Clergy Family Confidential

Ben recently received an assignment to do a presentation on a famous person using Power Point. He’s in third grade. I don’t know how to use Power Point. And I still associate it with middle management sales staff that travels around the country with their laptops giving presentations on the merits of corrugated plastic products.

I guess this is Exhibit A in the generation gap. The first computer I encountered was in middle school – it was named Huey and it was a giant contraption that used those manila punch cards. I’m not sure what it could do besides addition and subtraction and it seemed to me like the world’s largest calculator. I wasn’t impressed.

But, to be honest, this is why I decided to have kids in the first place: for at-home tech support. In a few years I won’t need to talk to someone in India. I’ll just need to roust a sleeping teenager (and, yes, I understand this is hard to do).

I’m always going to be behind the technology curve. Sure, I’m blogging now but this isn’t exactly a high tech site – no videos or a streaming “priest cam,” as compelling as that might be. And while I’ve never sent a text message, I am proud of the fact that I have never, ever used an emoticon in an email. If you ever see a smiley face in a message from me you’ll know the Kremlin has hacked into my email system.

Ben’s decided to do his presentation on George Lucas. Perhaps in a “galaxy far, far away” there’s a place where I’d be on the cutting edge of technology. I’m not holding my breath.

Big night at Law Park last week. The boys’ baseball team had their first game of the season. Squire’s (their team named for a popular burger joint in town) beat Briarcliff Seafood 15-3. They were thrilled. I was just thrilled that neither one struck out in their first at bat of the season. Zack was particularly nervous about this and it might have set the tone for the rest of the season. It certainly would have had a negative effect on bedtime. I can’t say I “prayed” for a base hit but this is the first year they record strike outs which adds a new element of danger to the whole affair. It is coach pitch so there’s no real chance of getting beaned with some high heat.

But they both played well and connected on each of their five at bats. I considered it a success from my end since at no point during the game did I run out onto the field to add my coaching two cents. It was very tempting — “Square up, choke up, back off the plate, step into the pitch.” But I don’t want to get a reputation around town so I let the coaches coach. We’ll continue to work on some things in the backyard and I’ll try not to live out my failed professional athletic dreams vicariously through my children. There’s enough of that in this town.

The best part of the whole affair was the opposing team’s hats. The aqua-colored lids were emblazoned with a big “BS” (for Briarcliff Seafood). I need one of those.

Spring Break is getting easier. Even a couple of years ago the mere mention of it sent chills down our collective parental spines. No school, lots of rain, all the boys’ friends in Florida, and me slaving away during Holy Week. Bryna spent the week trapped inside with cranky kids arguing over everything from putting socks on to drinking root beer for breakfast. And no you can’t watch nine straight episodes of Sponge Bob Square Pants. What’s left of your brain will explode.

This year has been great in comparison. Besides not overlapping with Holy Week (Easter was as early as it possibly can be), the weather has been fabulous. Which means if anyone gets whiny they’ll receive a quick shove out the door into the backyard. It’s the perfect cure-all for everybody involved.

We also spent a couple of days in Boston which helped eased the everyone-else-is-going-somewhere-why-can’t-we syndrome. We hit some of the old standards and the kids had a great time. While I ran the marathon, Bryna took Ben and Zack to the Museum of Science. The next day I hobbled around after them at the New England Aquarium and Faneuil Hall before heading to Harvard Square for dinner. I was disappointed that my old college haunt Nick’s Beef & Beer was no longer in Cambridge but I doubt they would have had a kids’ menu anyway (cheap beer in a sippy cup?).

Still, I am working this week which the boys don’t really get. They’re off so I should be available to play baseball with them on demand, right? But I did find a great solution to this. We went out and got them a pitch-back. This is basically a metal frame with tightly wound netting. They can throw the ball and it comes back to them. Instant baseball buddy! I thought about putting my face on it so it felt like I was playing catch with them (how’s that for lame parenting?). But then I realized they’d just be pelting my face with baseballs. And enjoying it way too much.

Last week Ben got a retainer to help straighten his teeth. It’s actually been installed (like a rector) and he’ll have it in his mouth for up to six months. It’s tough watching your son struggle to speak. The dentist told us it’ll take about ten days for Ben to get used to talking with it — he’s got to learn where to position his tongue.

He’s been a great sport about the whole thing and his friends have been supportive. But still those first couple of days, when even I was having trouble understanding certain words, were hard to take.

 No one likes to watch their children struggle with anything. Whether that’s hitting a baseball, doing multiplication tables, or sitting still in church. Some things we can help with (flash cards!) but others we cannot. And that hurts. But it’s also part of the maturation process for everyone involved, including parents.

At this point, Ben’s fine with it. The toughest cross he’s had to bear has been laying off Peeps during Easter season. I’m the one who still struggles occasionally when I hear him saying words like “suspicious” or “success” (S’s present the greatest challenge).

The good news is that come September he’ll be all ready to once again whip through Fox in Sox, that dastardly Seussian series of tongue twisters.

I blog today with a heavy heart. The husband of my associate priest, the Rev. Kathy Corley, died suddenly yesterday after a massive stroke. We’re all in shock and mourning with Kathy and her two children, Andrew and Dan. Dave was 50 years, a financial guy with a passion for scuba diving, bird watching, and the gospel.

Please keep the family in your prayers.

Tim+

You can always tell when PBS is having a fundraising drive because they’ve got great programming interrupted by yapping. This is of course why God invented the clicker. After the kids went to sleep last night I found some footage they were airing of Jimi Hendrix playing the 1970 Monterey Pop Festival. For a $120 donation I could have had the CD/DVD combo but I preferred to watch it in installments via the clicker.

The snippets I saw were classic Hendrix — he was coaxing inimitable sounds out of his left-handed guitar. There’s not much more you can say about it — it’s simply guitar virtuosity. Yes, it’s Eric Clapton whose nickname is God — the height of heresy. But Hendrix at least sits at Clapton’s right hand.

The highlight for me was his version of Bob Dylan’s “Like a rolling stone.” Stunning.

But it also makes me wonder how to impart the appreciation of good music to Ben and Zack. My father probably thought the same thing — he was a symphony orchestra conductor — while I was listening to Kiss and AC/DC. But the songs they like, “Cotton-eyed Joe” and ”Bad Day,” aren’t exactly enduring classics. 

I guess all you can do is play decent music around the house and hope some of it rubs off. We forced them to watch enough Baby Mozart videos — some of this better take!

Cruel and unusual. That’s how I’d characterize Daylight Savings Time from a parent’s perspective. Throw in a Saturday night outing to Madision Square Garden to see the Knicks and it’s downright abusive. How was I supposed to know we’d be turning the clocks ahead when I bought the tickets?

The boys and I didn’t get home until 1:00 a.m. Okay, technically it was midnight but losing that hour made it an hour later. It didn’t help that the last-place Knicks decided to play just well enough in the fourth quarter to send the game to overtime. And at that point you can’t leave. I refuse to raise children who think it’s acceptable to leave sporting events before the bitter end. What kind of parent would I be if I taught them to leave baseball games in the seventh inning just because they were falling asleep or the home team was losing by 12 runs? You’ve got to have some standards. So we stayed until the Knicks imploded during the overtime period.

We’ll spend the rest of the week fighting about both bedtime and waking up for school. I think I need a nap.

Big night for Zack tonight — his first sleepover. He’s all fired up about it and he and his friend William have been planning out the evening’s schedule for weeks. I don’t think sleep is on their agenda but then it’s not at our house so who cares?

Zack’s been clamoring for a sleepover for two years now; ever since Ben had his first sleepover when he turned seven. And his packing list reflects the long wait. He’s certainly not traveling light: he’s bringing his comforter and pillow, some stuffed animals, clothes, pajamas, toothbrush (only because we’re forcing him), and his plastic Godzilla. At least that’s all I’m aware of. 

We’ll see if we get THE CALL tonight. You know, the one that comes from William’s mom at midnight when Zack is too afraid to fall asleep. I’m not expecting it since Zack is a great sleeper but you never know. Ben was fine for his first sleepover  — though Bryna and I were a bit traumatized. “Our baby doesn’t need us anymore!”

It’s all part of that parental realization that we don’t “own” our kids, we’re merely their temporary stewards. And that’s bittersweet.

NPR is airing an interview today with the Rutgers women’s basketball coach, C. Vivian Stringer. I really don’t care about women’s college basketball (or men’s for that matter), but whenever I see a name like this it naturally makes me wonder about the initial. What does C. stand for? Do people call her “C.” or “Vivian” or “C. Vivian?” What’s she hiding? Is she related to G. Gordon Liddy?

I’m not sure if a first initial is distinguished or pompous. Then I realize we’ve done the same thing to our son Ben. His full name is Andrew Benedict Schenck. Perhaps one day he’ll fancy himself A. Benedict Schenck. Which might look good on legal letterhead but may also be confusing during academic roll call for years to come.

He’s named Andrew for my late father, a symphony orchestra conductor and a wonderful dad. We didn’t call him “Andrew” because it was just too soon to have another “Andrew Schenck” running around. Plus I can’t stand the name Andy which is what it would probably have devolved into at school. He’s named Benedict for the saint — NOT the pope. We named him first in case you were wondering. 

But we usually just call him Ben. Unless he’s in trouble in which case his full name works beautifully when you yell it out on the playground. Interestingly, a bunch of his friends call him Benedict. He didn’t want to be confused with the myriad Benjamins in his grade and so in kindergarten he asked people to call him Benedict.   

If Ben decides to go with that first initial he’ll be in decent company. There’s F. Scott Fitzgerald, M. Scott Peck, and J. Paul Getty. We’ll just ignore J. Edgar Hoover and J. Danforth Quayle.

Do you hear that huge sigh of relief? The kids are back to school after a week of Winter Vacation. Actually this was a good one. When the boys were younger Bryna and I would be all set to check ourselves into the local insane asylum by now. Or at least order some padding for our bedroom walls. There are only so many consecutive games of Candy Land you can play before you want to fling yourself off Gum Drop Mountain.

But now we’ve achieved a pretty good balance between interaction with the boys and independent play. By “independent play” I mean the Cartoon Network.

Since they’re only 20 months apart they have two modes: playing great together or killing each other. There’s no in-between. Yesterday they spent an hour sledding and playing some sort of snow game. When I peeked out the window it appeared to involve eating snow. After they came back in and had a snack they were back to teasing each other mercilessly. Paging Sponge Bob!