(#2) You Know You're a Parent When...

Aloha,

Source: http://davidpowersking.blogspot.com/

I’ve the honor of guest posting at the blog of David Powers King today!

David is an experienced blogger and aspiring author of MG/YA Science Fiction and Fantasy with a soft spot for zombies and the paranormal. Married with kids, David lives, plots, writes, and evolves in the great state of Utah.

I consider David a mentor, so after you’re finished here, please click the above link to his blog.

Mahalo in advance :) 

                                                                       ###

Here now is my second, weekly installment of You Know You’re A Parent When… (The first one's here.)

So, You know You’re A Parent When…

Young Writer of America

·          You go to Burger King where the kid's toy is some sort of ink pen... your son tells you this... but you are driving and don't want to be too distracted. "Yes, son..." is the answer before the squeal that happened after opening the side door - and not looking in the rear view mirror.

·         You're attending a freestyle music class, but can only cringe when your oldest asks the age of the teacher and wonders (aloud) why are her nails broken and her legs hairy  – during class.

·         After watching a now-empty Ziploc sandwich bag float to the ground, (special guest star) Uncle Jerry glances toward the living room (where someone carpet-bombed the floor with weird-looking Cheerios,) and suggests buying a Pez to dispense individual Lucky Charms marshmallows.
      I guffaw, but later, when a bag of Fruit Loops decorates the floor, sides and passengers of the red van, another Lucky Charms disaster comes to mind, and Pez dispensers start to sound like they’re Gr-r-reat.

Wow, they spread easy using this thing!

·         But, then again, you can cut out the middle man by chucking the other Ziploc bags of Lucky Charms on the ground, thus cutting out the short delay – and the desperate, but dashed hope that this time things will be different – and then thee youngest one upturns the bag anyway. (Ye olde sighe.)

·         You are so afraid to lose two, teenage Japanese exchange students entrusted to your care that you and the wife follow them at a safe distance, tagging off in the busy mall like you’re in the middle of some important, undercover stroller sting.)

·         Wandering bored around Target, (the exchange students continue to wander the outer aisles) you spot a large tray of travel-size, refill spray bottles. Instantly cheered, you buy a couple, happy now you’ve got new tools for the upcoming back yard water fight.

·         Your 21-month-old wanders over with a cushion held in front of his face. Heading for the nearest wall, he makes some monster-sounding noises and proceeds without any further adieu to bounce off the wall, then the couch and the ottoman, before shuffling and muttering into another room… You continue the ongoing conversation about Albert the Angel as if the extra-special guest appearance by “Bouncing Monster Boy” is a normal occurrence, (which sadly it is!)

· Your super-friendly, never, ever shy four-year-old has a chance to meet (and get an offered hug) from a Pearl Harbor Survivor – but all he wants to do is hide behind a bench, my legs, or in a small heap.) Not even reverse physiology works… “Tobey, you don’t have to shake his hand or say hi.” (The response is: “OK, Papa…”)

Sorry I'm shy, but mahalo for your service.

·         Meanwhile, done in with having to always clean all the non-Lucky Charm marshmallows, a plan is hatched! Standing in front of the sink; you take a colander and sift through a large box of Lucky Charms. Arranging the treasure trove of shooting stars and other “charms” that you know will impress the afore mentioned four-year-old and his brother, you happily watch as No.1 Son looks at the bag... then at you... picks up the bag as if it contained something yucky… looks back at you and demands to know where all the "brown bits" have gone?
    
     (Good grief, Charlie Brown :)

70 Years Later, Pearl Harbor Never Forgets; is Never Forgotten

Aloha,

Today is the 70^th anniversary of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii.

Source: U.S. Naval Historical Archives

I live about ten minutes from historic Ford Island’s “Battleship Row,” and the final resting place of the USS Arizona, where 1,177 men died in attacks that killed more than 2,400 people.

Several commemorative events are planned throughout the island, and I hope to post more later.

For now, here are some pictures, and a few lesser-known details about “the day that will live on in infamy.”

********

Radio bulletin from Honolulu heard over WCAE (Pittsburgh, PA) at 4:15 p.m.  (Dec.7, 1941)

“We have witnessed this morning the attack of Pearl Harbor and a severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by army planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombers dropped within 50 feet of (...???taunty-tower...?). Its no joke. It’s a real war.”

Source: 2008-2009 UMKC University Libraries

********

Resting Place - Japan did not limit its offensive to Pearl Harbor; on the same December day in 1941, they also attacked American forces in the Philippines. (Despite being notified of the assault on Pearl Harbor hours before Japanese forces attacked in the Philippines, Gen. Douglas MacArthur inexplicably failed to prepare his troops to respond.)

Photo by Bob Landry/TIME & LIFE Pictures

A closer look at the wreckage of the USS Arizona. The Navy, which was able to salvage an astonishing number of ships damaged or sunk by the Japanese, could not fully salvage the Arizona.

Today, the USS Arizona Memorial straddles the ship's sunken hull and commemorates the events of that long-ago Sunday. Of the 1,177 Arizona sailors killed that day, 1,102 have the ship as their final resting place.

Source: Yahoo.com
********

The USS Arizona Memorial today

Source: Mark Koopmans

Source: U.S. Naval Historical Archives

********

One of several USS Arizona memorial plaques on Nob Hill, a U.S. Navy historical residential community on Ford Island.

Source: Mark Koopmans

Source: Mark Koopmans

A second bronze plaque erected to commemorate the loss of life on the USS Arizona seventy years ago today.

********

Pearl Harbor veteran Robert Templet, who was a Radioman 1st Class at Ford Island during the attack, is pictured outside his home in Metairie, Louisiana Dec. 4, 2011.

Source: REUTERS/Lee Celano

Templet was walking to breakfast on Dec. 7, 1941, when he heard a plane motor surging at his back. He turned and saw the pilot, his goggles atop his head, smiling down at him before a torpedo fell from the plane's belly.

Stories like Templet's are documented in "Infamy: December 1941," opening today at the National World War II Museum in New Orleans.

Source: Yahoo.com

********

In this artist’s interpretation of a photograph, Sailors stand beneath the American flag on the 12-foot rangefinder platform of the USS Arizona’s mainmast at some point after the Pearl Harbor attacks. The rangefinder has been removed from the platform, as have the searchlights from the 36-inch searchlight platform above it.

Artwork by Jim Caiella

The mainmast was removed from the Arizona’s wreckage on 23 August 1942 and scrapped. At the height of the war, little thought was given to artifacts or the Arizona’s significance as a national shrine. Featured on the "From Our Archive" page of the December 2009 issue of Proceedings.)

Source: U.S. Naval Institute

********

Mary Ann Ramsey, a recent high school graduate and then-resident of Ford Island described what happened in the immediate aftermath of the attacks in an article originally published by the U.S. Naval Institute (Winter 1991.)

“...The entire island seemed to be blowing up. It was then that a fluster of activity outside telegraphed the arrival of our wounded. Passenger cars, Navy vehicles – any transport at hand – began to pull up, discharging men from the Arizona and the ships around her.

“A young man, filthy black oil covering his burned, shredded flesh, walked in unaided. The skin hung from his arms like scarlet ribbons, as he staggered toward my mother for help. Looking at me, he gestured to his throat, trying to speak; he must have swallowed some of the burning oil as he swam through the inferno.

The Corridor of Henry Adair Bunker (12.04.11)

“His light blue eyes against the whites, made more so by the oil clinging to his face, were luminous in visible shock at what they had seen and experienced  that awful morning. We directed him to the mattresses now lining the corridor of the shelter, as the Marines herded us into a side room in order to keep the passageway clear for the arrival of more wounded.”

Source: COMSUBPAC Public Affairs Office.

The Donald Braswell Story - A Career Ends, a Calling Begins

“Let’s not make this a story about me. Let’s make this a story from me to those who’ve lost direction, and are trying to find their way back home.”               – Donald Braswell

Aloha,

Imagine if, in the prime of their career, Derek Jeter lost the ability to hit, Thomas Kinkade the ability to paint or Robert De Niro the ability to act.

Sure, our world would still turn, but the joy many feel witnessing a God-given talent would surely be affected by the loss of any of the above.

Source:Donaldbraswell.com

In 1995, Donald Braswell was a young, professional tenor and a seasoned veteran of the opera world. He was well on his way to becoming the next Luciano Pavarotti or Franco Corelli, and as his star shot toward international fame and domestic fortune, he and “The Met” were often mentioned together.

Then one day, as he surfed a well-managed wave of reviews and performances that had him on course to play Carnegie Hall, he lost his voice following a 10-million-to-one bicycle accident while on tour in Wales.

Yes, a bicycle.

A Texas native, Donald graduated on a full scholarship to Juilliard in 1990. The hit-and-run accident that stole his voice, career and sent his life into a years-long tailspin has never been solved, and the story of how Donald went from staggering from a cold, Welsh road to jogging under the hot lights of America’s Got Talent in 2008 (he placed fourth overall) is so inspirational that it still blows me away – and I know the backstory.

During his first AGT performance, the crowd booed him before he sang a note, but by the time Donald finished Josh Groban’s You Raise Me Up, the shouts of “Vegas! Vegas!” rang throughout the packed theater as if he’d won the whole thing.

Flushed by success, Donald was, however, eliminated in the next round (ouch), but the man who married his high-school sweetheart and is now a father to three girls, made a dramatic return when NBC held an impromptu wild card round following an injury to another finalist. (As one of eight returning performers, millions voted the then-45-year-old back on AGT.)

Piers Morgan even went as far as saying Donald was “The Rocky Balboa of our show; you were knocked out, you came back and you could win the title. You could.” Though the fairytale ended when he placed fourth overall, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber complimented Donald by saying he “was looking forward to working with” him.

During the thirteen years he was out in the cold, the former professional singer worked as a plasterer, sold insurance, swimming pools, as well as new and used cars – anything to help feed his family.

After relearning how to first talk, and then sing, Donald was working at a car dealership when a chance meeting with a homeless-looking man ended months later with the release of New Chapter, his first CD in 2007. Since then, he’s released two more CD’s, including Unchained, which came out in November.

I first met Donald while interviewing him numerous times for several features in a daily Texas newspaper. I was so intrigued by his story that we chatted for forty-five minutes post-interview. Later, we agreed to work on his memoir, and here we are today.

Donald continues to pay it forward by headlining numerous annual charity events, and three years post-AGT, he inspires thousands via his website, and the member-driven international fan club that sprung to life soon after AGT.

Known as “Braswellians” fans represent thirty-six countries, all fifty U.S. states and each Canadian province. (One teenage Iranian, who recently watched the show in syndication, produced a YouTube montage to Braswell’s original song, We Are The Same You And I.)

Since AGT, Donald has performed on many occasions with the San Antonio Symphony, sings solo events, and is part of a three-tenor group called Gli Unici (“The Only Ones.”)

What I admire so much about this humble, Christian man is that he knows he’s been blessed with a second shot to do what he was meant to do, (and I have to admit, I love the never-quit attitude that kept him going all those many years.)

(I guarantee my laptop would be chucked off a tall building if I ever lost the ability to write.)

Source: Donaldbraswell.com

Speaking of ability, earlier this week, Donald took another bite of the Big Apple when he made it back to Carnegie Hall during a Christmas concert appearance with famous composer, Tim Janis.

Dreams do come true - some easier than others. Donald’s dream to appear at Carnegie has come true.

Mine is to have his inspirational story published, and then see someone pulling out a dog-eared copy of the book as they contentedly settle in for the usual long bus ride home.

How has Donald's story affected you?

(New Feature) You Know You're A Parent When...

Aloha,

I’ve mentioned this before, but people have asked why I’m writing this blog. There are two reasons: One’s because I’m co-writing a memoir about crossover opera singer, Donald Braswell, (upcoming post on Monday, December 5 will explain that more.)

The other reason is I’m a stay-at-home dad who lives for family and writes about life.

When I read other blogs, I see so many people sharing their wonderful teaching moments and passing on their wealth of knowledge.

Me, on the other hand, I’ve so little wealth, I’m about to foreclose on my level of common sense, but… I can help prevent hair loss.

"Who Loves Ya, Baby?"

(I used to have a mullet before the kids were born, now I’m as bald as Telly Savalas – or Howie Mandel, if you’re not sure who Kojak wasJ)

Therefore, to help prevent stress, and help other parents from going baldly where I should never have gone

Ohh, I’m glad he shared that… I wouldn’t want my child to fly down a hill and hit a tree on a tricycle

I’m adding a new feature to my blog.

Starting today, every Friday will be the “You Know You’re a Parent When…” post. I promise not to make stuff up, and that each of the bullet points will have happened since the last post. (I always carry a handy, dandy notebook, thanks to a guy named Steve. (There's a hard cover copy of Dennis Lehane's newest book, "Moonlight Mile" for the first person to comment and tell me the name of the television program I'm talking about:)

So, here we go… You Know You’re A Parent When…

·         Tears come to your eyes as the kids finally eat the 16^th version of cheap, frozen French fries

·         You’re on the phone in one room, and the toddler wanders past the open door, impersonating Harold and the Purple Crayon. Still on the phone, you look at the ragged line on the wall and hope it’s washable.

·         You get off the phone, and phew, it is washable, yahhy! But, as you backtrack to where “Harold” came from, you enter the kids playroom and see several colored markers lying on the floor, their discarded caps and graffiti-filled walls proof you have a real artist in the family.

·         You spend nearly an hour cleaning the walls, and still forget to put the markers out of reach…

Joy... indeed

·         Later on that same day, you’re putting away some clothes when “Harold” comes around the corner with another open marker in his hand – and a huge smile on his face. Running to the kids’ room, your face resembles Munch’s famous painting “The Scream” as you see the walls are marked up worse than before.  

·          You throw away ALL markers known to exist in the house (well, not all,) and wander downstairs with the kids. Seeing some dirty spots on the floor, you scrub at them, but then hear a crash from the other side of the room. While all is well with the older son, you turn back to see “Harold” now dancing in the puddle of water he made after tipping over the container you left on the ground.

Where's my crayon?

·         And, finally, you know you’re a parent when you give up the battle and just plop down to enjoy the boys, who are laughing and giggling as they slip and slide in their impromptu indoor wading pool.   

I’d love to hear if you’ve had any unique YKYAPW… moments. Please submit in the comments section, and as time goes by, the best twenty (chosen by readers) will gain entry into a future YKYAPW… Hall of Fame post, scheduled to be updated every July and December.