Kids and Crocs

Summer means backyard barbecues, swimming pools, ice cream, and Crocs

By: Howard Ludwig, TheFatherLife.com

Many of the kids in my neighborhood wear uniforms to school. During the summer, they wear a uniform of a different sort – shorts, T-shirts and Crocs.

Crocs are flexible foam shoes often sold in bright colors. The plastic clogs are riddled with air holes. Wearers praise these quirky kicks for their comfort and convenience. Crocs slip on and off quickly, clean up easily and don’t absorb foot odor.

Another equally vocal contingent despises the shoes for their fashion. A Facebook group called, “I don’t care how comfortable Crocs are, you look like a dumbass” has 1.5 million members. “They are the most visually insulting footwear of all time,” writes one Facebook fan. Read more

My Son the Rock Star–Teens Dealing With Their Angst

A Dad’s Point-of-View

By Bruce Sallan

Teen energy, angst, and anger manifest itself in so many ways. Every day it seems that we read about some teen that has done something unusually self-destructive, and occasionally destructive to others.

Columbine was an extreme example of this. Many so-called “normal” teens tend to use or abuse the ol’ standbys of drinking, drugs, and sex to handle these emotions and changes.

For my own 16-year-old, his reaction has been mostly anger. The irony is that I’ve found this to be both good and bad.

How hormones affect the average teen have been studied and documented, but no one really knows definitively their effect since each teen reacts in different ways. The same is true for most women’s experience with menopause, as my wife has suffered horribly while for her mother it was a blip on the screen of her mid-life.

Will has done a little of the aforementioned “standbys” stated above, to some degree. But he’s done nothing extraordinary, over-the-top, or that different from all teens with the possible exception of his recent angry moods.

When I say moods, I mean moods. Let’s try a few descriptive words: sullen, quiet, loud, belligerent, intransigent, stubborn, willful, explosive. His impulsive behavior got him in a mess of trouble when he posted a mean-spirited comment on Facebook. The backlash, as it instantaneously circulated among all his friends and peers, was stunning. It nearly de-railed Will’s wonderful eight-month relationship with his girlfriend, as all her friends got involved, taking sides, and giving his minor comment a true life of its own.

At first, Will just got angrier and angrier before we really talked it out and I got him to post an apology. Sadly, the others that were now involved wouldn’t let it go, but this isn’t the point of this column.

The point is how do teen boys channel their energy, their out-of-control hormones, and anger? For many, sports are the outlet. Banging each other on the football field till exhaustion probably can moderate any teen’s angry mood.

Will never cared for sports, but he did like and then love rock ‘n’ roll. It began with his getting an inexpensive electric guitar as a graduation present from Elementary School. He evolved into an accomplished musician, as he now plays guitar, bass, and drums, and he sings. Along the way, I supported him by taking him to concerts by legendary performers like Bruce Springsteen and Eric Clapton as well as some of his contemporary bands such as Green Day, Incubus, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, to name just a few.

Joining a local School-of-Rock type of school where kids get put into bands and perform at local venues, gave him his first taste of performing. In his tween years, at which time he just played guitar, he developed a charismatic presence on stage. Or, as I tend to believe, it just came natural to him.

But, with the onset of puberty and all its attendant hormonal changes, this outlet proved even more vital and cathartic for him. Less than a year ago, he took up the drums. We jokingly say that the video game “Rock Band” taught him the basics, as he almost instantly was a pro. This proved to be the ultimate release for his pent-up anger and emotion, as he’d go and bang on the drums until there was a puddle of sweat accumulated on the garage floor.

His first performance on the drums coincided with his 15th birthday. He had been playing for maybe four months. Now, the inherent charisma he’d shown playing guitar, turned into something deeper and more intoxicating. At this show, the energy and magnetism he displayed clearly took the center of attention completely away from the singer, in this case a teen girl.

Undeterred, she responded with amazing calm and, cool as can be, integrated Will’s energy into her performance. Rather than fight what he was bringing, she interacted with him in an unrehearsed manner as she’d jump on the drums platform and sing to him. Yes, they had rehearsed, but Will doesn’t come out and show his stuff until he’s on stage, so she had no idea of what was to come.

That show was terrific and an eye-opener. He’s now grown into a wildly exciting drummer, guitarist, and more recently a singer. Suffering from a cold and recovering from a broken arm, he did vocals in a Rage Against The Machine tribute concert. In his 10-minute exhibition, he left the audience and himself exhausted from the power of his vocals and showmanship. In fact, halfway through it, during an instrumental interlude, he sat on his haunches and just tried to recover his breath.

This story is really not about my son, but rather about the need for our teen boys, and maybe our girls too, to have that outlet–that passion that will keep their wild puberty in check. Our job as parents is to help our children find their passion and nurture it as best as we can. In my case, I just need earplugs.

Postscript: My son, through his own initiative, made his rock ‘n’ roll dream come true when he got to jam, on stage, with Chris Cornell at The Roxy Theatre in Hollywood May 3, 2010 (to read about it, go to: http://bit.ly/RnRonWS).

Please listen to “The Bruce Sallan Show – A Dad’s Point-of-View” Thursdays at 11:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m., PST on KZSB AM1290 in Santa Barbara or on the Internet via a live stream. For that link and all information about the show and Bruce, visit his web-site: http://brucesallan.com. Bruce’s column, “A Dad’s Point-of-View,” is available in over 75 newspapers and web-sites worldwide. Find Bruce on Facebook by joining his “A Dad’s Point-of-View” fan page: http://www.facebook.com/aDadsPointOfView. You can also follow Bruce at Twitter: http://twitter.com/BruceSallan.

Haunted by ExSex

By Peter Ehrlich

I’m haunted by my Ex Katherine. Not by that went wrong with our relationship, but what went right with our relationship – our love life.

After being laid naked, fetal-positioned, paralyzed, and wanting by our breakup, I want to attempt a sequel with my Ex. I am willing to work harder on our vertical life together for the sake of getting back to our spectacular horizontal life together. How much harder? I am willing to change.

But am I being naïve? Or is a fulfilling love life worth fighting extra hard for? Should I be happy with what I had, count my blessings and move on?

Katherine and I were two completely different people with two completely different sets of values. Katherine was whimsical, perky and light-hearted defined by a Martha Stuart palette of powder blues, pinks and floral arrangements.

Until Katherine came along, I didn’t know what the word whimsical meant. The word came up when she tried to tell me what kind of stuff she liked in her home. I actually had to ask her to explain the word whimsical to me.

Once I understood its meaning, I knew that I was the Anti-Christ of whimsical. I gravitate towards mute colours and images that were popular in the Middle Ages –gentle brown tones of mud mixed in with a dollop of existential or “*Eeyorian” angst. (*Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh)

I am more “whimsi-bleak” or “whimsi- the world is a *charnel house” kind of guy. (*Reference = Samual Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.)

I suppose if I asked Katherine what a charnel house was, she would reply, “Oh goody, I’m in the mood for a barbeque.”

Her Hugh Grant, Sandra Bullock-type film choices represented somewhat of a counterpoint to my Stalingrad, The Wehrmacht in Russia, Sin City or Gladiator preferences.

And finally, she loved her two cats the way I love my son, but my attitude towards pets (or people) is; if you can’t flush the toilet, get the hell out!

And so, you would think that breaking up with this woman would be a simple matter. Once broken up, I wouldn’t have to worry about my testicles being slashed by her jealous cats and I could watch whatever movie I wanted in my brown living room.

But it hasn’t been a simple matter. In fact, it’s been living hell. Sometimes I lay on the floor, unable to focus on much. Well, I can do this; Face flattened on the floor, I try to differentiate between the carpet fibres and carpet mites.

Why so f***ed up? My Ex and I may not have been soul mates (whatever the hell that is) but we sure as hell were once-in-a-lifetime sexmates.

Together Katherine and I had a wonderful, unabashed, deeply connected love life that was framed by a natural and mutual caring and trust.

Horizontal we were a match made in heaven and the relationship was effortless. Unfortunately, vertically, we were at odds and the relationship took work. We had a lot of fun together, a lot of laughs, and travelled well together, but our relationship, like many, could only succeed if you “checked in” a lot because we were very different kinds of people, defined by a different set of values.

But I didn’t check in a lot and we dissolved.

Here’s the conundrum. In any relationship, there is always something “qualitative” about the nature of your union. Consequently, there is always room for a sense of doubt. For example, “she does this well, but doesn’t do that well. He makes me happy this way, but not in that way”, etc. etc.

However, when you have a great love life together, that’s not qualitative, it’s absolute! And isn’t absoluteness exactly what we crave in our relationships? Extreme pleasure is absolute and addictive and life seems too short to live without it. Try harder I say.

So here’s the question-how far should we go to try to make a relationship work because you have a great sex life with your partner?

If you’re waiting for me to come up with an answer, forget it.

I haven’t a clue right now. I’m still talking to carpet mites.

How much do I miss sex with the Ex? Let me put it this way; “Katherine darling, it’s done. I’ve piled up all my brown furniture in the backyard together with my testosterone/war-themed DVDs. Got a match?”

Yes, I’m willing to compromise and try to have another go at our relationship, because a day doesn’t pass when I don’t think of my Ex, the road trips, the laughs and of course, our love life.

“Never give up on someone you can’t go a day without thinking about.” I read that from a stranger’s page on Facebook that was devoted to the millions of us suffering from a broken heart.

There’s another reason why I’m thinking of making contact with my Ex again. These words drifted into my head after I made a half-hearted effort to spend time with someone else; “After he kissed someone new, he found himself unintentionally whispering his Ex’s name, out loud, as if he were accepting the moment as a penance for his sins, rather than the celebration of life it was supposed to be.”

Just because I lie on the carpet floor, talk to mites and hear voices in my head doesn’t mean I’m haunted by my Ex does it?

Of course it does.

Feel free to contact Peter at peter@geronimocode.com

to tell him your own haunting story.

Peter Ehrlich’s New Bedtime Fantasy

By Peter Ehrlich
 I want to talk about my newest, ongoing, “driving me forward” sexual fantasy. This twisted new fantasy is the new fuel that has launched me to join yet another dating site and contact virtually every single woman between the ages of 42 and 52. I can go to any dating site now and know the bio of most Toronto women right down to their astrological sign. That’s how passionate I feel about doing whatever needs to be done to live my out this perverted dream.

Are you curious to know what the fantasy is?

I thought so, so with no further ado, here it is: A good woman, lying beside me in bed, in flannel pajamas, toes touching, heads propped up – reading together in silence.

(Ah yes, to be comfortable in your silence together. There is no better barometer for your relationship. The wonderful, kind and insightful Michael Kaufman once told me that – www.michaelkaufman.com.)

Nothing these days is turning me on more than that image. I don’t “take care of myself” to the vision of the image, rather, I may let out a sigh, exhaled under the cool abyss of my blankets. After the sigh, I turn on my side to embrace the only thing I can embrace – my pillow.

Sick eh? I’m a young baby-boomer. My sexual formative years happened during the golden age, a time before HIV, when every girl and they were just girls back then, was on the pill. Evolutionarily speaking, that time came and went in the blink of an eye. But I was in smack in the middle of it, acting out my fantasies like I was a young Caligula, but with a good heart. Back then, my penis made almost all of my life-decisions for me. I’m still playing catch-up.

What happened? I got older. I did. Two of The Beatles have long since passed and there’s no need for another notch on my bed.

A long time ago, I watched lonely, divorced, isolated detective Al Pacino pull up beside a hooker and ask her to get in. She then asked him what he had in mind. “I just want you to sleep with me”, and he handed her one hundred dollars. She was dumbfounded of course, but CUT TO: the hooker awake, spooning Al, who was fast asleep in a fetal position.

I remember what did Commodus told Lucilla in Gladiator when he was watching her son sleep; “He sleeps well, because he knows he is loved”. I never forgot that moment. And so, Al Pacino could finally sleep well. It mattered not that it was a hooker, all women, and I mean all women have a serious nurturing side that begs to be appreciated.

I’m in the mood to sleep well too now. I didn’t care back then. I do now.

My son Noah, nineteen, not only left the nest, but he’s trekking around in Chile and Costa Rica with his girlfriend. The bedroom I built for him stares back to me in mocking silence. His only presence is manifested by the maps of Chile on the wall so I can follow his wanderings from 5,000 miles away.

I never understood why the elderly fed pigeons. I do now.

I never understood the notion that as you got older, “companionship” becomes more important. I do now. It’s the stuff that we who have trod so many miles deserve and require to be happy.

I can go no further with this column without puffing out my chest to remind you, and myself, that when the primal calls for it, this Satyr is still enthusiastic about answering the siren call, to gallop on to fulfill said equestrian duty. But my “performance menu” for an evening’s festivities and frolicking must now include “comfortable in silence” moments and that’s new.

There was a time in my single fatherhood where I could revel in my celibacy. That era is over with now.

Now it’s time to revel and live out my new bedtime fantasy – lying in bed with a “partner”, in flannel pajamas, toes touching, heads propped up, reading a good book, comfortable in our silence.

I feel so human today.

Feel free to contact  Peter at   peter@geronimocode.com

Christmas Trees, Menorahs, and Being Apart (on Christmas)

A Dad’s Point-of-View

By Bruce Sallan

This holiday season my wife and I will celebrate our first year of marriage on separate continents. As we are different races and religions, there are usually challenges we encounter at this time of year, so maybe being 7,000 miles apart will make it easier. We’ve actually resolved the big conundrum for me–the Christmas tree.

I don’t care if you call it a Hannukah bush or an ordinary tree; it is a Christmas tree, pure and simple. It represents the birth of Christ and it’s not just a secular symbol. But, it matters to my wife, so we resolved the issue by agreeing, like so many mixed religious couples, to celebrate both Christmas and Hannukah. Since my boys were raised Jewish, and my younger son just became a Bar Mitzvah, it really isn’t an issue for me anymore.

Truly, it’s more to honor my wife, her background and her religion, versus a belief that it matters in our stage in life. My boys have been raised Jewish, have completed the major ritual of becoming a Bar Mitzvah and are now old enough to choose their path in life, and to be able to enjoy both holidays without confusion.

I believe, strongly, that a new marriage with young kids that decides to celebrate both holidays will only confuse children and the ultimate result will likely be their rejection of both religions. In our case, that is unlikely as my boys have had a distinctive Jewish upbringing and now, post Bar Mitzvah, can enjoy my wife’s holiday and its joys and traditions without their core values being challenged or confused.

Call me conciliatory or wimpy, I don’t care, but I think life is different in a second marriage when the kids have already been inculcated in one religion. Exposure now to different traditions won’t hurt and it is inevitable in their daily life anyway. My older son is dating a “gentile” as my mom would have said, and I think she’s a lovely girl. My younger son’s best friends are mostly Asian, therefore not Jewish, and I don’t see any problem as they’re good kids, smart kids, and mostly as academic and wholesome as he is.

Wow, what a different world we live in since I was a kid. My mother would ask me the last name of every friend I had, and especially any girl that I might’ve dated when I was old enough to date. I didn’t realize why, at first, until I was older and understood that the last name was a clue to their religion. Now, I ask my boys about their friend’s interests, their character, and their success at school. When and if I meet them, I might notice then their racial difference or ask about their backgrounds.

Isn’t this the way it’s supposed to be? I think so and I’m living proof of the diversity of the world today. My ex-wife was half-Japanese and my second wife is 100% Chinese and Christian. My boys are therefore, ¼ Japanese and, with my second wife’s background, completely confused about their identity. Just kidding. But, I do seriously think we represent what the future of the world will be like–a blended mix of race and religion with, I hope, respect for all our cultures.

I’m not sure where radical Islam fits into this future or our world today, but I’ll leave that hot potato political subject for the political commentators and writers. I will just focus on the Judeo-Christian basis of America and the racial mix of my own family. At least on that, I can speak with some authority and limit my rhetoric!

I’ve got completely off the track since this column is about how I will be spending my first wedding anniversary and this holiday season about 7,000 miles away from one of my sons and my wife. She’s taking my recent Bar Mitzvah boy to Japan as his present for his substantial achievement in becoming a Bar Mitzvah and in honor of his heritage and his interest in manga (Japanese comic books and art). I will be in the mountains, skiing, with my older son.

I guess you could say this is a very modern marriage in that we worked things out this way. We set up the Christmas tree the first week in December and had the Hannukah menorahs ready to light the first week of Hannukah, which this year, didn’t overlap with Christmas at all.

We represent the diversity that we read about, that our schools and universities preach about, and that our future likely looks like. In this case I really like it plus feel very grateful and lucky for how our family has reconstituted itself.

Please visit www.brucesallan.com to contact Bruce and to enjoy the various features his new Web site offers, including contact info for advice and coaching, an archive of his columns, general contact info, links to his published work, photo galleries, and reader comments, plus much more. Bruce Sallan was an award-winning television executive and producer for 25 years. Google him if you really want to know more (e.g. his credits). When his boys were quite young, Bruce left show biz to become a full-time Dad. Shortly thereafter his marriage ended and his wife abandoned their children, leaving the State. Bruce found himself a full-time single Dad, in his late forties, as well as a returning single man to the changed world of cyber-dating. It became a classic “sandwich” situation when he also began to care for his ailing parents. He began writing various blogs on the dating sites he used as well as articles for local publications. The goal of his column, A Dad’s Point-of-View, is to primarily focus on parenting and occasionally other issues from the male perspective. Presently, his column is available in over 75 newspapers and Web sites in the U.S. and internationally. Bruce lives in Agoura, California with his second (and last) wife and two boys, who are 16 and 13. Find Bruce on Facebook and add him as your friend and join his “A Dad’s Point-of-View” fan page. Just be sure to tell him you saw him here.

E-mail, Etiquette, and Friends

A Dad’s Point-of-View

By Bruce Sallan

E-mail is so ubiquitous that we forget that it isn’t talking on the phone or having a conversation in person. Subtlety, facial expressions, or tonality are all lost in an e-mail message. I have found this has gotten me in trouble when I think I’m being funny, subtle, or sarcastic in an e-mail. And, the habit many of us have of forwarding a joke, photo, or an article creates even greater problems in many cases.

I think e-mail should probably be treated as Eliza Doolittle was advised in “My Fair Lady” about making conversation. “Stick to the weather and health” was Professor Higgins’s caution. Even that proved problematic as Eliza went into too much embarrassing detail about her own family’s health, before she completely blew it with her expletive encouraging one of the racehorses to “move your bloomin’ ass!” Read more

Single Parent Empty Nest Hard On The Heart

By Peter Ehrlich
Special to Single Dad Life
I find no sight more poignant these days than the remains of an abandoned bird’s nest. It puts my life into perspective better than any other image, with the exception of my mirror. (“Did I rent my face out or what? Who the hell are you”?).

In a matter of weeks, birds build their nest, teach their children to fly, push them out, and from what I can gather, don’t even bother saying goodbye.

My son is 17 years old. He’s still my baby right? Wrong.

I know that if I were to throw him the keys to his own apartment he wouldn’t hesitate to take them with a “thanks for everything, Dad. We had a lot of fun. I love you. Gotta go.”

Once we’ve decided to give our children wings, we must give them the wings of an eagle, not a sparrow so they can fly as far away as they want to.

When you’re a couple and your child leaves, you still have your partner to talk, explore and make love with.

As a single parent, with no child to care for, no friend to crawl into bed with, we may think we are starting our life all over, but that’s not true. Too much time has passed, too many lessons learned, for us to think living alone now will be as easy as it was when we were single in our 20s.

Back then we could afford psychologically to live alone and take the time to watch a spider struggle to make its way up the wall. Now that moment would hurt – a lot.

To thrive in the “emptiest nest years,” we should force ourselves to be more daring. We need to consider a leap before we look, a proactive approach because we don’t want to be a (single parent) boomer with too many regrets.

Here are a few suggestions how we can better survive the emptiest of nests:

Plan ahead. Don’t avoid thinking about it because you don’t want to face the fact that an empty nest is looming. How does that make you feel? What are you going to do when the time has come?

Forget making a long list of the places you still want to see. Choose one place and start there. Stone circles in Dartmoor with a friend? Just do it.

For years you encouraged your children to keep practicing so they would become proficient at that something. Now it’s your turn. J.K. Rowling said she contemplated suicide while a poor single parent as she suffered from depression. Then she wrote Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Why not you?

If you’re aching for intimacy, find someone worthy, because you’re officially out of excuses. And you can now have sex without worrying about your child popping in.

This may sound horrific, but would it be such a bad thing to move in with another single parent in a similar situation? (Great sitcom potential!)

At the end of the day, single parent empty-nesters should recall Edith Piaf’s courageous code of living: Non, je ne regrette rien.

You can contact Peter by emailing him at peter@geronimocode.com

Sunglasses: The Ultimate Buyer’s Guide

by Andy DeShong

Whether you wear them to correct vision problems, protect your eyes from sunlight or to disguise yourself, sunglasses are a surefire way to change the way you look. Choose the right size, shape and color and they will not only serve the purpose of protection and correction, but bring out your inner celebrity look. Choose the wrong one and you could look, well, like a stereotypical dork.

Sunglasses have a very practical purpose. They are not just fashion statements. Sunlight damages the eyes and the damage is cumulative. It should be stated for those who don’t know that UV-A and UV-B rays cause cataracts and macular degeneration — a leading cause of blindness in older people.

According to the American Academy of Ophthalmology, inexpensive drugstore shades are as likely to give you the same quality of protection as designer brands. To be effective, lenses should block both UVA and UVB rays. Read more

Summer and Single Parent Hedonism

BY PETER EHRLICH

SPECIAL TO SINGLE DAD LIFE

For single parents, summer presents the only opportunity in the year to be a tad hedonistic.
Of course, being hedonistic is relative.
If you’re young, single and childless, indulging in drugs and sex and rock ‘n’ roll is not only natural, it’s expected. When I heard John Tory joined the Conservative Party at age 15, I was not only unimpressed, but something inside of me wanted to visit him, put my arm around him and ask if he wanted me to take him out and show him the real world.
And if you’re a parent with a partner, just having the partner is hedonistic. Imagine, at any given time Mr. Happily Married can call out to Mrs. Happily Married, “Hey Babycakes, can you give me some help?”
The best single parents can hope for is that some friend pops in at exactly the right time. “Jim, will you pour that tomato sauce in that pan so I can get that proposal out before Zack comes down for lunch?” Read more

The Joy of Single Parent Sex – Really

Talk about an oxymoron and a book title not yet found on any shelf: The Joy of Single Parent Sex.

Surely it’s more relevant to single moms and dads to discuss the angst, court system, and the struggle to find a common ground with our Ex for the sake of our children.

Neither “single parent hedonism” nor “single parent sex” is found on Google. But “grandparents and sex” is. Up popped “grandparents caught in compromising position on the beach”.

I take great delight in finding something positive in an unexpected place, such as when I was 13 and found a Playboy magazine tucked into Uncle Moe’s bookshelf.

Years later, the unexpected place is the single parent home and the subject is sex.

Here is why I think there is joy in single parent sex:

When you’re out on a date and the person opposite you looks as perfect as a hot cup of coffee on a Sunday morning before the kids are awake, you can both talk about how you love your kids and actually get turned on a little more because knowing your date or lover, like you, loves their children, is wonderful common ground.

There is little chance either of you is a swinger because a great single parent can’t possibly have the time. And both of you will likely greatly appreciate the sex, as in “Thank you, Lord.”

Because the interval between sexual encounters is likely to be months or (gulp), years, each time is, well, like the first time. There is no way any single parent is going to approach sex with the words: “Oh yawn, I have to have sex again.”

And so, each roll in the hay, assuming the affection is mutual as it should be, is engaged in with great enthusiasm. You and your mate can bring your cellphones to the night table, both of you understanding it’s perfectly fine if your sex is interrupted by a phone call from either the babysitter or your teenager who is drunk and needs you to pick her up.

Not only would such an interruption not be a reason to get angry with the partner who must put their clothes back on after finally locating their underwear buried in the bedclothes, but in no time – say, the next day – it would also be an anecdote to share a laugh about.

You can tell anyone – the most cynical people you know, even your parents – that you had sex and they’ll be happy for you.

There are many reasons to be grateful for and inspired by your single parenthood. It can be a rewarding lifestyle, regardless of the fact that “woe is me” is too often attached to our current lot in life. (We’ll visit those reasons in subsequent columns.)

But for now, it’s summer, it’s hot, you’re hot, and every magazine out there talks about the joy of sex or how to have great sex.

I wanted to pay homage to the sex life of the world’s fastest growing family configuration, single parents.

We know all about sex. None of us is a virgin.

You can contact Peter at peter@geroninocode.com

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