A Younger Brother's Day in the Sun

My younger boy is an extraordinary individual. He's cute, he's funny, he's good at sports, he's smart, BUT he has an older brother and is therefore outshined in almost everything he does. A fact that my older boy used to flaunt openly, but has learned to pass along in a more subtle fashion. And this is not a knock on my older boy; I think that similar dynamics play out in families all around the world.
This last week was different. My older son, poor guy, had strep throat. It was my younger boy's time to shine. While my older boy convalesced TV-side, treating his sore throat with the soothing balm of movies seen for the hundredth time, my younger boy seized the day (days). On Monday and Wednesday of last week, my boy started Tae Kwon Do. He killed it. The teacher was demanding excellent 'martial-arts manners' from the children in the class. Children who demonstrated such decorum were picked first to spar (flag-spar, not actual fighting). My boy was picked first both days. He demonstrated a restrained ferocity in his sizzling kicks, his hands nearly burst into flame while he was executing his block and punch manoeuvers. And, yes, he looked ultra-smooth in his Tae Kwon Do outfit.
His academics were another source of pride this past week. In journaling (which is done every morning in kindergarten), my son's letters were clear and legible, his ideas creative and inspiring, and yes, his artwork was AWESOME. His, 'This is the Planet Earth,' was particularly evocative. And his, 'My space-craft goes 50 miles per hour,' was dazzling. My little man started the year with 'tornado' as a frequent entry. The picture was scribbled pencil. Now, his sentences are complete and descriptive. And the blues and greens of the earth (he needed to use 5 different colors, so he used different hues) were mesmorizing.
And sports? He was crazy-good. On Monday, he had basketball practice. The coach didn't show up, so no basketball was actually played, but my son's stance, his savoir-faire, his ball handling as he dribbled in impatience: exemplary. Then, on Thursday when I picked my boy up from school, basketball came up again. In response to my asking about his day, my son said (allow me to choke up, here), "daddy, in gym coach G set up baskets for us to shoot at, but they were really short. I asked if I could shoot on the ten foot hoops. I hit my first shot. Coach said I was the only kindergartener to do this. Then, I hit five more shots!"
And I have only covered part of his awesomeness this past week. His Renaissance-man, well-roundedness hit its zenith on Saturday when, for a school open-house, my boy played violin with the fifth grade orchestra. He took, 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,' and made it his own. Strangers came up to me (as did friends and teachers) to comment on my boy's excellent playing, his courage, and his cuteness. Now, to be fair, had my son known he was going to be the only kindergartener, I do not think he would have agreed (we were under the impression that multiple kindergarteners were playing). It also helped my son's already considerable cuteness that it was a dress-uniform occasion. He always looks smooth in khakis with button-down shirt and tie.
It has indeed been quite a week for my younger son. He's excelled in manners (at least at Tae Kwon Do), in academics, in sports, and in music. Still, he shined in a more nuanced area as well: usage of quotes from movies/comedic timing to difuse tense situations.
Last Sunday, my boys and my wife (as they are doing this winter) went skiing. They do this with the family of my younger boy's best friend, N. The fun of skiing has been enhanced because we really like N's family: his mother, M, a friendly interesting woman, and N's father, J, a really nice, laid-back guy with a nice sense of humor. On the way back, N was, as young boys are known to do, misbehaving. His father, J, told him to stop fidgeting and stay in his seat. N fidgeted. J repeated his request; he pointed out that not obeying was a safety issue. His son ignored him. "Stay in your seat," J said, louder. N, unimpressed, fidgeted still. J was truly riled at this point. "STAY IN YOUR SEAT. I MEAN IT," J screamed. This was followed by an awkward silence. J's shouted "I MEAN IT" seemed to reverberate throughout the shocked car. "Does anybody want a peanut?" my boy dead-panned. The humor of this interaction may escape most of you. But for any who love, as my wife and I do, the movie "The Princess Bride," it should resonate. (My son was reciting Andre' the Giant's line, "does anybody want a peanut?" A response to Wallace Shawn's outraged, "STOP RHYMING, I MEAN IT!!") An artful use of humor to disarm a tense moment. Genius. Further proof of a younger brother's day in the sun.

A merry season or it's good to celebrate both Hannukah and Christmas

Tis the season to be jolly. particularly if one is a member of that coveted fraternity, the interfaith child. I've had the chance to closely observe this rare bird during this jolly season. My boys, as sons of a Jewish dad and a Catholic mom, have plenty to be thankful for. They had a very happy Hannukah. Moshe Dreidel, my boy's Santaesque-Hannukah figure brought them many awesome gifts. Two Clone Wars action figures. A Ronaldhino AC Milan jersey and shorts for my younger son, a Christiano Ronaldo Real Madrid jersey and shorts for my older boy. Some Bakugans for my little guy; a geometric coloring book for my older boy. Then came a gift that I like to think of as OUR (the boys and I) gift. My parents sent us two 4X6 soccer goals. Though these sturdy beauties are intended for outdoor use, we immediately set them up in our play room. "Why didn't you put the goals under the Christmas tree?" my wife asked, reasonably, "What?!!??!?? And go four days without these nets set up!!!! Are you mad, woman???!!!" came my equally reasonable reply. As soon as we received the nets, they went up. And our soccer games have been taken to another level of awesome. I think that there is a greater sense of achievement when one kicks a ball and actually sees the ball enter the net. Our old system of imaginary nets led to too much inaccuracy. I felt wronged by what I saw as unreliable goals that seemed to shift to accommodate my children's shots ("No daddy. Your shot was over the couch, not to the left of it!!!!"; "Yes daddy, my shot curved inside the ball basket, not wide of it!!!"). The Hannukah gifts were plentiful, and everyone was happily gift-sated. Then came Christmas. My older boy got some books that he really wanted (Owls of Gahool, books 1-8). He got an electric penci-sharpener which, go figure, he was very excited about. He got a mini-planetarium so that he and his brother can see stars on their ceiling (accompanied by a voice- over that explains about constellations and the horoscope). He also received a remote-control helicopter. My younger boy received from Santa a Hex Bugs track along with Hex Bugs (little, mechanical plastic bugs that scurry about an interestingly shaped track), more Bakugans, a book about superheros, some green army guys, and some videos (Home Alone 1-4, Avatar the Last Air-Bender (the cartoon)). My wife and I were a little overwhelmed by the amount of presents, but we tried to cover every item on their wish lists. Perhaps next year, we'll inform the boys that, due to an increase in the price of oats (reindeer fuel), Santa is able to only bring some of the presents on a child's list (lighter load = better gas/oats mileage). My boys really enjoyed their presents. They really loved watching Home Along (1, 2, 3, and 4). How better to pass the vacation? I, perhaps, dwelled on the movies a little too much. Rather than enjoying the hilarity of seeing the bad guys have bricks dropped on their heads, steaming irons pressed on their bodies, etc., I took a more scientific approach. "This is not very realistic," I informed my boys, "a brick dropped from three stories onto someone's head would certainly fracture one's skull; I don't see how a bad guys could get up from that" or "after having an iron forced onto one's hand, merely thrusting the burned hand into snow would not cure it. Think of the blistering, not to mention potential nerve damage." My boys humored me. My older boy, in particular, began to initiate commentary after every grievous blow. "Whoa, Dad! A blow to the head like that!!! Coma time, baby." Nice Holiday bonding over the cartoonish violence of the Home Alone movies. My boys seemed to tire of my ceaseless talking when I lay into Macauly Caulkin's parents. "Honestly," I told my boys, "how could any self-respecting parent leave their child at home when they leave the country. I don't care how many children are visiting the house. Let's be real." Their glare told me that I had perhaps over-analyzed the movie. But I had trouble stopping myself soon after the start of Home Alone 2. "You're trying to tell me," I blustered, "that the same parents left their child again??!!!!!!! Come on, what sort of morons are they? I don't care about their tears once they realized their mistake, they need closer supervision. I can tell you, boys, that in reality parents who leave their kids, even by mistake, and go to France or Florida are visited by CPS- that's Child Protective Services!!!!!" At this point, both boys shouted upstairs to my wife, "Mom, will you please make dad be quiet. He's ruining the movie."
So, I've discussed the wonderful presents that my boys received. But I haven't gone into the present delivery system (the fictional one). Moshe Dreidel was first introduced to me in second grade by a classmate. She told me that he traveled the world on a huge spinning dreidel and gave presents to good boys and girls. I found this slightly preposterous as my parents would hand me my Hannukah presents, but I didn't want to kill her buzz. Anyhow, the idea of Moshe Dreidel lay dormant in my subconcious until I had children of my own. Many years ago, I had observed how exciting the idea of a magical gift-giver could be by watching my sister-in-law on Christmas Eve; she's 14 years younger than my wife, and she still believed in Santa when my wife and I were first married. I remember watching her excitement as she anticipated Santa's arrival. My in-laws helped my sister-in-law put out cookies for Santa and salt for his reindeer. To add plausibility to the production, we took bites of the cookies and mussed up the salt (as if reindeer had licked it). It seemed such a fun tradition; but how to share this with my half-Jewish boys? Enter Moshe Dreidel. He wrote/writes notes to my boys detailing his life with Miriam (his wife) and their son David. (Moshe might have other children about whom I have written in a note; I don't remember, but I'm sure my children do.) Moshe's notes arrive with his presents. Moshe, unlike Santa, does not like cookies, but, boy, does he love tangerines. His notes are always accompanied by tangerine rinds. His notes are informal and warm. Here is a copy of the note that he left on the first night of Hannukah this year.
"Just thought I'd write a quick note. Got a lot of houses to visit in the Pacific
Northwest tonight. Yours is such a wonderful family. And you boys are so cute and
special. You remind me of David when he was a little guy. He was an accomplished
harpist and quite a ball player. He could hit a shot consistently from half-court.
As David got older his love of basketball turned to a love of Soccer. Similarly,
you guys are, so I've heard, beginning to love the "beautiful sport." Athletic
skills are, obviously, key to soccer. But you have to look good, too. To that end
I have brought a Ronaldhino AC Milan kit for [my younger son] and a Christiano Ronaldo
Real Madrid kit for [my older son].
Enjoy, be good, and say 'hi' to your mom and dad. I'm always impressed by their
parenting.
Much love,
MD"
His son, David, is actually a pivotal figure in my Moshe Dreidel mythos as he helps Santa with the delivery of presents to children with one Jewish parent and one Christian (Catholic) parent. When Christmas and Hannukah fall on the same day (i.e. one of the Hannukah nights is Dec. 25), David writes long notes to my boys applauding them for good behavior and their academic/sports/musical achievements. This year, Hannukah was long over when Christmas came. So, a note from Santa accompanied my boys' presents. Santa's notes are similar to Moshe Dreidel's. He praises my boys' behavior, kindness, etc. He compliments my wife and I. His writing style is remarkably similar to Moshe's (because, spoiler alert, both letters have the same author). There is a major difference. Santa's letters are slightly more structured than Moshe's. They have to be. Christmas wish-lists are filled with questions/comments directed at Santa. Being the good, jolly soul that he is, Santa likes to answer. So, he cannot freestyle the way that Moshe does. My boys were eager for Santa to answer their questions, and he did.
It turns out that Santa lives in Inari-on-Elf, Finland. (To find a suitable hometown for Santa, I did a web search for a Northern Finnish city). I found Inari, Finland, a presumably icy spot near the North Pole. Unfortunately, the few pictures of Inari only feature a gas station and a deserted construction site. So, I added the '-on-Elf' to add some magic spice- and to protect against the possibility that my son would look up Inari and wonder why Santa lives in such a dump). Anyhow, Santa told the boys where he lived (answering a question of my eldest). He said that the reindeer are doing well (answering a question of my youngest). My older boy had expressed to me (and in his note to Santa) a desire to know Santa's age. Old Cris Cringle described himself as being as having been alive as long as children loved getting presents (sort of cliche and corny, I know). To more specifically answer this question, Santa said, "I am not sure of my exact age, but I can tell you that I'm old." Santa also reported that Mrs. Claus is doing quite well (my older boy wanted to know), that she makes sure that Santa eats well (eating healthy leads to long life), and that they enjoy playing checkers (my addition). I try to write these letters using my left hand so that my children can't recognize my handwriting. My hand-writing is so messy normally, however, that I am not sure how effective my ruse is. For now, however, the boys enjoy receiving the notes from Moshe Dreidel, David Dreidel, and Santa Claus (probably not as much as their gifts, however).