The Nightmare on Our Street

"Wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away." -Billy Joel

I slept on the floor on Sunday night. Not because I have a bad back and not because I was in trouble with my wife. (That would never happen anyway.) I actually volunteered.

And I've never felt better after such a bad night's sleep.

We all got to bed later than usual that night because we were enjoying our annual block party. Peanut didn't get to bed until 9:30 pm. And I had a hunch...

I thought she might not sleep well because the kids watched Monster House on a big sheet hung between two trees while the parents sat around the firepit. My wife and I knew she would be scared. And she was. She cuddled on the lap of one of our neighbor's older daughters during the movie. We've relaxed our standards a bit, but are still careful with which movies she watches to begin with. And this isn't one we would have chosen. But, we made an exception based on the circumstances.

Peanut woke up crying at around 11:30. As my wife consoled her, I grabbed two pillows, laid out her sleeping bag, and got as comfortable as could be under her Elmo blanket on the floor for the rest of the night. After all, it was our fault she was having bad dreams. And this, to me, was a better solution than her sleeping in our bed. (Never.)

She woke up three more times, crying or whimpering. The third time she actually fell out of the bed. It was more comical than scary; and she was fine. (Incidentally, she now denies this ever happened.)

My sleeping arrangements (recreated the next evening)

I often get instantly annoyed at things like this. But not this time. The thought didn't even cross my mind, which is huge for me. I never once worried about how much sleep I was getting, or losing. That I had to wake up at 4:30 am for work. I didn't even have an alarm clock. (I figured my alarm would wake up my wife and she would come get me - passive aggressive.) Actually, she came to get me at around 3 am. I went back to our bed since Peanut hadn't woken up for a couple of hours.

This is my job as a dad. Especially since she was having bad dreams because of a decision I had made.

I am the keeper of my daughter's dreams, no matter how outrageous they are. It is up to me to help nurture and support her dreams. The opposite goes for nightmares. It's my job to protect her from those. Especially when I cause them. And if I can't protect her from the nightmares, it's up to me to be there for her. To comfort her. Hug her and reassure her.

We all got to bed early the next night to catch up on sleep. Sweet dreams, Peanut.

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Where I Want to Be

This was my Week 6 entry for Blogger Idol: my answer to the age-old question: "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

I'm a big kid.

Remember those old Toys R Us commercials? "I don't wanna grow up. I'm a Toys R Us kid..." That's me.

I want to run in the sprinkler with my daughter. I want to play Candy Land with her even though Candy Land is the never ending bane of every parent's existence. I want to ride the rides with her at the boardwalk all night and then eat funnel cake until I'm nauseous.

I want to ride my bike to the deli and play Mr. Do while drinking Yoo-Hoo. Just like I did when I was a blonde-haired, skinny kid.

I want to be that chunky, uncoordinated pre-teen  who dreamed of playing football in the NFL, of quarterbacking the New York Jets to a Super Bowl championship. I want to be that cocky but still unsure teenager who thought he could be the next legendary play-by-play voice of the New York Yankees.

I want to be a kid again so I can dream impossible dreams that aren't so impossible.

Now that I am grown up, I know exactly what I want to be. I want to be a teacher. I want to be a dream keeper. I want to teach my daughter and the still-to-be-conceived second child that we keep talking about having, yet keep putting off, the error of my ways. I want to tell them it's ok to dream. I want to encourage their dreams. Nourish and nurture them.

What do I want to be when I grow up? A dad who sits in the stands, or the audience, or the pew with pride in his heart and tears in his eyes.

I am a grown up. My dreams are now the dreams of my children.

My path has brought me here

Make no mistake: I have no regrets about my life. I have a wonderful wife, an amazing child, a great house and I get paid to do something I truly enjoy. Sure, a little more money could ease some of the stress. Yes, we'd like more living space downstairs. But I have no complaints. I'm here because I chose to be here. There's no place else I'd rather be.

And while the path I chose to get here may not be the one I'd choose for my child(ren), had I not traveled it I would be somewhere else. I would be someone else. And maybe not as happy. Maybe not as content.

My dream is simple. It's for my family to live long happy healthy lives. To love and to be loved. To laugh and to make people laugh. To enjoy the simple things and endure the difficult ones.

What do I want to be when I grow up? A granddad, surrounded by my children and grandchildren, listening to the next great play-by-play voice of the Yankees, or watching the next great young quarterback lead the Jets to another Super Bowl championship.

Happy. Proud. Content. That's where I want to be. I'm well on my way.

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Dream Keepers

"Well, my feet they finally took root in the earth, but I got me a nice little place in the stars." -Bruce Springsteen, Growin' Up

I've been on a pretty big Springsteen kick lately, spurred on by the death of Clarence Clemons last month. A few days ago, I was listening to one of his live albums on my iPod as I ran on the treadmill. "Growin' Up" came on. Certainly an appropriately titled song for this blog.

In the middle of this particular performance from 1975, Bruce points out that his parents and sister are in the audience. He jokes that they've been following him around to his gigs for six years, trying to convince him to come home. He then tells a story of how neither of his parents supported his music when he was "growing up." His dad urged him to be a lawyer. His mom tried to convice him to be an author (turns out, he IS an author if you ask me).

As he concludes his story, he tells his parents, "...well tonight you're just going to have to settle for rock and roll." And the crowd goes wild and the band rocks the rest of the song.

(You can listen to the song I'm talking about by clicking the video below. The recording is a little crude, but you can definitely hear the part I'm referring to. It starts about 2:30 in.)

This got me thinking... can you imagine if Mr. and Mrs. Springsteen had succeeded in getting Bruce NOT to pursue his passion? To NOT go into music? I can't. It's mind boggling. It actually makes my brain hurt to think about a world without his music. Impossible.

Now with all due respect to the Springsteens, I'm sure they're lovely people who were certainly raising what can only be described as a rebellious son in a different time, but I plan on doing the opposite as a parent.
We are the keeper of our children's dreams. Sure, they can achieve them without us. But it's a lot easier for them, physically and emotionally, to do it with us. How powerful, how wonderful, how inspiring would it feel if they achieve them with us right behind them, every step of the way?

The setbacks, the failures, the mistakes, the rejections, the inevitable triumphs.

A few years ago, I attended Commencement ceremonies at the college where my wife works because she had planned them. Whoopi Goldberg was the guest speaker. She made it a point to thank the parents because, to paraphrase her, these kids were pursuing their passion and a lot of them are in for a lifetime of rejection and misery. They were not entering a slam-dunk money making career. Drama and dance and art students. But they all had one thing in common: they all had parents who supported them. Despite the cost. Despite what many might consider their outrageously unrealistic dream.

They were applauded.

They deserved it. We hold the dreams of our children in our hands. It's up to us to nurture those dreams, not squash them. No matter how fantastic they are.

Whatever the peanut wants to do, however wild her dreams may be, as long as it doesn't hurt her, I am there for her.

Knowing my strong-willed child, she'd probably pursue it anyway. But I'd much rather be thanked when she makes it, than mocked in front of a live audience.

 As much as I like Springsteen, I realized when Clarence Clemons died that I always thought he was much cooler. Click here to read why.

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