The Growing Artist Part Four

My wife (on the left) has most recently taken the opportunity to teach my son (on the right) how to dance. She explains, "white boys simply don't know what to do with their arms and hands while they shimmy and shake!" So she spends the better part of five minutes teaching Parker how to not look like a tall stick while he dances (not that anyone will ever mistake him for being tall). Never the less, developing good dance skills is key to getting girls (oh I mean to becoming a complete artist).

Reaching Great Heights

Several weeks ago, we ran into a women's softball team while waiting in line at the Olive Garden. Naturally, my son was a hit amongst them. He made them dance and sing and act like fools for the better part of half an hour. At one point, a player gave him a piece of trash and he ran to the garbage can and slammed it home. THE CROWD WENT WILD (really, you would have thought Parker was Lebron James). At this moment I recognized my son's future NBA potential (and simultaneously it's limit as imposed by potential for growth). So, I hired a friend of mine (who also has some experience as a pediatrician), and have begun a rigorous 17 year physical therapy schedule. You see, the best money goes to the guys with the 40+ inch vertical leap, not the little white guy throwing in buckets from 40 feet out. The good doctor has guaranteed me that through a continuous series of exercises and procedures he will turn Parker into the best 6' 10" power forward in the history of sports.

More about Mr. Cooper

Mr. Cooper is a good friend to fathers (really any father who is lucky enough for Mr. Cooper to be the best friend of his son is truly lucky). Mr. Cooper and Mr. Parker are great friends and their relationship has evolved to the point were they address each other by name (Barber & Poopter), actually play with one another, and are openly giddy anytime you even mention their names to one another. This being the case, Cooper (Poopter) is probably the only reason why Parker (Barber) will live to see his 18th birthday. Cooper's (Poopter's) father, Blaine, has seen the future and it is real. One day (or probably on many occasions) Parker (Barber) will attempt to engage in some activity that will be dangerous or life threatening, and Cooper (Poopter) will talk sense into my son's hard headed head. Cooper (Poopter), you see is OCD (Overly Cautions Disorder), and every time Parker (Barber) tries to drink a whole gallon of milk in 20 minutes Cooper (Poopter) will be the one to explain that, "the milk will curdle in the stomach when exposed to acid, and the stomach will reject that quantity of spoiled, curdled milk if ingested in that short of period of time." If Parker (Barber) should ever decide to jump off a 30 foot bridge into a shallow creek, Cooper (Poopter) will be the one to say, "You do realize that you could break every bone in your legs if you hit the water wrong." Parker (Barber) will inevitably one day decide to jump of the roof of the house using a bed sheet as a parachute, and Cooper (Poopter) will be the one to say, " Ok, but when the sheet gets caught in the tree, and your neck gets caught in the sheet, and you get caught in the air with no way down, don't come crying to me." I love that boy (Poopter, that is).

Flipper Bowl Part Two

Never mind the craziness of the Flipper Bowl, the real toast of the day was the parade. But lurking underneath the hysterical surface of fun, the train posed a real danger, and the fear that it caused was tangible. Parker, and his buddy Cooper, however, really liked the train, and after the parade they decided to investigate it more thoroughly. They began their approach with the confidence afforded only by the ignorance of youth, but once within about 15 feet of the train, Cooper stopped. Parker closed the gap and put his hands on the trains front. Cooper tried to get his attention, attempting to convince him to reconsider their foolish exploration before it went sour, but Parker disregarded the warning. Parker scaled the train and jumped into the driver's seat as Cooper ran for cover. He could not bear the stress of the situation any longer. Parker honked the horn, laughed out loud and then moved to the wagon. He began to dance, laughing and grinning, completely unaware of any and all danger that surrounded him. In the distance, Cooper looked on cautiously, anxiously awaiting his friend's good sense to return to him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Parker saw Cooper looking on. He stopped and cast his gaze to Cooper. That was Coopers last chance, the final hope to save his friend from inevitable peril. Cooper wasted no time, as he fervently beckoned Parker to return with a waving gesture of his hands and a look of terror in his eyes. Parker just laughed, and began his dance again.

Flipper Bowl Part One

The Flipper Bowl is the most outrageous church activity ever conceived by man. On one Saturday in January over 160 people gather from across the state of Mississippi, to participate in a glorified paper football tournament. The games are surrounded by a sea of events. It starts with a 5K run, then comes the tailgating party, and the parade (see the soon to be posted Flipper Bowl Part Two). Then the festivities turn in door to the punt, pass, and kick competitions (and yes, these contest are all conducted with paper footballs). Then comes the light show (created by our Bishop), filled with lasers, disco balls, digital displays, fog and of course music. Finally the games begin. This year I competed well and made it into the sweet sixteen (remember there were 160 players) before losing to the person who eventually lost to the winner of the tournament (I know, not really that impressive). The final game is held at the center of a 30 person stadium, with an additional 100 plus people watching the game via television transmission. At half time the under 8 championship was played. Finally the tournament was over. But the night had just began, bring on the Flipper Ball. (The recalled events of this day are not the ranting and ravings of a delusion person, nor of a man bored with work to the point of daydreaming. They are real events that occur once a year at a real place, at a real time and have not be exaggerate for the purposes of story telling what so ever.)

The Growing Artist Part Three

My son always makes me laugh. The other night, he woke up thirsty and I went to check on him in his bed. He looked up at me and barely squeaked out the word "milk" before his head fell back to the mattress. Now I am no dummy, and had I left him there he would have woken up again in a matter of minutes. So, I lifted him up and carried him into the kitchen to retrieve his milk. He laid his head on my shoulder, put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes. As we neared the living room, where the TV is located, he looked up at me and with startling clarity and energy said, "Elmo" (his new personal hero). I told him that we weren't going to watch Elmo right now, and he promplty laid his head back down to go back to sleep. I have this theory that Parker is studing Elmo to develop a stand up act (yes, a comedian he is), thus adding one more tool to his repertoire as an artist. Right now he has two jokes. One, he sticks any object on his head (a book, truck, toy or a diaper) and calls it a hat. Two, he sticks a part of his body (usually his foot) in his mouth and goes, "yum, yum." Both jokes send the audience into fits of side splitting, bladder relieving laughter. After which he laughs at himself, points to his chest, and says, "Parker" (meaning of course, "thank you, and have a good night.")

Not the First Hair Cut

Parker has had many haircuts up to this point in his life. The first was the most traumatic (only for his mother, who felt like cutting his hair would mark the threshold between being a boy and becoming a man), but the process has evolved into a well oiled & efficient machine. Parker is stripped and buckled into his chair. In order to keep him from becoming upset with his restraints, he is given a sucker to keep him preoccupied. What follows is a chaotic mix of laughing, crying, cutting, sucking, getting sticky, and getting hairy that will inevitably end with Parker sucking on a hair covered sucker while looking like Sean Connery (covered in manly hair).

Taunting from the Tube

As do most fathers & sons, Parker & I enjoy doing a lot of things together. We read every night before bedtime. We play hide and go seek every morning before mom wakes up. We draw, swim, wrestle, watch Kermit the frog and the Swedish Chef, dislike most vegetables, prefer milk over water, put off going to bed as long as possible and heckle small children at the local park.

New Year's Resolutions

If you pay attention to the date and time stamp below, you will see that this photo was taken exactly 16 hours & 55 minutes into the new year. And this photo should really explain exactly where each of us stood on our new years resolutions. For starters, notice my absence. One of my many (999) resolutions was to get more sleep. I feel asleep the night before (new years eve for those of you are keeping track) at 9:30 pm (19 hours and 25 minutes later I am still asleep). Parker's only new years resolution was to live up to the expectations of any aspiring two year old and spend a considerable amount of time on the floor whining, kicking and screaming about the slavery that their parents oppress them under (he started this particular tirade about 5 minutes after I feel asleep - what can I say, he loves me). Stacey has about 10 spoken resolutions, and one unspoken (although I am sure that she will deny it) she makes every year; find new and inventive ways to disfigure her face for every photograph taken of her. She has more work to do but is really showing her commitment (remember I am asleep, so she even went to the trouble of setting the camera on the timer to practice).

Uncle Monte

My brother (who has five children of his own) has always been a competitive person. Being 10 years older than myself (or maybe it is 20, really I lose track), he naturally holds the edge in experience, wisdom and potential energy (the latter being the product of being much, much heavier than myself). He has won every competition, official and unofficial, that we have ever had (including an official, "who has the largest nose in the family" contest & an unofficial, "who looks better in a woman's bathing suit" pageant, which in all honesty I could not degrade myself to compete in). And now, he is even trying to steal the love of my own son. Now, I would never accuse him of cheating (although I do believe several public records have), but it may have had something to do with the week's worth of comps he promised Parker at the Peabody.

Remembering Ryan

In case you all had forgotten, The Parker Page is "The Journal of His Father." This meaning that it is really all about me (disclaimer: I am as delusional as I sound). As documented above, everybody loves me & everybody wants to be with me. Parker can't get enough. Wesley wanted to sit next to me all night. Even Graham fell asleep on my chest (probably because he was exhausted from screaming bloody murder for 30 minutes after his father left him in my care). So what, you might ask is the source of my misguided confidence. Do you really have to ask? Look at me. I am painfully beautiful (or maybe just beautifully vain?).

Present Overload

After the holidays wrapped up (pardon the pun) Parker found it a little bit hard to deal with the withdrawal. Often we found him diving into empty boxes, or out in the yard looking under trees. One night I found him wrapping up old toys, then unwrapping them while he exclaimed, "Wow, a new toy." Having undergone intense therapy and extreme behavior modification techniques, he is now finally back to normal (at least normal for someone with me for a parent). To be honest, I have never seen anything like it; not even from drug & caffeine addicts, not even from a dog begging for more food. I don't ever really want to deal with it again (so for all of you reading who have contributed to this behavior - LESS PRESENTS NEXT YEAR!!).

Sexy Cars & Fast talk

(Ok, this time, it is what it looks like) A handsome fellow impresses a crowd of adoring women with sexy cars and fast talk. He had them from the first word, really, but he brought out the cars anyway, just to show off (that's just how he is, always putting you in your place, reminding you that he is the man).

Walking the Grandpa

I know what this looks like. Grandpa takes out the child to walk the dog. But let's be realistic. Walking the dog is all about control. The human controls when the dog walks, when the dog stops, and when the dog goes (#1 & #2). That is why they make leashes and fences. So if walking the dog is about exercising human control, than the same could be said about the Grandfather and the child. You might suspect that the Grandfather is in control, but you would be wrong (you wouldn't even bare any resemblance to being right). The child, first of all, is getting a free ride. He controls where they go, when they stop, how fast they go, and what they look at. He even controls what they talk about. In this case, the child is doing double duty, because he no doubt is responsible for the walking of both the Grandpa and the dog, but has simply delegated the dog to the grandpa (what a slave driver). Just in case you are still skeptical, try imaging it this way. The politician sits within his luxury limousine as his driver & vehicle musters the horsepower to take him to his chosen destination. Everything else is just a detail in the exercise of control.

The Growing Artist - Part Two

Parker's Grandfather has always claimed to play only one instrument, the radio. I am proud to announce that Parker has that one figured out. "Muss, Muss, Muss" (of course meaning, why haven't you turned on the music yet) and "More" (which he says just that clear, meaning turn it up now). I've already given him the warning that my parents gave to me, "you are going to go deaf if you listen to it that loud" (too which I proudly responded, "what was that?"), but he seems to disregard my warnings. Listening to music is certainly not his only interest in that aspect of human art. He is quite adept at many instruments already, and as demonstrated above quite enjoys the piano. He plays each instrument with great fervor, experimenting with the sounds they each make. Often what he plays barely resembles music, (but I guess that is what makes him an artist; his Blatant disregard for structure and an insatiable desire to produce despite any lack of outward interest. I wonder if he is ahead of his time?) but we support his efforts just the same. Who knows, maybe one day he will make it big and can buy me that baby grand I have always wanted.

Smelling the Roses

My son is often described as a busy boy (most often this is an understatement of epic proportions), but let it not be said that he can not take time to enjoy the simple things in life; the smell of beautiful flowers or the sweet taste of French fries. There are some things that make him slow down, even appear to stop for a moment; Kermit the frog, large trucks, wind chimes and African American women (my he loves that ashanti). I suppose that if I added up the amount of time each day in which he stayed still (of course including the 13 hours a day he sleeps - by the way, isn't it ridiculous that children get to sleep so much, I mean really, shouldn't everyone get to sleep this much?!) it would still out weigh the time in which he is tormenting his mother relentlessly. All of this is to say, that Parker is really more like a spring (or a snake), one moment he coils still with potential energy and the next, he is moving with the energy that only a little, and busy boy can have.

My Sweet Angel

The question is, "Which one is the Angel?" Truth be told, this is the first time I had them both calm and in the same room together since we switched to formula. Life has a tendency to be fast paced, filled with events and deadlines. So a moment like this one was just too special not to document and display (despite the threats of my angel to not photograph the angelic moment and display it in all of its heavenly glory.) The other side to the truth is this, "If life was peaceful it would be dull." I wouldn't ask for an ounce less of energy from either of my angels anytime or place (except of course at night while I try to sleep, my mattress, now that's my angel.)

A Symbiotic Relationship

In symbiotic relationships, two or more parties coexist in a state that mutually benefits both parties. In such relationships, both parties often depend on the other for elements necessary for their survival that they cannot provide for themselves. This dependence, while limiting, is also a great exponential force allowing the whole to become greater than the sum of its parts. Often such relationship are complex, comprising many organisms and subjects that provide for one another in a chain of transactions that ultimately bring great satisfaction to all parties involved. (milk, frosted mini wheat, spoon, bowl, father, son - and the chain goes on and on.)

A Father's Pipe Dream

If only I could throwback my life one year. My son was a little bit smaller, a little more willing to be held, and a little bit less independent (now he wakes up each morning a bitter young man, angry at the world that he still sleeps in a crib and is not free to move about according to his own stubborn will). If I could some how stop the slow creep of time now, so that he would always and forever call me, "DaaDaa", and make that sweet "maaa" sound as he grabs my head and turns it so he can kiss my lips (he does this often in response to me kissing his mother). If I could keep him from learning to run faster than he does now, or keep him from learning to open doors that will certainly one day lead him away from me, I would almost be tempted beyond my ability to resist. But I have learned already, in the short time of being a father, and mostly in the last year, that I simply do not have the power to hold him back, and neither would I want to. As time passes he only grows more independent and needs me less, but even more, as time passes I love him more.

Halloween Professional

This is the Halloween Professional (master of the art of begging, casinova of the candy). With the percision of a surgenon, he made his way through the night asking for candy, "Caa Caa" (perhaps a crude word, but when spoken by a little bumble bee, too cute to resist). With a mixture of hopefullness and cunning he perfected this trade in two outings. With sheer amazement I witnessed the first attempt, and then the second. By the third he understood perfectly. He understood that upon the use of the words "Caa Caa", candy magiaclly fell into his spider-man head basket, soon followed by the kind of ooing and ahing that only fuled his ego. He understood that the quicker he ran from house to house, the quicker that head filled up. He understood that all of the "Caa Caa" was his for the taking. He understood that no one could resist him, and that he could simply not resist the "Caa Caa."