From the mouths of babes

Well, she is supposed to be my baby… but at 10 years old she doesn’t like to be called that any longer.  I accept that I have to come to terms with that.  But worse than that (for me), she acts and speaks a whole lot more mature than even her 10 years!  What do you think?  Let me give you some examples:

Exhibit 1 – After taking her to a Newark Bears Game (her 1st baseball game), that the Bears lost (by a lot).

Me:  I hope you still had fun even though the Bears lost.

Her:  I had a GREAT time.  I got to spend time with family and friends, and that is always fun.  The final score doesn’t matter.

Exhibit 2 – After I try and select a movie to watch for Daddy-Daughter Night

Me:  What do you think of this one?

Her:  This is PG-13… are you sure it is age appropriate for me?

Exhibit 3 – After her aunt asked her if she still was watched Hannah Montana

Her:  The show isn’t entertaining any more, and her music isn’t as good as it used to be, so I’ve moved on to other things.

Aunt:  So what do you like now?

Her:  Bad Romance  by Lady Gaga (this one just about killed me on multiple levels)

Exhibit 4 – After seeing a commercial for Zhu-Zhu Pets

Me:  Have you ever seen them before?

Her: (Unenthusiastically) Yeah, I’ve seen ‘em

Me:  Not interested, huh?

Her:  Nah, maybe when I was younger, but now I don’t think I would play with them enough to justify the expense.

So, like it or not she is growing up… far faster than I would like… but fortunately not as quickly as her maturity level would suggest.  Is it just her?  Is it just me being in denial?  Do your kids act far more mature than you would expect for their age?

The Bears, the Pitch and the Foul Ball

I am… in general, a sports fan.  Except possibly for hockey, I am not a sports “fanatic” (much to my wife’s appreciation, and probably to the chagrin of many major sports and their advertisers).  No place has my hot and cold fickleness been more apparent than it has been with baseball.  Baseball has broken my heart (not in the “my team lost” kind of way), disgusted me, annoyed me and turned me off to their product more times than I care to count over the years.

Now, in fairness, I guess some of it does have to do with “my” team.  A fan of the New York Mets (on again and off again), I have watched an organization assemble a team  that has had the character of a hot steaming pile of garbage (more than once).  Bobby Bonilla, Vince Coleman, Bret Saberhagen to name just a few from “The Worst Team Money Could Buy” club. Sure, there are players like that in every sport, those types quickly fade away and are out of the game, not given additional lucrative contracts.

But it goes beyond just “my” team. Barry Bonds, Jose Canseco, Mark Maguire and others that ran up home run totals as MLB looked the other way, allowing the long ball to try and bring fans back after the 94-95 baseball strike. Oh, and yeah… baseball work stoppages. Does any “union” have less of a reason for its members to go on strike than Major League Baseball Players? (And yes, I blame the owners as well, this is not just the players, but the teams themselves willing to shell out millions of dollars while pricing fans right out of the game in favor of corporate sponsorship and high priced suites, etc).

So, I have been in my “off again” part of my relationship with baseball, for what has been probably the longest stretch of time, somewhere around 7 years. As part of a writeup I was (well I am still am technically) looking to do on New Jersey sports, I went to see and photograph a Newark Bears game.  Never did I imagine that one evening in a ballpark would remind me about every single factor about what I used to love about the game on so many different levels.

The evening was a perfect storm of things that roped me back in.  The last time I was at a baseball game, which happen to be a Shea Stadium, some of the best players on the field that day included Edgardo Alfonso and Armando Benitez and much to my surprise, those two players were there… sporting Newark Bears uniforms, in fact the Bears have no less than 5 former major league players on their roster, adding for Angel and Cardinal Scott Spiezio, former journeyman pitcher Willie Banks and Daryl Ward who was most recently played with the Chicago Cubs.  The remainder of the team is made up of players that never quite got their shot, or perhaps haven’t gotten their shot yet for one reason or the other in the “big leagues.”

Now without trying to make people out to be more altruistic than they really are, I am sure that their is certainly some money factor involved.  Every one of these guys would, if the opportunity presented itself, to jump (or jump back) to the MLB level and the payday that could involve, but their is still something different about players at this level of baseball.  When all is said and done, these players are playing with pride, with determination, with heart that far exceeds whatever nominal salary they are making at this level of play.  They have to play that way if they want to get noticed.  It is palpable, you can “feel” the difference in effort, and while it is true that the level of play may not be quite as high as the majors, the hustle and effort factor, for me more than makes up for it.

I watched not only the game on the field, but the few fans that made it out for a game on a weeknight while school is still in.  It was a very sparse crowd watching the game, and so far the Bears are sitting in last place, but that did not affect any of the young kids (or even the adults) in attendance.  They cheered their team, they begged players for autographs, took photographs with the mascot, and chased down foul balls into the stands. You couldn’t tell by the enthusiasm and excitement in their eyes that this was a “lesser” game than one in an MLB ballpark.  Seeing the kids enjoying this game, brought back some really great memories of going to baseball games with my dad when I was a kid.  We went to games both at Yankee Stadium as well as Shea, but there was no difference between those games for me, than when we went to Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey City to see the Oakland A’s Double A team play.  It was very cool to watch these kids with that excitement.

I even got a little bit of excitement of my own.  Like any kid that has ever attended a game, I always wished for that opportunity to catch a ball hit into the stands, but it never happened, and as I sat there, I watched one young boy that dutifully attempted to dash from his seat and try and run down any ball hit on his side of the stadium (did I mention the crowd was sparse this day?).  But other, older and faster kids always beat him to the ball.  They were roaming free around the stadium, while he sat next to his dad right behind the visiting team dugout (it was a very sparse crowd), meaning he really had no shot, but he got his hopes up each time, only to have them dashed, and walk dejected back to his seat.  I knew that look… and that feeling, all too well.  I remembered being that kid.

As we went to the home 6th inning, I was once again on the visitors side of the field so I could get some pictures of the lefty hitters due up at the plate.  The first player up was Scott Spiezio.  After getting several pictures with my camera, I quickly switched over to my phone so I could share a picture via TwitPic as well.  As I snapped that shot, he fouled off the pitch, and it was headed straight for me.  With my camera in my right hand, I stood, and reached out with my left.  At 44 years old, I caught my first foul ball at a game.  Almost directly below me, I saw the young boy (who was now being aided by his father in his quest to get a baseball hit into the stands) looking up.  He was, he felt thwarted again and began to make his way back to his seat.  I beckoned to his father, pausing to speak to him first and to get his approval (sadly in this day and age, such steps I feel must be taken), and gave the ball to the boy who was a mixture of elated… and stunned.  I posted about it on twitter, and received some nice comments from people about how nice I was to do such a thing.  But, for me, I think anybody with kids, in the same circumstances would do the same.  Besides, I think I got more out of it, than if I had actually taken the baseball home.  I got the memory of catching that ball.  I got the memory of how thrilled that kid was to get that ball, his smile as he grabbed and stared at that baseball will stay with me longer than a dusty baseball on a shelf.  To top off the evening, the last place Bears went on to win 4-2.

So, I got to see some players I used to love to watch in “the pros,”  a night a great baseball, the first baseball I caught in a game, some great memories, and my love of baseball back.  Quite the bargain for a $10 seat, don’ t you think?

Mother’s Day, One Adoptee’s View

First of all, Happy Mother’s Day to all the Moms out there.  New Moms, Old Moms, Grand Moms as well as the soon to be Moms.  But, for a bit of a change-up here, I want to throw out a special Thank You to two other Moms that often get left out, or worse get somehow “downgraded” by uncaring, unfeeling or just folks that aren’t thinking too clearly.  Those are the Moms that knew enough that they were unable to take care of a child that they had brought into the world and made the very difficult and unselfish decision to give that child up for adoption, and also for those Moms that, whether they couldn’t or simply chose to go the adoption route, gave homes to those children.

I have to admit, it took a lot of soul searching on my part, as well as finally getting to know some people on the other side of the equation to really appreciate the plight of the mother that has given up a child for adoption.  I was going to say “every adopted child” but I really can’t speak for others, so I will say “I” with the understanding that I don’t think that I am really all that different from other adopted children… anyway, I went through a time of wondering “why.”  Why didn’t my mother want me?  What was wrong with me?  And similar questions.  Combine that with many in the general public that seem to think that the only children that are given up for adoption are from people that are shirking their responsibilities as parents, or are “lazy” or “don’t care” or other more hateful things, and it is not difficult to draw a picture in your mind is rather unpleasant.  (Perhaps it is a way of coping… it is easier to think bad things about somebody else, than to question if it is you that is the problem.)

Are situations like that sometimes true… of course. But in all actuality, that is not always the case.  Circumstances are what they are.  Things happen in life. And a woman gets pregnant with a child.  One that she knows damn well she is not in a position to raise properly, and rather than “dragging up” a child though a bad situation, she makes the rather unselfish decision to allow that child to be put up for adoption.  That certainly can’t be an easy decision to make.  And from the few women I know that have done this, it can be (and usually is) quite anguishing… not just at the time of the decision but for years to come (if not forever).  So rather than pick on or chastise or ridicule somebody in that situation, I think it is better to say “Thank You.”  Thank you for being wise enough to know that you would not be able to handle the situation.  Thank You for being unselfish enough to try and make something work that you know would not.

Now follow the strange path that is my brain to the other side of the equation.  The adopting mother.  There are few things in life that annoy me more (which is sort of counter-intuitive to what I just wrote), than to have somebody ask me (and I can’t tell you how many times I have been asked, I lost count long ago) if I am going to try and find my “real” mom.  To this my answer is always the same, “I know where my real mom is, she still lives in the same house that I grew up in.”  Though my mother skirts the issue when asked about it, I know there were people in the family that scoffed that mother was not able to “give my father children.”  There were riffs in the family that lasted many years.  My mother actually went on to forgive one uncle (though I never did).  I find this sort of sentiment unacceptable.  What is not “real” about an adoptive mother?  She is the woman that sacrificed for me, got up to feed me, dealt with illnesses, and driving me to Little League games, always made sure I had a healthy and nutritious meal.  She loved me when I was good.  She loved me when I was a complete and total screw up.  If you think a maternal bond can only come with an umbilical cord, you are sadly mistaken.  I have seen plenty of mothers that had less instincts and love towards children that they gave birth to, than my mother showed to me.

I no longer harbor any resentment or questions (other than health related ones, an issue any adopted child has to deal with) for the woman that gave birth to me.  I wish her well, and an appreciative Thank You.  I don’t know how my life would have turned out if she had not put me up for adoption, nor do I really care.  I know I wound up having a simply wonderful mother, one that loves me, and I love very much.  And in the end, that is all that really matters.  Happy Mothers Day.

Will Miss You Hannah… Beat it Miley

I’m sure some will see me as harsh, and even suggest things like “look at it from her perspective” or “she is just a kid” but in all honesty, right now I don’t care.  Destiny Hope… excuse me… Miley Ray, I think forgot who put her where she is today, and gave her what she has.  The young teen and tween fans (well really… us, the parents of those fans), the one’s she is now discarding because she “knows who she is” according to her latest write up in Parade Magazine.

’ My job first is to entertain and do what I love, and if you don’t like it, then change the channel. I’m not forcing you to watch me. I’m not forcing you to talk about me. I would do that pole dance a thousand times again, because it was right for the song and that performance. But, dude, if you think dancing on top of an ice-cream cart with a pole is bad, then go check what 90% of the high schoolers are really up to. It’s funny. I don’t know if a lot of parents remember what they were like as kids. But I’m like, ‘Dude, as if you were an angel!’”

She sighs. “I’ve learned I can’t live for what people are going to say. People are so judgmental—especially parents.

That is right Miley, we are judgemental. We are the ones that decide what concerts our children go to see, and what music they buy, and we decide what they watch because we are concerned parents.  And, if you don’t like that… then fine, I am taking my child AND my wallet and going home.

Yes, it is true that you are just a kid (despite what you probably think right now, being a rich, snot nosed teen), and of course you are going to make mistakes.  But, treat the people that spent the Billions of Dollars on you… and make no mistake about this… because Disney packaged you and sold you perfectly, those people are not going to be there after you keep up the “I don’t care about you attitude.”

Now, some of my anger is probably not Miley’s fault really.  I remember sitting with my little girl, excited that a new episode of Hannah Montana was coming on.  The songs didn’t make my ears melt (like Jonas does now), the acting wasn’t awful (unlike That’s so Raven) and I actually liked and felt I understood Billy Ray’s caring and worrying about his little girl.  I was on some level able to connect with the show almost as much as my daughter.  And having those times together is something I will always cherish.

But time does move on.  My daughter outgrew the show… I guess.  Either that or she (like I) realized that the show now stunk and was no longer entertaining.  Of course, I had  placed most of the blame on the writer’s strike thinking it took the show out of its rhythm.  Little did I know, it was thanks to the fact that you had turned into a prima donna that “hated” being a popular actress in a hit television show, because you didn’t like the outfits you had to wear.  It is called acting.  Not all your roles (assuming you get any more), are not going to “allow you to be who you are.”  I had a point.. oh yeah… time moves on, and it was time for the show to say good-bye.  And I will fondly remember the 1st two seasons, and the time I spent with my daughter watching Hannah Montana.  For that I say Thank You, and Hannah… you will be missed.

But Miley, you are now the pompous ass people have been saying you are turning into.  Something I refused to believe originally, when people were comparing some of your indiscretions into the same sort of self-implosion that  marred Britney Spears.  I fought and defended you, certain that your parents would be able to help you navigate your way through and avoid the big headed pompous attitude that ruins so many people that get fame too fast and too early.  But apparently, you know better since your parents “aren’t stoked” about your choices, but you don’t care.

I hope, for your sake I am wrong, but if you are paying attention, you are already starting to fade.  Disney is going to get whatever last bit of juice they can squeeze out of you with this stint as a “mentor” on American Idol.  I know you “don’t care” what people think, but you just might want to take a peek at the Entertainment magazines and just find out how much of a joke the general public and entertainment experts think of this idea.  But Disney might get a quick boost of viewers for Idol like they did with Dancing with the Stars when they milked your fandom multiple times with you, your dad and Cody Linly.

In one of those conversation you have with you dad, you just might want to ask him how fleeting stardom is.  Without Disney, you would just be the best singer at the Tennesee State Fair, and if you don’t mind you business and fans a bit better, that is where you might be again.  Good Riddance Miley… not that you care.

Coming Soon

Hey… I have a blog.  Yeah, I didn’t forget it… but it certainly does look like I did.  However, a new look, new content, and hopefully a new attitude, will be coming this way… uh… soon.  I’ve got a lot of plans for it… just have to get to those darn details.

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