Good Kight, Evel Kight (and a Stumper)

I might as well just get this over with:

The very best part is that both of these images were on the same piece of paper; and they are both inexplicable.

I mean, and I only say this in the most loving way I can, who spells 'knight' and forgets the 'n?'  There are so many other incorrect spellings here I would accept, but, "kight?"  Wow...

I believe they are from the same table, brothers in arms, "kights" of the parabolic table.  Their weaponry is similar, as are their uniforms although "good kight" sports some chevron-like snake patches on his arms; an officer.  "Evel kight" probably does all the real fighting, the down-and-dirty stuff.  Hey, somebody has to right.  Perhaps he's a minion, Nick likes minions.

(Also, and I feel obliged to go here for the couple or three people who will get this; their holy grail is an N, because, alas, for now they cannot say Ni.)

Moving on to the stumper, what we have here is obviously twin Siamese pineapples about to,  Madonna's outfit from her, scuba gear, ancient secret society runes lost to ... I got nothing.

What is really odd is that this is all on one piece of paper.  I really don't know what to make of that.  Also, the "kights" are from N and Z drew the, well, uh... other thing.  It is very rare, in fact unprecedented, that both boys draw on the same piece of paper.   It's all rather mysterious wouldn't you say?


I am not oblivious to the fact it is Halloween, my feelings for which I may divulge in a future post, so I leave you with these scary images of some Jack-o-Lanterns.  This is "Chuk-chuk-chak-chuk-chak-chak."  He's French I think (and a bit of a fancy-pants):

Chuk-chuk-chak-chuk-chak-chak

This is Fred, he is not French, English perhaps?

Fred

From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat...'

"It won't kill you ... it is not the box of doom."


Well, there ya go.  I thought it was...

Evil Avocados

This not a picture of a couple of boys.  Not the boys who cuddled in bed this chilly morning giggling about the cats, squirming in joy at just being a boy.

The one on the left there; that's not the boy standing in the basement, tears on his cheeks, searching for a lost bear and saying emphatically between sobs:  "I need that bear!'

The other one there?  Nope, that is not the boy who led me by the hand to the kitchen this morning and, basically, made the coffee, for me.  He struggled a little and I asked if he needed any help, "No, Dad, I got it."

This is not a picture of chubby faced babies in matching onesies; not a picture of boys in a sunflower patch; this not beautiful toddlers asleep; preschoolers in a play; kindergartners singing in a cafeteria.

No, here you have two young warriors.  Brave boys, confident.  Quiet winners, graceful losers.  Second place champs, first place heroes.


And, we must honor that.

Who helps boys become warriors?  Men, hopefully decent men, honest men, kind men, strong men, honorable men.  Men who remember being a boy and how difficult it can sometimes be, men who honor the boys they help, the boys they teach, the boys they feed, the boys they love, the boys they coach.

Jay (a made up name because I refuse to implicate others here) is such a man.  He coached the boys' soccer team and just about all you need to know is that he let the boys, encouraged the boys from what I heard, choose the team name "Evil Avocados."  How cool is that?

That's all you need to know about him but I'll tell you more.

Whenever he talked talked one-on-one with a boy he knelt down to their level.  A real man kneels to be understood.

He always looked in the boys eyes, he paid attention to them.  A real man listens to be heard.

He ran them hard at times; he let them compete, fall, push and play.  A real man sees play as an opportunity to teach.

He taught them to pass, to work as team, to encourage each other, to consider each other.  A real man uses character to lead.

He watched them carefully, laughed with them honestly, teased them appropriately, disciplined them  kindly, played their skills and overlooked their weaknesses.  A real man cherishes to nurture.

Jay led the  ten boys, now a team, to second place in their division.  They lost a game at the tournament, but he made it the best loss ever by awarding the boys their trophies after the game.

There is a picture of all the boys standing with their trophies.  Jay is behind them and the look on his face says it all. It is a look beyond pride, beyond joy, beyond exhilaration, beyond all the conventional emotions - his look is a look of honor.  His face says;  "I am one of these boys, I am honored to be among them."

Do I need to thank Jay?  I suppose so, but, how shallow that gesture seems.  What he gave of himself has left a permanent mark on my boys.  Not because Z is a better dribbler now or because N understands to turn out from the goal on defense not towards it; not because of the confidence N got because he was given an important assignment or that Z got starting in goal for the tournament game.  No.  All that's great and all, but...

They met a man who showed them what it's like to be a man.  Boys remember that, trust me.


I need to explain something else.  When I call these boys "young warriors" I refer to their need to learn how to equip themselves for the life they are going to live.  Once that was mostly hunting or fighting, but now it is more complicated.  I know now that poets and artists, teachers and actors, dancers and musicians, all men, are warriors.

I think a man must teach them how to be warriors.  I think men need to show boys now to be men. I think a man needs to pat a boy on his chest and say "this is where your heart is, this is where your soul dwells, this is what it is like to be a man."

Coach Jay was that man.


I know I should stop here, it's a good stopping point.  I am not going to.

I have posted here on ihopeiwinatoaster a lot more on sports than I ever dreamed I would.  I have even talked about my own coaching experience in Baseball Test.  However, I don't want you to think I am one of those sporty-sports-dad dads.  I'm not really.  However, sports are great metaphorically for communicating the journey on which we, the boys, me, Marci, all parents really, are on.  Someday I could switch to music metaphors or movie references, whatever, but for now, I find myself using sports.

Also, this is all in no way sexist.  I have deliberately left women out of this particular discussion not because I think they have nothing to teach boys or because I don't think they are important in the development of boys, they do and are.  Ask anyone I know, I like women.

But this one is between us men and the boys.

DKL Guest Post Post

A very kind blogger, father to Peanut, asked me to do a guest post on his famous blog Daddy Knows Less (DKL).  You can check out that post here.

His reasoning has been unclear; I do not think it is an attempt to get all my traffic over to his place (have you seen my numbers); I don't think it is because he thinks I have something important to say (it's often very silly around here); I don't think it is because he is trying to win my readers to his site (although, when they see how good his posts are, I may never see some of my peeps again); I don't think it is because he wants me to by him a beer (he lives too far away, I think...).

I pretty sure it is because he is a really nice guy.  I have never met him; we've exchanged a few remarks and e-mails; we've read each others very short bios on our respective places and I read his posts and, I think, he reads mine.  Hell, it occurs to me I don't know anything about him, really.  Except that he cherishes, respects, honors and delights in his daughter just as I do my own sons.  In my book that makes us kin.


So, if you are new around here, I often post strange drawings like this exotic Mayan girl N remembered from a dream he had:

Or this carefully rendered drawing in a book of magic Z is working on:

If you are interested in how this all got started, the very first post is Ain't It True and, if you are a true fan of blogs you could read all the posts by hitting the "newer posts" button after you read that one.

If you are interested in learning a little more about me try The Post-Hundredth Post Post, in which I list one-hundred words I like and why, and reveal a little about myself as well.

If you are interested in the awards I have had bestowed upon me (actually from DKL) go to Great Googly-Moogly!!

If you are interested in checking out my most popular posts they are listed there on the right.  If I had to offer just one of my favorites from that list it would be The Future Perfect Post, in which I imagine a older me, two mature oak trees planted once as seedlings and a couple of  great adult kids.

If I had just one post to use as an example of what I do here at ihopeiwinatoaster it might be this one, Rocket Butt Dude no"I'm Varey Icesited To Meat You"  no probably Sidekicks I can't decide, but this is definitely the one with my favorite image:  happy sock-eared, spiral-nosed, rainbow-robot dude just riding on his rocket.

If you are interested in more, cruise the titles, I like titles, and see if any of them catch your eye, if so, read on, read on.

Oh, and one other item of interest is A song for my boys on YouTube.

Many thanks to DKL, his blog is so great, funny and sensitive; I am truly honored that he is willing to share his corner of the blogarena with me.

If you are one my few regulars around here you know this is a recurring feature here:

from Marci's  ... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat ...

"You are polluting my air."

That's never gonna end, I fear...

Mighty Mini Oaks

What's that?  Oh, well, thanks for asking.  The trees in the backyard, the oaks we planted last Arbor Day Spring, are doing quite well.  I worry about them so, I made sure their roots were buried and I keep them watered and I'll mulch around them one more time.

Since you were so nice to ask I went out and got a couple snapshots of them.  (How can snapshots seem like such an old-timey word?):

Zack's Tree

Nick's Tree

Z's is getting all glorified in red and gold; his tree is sort of pushy and full of itself, in a nice way, I guess.

N's tree is shyer, a quiet tree, stoic; just showing a bit of red pin-striping for the fall season.

I would hope for a mild winter, but I can't.  The boys want snow and fireplaces and cozy blankets and video games, so, I hope the trees in the backyard will survive the...

What?

Oh, you asked about Marci's backseat thing... awkward.

Uh, nevermind.


From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat...'

N: "I know what I am going to name my baby if I ever have a little girl."

M: "What's that?"

N: "Sacagawea."

She was hot...  That might be unpopular...

On Coffee Grounds and Boys

I secretly want a Keurig.  Actually, I secretly think I want one.  There are many reasons I suspect my thinking is wrong. For instance I thought cassette tapes were the best, easy to use and sensible.  I thought I wanted a Mazda Miata when they came out.  I use a PC instead of a Mac.  I think VHS tapes are fine.

Also, I'd miss the process of making coffee, although I grumble about making it when I am groggy.  It is one of those essential skills every man should have, like cooking an omelet or loosening a stubborn bolt.  I like the sound of the glass coffee jar opening, the measuring just so, the pouring just so.  I don't even really mind the wait - wipe a counter, watch a squirrel, chat with a boy.

But mostly, I like the smell.  The smell of coffee is arguably better than the taste of coffee.  The aroma is different all through the process; deep and rich and leathery as you scoop it into the filter; moist and dank and secretive as the steam gurgles around and away from the pot; perfect and balanced, mellowed with milk and sugar as it comes to your lips.  But that's just me...


There is something I have never told anyone about, nothing serious.  Honestly until right now I never realized it was a secret:  Nick helps me make my coffee in the morning.  When he was littler he just pushed the button, but, these days he does a lot.  He scoops it; he helps dump the old grounds and what's left in the pot; he fills the water sometimes but he doesn't like that so much (it is awkward); he talks to me.

You see, young boys need to know what it is to be a man.  Nick has gotten it into his head that cofeemaking is important.  He takes it very seriously, and, in the quiet of our little kitchen, in the early morning light, it is serious.

He listens, I listen, we listen to the morning and the pot, waiting for the beep together.  He asks about stuff; birds and soaring, happiness and history, soccer and shoes, beer bottles and cake, God and timelessness, hope and longing.  I answer as honestly as I dare, knowing the road to manhood is difficult, inexplicable, heartbreaking and magical.  I answer the best I can.

This morning, as he carefully measured the scoops into the filter, counting in his head, he said, almost as an aside:  "I love the smell of coffee."

"I do too, Nick."

"Yeah, Dad, you're a lot like me."

Yes I am.  I don't think I'll be ordering that Keurig any time soon.


You may remember from some of my past posts that I believe there is always more to every story, and there is a little more to this one.  As I was writing the above I remembered that they had done a little thing at school about 'Home Sweet Home' which I thought might be cute to include in this post.  This is Zack's, which I had saved because I like the house drawing:

It says "Home sweet Home  Home sweet Home.  our House is sweet to everyone It meats (meets).  Our House is so so much fun.  our House.  Our House I (is) so loveing (loving).  Home Sweet  Zachary Roger"

Well, you know what, even I don't save everything, so I had to go trash-fishing to find Nick's:

At the top is the picture of  'Home Sweet Home' and below is his little essay:  "home sweet home  in my home we work together!  are (Our) cats are nice.  are (Our) nana's house is fare (far) away are (our) gramma's house are close to us!  are (Our) bak-yard (backyard) is big but fun.  we are the best kuoonitey (community, worst cutest spelling, ever) together!  By nick."

Oh, and never mind the messiness, the pages got all blotched up when Nick dumped the old coffee grounds on them this morning.

Tabula Rasa

Sometimes I get to thinking about something and can't seem to come to a conclusion.  Z made this the other day:

I sincerely do not know what this is.  I know it was deliberate (he took about forty-five minutes doing it, sort of grumbling a bit when it didn't stand up right).  I know I like it.  I know he was proud of it, but, I still don't know what it is.

Could it be a boy warming his back to golden sun rising behind him?

Could it be young man dancing under an orange disco-ball?

Could it bean innocent bystander about to be pummeled by a flying pumpkin in my backyard?

Could it be a basketball game?

or...

Is it a self-portrait of a very happy boy in a world not yet defined, not truly filled in yet, still opening in front of him?  I love his smile; strong and natural.  I love his arms; ready to embrace.  I love his countenance; peaceful and content.

I think that is why I keep thinking about this paper-sculpture-pop-up-thingee:  I want to know that kind of joy, that type of happiness, that depth of peace.  My future seems all filled in, mostly with my past and present, my feet and hands are well defined, I know where I am.  I forget sometimes that they are not defined yet, they are still developing on that Polaroid-like blank page they started with, their lives are still filling in.

I sometimes wish mine still was.  I should work on that.


Watch out for the pumpkins...

Double Pegleg

Do NOT mess with this dude:

Carry on.

(Yes, that is a gun in his pocket and he is glad to see you.)


From Marci's  '...things you don't expect to hear from, uh, the dad...'

"No, I'm not drinking the gravy. It is cream of turkey soup."
*slurp*
" ... and it is delicious."

It was gravy...