Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Go Read This Blog

I found this via Rebecca.

Visit. Leave a virtual Valentine.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Dirty Little Secret #48

I feel cheated.



That's my dad. I rarely called him that - he was always Daddy. Although after Lizzy was born, he became Grandpa. He loved the sound of that word, and even though he only 52 when she was born, he was the consummate grandpa. Still in the process of archiving, I found this clip yesterday. Taken in late August, 2002, at the annual Art Show in Orleans, MA, an 8 month old Lizzy is in that stroller.

I know that between my sister and I, it may seem like we beat a dead horse.

Yep, that's my dad.
Yep, he's dead.
Yep, that sucks real bad.


But he was the most alive person I ever knew. In these video clips, you almost hear him laugh. Before playing these for the first time yesterday, I hadn't heard his laughter in almost three years.



My son, only two months and three weeks when his grandfather died, never heard that sweet sound.


This photograph was taken the day Teddy was born. In it, Daddy is promising Teddy that he will teach him to fish.



But he won't.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Dirty Little Secret #47

While watching my daughter dance, I nearly wept with joy.



I struggled with the issue of wanting to give her the opportunity to try out a traditionally girly activity and wanting to eschew the subculture that comes with it. Luckily, the yellow pages yielded The Little Gym. I'm not one to plug a product (unless it's Hob Nobs), but this place is philosophically right up my alley. The recital took place in her classroom, they were allowed to choose their own costume from their dress-up boxes at home, and there was not a single speck of make-up involved.



And she was just so happy. Happy to show off her new skills. Happy to have us watching her. Happy to be dancing. It made me immeasurably happy to see her shine with such confidence.



Of course, now she has a new answer when asked the all-important question with which adults see fit to pester every five-year-old on the planet, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"


"A dancer."


I cringe. We'll just have to keep working on it until she answers, "A Nobel Prize winning dancer-biologist-economist-peace-maker who stays home with her kids."