I recently read Thank You Ma’am, a short story by one of my favorite writers, Langston Hughes, with my students and saw it with fresh eyes. If you are unfamiliar with the story, I highly recommend it. It is a short read. Read it. Or listen to it.

For time’s sake, let me boil it down this way: Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones was walking on a dark street one night headed home. A young boy, Roger, attempts to rob her. However, the “large woman with a large purse” proved to be more of match for Roger than he expected. He falls trying to snatch the purse, and Mrs. Jones proceeds to put him in a half-nelson and drags him back to her house. She forces the boy to wash his dirty face and comb his hair. She does not turn him into the police.

Turns out that young Roger merely wanted $10 to buy himself a pair of blue suede shoes. Mrs. Jones shares that she was once in his figurative shoes and that she too has done things of which she is not proud. After sharing this sentimental life lesson with Roger, she gives him the money he tried to steal, warns him not to steal from her or anyone else, and sends him on his way.

As the door closes behind him, all Roger can muster is “Thank You, Ma’am.”

What we discussed in class was the idea of the deeper meanings and symbolism within the story. How Mrs. Jones’ large purse may have represented the baggage of her experience – which proved to be more than Roger could handle. How the washing of Roger’s face was an opportunity for the young man to have a clean start – to symbolically erase the sins of his past before they became ingrained in his character. How the large woman was being the “bigger” character by thinking of Roger’s needs instead of simply getting revenge.

It made me think about our roles as parents. I believe that there is a distinction between punishment and discipline. Kids need discipline but not necessarily punishment. It teaches them right from wrong. It allows them to grow from their mistakes. It fosters the development of their character.

Mrs. Jones could have very easily given Roger a punishment. Instead, she saw a bit of herself in his actions. And while she could not go back and redirect her past actions, she could serve as a sign, a warning, if he continued down the path he was on – a proverbial shortcut to instant gratification in the form of a pair of shoes.

Sometimes, I read too much into things (occupational hazard of teaching English), but I like to think that Hughes intentionally gave Mrs. Jones a bag that was too heavy for Roger to carry. We can’t expect our kids to grow up too soon – to shoulder burdens they aren’t meant to experience yet. It’s a delicate balance at times.

I also like to believe that while Roger learned from Mrs. Jones, she also learned from her experience with Roger. As a parent, I find my kids teach me a lot about myself – good and bad. And the funny thing is that if we, as parents, preach to our kids that they have the opportunity to grow, mature, change, and adapt then we need to recognize that ability within ourselves as well.

I’ve probably read this story over 100 times over the course of my career. Each reading offers a different insight. Though I probably should have, I’ve never looked at it with the lens of a parent. I guess what I would like to say is “Thanks, Langston, for the lesson.”

A version of this first appeared on My Captain’s Log. Photo: © chones / Adobe Stock.

Some of the most spiritual moments I have ever had came on a baseball field. This one came just walking past one.

I walked past an empty field yesterday and it was like an old friend was waving. Inviting me to visit. Welcoming me with a warm hug.

I stopped and took it all in.

The sun hit the fence and the dirt just right and it was like a portal back to my childhood. For a few moments the stress of adulthood withered and the hope and promise of youth coursed through my veins as I breathed in the familiar concoction of grass and dirt and the approaching fall’s breeze.

All seemed right with the world.

Right next to the baseball field, my daughter turned somersaults. The soft sun catching the tendrils of her hair as she personified the carelessness of youth I was remembering.

It was funny how that sight was like an elixir that no doctor could prescribe. It was just a field. One I had never even played on, yet it seemed familiar.

The memories flooded back. The way my cleats would nestle into the granules of dirt as I watched the plant leg of the pitcher – contemplating a swift steal of second. The cool feel of the grass when you dove for a ball that was just out of reach. The way a piece of your soul flew with the ball when you hit it just right.

And there I stood like Moonlight Graham in Field of Dreams, on the wrong side of the gravel with a goofy grin on my face knowing I can never touch my dream again. So why was I smiling? Because I was watching my daughter touch her dreams.

I swear that’s what that baseball field was directing me to see. This is her time. These are her moments to bottle up and remember.

Perhaps Dr. Graham said it best: “We just don’t recognize life’s most significant moments while they’re happening.”

Seeing the field isn’t the same as just looking at it. And thanks to seeing this field, my eyes are open now to these small moments that are significant ones.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck.

I was alone at my museum.

Not exactly alone, but my family wasn’t physically with me at the moment. In fact, the Children’s Museum of Indianapolis was packed, as it should be, because it is an amazing place to take kids.

I had an opportunity to go see the dinosaurs by myself if I wanted. Or the Star Trek exhibit. Or whatever I wanted to do.

Instead, I found myself wandering. I stumbled into the Pop Culture exhibit and got lost in the comic books. That’s when I heard it.

“Daddy!”

I turned my head. It wasn’t my kid, but a flood of memories swept before my eyes.

I decided to walk the ramp to see the top of the Chihuly “Fireworks of Glass Tower and Ceiling” which has always grabbed my eye since the first day I visited. This is where I saw the memories of my family come to life.

There was a dad running a stroller up the ramp (no small feat) making car noises just like I used to do. I saw another dad carrying a kid who was nodding off to sleep. I saw a small family coordinating (negotiating) where to go next.

To be honest, I’m not sure if the process made me happy or sad. I actually sat down and just soaked it all in. Strollers, diaper bags, and naps are no longer a part of my repertoire.

And while being in a different stage offers its own challenges, it also offers some new and very cool discoveries.

Just like the museum, parenthood seems to be full of many levels. There are fun discoveries on each level. Challenges too.

Right before I left, a younger dad asked me to take a picture of his family. Probably their first time together at the museum. The kid in the stroller was crying when I took the photo. Even that made me smile because I had been there too. Neither parent seemed fazed or worried.

As I handed the camera back to him, I thanked him for letting me take it. It actually did make my day.

I feel pretty blessed to have a museum that grows with families. A playground for people to learn and develop all the skills. And an amazing ramp on which you can run a stroller.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck. Child at staircase photo by Mikito Tateisi on Unsplash.

Some 20-odd years ago, I first read the play Fences by August Wilson.

I was a high schooler – a senior, I think. One of four black students in a graduating class of about 100 at an all-boys prep school. There were many reasons why I was different. There were many reasons why I felt I didn’t belong. There were many reasons why I didn’t want to be there.

Yet, there I was.

I don’t remember all of those days vividly, but certain ones stand out – one is the day I noticed a copy of that play sitting on a stack of textbooks for the school year. It had the ghost-like outline of James Earl Jones in a batter’s stance (later I would come to realize this was Troy Maxson, the central figure of the saga).

And so I read it. I was entranced.

I remember being drawn in not so much by the plot of Fences but by the characters.

I remember reading the story and sympathizing with the teenage children, Cory and Lyons, as their dreams conflicted with their father’s will and ambitions for them and his rather simplistic view of life. I remember seeing their father, Troy, as a flawed yet likable character who, even though you disagreed with his actions and many of his words, you still rooted for him. You recognized that his life was a potent cocktail of misfortune, oppression, bad decisions and tortured memories. He was a tormented and scorned Willy Loman, whose dream was deferred and he just couldn’t let that vision of what he could have been go. Instead of being a salesman like Loman, Troy was a former baseball star from the Negro Leagues, barred from playing in the Major Leagues because of his skin color. In his later life, he finds himself as a sanitation worker fighting to become the first black driver of one of the garbage trucks.

My father by no means carries the negative characteristics of Troy Maxson. However, knowing that my father worked the grounds of the school I attended when he was a  kid with a dream that he would one day send his son there – I understood and appreciated not only the plight of Troy to provide for his family but also the pressure that Cory felt because of it.

All these years later, now a father myself, I understand Troy’s desire to provide for his family and to demand a basic level of respect from the world around him. A desire to make sure people do “right by him” and, consequently, his family as well. I still don’t agree with all of his actions or decisions, but I understand him more.

Throughout the story, Troy makes multiple baseball analogies. One of his favorites is that you have to “take the crookeds with the straights.” Life doesn’t always throw you fastballs down the heart of the plate; you also have to learn to deal with the curves.

Recently I watched the movie version of Fences with Denzel Washington bringing Troy to life on the big screen. It is an amazing performance, equaled by Viola Davis’ portrayal of Troy’s wife, Rose. The strength, vulnerability, and hope displayed on the screen is exactly what I think August Wilson intended when he penned the play. Every character contains layers that seem to peel away with each scene until the core of the story reveals itself at the end.

I’m not gonna tell you what happens, but I am going to encourage you to see it if you like complex characters and good writing. Wilson’s writing is top-notch and worthy of every award Fences received a nomination for and won, as a play and as a film. Wilson paints a world that is full of laughter, tears, love, regret, sorrow, happiness, and hope. But through it all, like Troy says, “you have to take the crookeds with the straights.”

This story is personal, though. Fences is what propelled me into writing, into drama, into studying the Negro Leagues and eventually into teaching. Teaching led to coaching and directing. So, I guess I have Troy, Cory, Rose, and August to thank for helping me find my passions in life.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck.

If you’ve ever been to a pumpkin patch, you are familiar with a vast overwhelming pasture of promise. You approach the patch with the belief that the perfect pumpkin is there. You have to put in the work, but it’s there.

Yet, your search uncovers pumpkins that are overripe or not quite ripe.

Then you find the pumpkin with the perfect shape, size, color and you lift it victoriously – only to find that it is rotten on the other side. Or marred by the imprint of a foot or collision with the ground.

The paths in the pumpkin patch are aplenty. You can follow the well worn or drift into the unbeaten paths. Often you have to travel both in your quest to find the pumpkin suitable for you.

It takes a lot of walking, lifting, looking, evaluating and repeating.

Eventually, you find the proper pumpkins to purchase.

That’s kind of like parenthood. It isn’t easy. There are many paths you can take. And just like those paths are sometimes riddled with rotten pumpkins and promising possibilities, parenthood is filled with tips and advice. Some suggestions are gold. Some don’t fit your needs. Some are rotten. But only you can decide what fits and what doesn’t.

And just like you may second guess your choice in pumpkins, you may second guess choices you make in parenthood.

Despite the stress and doubt – you can’t lose sight of the fact that you are in a pumpkin patch and all the inherent beauty, joy, and excitement that comes with it.

Yes, parenthood is a pumpkin patch. You don’t know what you’re going to get. But don’t shortchange the journey with the aspirations of the destination.

After all, it could be worse. You could be lost in a corn maze.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck. Photo by James Wheeler on Unsplash.

Fatherhood causes one to be reflective about a great many things. There is the grand mystery of life itself, the mystery of those weird silica packets that come in brand new shoes. (Really, why are they there and why do they tell you not to eat them? How many people eat things that come in shoes? Really.).

And there is the mystery of one’s own childhood. A lot of people like to blame their parents for things. Today, I would like to do something different.  I need to atone for some things.  So …

Mom, I am sorry.

I am sorry for the pain I caused you through the sheer joy of mischief that I enjoyed. Like the time I tried to frame you and dad for child abuse in the Sears department store because you wouldn’t buy me a toy.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For the time I stole your yarn and pretended to be Spider-Man. I knotted said three balls of yarn to every possible piece of furniture in the living room and turned off the lights before you and dad came home that one night, and you guys both fell into my web and some stuff broke. I laughed quietly in the dark but later regretted it when you guys found my hiding place.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For knocking over spilling (it is a very delicate skill to control an “accidental” spill) my Kool Aid on the nasty delicious vegetables you spent a long time cooking and that I refused to eat. But, boy, our family dog sure did live a long time – I take credit for that.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For the holes in the wall, the broken window, and the time I caught the kitchen drapes on fire because I buttered the toast before I put it in the toaster – and then the subsequent damage I caused by playing fire marshal.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For falling asleep (and snoring) during the first act of Les Miserables when you spent a lot of money on lower level section tickets just to culture me. (I’m sorry, but that one girl still sounds like Cyndi Lauper to me in “Bring Him Home” – I know that isn’t a cultured critique).

I’m sorry, Mom.

For sitting in the front pew with you at church and covering my ears (so everyone could see that I was) when the senior choir stood up to sing … and then falling asleep (and snoring) during the sermon.

I’m sorry, Mom.

For the time I snuck off to the corner store to play video games for two hours and you didn’t know where I was. I spent over $6 in quarters playing Double Dragon and I was mad at you when you pulled me out of the store because I almost beat the game and still had three credits left in the machine. And I pouted all the way home.

I’m sorry, Mom.

The time I argued with you that wrestling was real and I got mad at you for correcting all the typos in my WWF magazine.

I’m sorry, Mom.

I hope that by apologizing it will buy me some good parenting karma. Ha! Mom, I know you are reading, thanks for being patient with me as a kid.  I love you and I am sorry.

But I did have a lot of fun. LOL.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck. Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

Although my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and girls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account, for part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what they once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked, and what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.

— Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

For years I had the pleasure of teaching The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. I loved following Tom and his adventures and witnessing his foray into young adulthood. The simplicity that allowed Tom to enjoy the important things in life is something that we deem childish, yet there is something genuine about his propensity to skip school and go fishing, read adventure books, and play Robin Hood.

Something genuine that his Aunt Polly seems to miss out on and doesn’t appreciate until she attends his funeral (spoiler alert – Tom isn’t actually dead).

As a dad, I would find myself reading and rereading that simple preface. I read it as an advisory from Twain himself – a cautionary warning shot to adults. A reminder that in all of our wisdom and maturity, it is important to remember the times that we were anything but adult.

Why does this matter?

Sometimes, as adults, we need a reminder of what we once were. With the distractions of bills, work and other responsibilities, it’s easy to forget the dreams and fun we used to have and how it led to who we are now. As parents, we will witness our own kids passing time playing goofy games, struggling with friends, falling in love for the first time, getting their hearts broken, having society spoil their innocence. As parents we need to remember how enjoyable, trying, intoxicating, heartbreaking and scary all of these experiences are.

Simply put – remembering being a kid makes us better adults.

I swear that’s why we have pictures. They serve as reminders. Sometimes I look at these old images and I see the face of my childhood. All those hopes, dreams, and fears come racing back. Those memories allow me to appreciate the range of emotions that my kids face every day.

Twain ends his novel with an acknowledgement of the line that separates childhood from adulthood – a line that perhaps can get blurry at times. He writes:

SO endeth this chronicle. It being strictly a history of a BOY, it must stop here; the story could not go much further without becoming the history of a MAN. When one writes a novel about grown people, he knows exactly where to stop—that is, with a marriage; but when he writes of juveniles, he must stop where he best can.

So while the story may end, the lessons do not. Parenthood sometimes means listening not only to the needs and desires of your own children, but remembering the needs and desires that you had as a kid. Your inner child often can serve as a mediator between you and your own children. Don’t ignore those lessons or memories.

It’s important to remember what we once were.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck. Remembering photo courtesy Creed Anthony.

DISCLOSURE: This post is sponsored by Clorox®.

Imagination knows no bounds. You give a kid a box, and the possibilities are endless. You give a child a toy, and you’ve just put their imagination in high definition (HD).

During the summer, that HD imagination usually involves some outdoor terrain. Tree branches become forests. Mud becomes molten lava. And dirt becomes, well, it’s usually just dirt, but dirt by itself is fun for most children.

And there is your summer dilemma: Who are you, as a parent, to say “no” to the inclusion of natural elements in your child’s story? I know my parents didn’t, and I’m thankful.

As a younger sibling, I traveled to many of my older sister’s softball games when I was little. You know what kept me occupied during those long hours? Just a few toys, a pile of dirt and my imagination. I would find the biggest mounds to climb and suddenly the stories in my head would race into reality. I buried action figures, poured water to make swimming pools, then poured pop to make lakes of acid rain, and even built fortresses out of mud. My playtime was filthy.

As a parent, I encourage my kids to do the same kind of imaginative play to keep boredom away. In fact, it’s been rumored I occasionally get in on the mess myself. I mean, someone has to show them an adventure with dinosaurs cannot be the same without the mud lava. And how can they know just how heroic their heroes are if they don’t allow them to be buried alive in the sand? After all, did a story really happen or a child really play if his or her toys aren’t inundated with all the dirt, grime and – well, icky-ness — of the outdoors?

I think not.

Imagination is not real but germs are

Imagination, combined with the great outdoors, is a dirty sport, and our children’s toys often bear the brunt of that creativity. Playthings require a cleaning afterward because germs, like villains, should never get away clean – they should just get away when you clean. And for our disinfecting and cleaning, we use Clorox® Regular-Bleach₂ with CLOROMAX®.

Want to see how it’s done? Check out this video about how Clorox can keep those hard, nonporous toys clean, germ-free and ready for repeat performances:

To review, it’s as easy as this to clean and disinfect toys:

Start by wiping excessive gunk off the item with a wet sponge. Then, pour 1/2 cup of Clorox^® Regular Bleach₂ with CLOROMAX^® into one gallon of water. Once you have your bleach solution, thoroughly wet the toy’s surface with solution or let it soak in the solution. Then, allow the item to stay in contact with the solution for five minutes. After the soak, rinse with clean water and let air dry. Then let the imaginative play begin … again!

Other great outdoor cleaning, disinfecting tips

And don’t forget outdoor play equipment, like plastic jungle gyms and slides, too! To remove heavy stains and soiling, like bird poop, from these items, try Clorox^® Clean-Up^® Cleaner + Bleach: Just hold the bottle about four to six inches from the mess, spray until thoroughly wet, let stand for 30 seconds and rinse or wipe clean. Poof – clean and disinfected!

Even a child’s wading pool (or is this your kid’s roaring ocean?) could use a dose of Clorox clean – just add 5 teaspoons of Clorox® Regular-Bleach₂ with CLOROMAX® per 100 gallons of water to help sanitize before the splashing starts. Remember, empty the pools daily and then refill and repeat your chlorination.

While some of this might seem only to be appeasing our parental paranoia about germs, the bigger part of the equation is this: clean toys and play equipment invites more play. It opens the door to future creativity. Maybe the toy encounters the same challenge, or maybe, just maybe, the story shifts and a new setting is selected — this time to a muddy swamp instead of a dusty desert. Either way, Clorox’s cleaning power and disinfecting ease has you covered.

Whatever the case may be, know that you can watch endless episodes of these shows without the worry that their stories will be canceled because of icky, germy toys. What comes next is everything.

I recently watched an episode of the sitcom How I Met Your Mother where one of the male leads who had recently became a first-time dad has a conversation with his father, using some sort of metaphor of driving on a foggy road for fatherhood.

The son, Marshall, talks about how as a kid it was always comforting to wake up on car trips and see his dad awake, confidently navigating the roads. He questions how his father was able to do it, and his father reveals he was full of trepidation as he drove along roads he really couldn’t see. There’s some comedy thrown in, but the metaphor itself sticks.

I’ll admit, it caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting a parenting moment like this from the show despite its name.

If I’m being honest, I feel like I am driving down the same road Marshall’s dad was. I’m trusting my instruments, I’m using my lights, but I’d be a fool to say that I see everything. I’d be a fool to think I know every twist, bump and dead end in the road of parenting. That’s why I use my maps, phone my friends, trust my co-pilot.

Yes, I’d also be a fool to think I’m the only one driving the car. I have co-pilot, and I am one. I know  she has driven with the same thoughts – which is one of the many things I love about us.

Some days I don’t want to drive or even get in that car. I’m so apprehensive about road hazards that I can’t see or think. But as parents we don’t have a choice, do we? We hop behind that wheel and we journey on.

Still, I wake with a fear every morning — mornings that come too early — that I may be “driving the wrong way” or haphazardly. I know I have precious cargo, my family, aboard and I want them to not only have a safe ride, but also the best ride that they can. So, I wake up worried, another day filled with doubt and dread.

Why do we parents do it?

That first step, that first word.

The smiles, the laughter.

Those hugs and kisses.

The look of wonder. The magic of amazement.

Long walks, longer talks.

The pride of their success. The comfort they seek with each defeat.

Yes, every skinned knee, wound from a lost toy, bump, bruise and broken heart can be weathered with love.

And that’s what makes this journey worth it.

We can take the time to worry about the evils behind the fog, but then we might miss out on the beauty unfolding right in front of our eyes.

If I’m being honest, I’ll admit I’m no expert, no guru, and, honestly, there are times I feel I have no idea what I’m doing. But I have found there to be so much joy in this journey.

And I hope to absorb and appreciate as much of it as I can.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck. Photo: Katie Moum on Unsplash

The ideas of peace, love, hard work and understanding are core elements of the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. And on this day, when we recognize not only the man but also the impact he had on us as a country, I think it is important to reflect on some of his words. Here are five quotes that have stuck out to me for various reasons.

“Whatever your life’s work is, do it well. A man should do his job so well that the living, the dead and the unborn could do it no better.”

There’s something to be said for having pride in your work, but also to recognize your talents. But that phrase “life’s work” gets me. How many of us know what that is? Have you discovered that yet? Are you ignoring it? Are you working toward it? It’s not an easy answer, but one worth pursuing. We are all blessed with the talent to impact our environment. It is our choice whether to do it positively, negatively or indifferently.

“I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. … I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.”

“Unarmed truth” and “unconditional love.” Sometimes those can be a tall order. If our goal is indeed peace and brotherhood, then we have to think about our approach to ideas and each other. Are we arming ourselves with truth simply to be right or to actually achieve the goal of peace and understanding. The difference matters.

“Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him.”

Nonviolence is more than not committing violent acts. It is also about reigning in the spirit. We pay attention to a lot of the external factors in our environment because it is what we can see or hear. However, our spirit dictates so much of what we see and demands our attention.

“Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think.”

In this day and age, there is a tendency to rush stories, to rush decisions, to rush judgement. However, we owe it to ourselves, and each other, to stop and think, and to avoid cutting corners. Actually think actions through and consider the consequences. When you consider half-baked solutions usually lend themselves to re-thinking, why not think it through the first time?

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

When confronted with negativity, our easiest reaction is to return suit, but does that solve anything? You can’t out-dark darkness and you can’t out-hate hate. Adding the negative to the negative simply compounds the problem. While it may sound cliché and while it may consequently sound cheesy, light and love are the strongest weapons in our arsenal.

We’ve made a lot of progress since Martin Luther King Jr. made his famous speech at the feet of Abraham Lincoln’s memorial, but we shouldn’t stop dreaming yet.

A version of this first appeared on Tales from the Poop Deck.