Crap...

   This is kind of ridiculous but I don't think it can be helped since I'm stupid. You see, I started Daycare4Dads when my daughter was born and I wanted to rebel against all of those parenting magazines that only catered to moms (you know who you are!).
   Eventually, as people do I realized I needed to make some changes to the Daycare. I kept finding new things to do and didn't know where to put them in the blog. Like the camping trip that I was planning for that I started a whole new blog for (The Lost Ranger) or the writing "career" that I was working on which I moved over to NDJohnson.net or the artsy what would you do aspect of The Memento Mori project.
   But now I'm back to the Daycare, and hopefully to stay, now that Blogger has made some changes. And also because I broke my website while trying to fix it. See, stupid. Apparently, the ability to build a computer does not give someone the right to program HTML. So, I'm back. Which is kind of weird in a way I won't get into now.
   Once I get back on my feet and figure out all this fancified new Bloggery I hope to get back into regular postings. And until that day comes gentleMen, keep your ear to the grindstone.

Hotdogs and Hamburgers Won't Help Me Sleep at Night

A week ago today, The Feast of Father Sorin was underway and going well. Today, well...Let's just say the Irish played Michigan tougher today than they have in the last I don't know how long. But, even with the football season underway and going pretty good, I'm not going to talk about football anymore. No, I've got something else on my mind. Last year, if you've been reading that long, I wrote about a car accident that I came across while working. The result of the accident was the death of three-year old Thomas Kocsis. I went through a tough time after that. I cried, I didn't let daughter leave the house for a week, I saw Tommy every time I looked at a young child, I couldn't hold daughter without realizing how fragile she is, etc. Eventually that passed and I was good for a few months. Then Tommy came back and started haunting me. Every time I would look at a kid younger than five I would see Tommy's face superimposed over theirs. And that included daughter's face, too. So I got more counseling and it helped. And now, a year later, I'm at a point where I don't have to think about Tommy unless I want to. And then, this past Wednesday, I came back from vacay, went into the office and saw a thank you card. From Tommy's mom. On Monday the 13th, she's throwing a picnic for all of the police and fire departments that showed up to the accident. I didn't know Tommy until he died but I'm having a tough time believing that this is the best way to remember him. With "music, food and games for the kids." So now I'm back to where I started: Crying about Tommy and wishing I had gone down that stretch of road just five minutes earlier than I did.

School is Cool!

It's late but that's okay. And I'll tell you why: In fifteen minutes it will be tomorrow. And tomorrow is daughter's first day of (pre) school. Yay, daughter! On a much more somber note, the last thing daughter asked wife before bed was "Can I cry at preschool?" Tomorrow will be an interesting day.

What Did I Get Myself Into?

As readers of this blog may or may not know, I'm a HUGE fan of The University of Notre Dame (and Notre Dame Football). You also could possibly be aware that, since I started writing this blog, it has been peppered with references to Gilmour Academy. Gilmour is a private school - lower, middle and upper - that was founded by the same fine folks who founded Notre Dame. Gilmour faculty don't mind telling you about the affiliation either. Upper school kids are encouraged to volunteer their time at the lower and middle schools and in the community. There are also regular "field trips" to South Bend. You can imagine my joy when daughter was born and I found out about all this. And then came "The Great Push," during which I made it known that no daughter of mine would ever set foot in a Cleveland school. My friends and family scoffed and said "But you live in Cleveland, so chances are..." To which I replied, Gilmour. And then everyone laughed even harder. And now I know why. I'm all for kids volunteering their time and admiring expensive cars and the people that drive them from afar, but now I'm in the thick of it. Last night was parent night for the Montessori preschool and traditional kindergarten. And wife and I were slightly blown away. Everyone is so expensive looking and their cars cost more than my house. There was a Panamera there and that starts at five grand more than what I live in is worth. There were people on boards and people with foundations and people with three and four kids who all go to Gilmour at the same time. To get a sense of what that many kids means monetarily: Montessori preschool is ~10k. The tuition doubles at kindergarten. And I'm expected to give back. Not just with my time but also by donating money to the school. As I sat there in my Docker's from Kohl's (K-Mart) and looked at women's wedding diamonds that were literally the size of blueberries all I could think was Holy Shite. At the end of the night, as wife and I climbed into the five year-old Corolla, we were reduced to pulling out some classic Stuart Smalley. As an added bonus, it's a St Patrick's Day clip. Go Irish! Oh yeah, I did ask and no, I cannot chaperone a South Bend trip.

On The Daddy Tip # 15

When I first started working in law enforcement I was afraid to use the radio. I had no trouble patrolling my zone(s), pulling people over or just talking to folks. I just didn't like the radio. Partly it was because I think my voice sounds stupid. Mostly it was because there is no way to get on the radio in a polite way. You just wait for some dead air and start talking. Sometimes you can get out what you need to say and sometimes you get stepped on. Either way, you just do it. When I first started, my department was just stopping the use of coded language. We didn't use ten-codes, we used our local ordinance codes. We had 5-5, 5-7, 4-2, 4-7, 4-1 and others. Only problem with that was the code book had been revised and the numbers changed. New people like me got the new books and, unless you could find a senior person to teach them to you, were lost in the dark about the old radio terminology. Thirteen years later I still don't know which is which for 5-5- and 5-7; one is alcohol and one is marijuana. And here's an anecdote: I once had to respond to backup a guy who had caught a guy doing 4-2 activity. I didn't know whether to go lights and sirens so I drove lit up halfway and dark the rest of the way. Turned out, 4-2 is "deviant sexual behavior" between two men. All of this round-a-bout filler crap brings me to my Tip o' the day: Use regular English around your kids and talk to them like they are adults. They might not understand everything but, when they don't, have a teachable moment and tell them to ask their mother. Wife and I decided, long before daughter was born, to not hide what things are called. That's right, my two year-old knows that girls have vaginae and boys have penises. She does not realize, however, that it is not good social etiquette to ask my wife if the man in line in front of them at the grocery store has a penis. Nor does she realize that, when Dad is in the shower, it is not okay to ask him where his penis is. Those are the finer points that we must work on.