On Holding Hands

With all three of my daughters, the first time we held hands was within moments of their birth:
Daddy offering an index finger to a skinny, naked, newly-formed person; daughter instinctively grabbing on for dear life (and it's not often those words "grabbing on for dear life" are said and literally meant); and Daddy, again, wrapping the rest of his hand around her tiny, perfect fist.

If there's a first imprinting moment between father and child, it's got to be that one.

Then there's the learning-to-walk phase too soon later. Again, holding on for dear life, the fledgling walker grasps Daddy's hand and wobbles and stumbles and teeters sideways, then forwards, before Daddy's other hand swoops in to restore order. And then, too soon later, one hand is enough. And then no hands (a celebratory moment of independence that also brings an overwhelming melancholy), and my daughter no longer needs my hand to make her way in the world.

But she really does. And we hold hands to cross the street. And when it's dark and scary. And when it's crowded. And when it's cold. And when we just want to because it's comforting and safe. For both of us.

And then, I remember with each daughter, a moment where it's more exciting (for her) to only hold hands when it's a must. I reach for a hand, it comes, and then it's gone again because it can be. Like getting jilted, but not like that at all. Just the new normal.

And then, a golden era of holding hands again because she is still young enough to be seen doing that and old enough to relish the bond and choose it over the available freedom.

I'm there now with my youngest. We're walking anywhere, it's safe, it's bright, and I subtly offer my hand with a sweeping gesture (that could easily be pulled back if rejected, without betraying that anything had happened) and there it is: Her hand given freely and happily without any good reason but the closeness it brings.

What's nice about having been here before is that I can savour the few years of this that I have before the onset of pre-teen and teens, and the mortification of being caught holding Daddy's hand (or later, being seen with him at all) when friends are around.

When that happens, I'll be crushed again but I'll know that it's just a thing replaced by sitting close on the couch watching a show, or sad and lonely phone calls in the night when she just needs to hear Daddy's voice, or working in the same room just to be in the same room, or hugs when we see each other and leave each other. I'll take what I can get.

But it will never be easy to watch any of the three hold someone else's hand. And I won't be able to get a word out, I'm sure, if and when the day comes that someone else is taking their hand in marriage, and I've been asked to say something uplifting and joyful despite a breaking heart.

Still...always there...through each daughter and each phase, is and will be my wife's hand. We joined hands in marriage, we had these three daughters together, we watched them grow, and we've had to say our (temporary) goodbyes to the girls over and over again.

All of which leads me to one simple thought: There is no greater blessing than to have someone's hand you can hold onto for dear life.

What's Your Air Travel Personality Type? Take this simple quiz...

I recently had occasion to fly with my wife and a couple of neighbours. It made me realize how different people can be very different air-travellers. Based on that experience, I devised this simple quiz to help you identify your own ATPT (air travel personality type), the ATPT of your fellow traveller(s), and how to cope during those times when varying ATPTs travel together...

The Quiz

SECTION A. Online Check-in

At what time do you do the online check-in /seat-selection for your flight?

1. The second the clock strikes 24-hours prior to the flight (with help from the alarm I set for precisely that time).
2. When I get around to it, or at the airport if I haven't had a chance to do it earlier. 
3. Wait. There's a way to check in online?

SECTION B. Seat Selection

When do you select the seat you'll be sitting in?

1. At the time I purchase my ticket, and I'm always in 12C if I'm flying coach. If my admin screws it up, I choose the seat when I check-in online.
2. I take what I'm given, then ask at the airport if there's anything better.
3. Wait, I get to choose my seat?

Given your preference, what seat do you choose?

1. Aisle, so I can get off the plane asap. 
2. Window or aisle, but it doesn't really matter to me; I'm content either way.
3. The one the flight attendant brings me to when someone tells me I'm in the wrong seat.

And given your preference, what row?

1. As close to the front of the plane as humanly possible. Exit row if nothing else good is open.
2. Not too far up and not too far back, but it doesn't really matter to me.
3. The one the flight attendant brings me to when someone tells me I'm in the wrong seat.

SECTION C. Customs, Immigration and Security

Which description / duration best fits your experience with Customs and Immigration?

1. Nexus/Global Traveler, 2 minutes.
2. I wait patiently in line, but it's usually only about 20 minutes.
3. Is that the part where they ask you to take off your shoes? That takes a while if I've got laces.

How about Security?

1. Nexus/Global Traveler/TSA Pre, 2 minutes.
2. Another line, but it's also usually only about 20 minutes. Not bad.
3. Oh, that's where I have to take off my shoes. I like to wait until I get to the front because they have a helpful person there to tell me what I have to do. They give me a little bag to put my shampoo in, which I like to keep because then it doesn't spill into my suitcase. They make me put my phone into the little bin thing. Oh yeah, and my laptop. And the shoes of course. Silly me, I always seem to forget to take my water bottle out of my bag before it goes through that x-ray machine, so I have to stand there and finish it. I'm not sure how long it takes, but the last time a guy behind me said it was taking a century.

SECTION D. Boarding

At what point during the boarding announcement do you get up and join the boarding line?

1. Get up? I'm on my feet already and moving as soon as I hear the recorded pre-boarding announcement click on.
2. I wait until they've called my zone and the lineup has died down a little.
3. I usually wait until the announcement starts, so I know it's time to go to the bathroom.

What's the first thing you do when you arrive at your seat?

1. I turn on the entertainment system so it can start loading. While it's doing that, I take out my at-seat package (containing a crossword puzzle, pen, book, earphones, credit card, ...) and put the rest of my stuff in the overhead. By the time I sit, my movie is ready to go.
2. I tuck my bag neatly under my seat, sit down, put on my seat belt and await further instructions.
3. I sit down and wait with all my stuff in my lap until another passenger shows up and tells me I'm in their seat.

SECTION E. In-Flight

What do you tend to do during the flight?

1. I watch as many movies and/or TV shows that fit in the time allotted. (Neat trick: if the seat next to me is empty, I start a second movie on that seat's screen and keep it on pause until I'm done watching the first. Also, going to the airline's website beforehand to find out what movies are on can save you from making a bad choice in the heat of the moment).
2. I read the nice magazine they give you in the seat pocket and watch as much of a movie as I can. I sometimes fall asleep.
3. I just sit there and stare straight ahead.

How often do you go to the bathroom during a typical flight?

1. Once - as soon as the seat belt light goes off and before the service carts come into the aisle.
2. Once or twice. But if I've got someone sitting next to me and they're asleep, I'll just hold it. 
3. Wait. There's a bathroom? 

Scoring and what to do about it

Obviously, there are three ATPTs. Those for whom the first answer in each section is the right answer ("Type A"), those for whom the second answer in each section is the right answer ("Type B") and those who shouldn't be travelling and for whom the third answer is consistently right ("Type C").

When forced to travel together, most Type A's can bypass their Type B and Type C counterparts using mechanisms like Elite Status, Elite-privilege Credit Cards, Trusted Traveller Programs, and (when all else fails) sheer force of will.

Type B travellers are fine travelling with others, no matter their type.

Type C travellers don't even know notice the other types of travellers as they make their way on their epic journey through the airport and onto the plane (to the Type C, a Type A is a ghostly figure speeding by leaving only a small gust of wind and a high-pitched buzz). Sometimes, their fellow travellers are handy for watching the Type C's bags when they go to the bathroom at boarding time.

When A's and B's travel together, B's need to understand that they can't and shouldn't try to keep up with the A's. Best to stay out of their way altogether.

B's and C's are more compatible, as both are easy-going about the whole experience, but B's need to recognize the C's vulnerabilities and guide them as best they can (lest they get trampled by the barely visible A's).

When A's and C's travel together, it's not good, and when they are married, it is a recipe for disaster. The C shouldn't be offended when I abandon her as we arrive at the airport only to meet up again after the flight is over.

Happy travels!

The Trade

I had a subway token, but I no longer take the subway because I now live in the suburbs. So I made a trade with someone in my neighbourhood. For the token, he gave me a book he had just finished reading.

I read the book and then I didn't need it anymore. So I made a trade with my sister. For the book, she gave me a DVD.

I watched the DVD and then I didn't need it anymore. So I made a trade with husband-and-wife friends of mine. They have a young child, so I threw in some babysitting. For their "movie night" they gave me a Starbucks gift card.

I don't particularly like anything at Starbucks, so I made a trade with a co-worker. For the gift card, he gave me a bottle of red wine that was dropped off at the office for him by a client.

I'm not a big fan of reds, so I made a trade with another neighbour who knows lots about wine. Apparently, this was a good bottle so he gave me a pair of his baseball tickets in exchange.

I couldn't go to the game that night, so I sold the tickets on StubHub for a lot of money (I guess they were good tickets).

Yesterday, as I was heading for my train home, there was a guy sitting on the street asking people for a subway token. Everybody was walking by and ignoring him.

When he wasn't looking, I slipped the money I got for the baseball tickets into the cup in front of him.

Inspired by my middle daughter's foray into the Bunz trade-based community (bunz.com). The slogan on their website is "You Can't Buy Happiness But You Can Trade For It" (capitalization and punctuation is their fault). Also inspired by the story that I thought must be an urban legend, but apparently is true (albeit a bit dated): http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/from-paper-clip-to-house-in-14-trades-1.573973.

The Three Little Purple Arks Where the Wild Things Are

(With thanks and all due credit to Maurice Sendak, Crockett Johnson, and the original authors of The Three Little Pigs and the Noah's Ark story...)

The night Noah wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another
his Mother called him “WILD THING!”
and Noah said “I’LL EAT YOU UP!”

So he was sent to bed without eating anything.

Now his Mother saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time, and that poor Noah was being influenced by this wickedness.

So his Mother said, “I will wipe from the face of the earth the human race —and with them the animals, the birds and the creatures that move along the ground and under the sea—for I regret that they have made you misbehave."

"Make yourself three arks", she told Noah, "one of wood; one of sticks; and one of bricks".

"Take with you pairs of every kind of beast of the land, a male and its mate, and put them on the ark of wood. And also pairs of every kind of bird, male and female, to keep their various kinds alive throughout the earth, and put them on the ark of sticks. And also pairs of every kind of creature of the sea, male and female, and put them on the ark of bricks."

After thinking it over for some time, Noah decided to listen to his Mother, but he had no wood nor sticks, nor bricks, so he took his big purple crayon and made three arks as he was instructed.

And he put the beasts of the land on the ark of wood, and the birds on the ark of sticks, and the creatures of the sea on the ark of bricks.

That very night in Noah’s room a storm grew and grew -
and grew until his ceiling hung with clouds and the walls became the world all around
and an ocean tumbled by.

The ark of bricks was too heavy for sailing, so it sank to the ocean's floor and there it sat. And all the creatures of the sea escaped the ark and swam in the ocean.

The ark of sticks could not withstand the salt of the ocean nor the huffs and puffs of the storm, so it broke into many pieces. And all the birds flew into the sky, and used the floating sticks as perches when they could fly no more.

But the storm couldn't blow down the ark of wood, on which Noah himself and the beasts of the land all took shelter, and it sailed off through night and day
and in and out of weeks and almost over 40 days.

And when it came to the place where the wild things could land, they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws
till Noah said “BE STILL!” and tamed them with the magic trick
of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once
and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all
and made him king of all wild things.

Then all around from far away across the world
Noah smelled a pleasing aroma and said in his heart: “Never again will I be wicked, even though every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood"
so he gave up being king of where the wild things now were.

And Noah stepped into his ark of wood and waved good-bye
and sailed back over 40 days and in and out of weeks and through a day
and into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him with a note from his Mother saying "Never again will I destroy all living creatures, as I have done and please clean this purple mess from your walls before you eat your dinner."

And it was still hot even after he was done.

Relationships are like Bikes

The seven-year-old learned to ride a bike over the last few weeks.

She's normally afraid of getting hurt, but in this case she found a deep well of determination: She fell off the bike, got back on, fell again, got back on again, dealt with the bumps and bruises and scrapes, and slowly but surely learned.

She's a proud kid and doesn't like to be bad at something. Doesn't like it one bit. And in this case she had two choices: Give up on the tantalizing prospect of riding on her own, or keep trying despite the embarrassment of falling down in front of others, the (apparent only to her) shame of accepting that she couldn't do something that other kids her age can, and the need to slow herself down and take the time to learn. Unlike playing Crazy Eights, nobody else could give her this victory...it was up to her to persevere.

Learning to swim or to skate was a similar experience, but we jumped those hurdles years ago when she was small and wobbly and expected to be clumsy and mistake-prone. Now she's a big kid and this was not easy for her.

We all learned to ride bikes at some point in our life. We all got bruised. We all sucked at it until we didn't. We all persevered. And then in a magical moment for each of us, it came together and we were suddenly able to do it. 

---

Enough about bikes. Let's talk about relationships.

Relationships are like bikes.

Relationships are hard. They give you bumps and bruises and scrapes. They take determination and perseverance. 

When you're at the 'learning' phase of a new relationship, everything's wobbly and precarious. It's easy to make a mistake and sometimes it's the right thing to do to give up. If it looks like a worthwhile relationship though, you've got to work hard to create the conditions where that magical moment can finally arrive and it's suddenly easy (while still requiring diligence, of course). A great relationship is a tantalizing prospect and so it's ultimately worth the effort.

Family relationships are another matter. They aren't a choice and there isn't a real learning phase. Family relationships are just there; they always were and they always will be. When they get wobbly and precarious, the bumps and bruises and scrapes are sometimes even more painful because this kind of relationship is usually so stable that you don't even have to think about it... Now, seemingly out of the blue, you find yourself sitting on the pavement, wheels spinning in the air behind you, head spinning too, in pain, and completely confused by what just happened.

It might have been a stupid little stone that you didn't notice until it was too late that threw everything off balance, but you're not sitting there thinking about the stone. It's the stupid bike. And stupid you. And the feeling of betrayal. And your bruised butt. And your bruised pride.

Do you climb back on (figuratively) and make it right again? Or do you dust yourself off and walk home sulking and angry, possibly kicking the stupid bike on the way?

Depends on whether you want the bike anymore.

But the answer to that lies in the inadequacy of the bike analogy, I think. It's probably more accurate to compare a fall-out with a close family member to suddenly being unable to walk. You might leave a bike behind, but you're not going to accept being unable to walk anymore...

Are you?

David Launches a New Word: Bzik

As promised in this post's title, my intention today is to launch (re-launch?) a word that I learned years ago from my parents that seems to have since disappeared: "Bzik".

Last March I was in a conversation with a couple of colleagues and one of them was talking about something that drives her crazy. I said, "That sounds like a bzik". She didn't know what I was talking about so someone else in the car did some Googling and came up empty, mostly because we had no idea of its spelling. I called my Mom while still in the car with these people (given that I knew for sure that she knew the word) and on speaker-phone she answered "Hi Lover Dover!" and then went on to say that she knew the word but didn't know how it was spelled either.

That sent me off on a search that quickly confirmed what I was beginning to suspect: There was a hole in the Internet. The word simply wasn't out there. I posted on Facebook and nobody could help me, though several tried.

Finally, on March 6th at 10:48 am Eastern, I found it in a Polish dictionary:  
Bzik [b'źik] (think of the 'zh' in Brezhnev, if that helps).


What's it mean?  

First of all its a noun. I'd explain it as a light madness or mania; a petty annoyance taken to the level of an eccentricity. A pet peeve on steroids.

It's something you have. It's a part of you. It's a defining characteristic.

Instead of using it in a sentence, I'll give you some examples:

• One of my daughters' bziks is "mouth noises". It drives her crazy when people slurp their soup, swish their saliva around, or...you name it.
• Another of my daughters has a bzik related to being shushed. I wouldn't call her disgust related to compost or sink-strainer-residue a bzik (just by way of comparison); that's more of a revulsion than a mania. It's also a convenient excuse.
• Amongst her thousands of bziks, my wife has a visceral reaction - a madness so to speak - when it comes to clothes on the floor. Or maybe a better example, because it's more eccentric, is her bzik related to upside-down loaves of bread. I kid you not - try inverting a loaf of bread around her some time and you'll see what I mean.

It's actually quite therapeutic to come to grips with your own bziks (and fun to call someone else on theirs). Attaching that label let's you manage bzik-related encounters with significantly more grace. It allows you to discuss it. To give it form. To neatly step around it as you navigate life.

And, by the way, when it comes to the bziks of your loved ones - they're a lot of fun to activate; each bzik is a button just waiting to be pressed.

Thankfully, I was born bzik-free. Nothing bothers me. I especially don't have a bzik related to careless spelling and grammar. People borrowing my stuff without asking doesn't affect me one bit. Being told what to do doesn't get under my skin at ALL. IT DOESN'T DRIVE ME AT ALL CRAZY WHEN F*ING INCONSIDERATE A*HOLE DRIVERS STOP AT A LIGHT IN THE RIGHT-TURN LANE WHEN THEY'RE NOT EVEN TURNING AND THEY CLEARLY SEE YOUR SIGNAL LIGHT FLASHING AND HAVE AN EMPTY LANE TO THEIR LEFT.

Anyhoo. You get the picture.

Please spread the word. Let's bring it back to life. Let's fix the hole in the Internet.

You may now return to your day...David

Caught a Shooting Star

Years ago, when my older two daughters were about the youngest's current age (7 and 9? 5 and 7?), we heard about the Perseids Meteor Shower and spent an hour-or-so in the backyard one night, lying on sleeping bags and watching for shooting stars. We saw a few, and I believe both of them still remember that night as a magical one.

So when I read that the Perseids would be putting on a show starting late last month and peaking on  the morning of August 12th, I felt a deep obligation to give the 7-year-old the same experience.

We made our plans, we looked at the calendar and saw that August 11th was a Thursday, and we talked about it being okay to stay up late that night. We even tried to catch some preliminary glimpses on the Fridays and Saturdays leading up to the big night.

She dubbed August 11th "Micaela's Day" because that would be the day that she finally realized her dream of seeing a shooting star.

Waiting out there on our back patio one night last week, she asked me if there was a particular way one was supposed to make a wish on a shooting star (you know, akin to "Star light star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight"). We came up with "Shooting star, shooting star, take my wish from where you are..." as an alternative lead-in.

Each night that we went out there, getting ready for the 11th and hoping for a sneak preview, she'd use her "first star I see tonight" wish to wish for a shooting star. I asked her, "What will your wish be when you do see a shooting star? To see another one?" She thought that was just about the funniest thing she'd ever heard.

In all the lead-up, one shooting star was seen...and that by me. So the 11th gained more and more significance as the time when it would finally happen for her.

Then, as you must know if you live in the GTA, last night turned out to be a cloudy, cloudy night with on-and-off drizzle. I sent her to bed angry and sad after staying up a bit later than usual watching tv and praying that the sky would clear.

Now, what I failed to mention so far is that EVERY SINGLE DAY for the last couple of weeks, I have been sneaking out onto the back patio some time between 4 and 5 am (when I do my daily routine of waking up too early without meaning to) to see if there was anything to see. Aside from some bats, which each morning freaked me out enough to send me back indoors... nothing.

And then today, August 12th at 3:50 am, I opened my eyes and wondered if the skies had cleared yet. I snuck downstairs, peeked out the window, and lo and behold - a few clouds, but mostly stars.

I lay down on one of our gravity chairs to see if there would, indeed, be a show. Within 3 minutes I witnessed the most glorious, clear, slow-moving, shooting star EVER. Decision-time: Do I wake her up or pretend it never happened.

If you know me, you know what I decided. I shook her gently and dragged her out of a deep, deep sleep: "Wanna see your shooting star baby?"

She awoke, leapt out of bed, grabbed my hand, and we made a dash for the patio. I grabbed a couple of blankets and we took our respective places on the gravity chairs.

It was stinking humid but a cool breeze made it bearable.

We waited. And waited. She mumbled a "star light, star bright..." asking once again for a shooting star.

And then it happened. A quick flash, a split-second, and a father-and-daughter gasp.

"Did you see it?!?" I asked her. "I think so, but I forgot to make a wish. Can we wait for another one?"

A few more minutes, and then we got a much better one.

I heard her quietly reciting "Shooting star, shooting star, take my wish from where you are..." I don't know what she wished for and, of course, she didn't tell me. Maybe one day she will.

As I put her back in bed she whispered "You're the best daddy ever" and gave me a blissful hug.

Wishes granted, both hers and mine.

Knowing us, we'll be out there again tonight to try for one more bit of magic. You should too.

(This image is from the Web, there's no way I'd hide behind a camera at a moment like this).