauling. I tried to make as much noise as I could to announce our presence.

After only about twenty minutes or so we decided to stop and head back down. The trail was still climbing steadily with no indication that we were anywhere near the top. We weren't necessarily in the best climbing shape, hadn't brought any water with us, and felt the time was ripe to call it quits with all of our limbs still intact.We walked back to the car, safe and sound.

In the following weeks I developed quite a fascination for the Appalachian Trail. I read a book or two and started reading the on-line journals of hikers walking the entire 2,100 path in a single season. I quickly learned that many hikers walk on the trail for weeks, or even months, at a time and never see a single bear. Not only do they not see any bears but they actually feel disappointed by it. The ones that do encounter bears do not run or cry or even drop and play dead. Instead, they stand in awe watching them gathering berries, scratching at a tree, or rumbling through the forest. Sometimes, if they feel unsafe, hikers will bang their trekking poles together to scare the bears off or they'll slowly retreat back down the trail and wait a few minutes before returning.

So it seems our perceived danger was a bit exaggerated. Our deaths were not imminent. We were just ignorant to the reality of the wildlife and environment around us. This isn't so uncommon. It happens all the time.

In fact, it happened just this past weekend. Tricia and I were back on the Appalachian Trail, this time in Virginia. We drove up to Damascus on Saturday morning, hoisted our backpacks onto our backs, and headed north on the trail for a short two-day trip to see the fall colors. After a full afternoon of hiking, and with the temperatures quickly dropping, we searched for any campsite we could find. We passed on a few larger sites because they were located too close to road crossings. There's nothing that kills the feeling of being away from it all like the constant hum of cars and trucks motoring a few hundred yards from your tent.

So we turned back up the mountain in search of a site we had remembered seeing a half-hour earlier. When we finally found it the sun was just beginning to drop below the trees to the west. We pulled out the tent and found that the only level spot to pitch it, where we wouldn't be sleeping on large tree roots or rocks, was just a few feet off the trail. Even worse, there was another trail intersecting the AT another few feet away. But with darkness falling over the mountain and the cold temperatures setting in we knew we didn't have time to seek out a new spot. We couldn't even remember having seen any other spots for miles anyway.

So as we began to unpack our things and set everything up I heard a voice come out of nowhere.

"Hey."

Startled, I looked around but saw no one. However, I knew someone was there. Somewhere.

"Hey," I responded. Trying to mask my surprise and sound both casual and friendly. Just as I got the words out I saw movement just through the trees to my right. It was a hunter, dressed in full camo, toting a rifle over his left shoulder. Tricia looked at me, concerned.

"Are we going to be alright here?" she whispered.

I looked down the trail to see if he had passed.

"Yeah, we're fine," I assured her. "It's just a hunter making his way back down to his car."

She didn't look too convinced. It wasn't so much the hunter, I imagined, as it was the gun that made her uneasy. After hanging our food bag over a distant tree limb and getting our sleeping gear set up we climbed into the tent. I pulled out a deck of cards and we played a game of Rummy, working hard to keep our cards from constantly sliding down our sleeping pads and resting under our bags.

About fifteen minutes later we heard more footsteps approaching. This time, however, they sounded very heavy and unsteady, as though someone were in a semi-controlled fall coming down the mountain. A loud belch soon followed and the footsteps stopped. Just outside our tent. Tricia's eyes grew enormous. I looked out the small window on our rainfly and saw two more hunters standing outside the tent, about twenty feet away. I couldn't see one of them too well because he was hidden behind some bushes but the other was standing in a small clearing and staring at our tent. He began to talk to the other one in a drunken slur. The fact that he was clearly intoxicated and carrying a rifle did not make me feel too comfortable.

"Yehau thinkst thees is thu waaaay orrr du yehau thinkst weee otta go ovr thur?" he asked.

His partner gave some type of reply but I couldn't make it out.

I looked back at Tricia who was sitting very still. "It's just more hunters," I said casually.

"I don't like this," she whispered. "I've seen Deliverance."

After a few long seconds the two hunters continued on their way down the mountain, presumably on their way back to their car.

"I read an article about two girls who were raped on the trail twenty years ago," Tricia told me, as soon as the two hunters were clearly gone.

"Where did you read that," I asked.

"In one of those Trail magazines they had at the cabin last summer."

"That was twenty years ago," I said. "A lot of women hike the trail alone and are fine."

"Are you sure we're okay here?" she asked again.

"Yeah, we're fine," I answered. "They're gone. Besides, this is Virginia. Virginia is for lovers. I know because all the signs say so!"

"Hmm," she said, sounding unconvinced. "But what if they come back?"

"It's going to be completely dark really soon. Who wants to climb all the way back up a pitch black mountain in the cold of night?" I asked, seeming to believe that it would be the hunters' laziness that would be our saving grace.

We went back to our game and tried not to think about the hunters. As it turned out, those were the last we would see. We woke up in the morning alive - which sure beats waking up dead.

We were never in danger at all. We just let our imaginations get away from us a bit. I have this really great poster at school that lists ways to build global community. One of the lines reads: Don't confuse your comfort for your safety. How often do we do this? There have been many times in my life when I've found myself in an uncomfortable environment and, wrongly, felt felt that my safety was in jeopardy. Much of this is learned. Friends, family, books, newspapers, magazines, discussion boards, television, and movies share sensationalized stories that, if even accurate, are far from indicative of the norm. People do fall and die in the shower. Others are mugged or even killed by strangers knocking at their door. But these are not common occurrences. We should still feel safe. We should live life.

We have a friend that is fearful of the unknown. He hasn't seen all that much of America but watches a lot of television. Evidently much of his programming is about gangs and random murders. Any trip Tricia and I have ever planned has prompted dire warnings from him.

"Why on Earth would you go to Memphis?" he asks. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is there? All I can say is you better not talk to strangers!"

"Miami's terrible," he warns. "Do NOT roll down your windows - especially if someone walks up to your car door!"

"Don't even bother going to Detroit," he suggests. "It has the highest murder rate in the country. You'll die."

It's become a joke between us but, still, it's all rooted in truth. Not truth concerning the lack of safety in these places but the true fear Tim has of places unknown. I once took a trip with him and another friend when we were in college. One night we decided to sleep in the car at a rest stop. Tim insisted on sleeping with his head all covered up despite the fact that it was eighty degrees outside.

"Why do you have your head covered up," I asked.

"So if someone breaks into the car and kills the two of you I won't see him do it," he explained. "If I don't see him kill you two then there's no reason for him to kill me."

You really can't argue with logic like that. Thankfully no one killed us that night. Yet again, I survived.

As Tricia and I hiked back into Damascus on Sunday the thought of the hunters had gone from scary to kind of funny.

"Hey Tricia," I said. "I've got the title for my blog this week."

"What?" she asked.

"Instead of 'Virginia is for Lovers'" I told her, "I'll call it 'Virginia is for Drunken Murders.'"

"Funny," she chuckled. Perhaps she was just humoring me but I'm okay with that. I'll take laughs anywhere I can get them. I should laugh every chance I get.

I'm lucky to be alive.

The Butt of the Joke or The Butt Who Made the Joke

I enjoy a good joke. Never mind if it's at someone's expense.

Even mine.

I've been the butt of many jokes throughout my lifetime. They generally tend to center around a few specific topics:

1. I do not like to visit the doctor, take medicine, admit when I'm hurt, or admit when I'm sick.

2. I'm not very attentive. I only listen to stories that are either being told by me or about me.

3. I do not dress too nicely. The few clothes I have are stained or have small holes. I limit my wardrobe to three or four colors and most of my clothes look exactly the same.

4. I am not very macho.

5. I find humor in the troubles of others.

6. I talk far too loudly when making "private" comments about others.

7. I don't read e-mails.

Now, I'm not admitting that all, or even any, of these things are accurate. However, because they are referenced so often I'm sure there's at least a thread of truth to each. So when I hear someone say "Nice to see you got all dressed up today" or they impersonate me by looking up with a blank expression and saying "Huh?," I'm really not offended. It's funny.

Not too long ago my friend Tim was telling a story about attending a special banquet that our school district was holding in honor of our superintendent. He came back the next Monday talking about seeing people he hadn't spoken to in years. In the span of just a minute or two at the banquet he asked a few old acquaintances how they had been doing. One explained that his mother had recently died. The other told him that his sister had died just that morning. Tim looked really serious when telling this story, as though this had maybe affected him in some deep or meaningful way. Other people lowered their brow and tried to look empathetic for the unknown mourners. Not me. Striking a blow for #5 on the list above, all I could think to say at that moment was "Wow, I hope you stopped asking people how they were doing!"

I remember an old episode of The Simpsons where Homer has been sentenced to a driver training course because of some type of traffic violation. To scare him straight they show a film of tragic accidents and mangled bodies. After a few minutes of near uncontrollable laughter he responds "That's funny, because it's not me!"

I'm definitely beyond that level of insensitivity but I do notice that my favorite comedians are the ones that relentlessly make fun of others. No matter their color, sexual preference, religious affiliation, gender, athletic ability, intelligence, or any other descriptor that divides people into categories. I laugh every time Daniel Tosh jokes "We need to bring our troops home. They can have the war here. They deserve to get a good night sleep in their own beds, wake up and eat a big breakfast, and drive to war. We can have it in Nebraska. We don't even need that terrible state anyway. It's no wonder that state is full of storm chasers. Twenty minutes in Omaha and I'm praying for something to pick me up and carry me away. And yes, I tell that joke in Nebraska. But no one ever says anything because they're too busy sitting there stuffing their faces with fried mayonnaise balls."

I imagine the people of Nebraska are probably really nice. They may or may not eat fried mayonnaise. However, I'll allow myself to believe they do if it means a good laugh. Is that wrong?

Where is the line?

On Friday I told a friend at school that I hated his shirt. However, I tried to break it to him gently, "That's one ugly shirt!" I told another, when seeing a picture of him from years ago, that "you look a lot like a young Elton John." Neither comment was true but I doubt I'll ever say "That's a really cute shirt" or "Wow, you're a handsome guy!"

Before writing this I asked Tricia, "Have I ever made a joke that you found to be really insensitive and made you mad?" I didn't have to allow much think time.

"YES."

Although, when asked to present an example of one such joke she was unable to produce a single one.

"I can't think of one right now," she explained. "But there's been plenty. I remember getting mad."

So maybe there are lines that should not be crossed. Perhaps I, and others, should be more careful to spare the feelings of others - even at the expense of a well played one-liner.

Last Thursday I had dinner with some teacher friends. I went on and on about a guy I met recently who tells the types of jokes that are not only unfunny but uncomfortable. He talks almost without pause and rarely ever says anything that is remotely on-topic. He makes references that no one ever understands. He even made a presentation wearing a tank top. A tank top!

I, of course, had a little fun with all this. A little fun that I shared with my friends on Thursday night. A little fun that was supposed to elicit laughter.

"He has Asperger's," someone quickly explained. "He's autistic."

Talk about a joke that's not only not funny but uncomfortable. If there were a hole to crawl into I would have dove right into it. I drove home feeling terrible - sure that I could never again make a joke at anyone's expense. Basically, I felt I needed to stop being a jerk. Stop being a bully.

A few days have passed and I'm not so sure anymore. It may sound mean but I don't think it's necessary to stop teasing and making fun of each other. There's a lot of seriousness to life and jokes are much needed. Heck, even at funerals. But there is such thing as going too far. And that's what I had done - even if I didn't know or intend to.

I'm not sure what the exact moral is to this story but I imagine there's one somewhere. I'll continue to fumble around until I find it. But until then, careful what you say or do.

If it's the least bit awkward or incorrect I can almost guarantee it will not go unnoticed.

The List

Tricia and I were once very addicted to television. It didn't matter what was on; chances were we'd watch it. It was sometimes due to boredom. But more often it was just pure laziness.

This was before we had kids. We'd spend a significant part of each evening staring at the tube. Among our favorite channels in those days was VH-1. We spent countless hours watching Behind the Music documentaries on memorable acts such as Leif Garrett, Milli Vanilli, Billy Idol, Vanilla Ice, and The Carpenters (who probably don't fully deserve to be lumped into this group). Much like Law & Order, BTM was formulaic and we knew what to expect: drugs, success, more drugs, break-ups, even more drugs. Toward the end there would be mention of a past-their-prime reunion in which the voice-over would claim that the band/artist was still touring. But you knew for a fact it was probably at a county fair or some small town casino.

Another VH-1favorite or ours was the "100 Greatest..." series. Again, it didn't matter what it was so long as there was going to be an arbitrary ranking involved. There were so many of these lists it was hard to keep them straight: 100 greatest bands, 100 greatest songs, 100 greatest heavy metal groups, 100 greatest power balads, 100 greatest songs of the 80s, 90s, and on and on. Many were genres of music we didn't even like or know anything about but, still, we had to find out who would be #1. If our predictions were correct we somehow felt vindicated and if we were wrong we would be outraged.

"Damn straight Welcome to the Jungle is the #1 hard rock song of all time! But what morons voted The Who's We Won't Get Fooled Again at #6? They're not even a heavy metal band!!!"

Maybe that's why we watched the lists. Just to argue.

We knew we had a problem. So about the time we found out we were going to be parents we decided to stop watching VH-1. Well, actually we decided to stop watching all the channels. We unplugged the TV and stored it away under a workbench in the basement. I can still remember calling to cancel our Direct TV account.

"We want to cancel our account."

"Would it help if we reduced your bill?"

"No. We don't have a TV anymore."

"I could knock ten dollars off."

"No. We don't have a TV. I couldn't watch it anyway."

"How about fifteen dollars? Would that make a difference?"

After a few years we eventually brought the TV back up but refused to get cable or a sattelite. I feared we'd fall back into old patterns. Over the years, though, we've returned to the mainstream. We now have a TV and are back in Direct TV's good graces. We even have a dew-hicky on the remote that will record programs for us. But we don't have VH-1 - at least not programmed our channel list. It's still there somewhere, though. Lurking. Waiting for us to return. But we resist.

However, this past week our battle proved futile. We were checking to see what had programs had been saved (expecting to find the Daily Show or Tosh.0) only to see that our friend Tim had recorded VH-1's "100 Greatest Artists." A five-hour program dedicated to rank ordering a diverse group of musicians from bluesman to hip hop artists to heavy metal groups to folkies to rappers. No Mozart though. He didn't make the top 100. Neither did Miles Davis.

I know this because Tricia and I have been dedicating 40 minutes each night (the recording dew-hicky allows us to skip the commercials - which by itself is worth the $5/month) to finding out what these a**holes got wrong. And be rest assured, they got plenty wrong.

Here's the list so far (as well as a sampling of the many rants I direct at the TV when watching) ...

100 Alicia Keys
99 Hall & Oates
98 Depeche Mode
 "Depeche Mode? They had one song anyone's ever even heard of! Oh, I know that one. That one, too. Wow, and that one. Holy cow they have a lot of good songs!"

97 Pretenders
96 Journey
 "I don't care what they say...Journey sucks!"

95 OutKast
94 Mariah Carey (the only artist we fast forwarded through)
93 Pearl Jam
"Damn straight, Pearly Jam! But why are they only playing songs from their first album - eighteen years ago?"

92 LL Cool J
91 Green Day
90 Elvis Costello
"Seriously? I don't know any of these songs!"

89 Beastie Boys
"Why is it that I don't own every Beastie Boys album ever made?"

88 Bee Gees
"How can the Bee Gees be this low? I'm not a huge fan but seriously - they had a lot of #1's, wrote tons of songs for other artists, and weren't afraid to highlight the chest hair."

87 George Michael
86 N.W.A.
85 The Band
84 Curtis Mayfield
"Over-rated. If you can't find three good songs from an entire career to play then how could he possibly be in the top 100?"

83 Earth, Wind and Fire
82 Steely Dan
81 ABBA
80 Mary J. Blige
79 Eminem
78 Judas Priest
77 Lynyrd Skynyrd
76 Run-D.M.C.
75 Rush
74 The Cure
"Who did The Cure pay to get on this list. I liked them and all (even attending a concert in full Goth get-up as a joke) but #74? Really? Did you see Hall and Oates were #100?)

73 Van Morrison
72 Janis Joplin
71 R.E.M.
"One of my five favorite bands of all time."


70 Def Leppard
69 Tupac Shakur
68 Otis Redding
67 Coldplay
66 Justin Timberlake (Spits beverage from mouth and clutches chest)
"You hear that Elizabeth honey? I'm comin' to join you!"

65 The Doors
"I really want to like the Doors - and do. Yet I'm never in a mood to listen to them."

64 Talking Heads
63 Notorious B.I.G.
62 Genesis
61 Cream
60 Whitney Houston
"I hope they don't play that damn song from...ugh, that's the one."

59 Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers
"I was at a party a few months ago and someone told me I look a little like Tom Petty. I don't think that's a compliment!"

58 Cheap Trick
"Hey, how did one good song get these jokers in the top 60?"

57 Iggy and The Stooges
"I must be missing something. This music sucks and that guy really needs to get a shirt on!"

56 KISS
"Thank God KISS didn't crack the top 50. I'd probably stop watching."

55 Peter Gabriel
"Peter Gabriel's great if you're ever in the mood to listen to a bunch of ten minute songs."

54 Public Enemy
"Fight the Power!"

53 Little Richard (Okay, I was wrong. We fast-forwarded this one too. LR thinks A LOT of himself!)

52 Beyoncé
51 Billy Joel
"One ugly man."

50 Sade
"Who? Didn't she have that ONE song a long, long time ago?"

49 Parliament-Funkadelic
"Why are there like fifty people on the stage? With that many band members you'd think they could write more than one good song."

48 Rage Against The Machine
"Hell yeah, Rage Against the Maching! Rally around the family, with a pocket full of shells!"

47 Jay-Z
46 Ramones
"I'll have to take you're word for it that these guys are good. Green Day is way up there at #91 and about a million times better."

45 Al Green
44 Joni Mitchell
"In two minutes of this clip they can't play a single track from before 2000? I don't even know this song? She still sings?"

43 Ray Charles
42 Metallica
41 Van Halen
"Van Halen is above Metallica? I'm not listening to either one but seriously...it's Metallica!"

40 The Police
39 The Kinks
38 Sly and The Family Stone
37 Fleetwood Mac
"How can they have so many great songs yet I never feel compelled to listen to any of them? Well, except for Landslide."

36 Paul McCartney
"I've got no problem with this. If anything, he might be a little too high."

35 Johnny Cash
"No way there's going to be 34 better artists than Johnny Cash!!!!!"

34 Tina Turner
33 Guns N’ Roses
"Lack of longevity. Otherwise they have to be top ten or fifteen."

32 Black Sabbath
31 John Lennon
"31? ... 31? Who the hell is going to beat John Lennon?"

30 Aerosmith
"Aerosmith just beat John Lennon? Where's the freakin' remote?"

29 Radiohead
"Ha, I love Radiohead but #29? All their new music is techno crap noone wants to listen to. Why the hell would such a great band give up on guitars and drums?"

28 Elton John
"Nice glasses."

27 Aretha Franklin
26 Neil Young
"Should have been top ten. By the way, I hate that Rockin' in the Free World song."

25 Chuck Berry
24 The Velvet Underground
"Sure Nico had a voice unlike any other. It was terrible. Other people who sound like her generally avoid recording it on vinyl."

23 AC/DC
"They did this list twelve years ago and AC/DC wasn't even on it. Now they're #23? I'm starting think these lists aren't real credible!"

22 The Clash
21 Bruce Springsteen
20 Marvin Gaye

So who were the top 20? We'll find out in about 40 minutes. My top five are going to be: (5) Eric Clapton, (4) Bob Dylan, (3) Michael Jackson, (2) Elvis Presley, and (1) The Beatles.

And if the Beatles and Elvis are not #1 and 2 then I swear this is the last of these lists I'll ever watch.

On the Appalachian Trail Pt. 2: Neels Gap to Unicoi Gap

A few years ago there was buzz on the Appalachian Trail about a family who was undertaking a thru hike together from Georgia to Maine. With four children in tow, their small crew stuck out a bit like a sore thumb amongst the college-aged kids and newly retired seniors trudging along the five month trek north. They were not the first family to ever undertake this journey but they were perhaps one of the strangest. According to stories that traveled along the trail the mother was often seen breast feeding her two year old son at the trail side. He could walk right up for a full or self service fill-up. In chatting with them, soon other hikers learned that the family had decided, based on their interpretation of bible readings, to rid themselves of all bonds of identification - including last names and social security numbers.

In addition to daily downpours, the trail becomes saturated each March with an eclectic mixture of people that have come from all over the country, and even the world, to set out on a 2,175 mile walk. Some have spent months or even years meticulously planning for this trip. Others have thrown their things together at the last moment with little or no experience in the outdoors. They become a caravan of sorts, traveling shelter to shelter, town to town.

To want to spend what amounts to almost half a year squatting in the woods weeds out a large majority of the population. What's left is a combination of hard core hiking enthusiasts, hippie wannabes, and everyday people hoping to run away from, or perhaps toward, something. Like the family mentioned above, some stand out because they are an oddity among oddities. They're unique.

I thought of this family a few times over the past couple of days as the kids, Tricia, and I spent three days and two nights on the trail. We saw a number of people on the trail but few were women and none were families or children. Yet here were our kids strapped to bulging backpacks as they hunched forward laboring through each step, carrying them further and further up an endless chain of mountain summits. I wondered what they looked like to the other hikers. Did they look out of place out there? They must have because one of the first people we saw, a heavily bearded and tatooed guy who worked at the local outfitter, said to Tricia, "Well it's good to see they've got packs. Most parents don't have the kids carry their own shit!" Despite the colorful language in front of young ears, Tricia couldn't help but smile. It was a big task, a 20 mile walk spread out over the course of a weekend, and we hoped we weren't crazy for trying it.

Within seconds of starting I heard the first complaint of a heavy backpack. Just minutes later the darkening sky decided to make things even more interesting. What started as the gentle pitter-patter of rain falling on the forest canopy above became a steady rain that would last for hours. But the struggles were just beginning. Thankfully, we were each equipped with a journal to keep track of our travels.  As with our last trip into the woods, I'll use excerpts from everyone's journals to help tell the story.

Day 1: Neels Gap, GA to Hogpen Gap (6.4 miles today, 6.4 miles this trip, 37.3 total AT miles to date)

Ainsley, age 6
 We had lunch. Daddy took the van to the end of the hiking trail. Then we started hiking. It had a lot of uphills. Daddy helped me down the hard parts. I mostly carried the pack uphill. You have to bend over when you go uphill. I cried because I missed Grandma. We camped by a stream.

Muluken, age 9
 We started at Neels Gap and stopped at Hogpen. We did six and a half miles to get there. We had a couple of good views of the mountains on our way. It was great! We had to go up a rocky and steep, steep mountain but we made it! After we made the mountain we took a break and had to switch our backpacks to the next person. We went down a hill for a long time. After we started to go up a hill we got a snack and another break.

Tricia, age 35 (for a few more days, at least)
 Today we began a 3 day , 20 mile backpacking trip with the whole family. My pack weighed about 20 pounds, Chris' 30 pounds, and the kids shared two packs and each was about 10 pounds. We started hiking at about 1:00 and planned to hike six miles and stop at a shelter. Within the first half hour it began raining and rained for about two hours. After that the weather was nice, no rain, and not too hot.

 We climbed three mountains today. The first two seemed to be slow gradual climbs but the third was very steep and rocky. By that time the kids were getting tired and hungry and ready for a rest. We found a place to camp by a stream, fixed dinner, and went to bed. It is very dark and the insects are very loud. It was kind of a rough first day. Ty and Ainsley were tired and sore. I am sure tomorrow will be better.

Chris, age 36
After arriving back at Mountain Crossings (the endpoint of our last hike) I left Tricia and the kids to eat lunch while I followed the shuttle, a fancy name for Dartman's beat-up minivan, to Unicoi Gap. He then brought me back to Neels Gap and we headed out. Ty and Ainsley were sharing one pack and Harper and Muluken were responsible for the other. Each pack was really a bit too heavy but I was hoping that trading it back and forth would provide enough relief to make up for the few additional pounds. Before hitting the trail Harper and Ainsley were gung-ho to carry the packs. However, within just a minute or two Ainsley exclaimed "This pack is heavy!" But she persevered despite the fact that the trail started with a long steady ascent. We stopped every fifteen or twenty minutes to let them trade the backpacks back and forth.

Unfortunately, only moments later the sky opened up and what started as a light sprinkle turned into a steady rain. "I'm not to happy with you right now," I heard Tricia say from behind. I turned and gave her what I intended to be smile but probably looked more like a smirk. The three girls all pulled out their rain jackets and we covered up our packs with rain covers. A while later Muluken and I also dug out our rain jackets but Ty was content to get soaking wet. "It better not rain all day!" Tricia said. This time I didn't turn but kept walking.

Fortunately it stopped raining after about two hours or so. I decided to label it a "fun rain" because it was enough to make things interesting for a while but not so bad that we were all miserable. I tend to think I'm going to have to be a glass-half-full guy as much as possible over the next couple of days.

There were really no streams today which further complicated things. Despite the rainy summer we've had there just isn't enough to keep some of these smaller streams flowing. We were thirsty and hopeful of finding a good campsite with a water source.

Near the end of the day we came down into Low Gap, crossed by a road with very fast trucks passing, and headed up what must have been the steepest ascent we've encountered so far on the AT. There was a series of switchbacks that just kept climbing up and up and up at an incredibly aggressive pitch. Ty sighed and moaned and whined. Harper bent over at the waist with her hands on her knees and breathed heavily. Ainsley began crying that she missed Grandma but, though I'm sure she did, I would imagine she was just overly exhausted and maybe even a bit frightened by what still lie ahead. I wondered what I had signed my family up for. I worried about the miles and miles ahead. Muluken kept chugging away without complaint and I took comfort in that. I knew that if nothing else I'd be able to count on him to help the others along the way.

At the end of the day we finally reached the side trail that led off to the shelter we planned to stay at. However, the shelter was 1.2 miles off the trail so we decided to keep going. After a bit more walking we came into Hogpen Gap and pitched our tents near a very small stream. We are not too far from a road and we can hear cars and trucks pass by every so often. It's not ideal but the best we could do.

We made rice for dinner, brushed our teeth, and hung our food bags up in a tree about fifty yards from the tent. Our final few camp chores were completed by flashlight as the sun dropped down behind the mountains to the west. It was a really hard day.


Day 2: Hogpen, GA to Chattahoochee Gap (9.5 miles today, 15.9 miles this trip, 46.8 total AT miles to date)

Ty, age 6
We thought the water dried up. I hiked up a big big mountain.

Harper, age 9
 Today we woke up and had powdered milk. I kind of liked it. It was very watery. What we ate was one Pop-Tart. We packed up and started hiking.

We started hiking and suddenly went uphill. We walked a little bit and saw these guys at a campsite. We stopped and talked to them for about a minute. They said that yesterday they were doing Hogpen Gap, which we we had just finished, and they saw three or four wild hogs. That was cool.

We hiked on and played games as we went uphill. We played I Spy at Home to see how well you can remember your own house. You only get two clues: color and room. But if you have to you can give another clue.

We found a shelter and stayed there for about a hour to have lunch. We were playing in the stream and those same guys came by and got some water as well.

After lunch we kept on hoping to find some water in the next 1.4 miles but no. We kept on going but we did not have some water. Finally we found some coming from a pipe. Then we started to hike again.
At the end of the day we had hiked from 9:30 am to 7:15 pm. Nine and a half miles! It was a long day but we got a well deserved sleep.

Chris, age 36
We've heard stories from other hikers about wild hogs and bear cubs. This news scares the girls but the boys are itching to see something big. However, I'm not too sure this will happen because Harper has taken to humming loudly as she hikes whenever she fears there might be a bear nearby. Muluken, unhappy with this, turns to shoot her mean looks.

There were many easier climbs today. To pick up our pace Muluken has agreed to carry one of the two kids packs full time so that Harper, Ainsley, and Ty can share the other one and have longer breaks. I've taken three pairs of sandals and one of their sleeping bags and stuffed them into my pack so that their load will be lighter. This has made quite a difference. There's no more complaining about a heavy pack. They were really too heavy so it's easy to understand why they were struggling so much.

We had a scare today. A stream that was listed on my data sheet was nowhere to be found. It was getting close to 5:30 and we were miles from water and did not have enough left in our bottles to cook dinner. Harper was felling a bit panicky but held it together really well. We all stayed calm and just kept walking. Around 6:00 or so we came across a water source that hadn't been listed on my sheet. In fact, it was a spring running out from behind some rocks at the side of the trail. Maintainers had even installed a big pipe to route the water under the trail where it emptied onto some rocks down the pitch. Placing our bottle under the pipe almost made it feel like getting water from a faucet. How lucky!

Our luck did not run out there. We walked on for another hour or so and were amazed to find that we had walked much further than we thought. By 7:15 we were already in Chattahoochee Gap, 9.5 miles from where we started this morning. We couldn't believe it. We must have really been walking quickly.

We stopped and dropped our packs right next to the trail and proceeded to fix our dinner and eat right away. As we were eating a group of five or six guys came in behind us and sat to rest. They were moaning and limping as they collapsed onto the ground. I overheard them discussing whether they should stay here for the night or press on to the next water source and campground a little over a mile away. I told them there was plenty of room and they explained that they might need to move on to a more isolated spot because one of them had a backpacker guitar and that they stayed up until four in the morning singing the previous night. Given that, I was happy to see they were moving on.

After a rough first day, as well as a couple of rough hours this morning, it's nice to finish strong. Our dinner tonight was great and the kids had a lot of fun helping set up camp. There are three campsites here in the gap and they are set up shotgun style - meaning that you have to walk directly through each of them to get to the next one. The second site was already taken by two young guys who we've crossed paths with a number of times throughout the day. Muluken, Harper, and I scouted out the other two sites and elected to take the last one since it's set back by iteself and noone will be passing back and forth by our tent as they run down to the stream for water. As we made our way back to our site one of the two young guys asked me to hang back for a moment. "What do you need?" I asked.

"We were going to be lighting up a (recreational cigarette, let's say) a little later tonight and just wanted to make sure you're okay with it since you're with your kids." he said.

I almost laughed but caught myself. He was being very serious and I knew that regardless of whether or not I gave them the okay they were going to light up. Our campsite was at least a good sixty yards away and I really couldn't have cared less what they wanted to do as long as they didn't keep us awake.

"No, that's fine. I don't mind," I said.

"Cool," he responded. "Hey, and if you and your wife want to come back over a little later we'd be glad to share."

I couldn't believe it. This was getting more fun by the second. Again I suppressed a laugh and thanked him but explained that I was a little too old and had to get the kids to bed. Tricia enjoyed this story quite a bit.

The mood has changed over the past three or four hours. Everyone is having fun and excited to know that tomorrow will be an easy day. Just four and a half miles into Unicoi Gap where our van is waiting to take us for ice cream and lunch.

Chattahoochee Gap, GA to Unicoi Gap (3.5 miles today, 19.4 miles this trip, 50.3 total AT miles to date)

Chris, age 36
Today's four and a half miles were easy. Despite a few long climbs everyone did a great job. We came across a few day hikers who stopped to talk to us. One of them said that he tried to come out on the trail yesterday but that his dog chased a bear cub up a tree and he was hesitant to move on knowing that the mother would be nearby. Again we kept our eyes out for bears but didn't see any. Tricia and I heard a really loud cracking noise come from the woods once but weren't for certain it was actually a bear.

The trail today was extremely rocky. The going was kind of slow as we had to carefully plot out the course for our steps. Ainsley was hiking a few dozen yards behind me with Tricia and fell. She later rushed up to me to tell me all about it and show off her dirty scratched up legs. Covered in bug bites, scratches, and mud, her legs are definitely those of an outside girl.

After a little over four hours of hiking we emerged from the woods to find our van waiting for us. What a welcome site. We all rushed over to a large rock with an AT plaque to take group pictures commemorating the completion of this leg of the hike. After changing out of our dirty shoes and putting on clean shirts we drove back to Neels Gap for a celebratory ice cream. A perfect ending to a trip that started off very rough but finished wonderfully. Within two or three weeks the kids will have forgotten most of the trials of the hike and reflect fondly on the fun of being together in the wilderness.

We're now all back home and healed up from our hike. Tricia grimmaced a bit when going down stairs that first day back and my shoulders were a bit tight. Ty's feet were bothering him and Harper and Muluken were recovering from some type of bite or sting that had them near tears for a few minutes on the trail. After nice hot showers most of these ailments disappeared. Already everyone is back to their normal routines and games.

It was nice to get home but I miss being on the trail, too. It's hard sometimes to deal with the hike itself when you are trying to parent at the same time. There's always someone to encourage or a question to answer or a story to listen to. Though there are times when I would have loved to just put my head down and walk for a while I was appreciative of the time I had to do nothing other than talk to the kids and Tricia. Tricia was a wonderful cheerleader for those who needed it. She often hung back with whoever was struggling at the moment while I stayed near the front or middle. I've heard that parents spend an average of twelve minutes a day talking to their kids. Talking - not correcting or preaching or instructing. I'm thankful for the time we had to talk about books and friends and school and sports and nature and the trail itself.

We now have fifty miles down and 2,125 to go. The next leg, as determined by convenient road crossings where we can access the trail and get back to our car, will take us across the Georgia-North Carolina state line. I'm not sure who all will be coming along but I know that in time everyone will make it back out.