Friday, September 25, 2009

September 25, 2009 Dear Alex,

Dear Alex,
You took a step!
So want to see you grow up. So don't want to lose my little boy who crawls fast and make these cute little sounds.

You cry when Max gets out of the car for school.
I am so anxious for you two to get to a point where I can have time to myself. I so don't want you to be so independent that you don't need me.


You eat cereal and other foods with a spoon.

I'm so tired of sweeping the floor after every meal -- or more accurately, walking on food hours after every meal. I am so not ready for you to grow up so fast.

September 20, 2009 Dear Alex,

Dear Alex,
Your growing up so fast.


The last few days you've started insisting to eat your breakfast cereal out of a bowl with a spoon. You grunt and point to my bowl and when I give you a spoonful you take it out of my hand and feed yourself. The food goes into your mouth, into your hair and onto your shirt. But you are happy.


You want to do whatever your brother does:


You've learned the secret of the magic mirror - that after bath time there is something hidden in there for Max. Now after bath you insist on opening up the mirror too.

You've also started brushing your own teeth: you put the brush in your mouth and you move it around.

You also are getting closer to walking. Today you stood on your own for what seemed like 15 seconds. You frequently stand up and with your hands on the couch or wall work your way around to where you want to go. When mama or I hold your hands you smile big as you walk.

Perhaps I imagined it or twisted my hearing, but I thought this week I hear you say dada.

Your relationship with your brother is remarkable. Of course there are times he pulls things out of your hands and you get upset. Mainly though the two of you hug and play like best friends. Max is mostly patient and carrying toward you. A couple days ago when he got out of the car for school he hugged and kissed you without me saying anything. He often brings you toys to make sure you are happy.

And you continue to be the accommodating brother and child. Frequently when Max takes your the toy you're playing with or when mama or I pull you down from where you're climbing, you make little resistance. I'm going to miss the baby you. And I can't wait to see the grown up you!

September 18, 2009 Dear Spirit World,

Dear Spirit World,

What you doing to me?


First all those strange connections with my dad and my family and now a connection to my friend Dave.


I met Dave when I was about 11 and we were on the same Trojan Youth Basketball team. One game Dave got the opening tip off, drove to the basket, shot and missed. I got the rebound, shot and - being the basketball star I was - scored.
Trouble was, it was the wrong basket.

Dave died a few days ago. I went to Chicago on Thursday for the funeral.


On Friday at reading time, Max picked a book of silly poems to read. It's called "Oops" and he calls it "the poops book." It's a fairly long book. So when we read it I skip through at random and try to find the "age appropriate" poems.


The day after burrying my old friend, I randomly came across this poem that begins:


Foul Bawl by Alan Katz The score was tied. Dave passed the ball. I squeezed it with both hands I dribbled and then shot it high. A great hush filled the stands. The ball went in! Man, what a toss! The whole team blew a gasket! A perfect shot, except that it was our opponent's basket.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

September 14, 2009 Dear Spirit World,

Dear Spirit World,
My dad didn't like magic or his father, never made points using symbols and as far as I know didn't believe in an afterlife -- all traits he passed on to me.

So why am I starting to wonder whether my dad from the great beyond used a novel about a magician to make peace with his own father and to show me he's connected to my children. Ordinarily I'd dismiss this as a strange coincidence. However, it's the third such strange coincidence so it's difficult for even an extreme skeptic like me to simply dismiss.

My dad died from complications due to a massive stroke. I left my wife and son in Nashville to rush to Arizona to be with my two brothers during what turned out to be his final few days. This was the first time I was away from my 10-month old son.

This is when coincidence Number 2 happened.

"I know you have a lot on your mind and I don't want to worry you because he's fine," my wife said on the phone. "Max had an accident. He has a black eye."

I didn't ask the obvious follow up questions like what happened? or how is he?

I just asked "Which eye?"

Thousands of miles away, my dad was hooked up to life support systems and one of the common results the doctors told us was his development of a black eye.

"The left eye," replied my surprised wife.

Same eye as my dad.

"When did it happen?" I followed up.

"This morning," she said again a bit surprised about my line of questioning.

"My dad developed a black eye this morning too," I said. "It's his left eye."

At that moment, it honestly did give me some comfort to take the black eye as some sort of a connection sign. Later I dismissed it thinking I was being just like the atheist in the foxhole who suddenly started praying to God.

Jump ahead about two-and-a-half years to last month.

I found myself in front of my bookshelf on my dad's birthday looking for a book to read. I also inherited a bit of my dad's habit of buying books simply to put them on my shelf. Thus, there were plenty of unread books that at one time interested me to choose from.

As I pondered, I glanced at a book my dad had given me more than a year before he died. I always thought it was strange that my dad had given me a novel about a magician when he loathed magic and magicians. I also thought it was strange how many times he asked me if I had read the book.

Another thing I inherited from my father was the tendency to not do things I was told to do -- especially things my father told me to do. My father didn't become a lawyer partially because his father was a lawyer. He also told with pride the story about how he left Arthur Andersen at lunch time on his first day because he didn't like all the corporate rules. Thus, I became a writer then coffee house owner instead of the lawyer my dad wanted to be. And I didn't tend to read the books he suggested.

Sometimes this habit served me well -- I'm much happier and likely wealthier than I would have been a lawyer.

Other times this stubbornness cost me, like when I didn't apply to be a basketball camp conselour or only after he died did I read and enjoy several of the books I took from his shelf.


Carter Beats the Devil sat on my shelf for at least three years. I picked it up simply because of the coincidence that I was looking for a book on my dad's birthday and this one my dad kept pushing on me was staring me in the face.

For some reason about 50 pages into it the thought came into my head that there was going to be something in this book my dad wanted me to know. My dad wasn't the deep conversationalist type. Thus, suggesting a movie, play or book with a point in it would be much more up his alley. This seemed to be the only explanation of why my dad -- who hated magic -- wanted me to read a novel about a magician. He frequently criticized his dad -- an amateur magician -- for resorting to magic tricks as a way to avoid talking to his children.

At about page 100, I scanned through the book to see if there was a letter hidden in it. I did find a scrap of paper which at first excited me then let me down when I unfolded the blank small torn sheet.

I decided to plunge through the book about page 150 despite not liking it (felt it was an over-researched historical soap opera novel).

About page 300 I started setting myself up for disappointment. "I don't believe in these things anyway," I said.

After I finished the book I was more disappointed that I wasted my time reading it than in not getting my sign from above.

Before putting it in the give away pile, I opened it once more.

This was a used book my dad must have bought at a library sale. It still had the library stickers on it and the check out card in it. I looked at the last date that it was checked out. The first thing I noticed was that the date stamp was a bit strange. Someone had written "/08" next to the date stamp. Then I read the stamped date and added part and was struck by the strangeness of it all.

Aug 23 2001 /08
(the first part done with a date stamp the "/08" written in pen.)

My dad died March 26, 2007.

He gave me the book more than a year before he died.

My second son was born August 23, 2008.

Coincidence #2 was the black eye - connecting my dad to my first son, Max.

Coincidence #3 was the book - connecting my dad to my second son, Alex.

Coincidence #1 was the birthday - my wife has the same birthday as my dad's mom (my grandma).

I don't believe in symbols and signs -- especially from the after life.

But this is so darn weird.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

September 10, 2009

Dear Alex,
A quick update on what you're up to:

You started saying mama sometime between the week before you went to Chicago and a week after you returned. Your mama was convinced early that your mamamamama was indeed mama and not just sounds. Maybe it was a bit of jealousy that I wasn't convinced as early.

You also seem to say Max -- or we've all come to believe that ma is Max. And ba with pointing to the sky is bird.

You're a big eater. You eat all veggies, fruits, tofu, cereals, rice, goji berries pastas and anything else we give you.

You don't walk. You crawl fast.

You love attention. You're fine playing by yourself.

You love your brother. You want to play with him and snuggle with him.