Adventures in Fatherhood

The importance of empathy

Posted on February 19, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

Empathy has to be among the most important lessons we parents teach our children.

Empathy is among the harder lessons we parents have to teach our children. Photo via Wiki Commons.

After all, if children cannot understand and share the feelings of others, they will grow into adults who do little for others and care only about themselves. I think we’d all agree we have enough of those adults in this world.

But empathy can be a hard lesson to teach, so I often look for the right opportunity. I found one on a recent Friday evening when I picked up my 11-year-old daughter Celeste and 7-year-old son Gavin from their after-school program.

Gavin came running up to me with a level of excitement I usually only see on Christmas morning: “Can I go over to Ryan’s house tonight for pizza? Please, please, please, please, please?”

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Ryan’s grandmother is buying pizza, and she said I could come over! Can I? Please, please, please, please, please?”

Now, I don’t expect much from my kids when I pick them up from their after-school program. I never look for them to come running into my arms as though they hadn’t seen me in a year. And I don’t expect them to be waiting for me at the curb with their coats on so I barely have to slow down to pick them up.

But I do expect them to say hello when they see me and quickly pack up whatever game they are playing so I don’t have to wait 20 minutes more to go home after a long commute on a beast of a highway. As far as I was concerned, Gavin broke the first rule without hesitation.

“What?” I said. “No, you can’t go to someone else’s house tonight. Mommy is making dinner for us, and I feel like I haven’t seen you much this week.”

Gavin walked away hunched over and broke out in tears like a 2-year-old who lost his binky. We walked out the car and I drove home as he continued to cry. I sent him to his room the moment we arrived home. Ten minutes later, I went upstairs and found him sulking in the corner.

“Do you know why I sent you to your room?” I asked.

“Because I cried,” he said.

“That’s part of it. What else?”

“Because I didn’t say hi to you when you picked us up,” he said.

“That’s also part of it. What else?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know?” I asked.

He shook his head and shrugged again.

I explained to him that he cannot go over to anyone’s house unless I speak with their parents first, and that we have to make these kinds of arrangements in advance.

“But you know the worst part of it?” I asked. “You didn’t even say hi to me when you saw me. The only thing you wanted was for me to let you go to your friend’s house. How do you think that made me feel?”

“Sad?” he answered.

“Yes, as though I’m just a cab driver who you don’t care about at all.”

His facial expression changed immediately from confusion to sorrow, and I knew he understood what I was telling him. He darted into my arms with a bear hug worthy of an Olympic gold medalist.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, guy,” I said. “Now, let’s go downstairs for dinner.”

I’m sure these lessons aren’t over. But at least Gavin says hello to me when I pick him up on my way home from work.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Gavin, Teaching | Leave a comment

Seeing the courage to forgive in ‘Courageous’

Posted on February 12, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

I expected “Courageous” to give me a renewed sense of dedication to living the life of a great father and setting the right example for my children. After all, the movie emphasizes the need for fathers to play an active role in the lives of their children, which I already do.

Nathan Hayes stands at his father’s grave and forgives him for his absence in “Courageous.”

But I felt a greater sense of a need for deep reflection as I looked inward and saw a character I did not expect to see: Nathan Hayes.

Nathan is the newest deputy in the sheriff’s office that is pivotal in the movie. He is a loving husband, and the dedicated father of three children, so much so that risks his life to save his infant daughter.

He also grew up fatherless, and could have turned out to be another statistic were it not for the efforts of a mentor who kept him straight and introduced him to a life of faith.

I felt connected to Nathan because I, too, grew up fatherless. Nathan explained it to David Thomson, a young deputy who just finished his rookie year on the force, after David asked him if he really felt he had a messed up childhood because he did not have a dad.

“More than you know,” Nathan responds. He goes on to tell him about the scars he still lives with even though he is a loving and involved father in his children’s lives.

Men usually shrug at having grown up fatherless, unwilling to confront the raw feelings of abandonment that inevitably comes with it.

Yet regardless of the reasons for a father’s absence, the results are the same. A boy who has no father has no role model, and will search for one wherever he can find it. Some find a false one in gangs. The lucky ones find one in church, other reputable organizations, or a mixture of influential people in their lives.

Some never find one, and are at greater risk of poverty, drug use, and even jail.

I admit that some days I shrug less than others at my father’s absence, but the scars are always with me.

No one taught me how to catch a baseball, and I can still feel the ridicule of other kids after letting the ball fly past me in right field. If I search deeply enough, I can feel the envy of other Boy Scouts whose dads taught them how to tie a knot or build a campfire. And I still have a scar to remind me that my father wasn’t around to teach me not to drag a razor horizontally across my upper lip.

Nathan’s scars may have been different, but they were scars nonetheless. Yet he also did something I aspire to do someday. He forgave his father. With all of his heart and soul, Nathan forgave his father for abandoning him as a child.

But here is a key difference between Nathan and me. Nathan’s father is dead. He has no way of knowing if his father regretted abandoning him or not, yet Nathan forgave him anyway in a touching graveside scene.

Nathan showed his courage by risking his life to save his infant daughter, but it takes infinitely more courage to forgive the man who so blatantly wronged him.

My father is alive, but has expressed no remorse for leaving his wife and four children 35 years ago. How does someone forgive another who has not asked for it?

Nathan did, and I wonder if I have the same courage inside of me.

So, is “Courageous” a movie about fatherlessness and the need for men to play an active role in the lives of their children? Or is it a movie about forgiveness, and a father letting go of the scars he feels having grown up fatherless?

It’s both. I just need to decide which one speaks more loudly to me.

This is a repost of a blog entry I wrote for The Father Factor, the blog of the National Fatherhood Initiative, on Oct. 11, 2011.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Fatherlessness, National Fatherhood Initiative | Leave a comment

When does winning in youth sports become the ultimate goal?

Posted on February 5, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

At what point does winning in youth sports become the ultimate goal?

Without question winning at the professional level is paramount. If Sunday’s Super Bowl proves anything it’s that America loves athletes who can perform well and win games, regardless of power outages.

Everyone loves a champion, but at what point does winning in youth sports become paramount? (Image © Alfonsodetomas | Dreamstime.com)

And I doubt anyone believes that winning preschool games matters even a smidgen of an iota.

But when does the changeover happen? How many steps do our kids take between the hopscotch lines on the playground where no one is watching and the yardage lines on the gridiron where the world analyzes every move athletes make?

I ask because my children, Celeste and Gavin, are a few steps beyond the hopscotch court and taking their early steps in the world of youth sports.

They are in elementary school, and have played baseball, soccer and basketball in recreational leagues, both for public recreation departments and private organizations. These are the leagues where anyone can play as long as they sign up in time, and organizers can find the fields, courts and coaches willing to give the time.

I’ve been on both sides of the whistle. I’ve been the coach who corralled a dozen children on the soccer field, and tried my best to teach pint-sized outfielders how to shag a fly in a league where most kids are lucky to ground to third.

And I’ve been the dad who sits in the bleachers hoping his child will shoot the ball at the basket instead of passing it off as though it were on fire.

As far as I’m concerned, winning in youth sports at the level my children play is irrelevant, but I’m finding that opinions among parents and coaches vary widely on this point.

In fact, I’ve seen coaches yell at their young players from the sideline because they aren’t in the right place or moving the ball around enough. And I’ve been chastised by another coach for not enforcing the infield-fly rule with players who couldn’t shag an iron fly with a magnetic glove.

To me, emphasizing winning at their level of play is silly. The range of athletic ability among young children is wide, and just as often a result of maturity and size than actual skill.

Coaches are more likely to pick their players out of a hat than based on ability, so teams could be full of ringers or kids who don’t know the difference between a three-pointer and a field goal.

To me, what matters most in these leagues is that the children learn the basic skills and rules of the game, how to play a clean game, and how to support their teammates and develop a sense of good sportsmanship.

I could not care less about the score, but not all coaches feel the same way. Some will sit out their less-skilled players because they care more about winning than developing players, much like the coach I had the one year I played baseball as a kid. I still shudder thinking about that coach and season.

In recreational leagues where anyone can play regardless of ability, coaches should focus more on developing players than on winning.

Scores should be irrelevant, and playing time should be comparable for all players on the team. Players should also have a decent turn at each position to see if they can excel at one.

Winning should start to matter in select leagues where players have to try out and can be cut because their skills are not up to par.

After all, kids who can play at the select level need more intense training, better coaches, and are more likely to grow up and play professionally than someone who plays just to have fun.

All other kids should just be able to play regardless of their ability or the numbers on the scoreboard.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Youth Sports | Leave a comment

How stubborn can a 5-year-old boy be?

Posted on January 29, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

Stubbornness can be a wonderful trait in a person. After all, were it not for a stubborn inventor in the late 1800s, we might all still be reading at night by candlelight.

But does it have to be innate? Parenthood would be much easier, or at least certain aspects of it would be more tolerable, if we had to learn how to be stubborn as young adults.

If you can’t tell, I recently had a run-in with a stubborn child, my 5-year-old son, Gavin. He eats little for dinner, but neither Karen nor I make an issue out of it if we choose what food to put in front of him. But if he asks for something specific, I expect him to eat it. Without complaint.

That’s not too much to ask, right? Wrong.

Karen made breakfast for dinner recently, and Gavin asked for scrambled eggs. But when the time came to eat what he asked for, his hunger magically disappeared. He wouldn’t touch them.

I felt frustrated largely because he asked Karen to make him eggs. The way I figure it, if you ask for a specific food, you eat it, even if you’re only 5. Of course, Gavin disagreed with me, said he wasn’t hungry anymore, and dug in deeper than a deep-sea oil wellhead.

“No dessert if you don’t eat your dinner,” I said calmly.

“I don’t want dessert,” Gavin replied.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind because that just means more for me, but I had to make a point. He asked for eggs, and he was going to eat them. He still didn’t seem to think so.

Both Karen and Celeste, our 9-year-old daughter, finished their dinner, so they left the table. I finished mine and began cleaning up the dishes. Gavin just sat in his chair and stared at his eggs. After a few minutes, he said softly, “Daddy, I don’t like my eggs.”

“Then why did you ask for them, Gavin?”

He shrugged. “They’re cold,” he said after touching them.

“That’s because you waited so long to eat them. The longer you wait, the colder they get.”

“I don’t want to eat cold eggs.”

“I can warm them up for you if you’d like, but you are going to eat them.”

Nothing. He just sat there pouting, but I wasn’t going to give in. He asked for the eggs. He was going to eat them. It had turned into a battle of the wills between a stubborn 5-year-old boy and his stubborn 42-year-old dad, but I have 37 years of stubbornness on him. No way he was going to best me in this battle.

He still didn’t agree with me. He sat there for 45 minutes staring at cold eggs while I continued to clean the kitchen.

Forty. Five. Minutes.

“How stubborn can one boy be?” I thought, but realized it was too late for me to back down. I couldn’t let him win. That would just embolden him next time. I didn’t let my frustration show as I realized the source of his stubbornness was the one doing the dishes.

Family legend has it that I too squared off with my mother when I was a child over dinner one night. She served peas that night, and I don’t like peas. Never did and still don’t.

I hate the way they squish in your mouth and leave a trail of slime on your throat as they make their way to your stomach. Plus, these were canned peas of the 1970s. What could be worse? Yuck. I wasn’t about to eat them, and to this day I would rather not.

I have vague memories of sitting at the kitchen table refusing to eat those squishy, canned peas while my mother sat there waiting for me to eat them. I don’t remember who won, but I’m not still sitting at that table so someone obviously gave in.

As Gavin sat at the table in front of his cold eggs, I began to think of a way out of this mess. It was getting late, and he had homework to finish before bedtime. I was running out of time, and options. But I couldn’t give in. No way.

Luckily, Karen came downstairs, warmed his eggs, and fed them to him while she helped him with his homework. I quietly looked on as he ate most, though not all, of the eggs he asked for dinner.

I don’t know who won that battle, and I’m not sure it ultimately matters. In fact, part of me is glad that Gavin can be so stubborn because it will serve him well as he grows up and faces life’s challenges. The trick will be learning how to use his stubbornness and when, a lesson I obviously haven’t mastered.

This is a repost of a column that appeared in The Gazette on Nov. 4, 2010. Gavin is now 7, and just as picky an eater. But I have chosen not to engage him in this battle of wills again. I’ll save my energy for a battle that truly matter.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Gavin, Gazette | Leave a comment

Advice for single mothers

Posted on January 22, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

Longtime readers know I grew up fatherless, the third of four children to a single mother.

http://www.dreamstime.com/-image19947733

What can single mothers do to raise well-adjusted children? I have a few ideas based on my own fatherless childhood. (Image: © Tarokichi | Dreamstime.com)

I can’t overstate the effect of fatherhood abandonment, but statistics tell part of the story. Children who grow up in fatherless homes are more likely to live in poverty, commit crime, do drugs, abuse alcohol, and become victims of abuse themselves.

Luckily, I did not become one of those statistics, which I can only attribute to the grace of God and the strength He gave a mother who wouldn’t allow it. I turned out OK, and refuse to keep the fatherless cycle going by being an engaged father. Given that we usually become products of our environment, I somehow beat the odds.

A reader recently asked me how, and what my mother did or didn’t to raise four children who remain happily married and engaged parents. I’m not sure can produce a complete and authoritative list, but a few things popped into my head without thinking too hard.

So here it goes. My non-definitive list of advice, in no particular order, for single mothers based solely on my own experience growing up fatherless.

Don’t talk poorly about your ex

Oh, I’m sure the temptation is strong to talk poorly about your ex in front of your children, especially if he left you for another woman.

If fact, no one would blame you. It’s perfectly human, a normal response to a tragic loss.

It’s also wrong.

If you talk poorly about your ex in front of your children, they will feel the strong urge to side with you because you take care of them. You’re forcing them to choose sides in a battle in which they are the only losers.

Children shouldn’t have to choose between their mother or father, and talking poorly about your ex in front of them puts them in such a position. Thankfully, my mother never said a cross word about our father in front of us, though I’m sure the temptation was strong.

Leave the negative statements about your ex for your girlfriends. They will understand much better than your children.

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Posted in Blog | Tagged Fatherlessness, Single Parents | Leave a comment

Today’s lesson: Walking away from your frustration

Posted on January 15, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

Given that it’s still January, I should probably tell you how I’m doing with all the new year’s resolutions I made for 2013.

http://www.dreamstime.com/-image25635739

Of course, that would be a short post. I don’t even see how it could be a tweet. Wouldn’t even be a CliffNotes of a tweet since I don’t make new year’s resolutions.

Oh, I have things about me I could improve, but I see no need to wait until Jan. 1 to start working on them. I’m often reminded of my flaws throughout the year, and when I realize I should work on improving one, I see no point in waiting until next year.

And if the last few weeks taught me anything, it’s that I have some work to do.

You see, I lose my cool when I become frustrated. In fact, I’ve been known to break a thing or two in my time when putting something together if the pieces don’t fit like the instructions say they should.

Don’t let frustration turn your iPhone into Frisbee!

But it’s not just assembling things. It’s also figuring them out. I bought Karen the latest iPhone for Christmas, and for nearly two weeks I could not figure out how to activate the iMessage and Facetime features.

No matter what I did, neither would work. I surfed website after website and tried every fix I could find. Nothing.

I read discussion board after discussion board and tried fixes those folks recommended. Nothing.

My frustration grew with every failed attempt at fixing the high-tech gadget, and I soon wanted to throw the phone out the window to see how far it would fly regardless of how cool it was supposed to be.

But I know myself, and recognize that I’m no good when I’m frustrated. So I put down the phone, and walked away before turning the latest smartphone into a dumb paperweight. (OK, it was more than once.)

Then a few days later, after calming down, I decided to try again by searching the Internet using different keywords.

I found a different discussion board that said neither feature works if you block text messages, which I had done years earlier after learning our plan charged 15 cents per text message. (Yeah, it’s an old plan.)

We called our service provider, unblocked text messages, and voila! It worked.

I’m glad I walked away.

Math is simple, right?

My frustration is at its worst when it’s focused on me, but I have to admit it can rear its ugly head when I help my kids with their homework.

One recent night, my 11-year-old daughter Celeste asked me to help her with her math homework. The problem seemed simple:

Mary’s classmates made 3.44 pounds of reindeer treats and wanted to put an even amount in four bags. How much would go in each bag? (I can’t remember the exact wording of the problem, but the numbers are correct. That much I remember. Trust me.)

Celeste recognized that the problem required division, but she couldn’t figure it out. She knew there wasn’t enough treats for each reindeer to have a one-pound bag of their own, but that’s all she knew.

I tried everything I could think of to explain it to her, but she couldn’t grasp it. With each failed attempt, my frustration grew and my voice sharpened.

I took a deep breath, and tried to start simple: If you have one pound of reindeer treats, and want to put it evenly in one bag for a reindeer, how much would you put in the bag?

Well, that stumped her because she told me she didn’t know the answer (hint: it’s 1 pound). My frustration peaked, and I knew I was no good trying to tutor her.

She was done, and so was I. We decided to break for dinner, and after a few hours she returned to her homework much calmer.

She understood the problem, answered it with no help from me, and finished the worksheet without running into any other roadblocks, including those her father put in her way.

I apologized, of course, and realized how much work I have to do to control my frustration, especially around my kids. And that’s not a new year’s resolution. It’s just No. 1 on my self-improvement list.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Celeste, New Year's resolutions, Teaching | 2 Comments

A small victory in my three-year battle with CFL bulbs

Posted on January 8, 2013 by Jeff Allanach

I’m sure you’ve come here so early in 2013 expecting to read about new year’s resolutions and how I hope to be a better father this year than last.

My collection of burned-out CFLs, just waiting for me to take them to a hazardous-waste collection day because they contain mercury.

Believe me, I’ve been pecking away at such a post these past few days, but something happened last night that got me all worked up. And when I get worked up, I write.

You see, a light bulb burned out.

I know what you’re thinking: Big deal. Change it and be done with it.

No, it is a big deal because this isn’t just any light bulb. It’s a compact fluorescent lamp, the kind that are supposed to last longer and use less energy than regular light bulbs.

The only problem is, they don’t last longer and are more trouble than they’re worth.

I jumped on the CFL bulb bandwagon a few years ago after Congress passed a law to phase out regular bulbs. (Congress later overturned it.)

I bought oodles of CFL bulbs and changed nearly every regular bulb in the house. I didn’t track how much money I spent buying the darn things, but given their cost, I’m sure it was several hundred dollars.

No big deal, I thought. These fancy bulbs use so much less energy, I’ll make it up in savings on my electric bill.

But then they started to burn out. And fast.

At first I thought it was a fluke, so I shrugged. Light bulbs burn out all the time. Since the CFL bulbs contain mercury, I set them aside in a plastic bin to throw away on the days my county collects hazardous waste.

I kept buying CFL bulbs and trading out the traditional bulbs with a smile on my face.

Then more bulbs burned out, and my smile turned into a small dose of rage. I’d been duped by the CFL cartel.

I noticed on one of the boxes that each had a five-year guarantee, but I needed the receipt. Who keeps light bulb receipts for that long?

Then it hit me: You do, at least now you do.

So every time I bought a new bulb, I would number it, write the same number on its receipt, and then keep the receipt and UPC symbol from the box until it burned out.

I was intent in cashing in on the five-year guarantee.

Through the years, bulbs kept burning out, but none had numbers on them so I didn’t have the receipt for them. I cursed every single one I threw (gently) into the plastic bin, which only reinforced the resolve I felt to keep track of the bulbs that burn out and claim my guarantee.

CFL No. 5

Then finally, CFL No. 5 burned out on Monday night.

I looked in my files, found its receipt and UPC symbol, and mailed in both to cash in on that five-year guarantee. Only three years and three days have passed since I bought that bulb, so I soon expect a coupon that will replace it.

So, what does this have to do with fatherhood? Nothing, and yet everything.

Any good father does his best to save money for his family, and these high-tech light bulbs are supposed to save money.

Sure, they cost more to buy, but they are supposed to last longer and use less energy, so they cost less in the long run. “They use up to 75 percent less energy and last up to 10 times longer,” the box claims.

What father wouldn’t see value in that? Of course, I’m sure any money I save will be spent on my family in other ways, but I won’t complain about that.

These bulbs are also supposed to be better for the environment, or at least that’s what the box claims. “Did you know if every household used one two-pack … CFLs, over the bulbs’ lifetime they would prevent the emissions equal to 1.5 million cars being on the road?”

What father doesn’t want their children to breathe fewer emissions?

And, of course, any good father wants to teach his children perseverance. Sure, I could have given up all those years ago, not keep track of the bulbs and receipts, and just buy new ones as the old ones burned out.

But that means they would have won. Not this time.

The Coyote has finally caught the Road Runner!

Posted in Blog | Tagged CFLs | 5 Comments

Don’t fear a conversation on gun control

Posted on December 17, 2012 by Jeff Allanach

What can I add to the discussion of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School?

I’m merely a father of two elementary school-aged children who lives in suburban Maryland and has no knowledge of the shooting beyond what I’ve read, heard or watched in the media.

Unfortunately, that’s more than I care to know.

Like any normal father across America, I weep for the lives lost in Connecticut and wonder what I can do to protect my children against such evil. I ask if I should explain these events to my children, and if so, how?

I question what we Americans have done wrong to find ourselves awash in so many mass shootings, look for someone to blame, and wonder how we can prevent such tragedies in the future.

I bristle at how fast the conversation turned to gun control, and I cringe at the number of social media posts that boil down complicated problems to a simple solution using a patriotic image emblazoned with words attributed to a movie star, academic, politician or Founding Father.

Then I let my emotions subside, and begin to think of the problem critically while considering all the symptoms of this illness plaguing America: guns, mental health, violent video games, intense media coverage, broken homes, and even the potential benefits of treatments like the best CBD for Anxiety.

Each of these symptoms deserves an individual and thorough discussion on the role each played, and then those discussions must be brought together to see how they effect each other in the grand scope of this illness.

But I’m sure that will not happen, as sure as I am that politicians will focus on guns first. The far left will cry out for more and stricter gun laws while the far right will say they don’t work because criminals don’t obey the laws in place.

The problem, however, is that when extremes lead the discussion, politics drown out any true debate and common sense loses to those who scream the loudest. The conversation will probably go nowhere out of fear that the slightest brush near the Second Amendment will infringe upon rights many Americans hold dear.

I understand these rights, and respect your right to own a gun as much I want you to respect my right to free speech. I believe guns in the hands of moral and law-abiding citizens present a danger to no one, but I also believe that freedoms are not absolute.

Take the First Amendment. Little is as important to our way of life than the freedom to speak our minds, worship as we wish, peaceably assemble, or petition the government. Still, I do not have the right to say whatever I want whenever I feel like it.

I cannot yell “fire” in a crowded theater if nothing is in flames. I cannot stand before a crowd of people and incite a riot with my words. I cannot call a school with a bomb threat. And I cannot repeatedly call someone who does not want to hear from me.

Each of those actions involve me speaking, but each one is illegal. None infringe on my right to speak my mind, and none have hurt the way of life many Americans hold dear. How could similar exceptions to the Second Amendment be so wrong and hurtful to our way of life?

Smarter minds than me would have to decide what those exceptions are, but we should not fear the conversation. Our children deserve nothing less.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Guns | Leave a comment

A musical battle breaks out on the car radio

Posted on December 11, 2012 by Jeff Allanach

The radio wars have begun.

I thought I could ward them off until Celeste was at least 12, but I did not take into account the power of Radio Disney and the ally it would have in satellite radio.

They’ve combined forces with a cute 9-year-old girl to advance the musical battle on me by three years, and I’m losing. I never thought I would like satellite radio given that I have an iPod that can hold my entire CD collection of ’80s hair bands with plenty of room for an impressive mix of The Wiggles, Milkshake, Taylor Swift, The Cheetah Girls, Hannah Montana and more.

I can play it all through my car stereo, so why would I ever pay for radio?

Then we bought a car that came with three free months of satellite radio, and I was hooked by the time the trial period ended. I’ve come to love it, especially Hair Nation because I often hear songs that take me down memory lanes long forgotten.

I love listening to that old music and laughing at the big hair, leather jackets, and spandex pants that were the uniforms of rock stars a generation ago. Bear in mind that I never wore or owned a pair of spandex pants or a leather jacket.

The worst ’80s fad I can claim is double piercing my left ear and the makings of a long-gone mullet, though we didn’t call it that back then. It was just a cool hair cut. (OK, it wasn’t cool, but we thought it was.)

Celeste and Gavin sometimes humor me when I drive them around, and will put up with “Daddy’s old music” if nothing they like is playing, though some of it has grown on them.

One day a year or so ago, Gavin and I were picking up Celeste from school, and he ran down the hallway singing Bon Jovi. (Nothing will put a smile on a passerby’s face faster than a 4-year-old boy singing, “Woah, we’re halfway there, woah-oh, da-da-da-da prayer!”)

My kids don’t always humor me, though, especially Celeste. We had just climbed into the car the other day, and a few moments after I turned the ignition, a classic tune came bursting through the speakers, “Electric Gypsy” by L.A. Guns, an ’80s band always on the cusp of breaking through but never able to find an large audience.

I can’t remember the last time I heard that song, but hearing it again was one of those magical radio moments. We’ve all had them. It’s the moment you hear a song that you haven’t heard in a long time, so long in fact that you forgot it ever existed. But once you hear it again, you quickly find yourself reliving the days when you first heard it.

It’s time travel without a flux capacitor.

But before I could back out of the parking space, Celeste reached over and changed the station to Radio Disney. It was stuck on a commercial, so I changed it back. Celeste reached over again, said “no,” and switched it back.

“Oh, come on! You’d rather hear a commercial than Daddy’s old music?” I asked as I pushed the button for Hair Nation.

“Yes,” she said, and switched it back to Radio Disney.

“Oh, come on, babe. That’s rock and roll,” I pleaded, but I knew I lost the battle. By the time she switched it back, “Mine” by Taylor Swift was playing.

“No, Daddy. This is rock and roll!” she said.

My 20-year-old self wept. My 42-year-old self gave in and enjoyed the sound of Celeste singing along with her favorite singer who wasn’t even born when “Electric Gypsy” hit the airwaves.

Besides, no trip down memory lane is worth the price of today’s precious moments.

This is a repost of a column that ran in The Gazette on Dec. 30, 2010. The radio wars are still raging strong, though these days One Direction is Celeste’s choice of ammunition.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Celeste, Gazette, Music | 1 Comment

The middle of divorced parents is no place for a child

Posted on December 4, 2012 by Jeff Allanach

Why can’t divorced parents ask their children about their ex-spouse?

That’s the essence of a question someone asked me after reading this post two weeks ago, and noted how I appreciated that my mother never asked me about my father or phone conversations I had with him when I was growing up. To do so would have put me in the middle of their broken relationship, and my mother never did that.

The person who asked me this question didn’t see it as putting children in the middle as much as someone simply asking harmless questions about another person they both know. After all, don’t we all ask family or friends about other family members or mutual friends?

Fair question. I’m sure my brother and I have talked about our brother or sister, or that I have talked with a friend about a mutual friend. But I am equally sure that the rules change once parents divorce.

Before I go on, I should be clear in saying that no two divorces are alike, even though the similarities can be striking. How many divorces involve someone stepping out on their spouse? Alcohol or drug abuse? Lack of communication? Physical or mental abuse? Financial troubles? Lack of romance or friendship? Religious differences?

The causes of divorce usually boil down to those troubles, but the people involved are as different as they are individuals, and the children who are the products of the marriage are as equally diverse.

Given that, can some single parents innocently ask their children about their ex-spouse? I suppose they can, especially in those rare circumstances where the parents split amicably and could spend an evening at the same dinner table without a food fight breaking out.

But most divorced people I know, both now and growing up, would rather not see their ex, so asking their children about their mother or father would unquestionably put them in the middle of a storm they should not have to weather.

So, if you ever find yourself wanting to ask your children about your ex-spouse, first ask yourself why you want to know. If you’re just trying to satisfy a strange feeling of curiosity, don’t. The answer won’t matter.

Perhaps things have never been better for your ex, which if is the case will only cause you to feel bad for yourself or question every day the two of you were married. Aren’t you already doing that, if only to figure out which day your relationship started to veer off course?

It’s best to spend your energy rebuilding your life and raising your children. They need you now more than ever. As the adage goes, you can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep reading the last one.

Or perhaps things are going terribly for your ex. A small, twisted part of you may relish in hearing that, particularly in bitter breakups, but the only thing your question will do is force your children to decide whether or not they should tell you the truth.

And that, my friends, is square in the middle.

Ultimately, children want their parents to be together (assuming, of course, that abuse played no part in the breakup). But if that simply is not going to happen, you’re best keeping your curiosity in check and asking your children how school went.

Posted in Blog | Tagged Divorce, Single Parents | Leave a comment