Seconds to Check, a Lifetime of Moments to Savor

Posted on March 10, 2013 by DadScribe

They bounced from tire to tire Saturday at the Radiator Springs play area during the Flower and Garden Festival at Epcot.

I’m trying to remember how I thought about things when I was seven. I carry a few foggy memories from that age of an awakening awareness of gonads, girls and God. I was on the verge of knowing a few things, but I was still working out the details.

For instance: I knew older boys were terrified of being hit in the ‘nads. That’s what we called them: ‘nads. Or, I suppose I should say that’s what the older boys called them, and we first graders followed suit.

Because that’s what first graders do. They emulate. They’re mostly undifferentiated human templates, absorbing and assimilating the qualities of those around them. What they hear, see, smell, touch, do and dream at that age combines with nature to give them form and substance for life.

At seven, I don’t recall if I had the slightest idea that ‘nads were properly called testicles (and even more properly called testes, but we’re not really sticklers for propriety). I do remember that I didn’t know what purpose testicles served. I only knew they were my constant companions, and that it hurt like the dickens when I they got hit or kicked or smashed by the pointy tip of my bicycle seat, and older boys wore a cup during baseball practice and games, and I wanted to get a cup, too, because it would mean I was a big boy.

So, now, I’m the father of a seven-year-old first grader. In preparation for this piece about testicular cancer awareness, I thought it would be good to start with a lesson for my older son. I thought I’d begin with the generalities then move on to the specifics.

They really got into Agent P’s World Showcase Adventure Saturday. We never did catch Doofenshmirtz, but we’ll try again soon.

During the drive from Tampa to Walt Disney World Saturday, I asked the back seat the general question, “Hey. You guys know what testicles are?”

Silence. Then …

“They’re, like, well … um, no, not really.”

Turns out my older son knows approximately what I knew almost 40 years ago at that age. Only, instead of ‘nads, he and his buddies call them balls.

(A quick aside here. I envy the years of rich discovery ahead for my sons. The lessons they’ll learn. The colorful vocabulary they’ll acquire. Oh, to relive each and every moment when life served up a new testicular euphemism. It’s all ahead for them: nuts, eggs, huevos, danglers, scrotes, cojones, rocks, stones, the family jewels. And oh, so many more. Use them well, boys. Use them well.)

After our brief chat Saturday, my older son knows now that the proper name is testicles, but I’m still not sure he’s ready to process the concept of testicular cancer. I’ll save the specifics for later.

Shooooot! It’s Topiary Mater at Epcot’s Flower and Garden Festival.

Not much later, though. One day soon, I’ll explain to my sons that testicular cancer is the most common form of cancer among boys and young men aged 15-35. I’ll explain that catching it early is vital, because 99 percent of those diagnosed with testicular cancer respond well to treatment and can lead normal, active lives. My wife and I will talk to their pediatrician about teaching self-examination, and then we’ll reinforce the importance of vigilance. We won’t be shy, because it’s too important for awkwardness.

All of those details are a bit much for a seven-year-old, I think. But what we can do now is instill the zest for life that will convince him that it’s well worth the few seconds it takes to check for signs of testicular cancer.

So we savor the moments. Saturday, with MomScribe laid out by a nasty head cold, I piled the boys into the car for the hour-long drive over to Epcot. The annual Flower and Garden Festival has begun, and that means topiary! You might be surprised at how fascinated young boys can be with wired shrubbery shaped like Mater and Lightning McQueen, or like a family of pandas.

We spent a couple of hours Saturday wandering the pavilions, chasing the evil Dr. Doofenshmirtz, enjoying the mild weather, relishing each other’s company. It’s the Year of Disney for our family, and this was the first time it was just me and the boys. They’ll remember these days of Disney, I’m sure. I know I will. Perhaps one day they’ll look forward to days like these with their own kids.

With that hopeful thought in mind, we’ll remind them occasionally when they’re older to self-check for signs of testicular cancer. And then, if necessary, we’ll remind them of why. Hopefully, they’ll already know. Hopefully, they won’t need to be reminded that we check because those few seconds could buy them and everyone who loves them years, decades, a lifetime of moments to savor.

_________________________________________

It’s Man UP Monday!

I’m proud to be a member of the Single Jingles Man UP Monday BLOGGING TEAM!

Today, I’m doing my part to spread an important message about Testicular Cancer.

Did you know that Testicular Cancer is the #1 cancer in young men ages 15 to 35?

Did you know that Testicular Cancer is highly survivable if detected early?

Did you know that young men should be doing a monthly self-exam?

What can you do?

Stop by the Single Jingles website for more information on Testicular Cancer.

Request a FREE shower card with self-exam instructions — it just might save a young man in your life!

And if you’re feeling just a little AWKWARD about this conversation, check out this video from some parents who feel the exact same way!

_________________________________________

Thank you to Jim Higley of Bobblehead Dad for inviting me to participate in this great series. Here is the first installment, written by Whit Honea and published last Monday at his personal blog, Honea Express. Here’s another entry by Paul Easter, and another by Andy Hinds (aka Beta Dad).

Topiary panda family at the China pavilion, Epcot.

The Year of Disney Begins

Posted on February 10, 2013 by DadScribe

Day One of the Year of Disney dawned blue and (yes) magical.

Two days, three parks, four exhausted family members. The trouble with fun of this magnitude is that when you come home, there’s grocery shopping and housework waiting.

But if the choice is between that and doing the grocery shopping and housework without going to Walt Disney World for a 35-hour whirlwind excursion, we’ll take the whirlwind plus the chores every time. In fact, we’ll take it all year long.

It’s the Year of Disney, and it couldn’t have gotten off to a better start.

Here are the highlights of our two days at the Magic Kingdom, Epcot and Hollywood Studios, complete with photos and some links to short video snippets I posted on the new iPhone app, Vine (the default sound setting is mute on the videos, so click the speaker at the bottom left to hear it; a lot of work, I know, but until I upgrade to WordPress pro I still can’t embed video directly to the blog posts):

We got to the Magic Kingdom early enough on Saturday to see the welcome ceremony. It’s a pretty nice touch and makes the park opening seem like a real event.
We met Phineas and Ferb. We have photographic evidence.
Hey, Jay! I know what we’re gonna do today! We’re going to meet Phineas and Ferb at Disney Hollywood Studios and get our picture taken with them.
Jay was fingered as the Rebel Spy on his first go-round with Star Tours. We eluded Darth Vader, but only after crash-landing on Corsucant. Stupid droid pilots.
I made a lunch reservation on my iPhone for the Liberty Tree Tavern at the Magic Kingdom … while standing in the foyer of the Liberty Tree Tavern. Meta Disney.
During said lunch, our server told us he had worked at the Liberty Tree Tavern for nearly 20 years and had earned an incredible 12 weeks of annual vacation time. They aren’t hiring. We asked.
During the leisurely ride on the Living With the Land boat ride at Epcot, Chris, 4, drew a contrast between that fascinating experience and It’s a Small World: “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. You know they should call this ‘It’s a Big World After All’ because Small World is small and this world is big.”
We saw new Fantasyland, which was pretty cool. The interior of the Be Our Guest dining area has a ballroom, suits of armor and gargoyles (pictured).
Interior, Be Our Guest dining area.
When we checked in for our 6:15 p.m. reservation Saturday at the San Angel Inn inside Epcot’s Mexico pavilion, they handed us a buzzer and told us they’d let us know if a table became available. If. Like Seinfeld trying to rent a car, I explained to the San Angel staff that the 6:15 reservation meant that the table was already supposed to be available. Unmoved, they merely smiled and asked if still wanted a table.
We did eat Mexican food, but it was from the cantina across the way and (here’s a tip!) we ignored the crowded waterside dining area and ate instead at a table on the outdoor terrace next to the pyramid entrance. It turned out to be a lovely Epcot meal, even though I was still steaming a bit over the reservation fiasco.
I had an epiphany about the futility of maintaining any semblance of male authority in the household during this enlightening scene from the stage production of Beauty and the Beast at Disney’s Hollywood Studios.
The Chinese acrobats at Epcot showed amazing table manners and balance.
We’re going back Sunday. Animal Kingdom awaits. Roll on, Year of Disney. Roll on.

Where to go? What to do? Check the map to get a clue.

I hope they photoshop the crane out of the professional shots on Main Street USA. Construction continues at the Magic Kingdom, where dreams really do come true.

This lovely lady was the star of the new Under the Sea ride in New Fantasyland. Did I mention it’s new? New!

I included this shot here as an homage to Andy Hinds, aka Beta Dad. You probably don’t get it. But he does.

This giant golf ball never ceases to amaze me. Did you know there are 11,324 individual isosceles triangles covering the surface? It really is spectaculer.

A big hat. Disney Hollywood Studios.

A walker, evidently lost on the way to Echo Base. Real lost. Entrance to Star Tours. We rode Star Tours first thing at Hollywood Studios. Then we rode it again.

Space glasses!

Seconds later, Jay sped off after those rogue troopers. Unfortunately, he crashed. Fortunately, he was OK. Unfortunately, he was rescued by Ewoks.

Lightning McQueen.

Jedi Academy. Vader looks pissed. I don’t think any of those kids are Sith material.

Let the wookiee win. The actual holographic table used onboard the Millenium Falcon, on display in the queue for the Great Movie Ride at Hollywood Studios.

The Great Movie Ride. Clint Eastwood, with empty chair.

Honey, I shrunk the bank account. Giant fly on a playground.

This is art. Right? I call it: Serendipitous Feet with Sweeping Curved Line.

The Consolation of a Game of Catch

Posted on January 20, 2013 by DadScribe

They got home around 5, just as the light was beginning to fade. Chris, 4, rang the doorbell to announce his presence with authority. Jay came in through the garage. Their faces always look older after a haircut. This time, Jay looked older and pensive.

Would there be enough light to squeeze in a meaningful amount of play time with the neighbor boys? Or, more to the point, were the neighbor boys even home? He spent his day planning the play date, which might or might not happen, depending on various post-divorce weekend kid arrangements that are frankly kind of tough to comprehend if you’re 7 and fortunate enough to have both parents still living under the same roof.

The neighbor boys weren’t home. Jay’s afternoon plans, so carefully constructed, were ruined. The corners of his mouth turned down. His eyes went wet. He flopped on the family room couch and started to mope. He does take disappointment to heart.

On a related note … I found my glove today. We’re trying to remediate the Hoarders-like atmosphere we’ve cultivated over the years in the upstairs office. That’s where my glove was, buried in an industrial-sized garbage bag full of sports gear.

While Jay tried to process the disappointment (we told him he can always play with them another time, like, tomorrow), I walked upstairs to get my glove. I called over my shoulder.

“Jay, let’s play catch. Get your glove and that soft baseball.”

He didn’t budge from the couch.

“I don’t want to play baseball. I want to play with Phineas and Ferb*.”

I continued up the stairs.

“Well, I’m going to get my glove,” I said. “I’d really like it if you came outside and threw a ball around with me. I’ll be right back down.”

When I reached the living room, there he was with his glove and the ball. He still didn’t look too happy, but he was ready to adjust his expectations downward for the afternoon.

“If you’re going to play baseball,” I said, “you’ll need a hat.”

I grabbed his USF Bulls cap off the hat rack and popped it on his head. And out we went.

Keep in mind, this was the first time. We might have tossed a little rubber ball back and forth together at Tropicana Field on Father’s Day, but never had we stepped into the back yard, gloves on hand, for an actual, father-son game of catch.

Our little lefty. Step and throw, bud. Step and throw.

Of course, he only actually caught my underhand tosses a half-dozen times. (He tried every time, though, and didn’t even flinch that one time when the ball bounced off his hands and onto his face.) After indulging me for about 10 minutes, he decided he wanted to kick the soccer ball around, instead. But while we played catch, I thought of all those years of youth baseball, of the thousands of hours I spent honing my fielding ability and learning how to propel a spherical, seamed, leather object at a high rate of speed to a small, precise target hundreds of feet away. I thought of my dad.

And, hey … this kid, my kid, can really throw. (Scouts – in case you didn’t notice from that photo, this kid can really throw left-handed. I’m just saying.)

After we played catch and kicked the soccer ball and paused every few minutes to determine if those far-away bursts of kid laughter and shouting were Phineas or Ferb**, we gathered the sports gear and started inside.

Of course you knew this story had a kicker.

While Jay carried his glove under one arm and the soccer net over his shoulder, he said to me: “This was a sad and glad day. I’m still sad that I couldn’t play with Phineas and Ferb today, but I’m glad you wanted to play catch with me.”

OK, so maybe it doesn’t get any more clichéd for a dad, any more hackneyed for a writer, than a game of catch between a father and a son. Costner did it best in Field of Dreams. I mean, his dad came back from the dead to play catch. Can’t beat that***. But I don’t care. It’s not a competition. Maybe the next time the neighbor boys are AWOL, Jay will realize it’s not the end of the world, after all. And maybe he’ll want to play catch again. I’ll keep my glove handy, just in case.

* Not their real names.

** Again, let me reiterate, these are not the neighbor boys’ real names. But wouldn’t it be freaking awesome if they were? I mean, think about the implications of having a couple of super-genius engineers/interstellar travelers/friends to all kid-kind living in your neighborhood if you were 7. You’d sure as hell be disappointed if they weren’t available to play on a Sunday afternoon. Wouldn’t you? Yes. Yes, you would.

*** I tear up every single time.

Giddy Like a Teenager Backstage at a Bieber Meet and Greet

Posted on July 24, 2012 by DadScribe

I’ve met some people. Some of them you might have heard of. It was kind of cool, but only my brief conversation with Dean Smith back in 1998 and my one interview with Dale Murphy in 2007 ever kind of brought out the fan in me. I kept it hidden then, because that’s what you did. But yeah. That was cool meeting those guys.

Today, though? Oh, man. I want to shout it from the digital rooftop! I was re-tweeted by one of my creative heroes, Jeff “Swampy” Marsh! Strike up the band and call off the dogs, ‘cause there ain’t no stoppin’ me now!

You know … whatevs.

Here’s a screen grab.

Wait … who?

OK … so, unless you have a kid in elementary school, you probably don’t know Swampy Marsh or his creative partner, Dan Povenmire. They created Phineas and Ferb. Which is a pretty good Disney show. My kids like it, anyway.*

Incidentally, my tweeted question (and it WAS a legitimate question), was a play on this song from the episode Magic Carpet Ride. It’s very cool that Marsh, who’s great about responding to fans on Twitter, knew exactly the right answer. And why are these cartoonists my creative heroes? Because they’re more than just cartoonists, and they are damn talented. And because they demonstrated rare perseverance waiting for their creation to get the platform it deserved (read the Wiki entry on the show for details). And because I wish I could do that.

Aren’t I a little old to be this enamored with a cartoon? Yes. Yes, I am.

*I do, too.

DadScribe

Essays on fatherhood by a longtime sportswriter.

Category Archives: Phineas and Ferb

Seconds to Check, a Lifetime of Moments to Savor

The Year of Disney Begins

The Consolation of a Game of Catch

Giddy Like a Teenager Backstage at a Bieber Meet and Greet

Follow “DadScribe”