The First Date (I)

In some ways, it was a day I’d been dreading ever since the day of Scooter’s birth some 16 ½ years ago.  I still recall the day of her birth and the pediatrician came into the hospital room to make sure she had the requisite number of fingers and toes.   After giving her the OK, we chatted for a few minutes as the nurse took Scooter and gave her to Kadie. 

I’m not completely sure if his parting words were meant as a blessing or a curse, but they’ve haunted me over the ensuing years.  “You know, hold her all you can now, because she’ll be leaving for college like that!” and snapped his fingers as he left the room.

I’ve blogged a bit about a few of her firsts, but one of the most terrifying prospects came to fruition recently.  Scooter told me that a young man would like permission to take her out on a date.  This simple statement set in motion a complex series of events from which we are only now beginning to recover.

The Accident

A few months after Scooter got her license, I had just dropped her little brother off at home when I got the call every parent of a teenager dreads.  "Daddy, I just got in a car accident and the policeman wants you to come here!"  I could hear the tears in her voice as she took gasping breaths between the words.  I asked her if she was injured or if anyone else was hurt.  She replied "No Dad, I'm fine.  I looked down for a second and ran into the guy in front of me.  We're both OK, but could you hurry?"  She was on the street in front of her school and when I arrived I saw her car behind another car with a policeman standing between them.

I saw another father standing next to the driver of the other car.  The driver was a boy who was as skinny as he was scared.  He looked about 12, but I found out later had just turned 16.  When I identified myself to the police officer he thanked me for coming and then motioned for the four of us to gather round. 

He cleared his throat and began speaking what sounded like a speech he has given before.  "OK, here's how this works.  We have here an accident involving two brand new teenage drivers.  If I report this accident, there will be auto insurance rates skyrocketing all over the place.  There were no injuries and there are only a few scratches on both cars.  If both fathers are willing to walk away from this without reporting it to anyone, I'll close my notepad and drive away."  He had already talked to the other father (who nodded his assent) and then looked at me.  I quickly agreed.

"Alright, y'all have a nice day." And he got in his squadcar and drove away.

As a friend told me later, it was a great way to have your first accident.  Thank God for mercy over judgment!!  And Scooter's been accident free ever since.

On Vampires and Make Up

Correctly drawing the line is our greatest challenge as a parent. Trying to carefully balance the two extremes of protection and independence is the most difficult task I’ve found. How do I decide what is too dangerous and what is acceptable? Working out the whole business of being as crafty as serpents and as innocent as doves is a pain in the neck. Certainly I pray for wisdom and seek counsel from others. Certainly I look back on my own parents’ child-raising techniques.

But then I wing it. Two examples.


Situation One:

The primary problem of course, is that my daughter Scooter is a lot like me. I grew up loving to read and throughout my childhood read fairly obsessively. Both of my parents (avowed readers themselves) adopted a pretty laissez faire approach and allowed me to read whatever I wanted to read. Kadie and I have been a little more tight reined in our approach, marking certain stories (mostly movies) off limits. But a situation arose a month ago that raised an issue for me.
Scooter told me she wanted to get a new book, the book Twilight. Many of her friends were reading it, a new movie was coming out about it, and it apparently was making quite a splash among the early teen world. I’m not sure why there was some familiarity with it, but I vaguely recalled hearing about it. After some checking around on the internet, I read up on the book.

It’s a fairly typical teen romance book, telling the story of a young girl who moves into a town and desperately wants to fit in to her new high school community. In the course of her arrival she identifies various social cliques and tries to decide the folks with whom she wants to build relationships. Then she meets a guy and they fall in love. The End. Pretty innocuous stuff, except for one problem.

He’s a vampire. Undead. Immortal and unliving.

So at what age should a kid start to read such fare? I had no idea. So, I read the book (a review will follow, at some point) and decided to let her read it. She’s in the middle of it now and we’ll have a conversation about it when she finishes.

Situation Two:

Unconnected (but not really) was the dreaded conversation about make-up. She’s entering the second semester of the eighth grade and high school is now for her more a reality than a distant dream. (It remains a nightmare for me, of course). So she’s gotten serious about wanting to try out make-up. This subject has come up a few times over the last few years and I’ve developed a pretty good line in response. I would always say “You look so beautiful without make-up, why would you want to cover your pretty face up?” But she’s no longer placated by that line and has now pushed me for a timeline. After some negotiation (she wanted to start wearing make-up today, I wanted her to start in her thirties) we decided that she would start this summer, to give her some time to experiment before high school begins.

I’m not too sure my exact motivations in each of these situations, but in each instance, to some degree, I recognized that I was the one with the greater problem. I don't want her to grow up. So each of these situations has challenged me in the area of letting go. I’ve seen the end result of holding on too long and it's not pretty. I have students in my classes at school whose parents never let them go and they end up at one of two unhealthy extremes. Either they go wild with their newfound freedom, or they bring their parents into my office when I advise them and try to speak with them about some of their life goals. It’s quickly apparent that they don’t distinguish themselves from their parents in any meaningful way.

Operating on the principle that we start with the end result in mind, then we have to cut the (insert metaphor of your choice: aprons strings or umbilical cord) at some point if we want to produce healthy, Godly adults.

On these two particular issues, the time is now.

Deep Waters Ahead

Over the last few weeks, I’ve shared some special moments with my kids. With the small perspective that being a parent for 13 years provides, I know that these moments are fleeting. The brevity of childhood hit me years ago, the first afternoon I arrived home from work and Scooter didn’t meet me at the door with a shrieking “Daddy’s Home!!!!”

What I’ve long known in the abstract I’ve now witnessed in the concrete: kids grow up. Even worse, my kids grow up. So over the course of the last month, I’ve had three experiences that I know won’t last much longer. I feel like I’m walking from the shallow end of my kid’s childhood to the deep end of the pool where teen years and adulthood lie in wait. My toes can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.

We’ve recently wrapped up soccer for the second season and the kids all loved it. But unlike last year, Squealer seemed to finally get the point of the game this year. He scored his first goal in his first game. A writhing, amazing shot as he fell down under a heap of defenders. As he scored the goal, simultaneously falling face first to the ground, he laid on his stomach with one fist raised victoriously in the air. His eyes met mine and he scrambled up and sprinted toward me on the sideline and gave me an enormous hug. Thus it started a trend. Whenever he scored a goal this season (a not uncommon occurrence, given his mother’s athletic abilities) he sprinted toward the sidelines and hugged me. It made me hope for high scoring games.

Skeeter recently, out of the blue, asked me a question I hadn’t heard in years “Daddy, can you rock me tonight?” And so, for the first time in a good two or three years, she crawled up into my lap (much smaller now than it used to be) and we rocked, although her feet were practically touching the ground. He face was in the crook of my arm as we sang and talked and pretty soon I felt moisture on my arm. Realizing she was crying, I asked her what was wrong. She said “I don’t want to go away to college. I want to stay here with you and Mom.” So of course, not only was my arm wet, but soon her hair as well. I don’t know how many more times I’ll get to rock her, but such moments too are disappearing. And of course, when the day comes for her to leave for college, I’ll be the one wishing she could stay while she’ll be the one looking forward to new adventures.

Scooter is the biggest and the oldest, neither hugging Dad in public nor rocking with him in private. But she still gets happy when I’m able to stop by her school for lunch. She likes it when I sit with her and her friends at the lunch table and they explain to me again all of the intricacies of early teen life. She rolls her eyes at my corny jokes and turns beet red in front of her friends when I display my attempts at cool lingo “Between us, let’s keep it on the ‘LD” or “That new group is really on the chain!” But her face lights up whenever I get the chance to come by and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek goodbye when her friends are safely around the corner.

But I can see changes coming. Squealer will one day celebrate goals with high fives instead of hugs and Skeeter will ask me for gas money instead of time in the rocking chair. Scooter will beg me to take her off campus to lunch instead of eating around her friends. But I’ll treasure these moments and I’ll miss them at the same time.

My feet can still touch the bottom, but not for much longer.

Real Beauty

I work alongside many artists. Because some in our department teach computer aided graphic design, I knew a bit about how pictures of models are "touched up" for magazine covers and advertisements. But there is something remarkable about watching it happen.

I viewed this video with Scooter and Skeeter and we talked about beauty in contemporary Western culture. It was very helpful in illustrating how artificial popular conceptions of beauty are.

Goodbye to the Fanksy Poon

Corporal punishment has made our home a less chaotic place.

We made the decision several years ago that we would spank the kids only when their actions placed their lives in danger. So Scooter and Skeeter received spankings pretty rarely—essentially only for things like walking out into the street or running away from us in a public place. That system worked very well and we’ve not had to spank either of them in years.

And then we had a son.

We started out with the same general principle for Squealer that we did for the girls. But after about three years, we realized that we were going to have to change tactics. Despite his abhorrence for time outs, Squealer often ignores them and continues to repeat the behavior that led to them. So with that in mind, we began to utilize a small wooden spoon to swat his behind when he repeatedly transgressed his limitations. We initially called it the “Spanky Spoon,” but Squealer couldn’t pronounce that so he refers to it as the “Fanksy Poon” (and of course, we all began to refer to it as Fanksy Poon as well).

But Squealer has matured to the point where a wooden spoon not longer accomplishes is corporal task. Because of this fact, I made one purchase during the rummage sale of which I am particularly proud. I purchased a sturdy paddle from an old ball and paddle game.

I have named it Mr. Buster. Scooter and Squealer took great delight in drawing a mean face on it. The face is frowning and saying the words "Squealer, get back in bed!!"

I’ll let you know when it is ummm…… broken in.

The Kiss

Conversation between Taran and Kadie after Scooter got back from Pre-Teen camp in the Summer of 2005:

T: “You know Kadie, Scooter just got back from camp and she went with that boy she’s been spending a lot of time with at church.”

K: “Yes. His name is Jacob”

T: “Right...Jacob. Umm well, I was wondering if they, you know, kissed while at camp?”

K: “What are you talking about? Why do you think that she kissed someone? Did you kiss someone when you were in youth camp?”

T: “Well, that’s really not the point. My question is ‘Do you think that Scooter kissed Jacob at camp? I mean, she’s only ten.”

K: “I don’t know, but why are you asking me? I wasn’t at camp. You should be asking Scooter.”

Silence….processing……processing…..processing

T: “Well maybe I will.”

Several hours later, Scooter and I are sitting on the floor of the living room, having wrapped up some cleaning. I seize the moment.

T: “Ummm…look, Scooter, I wanted to….”

S: “What’s the matter, Daddy? Is everything alright?”

T: “Oh nothing, nothing, I mean yes, everything’s fine. It’s just…” I stammer.

S: “Dad, Did I do something wrong? You look serious.”

T: Oh no, nothing wrong, or…well….you went to camp with your – uhhhh with Jacob and I was wondering…”

S: “What Daddy?”

T: “Well, I was wondering….Scooter, I was wondering if… if…you’ve ever kissed a boy?”

Silence….my heart pounds…..I am waiting for the dreaded answer.

As I finish my question, for just a second she looks confused. Then she giggles as she leans forward. And as she leans forward she kisses my nose and says “Only YOU Daddy!” and she stands up, laughs, and skips away.

Taking my heart with her.




I was too chicken to ask her again after this year’s camp.

The First Day...

I hear the hungry beast before I see it. I always do.

Scotter and I are outside on the intersection in front of our home, waiting for the slow moving behemoth that will soon consume her and take her away. She is less nervous than I am. Today is the first day that she will meet the beast, but it is harder on me than on her. While she waits patiently, I stand there awkwardly, the geeky parent fidgeting more than his daughter.

And then I hear its roar as it slowly changes gears just out of sight.

Our street curves out of sight about thirty yards from our house. The trees and homes of our street form a tunnel that amplifies the sound of the beast as it changes gears. This low pitched roar is a familiar sound, one I hear all the time during the school year. But before this day, it had always come of the children of others, never for mine.

It lumbers into view, its dull, metallic hide glows ominously in the dusky 7:00 am light. It slows down and suddenly its yellow and red eyes begin to flash and blaze a hungry warning. The grill of the monster grins wickedly at me. (Wasn’t it Calvin Miller who once wrote “Love smiles. Evil grins”?) As it rumbles to a stop, its stubby red signs awkwardly extend out like vestigial wings, no longer capable of supporting flight. They too flash a red warning.

As it stops in front of us, its hungry maw folds open and a complete stranger beckons her in. She kisses me, turns and bravely heads for the mouth of the beast. Right before she enters, Scooter turns one last time for a quick wave. Then she vanishes into its belly. It hisses at me, and slowly rolls away with her inside.

And my prayers go with her.

Two Little Monkeys, Jumping on a Bed...

Flashback: The year is Spring of 2000 and we are preparing to move from Waco to our new home.

We had a rule in our house that jumping on the bed was not permitted. The kids knew that jumping on the bed was akin to the laws of the Medes and the Persians that could never be altered. It was strictly forbidden. One afternoon, Scooter came downstairs with Skeeter in tow. (Scooter would often be the spokesperson while Skeeter stood there as silent and curly headed as Harpo).

Scooter: "Father, may we jump on the bed?"

Taran: "No daughter, you know that it is a rule of the house that you must not jump on the bed."

Scooter: "But Father, jumping on the bed is fun." (Skeeter nods emphatically).

Taran: "It is true daughter, that jumping on the bed is fun. But jumping on the bed is not good for the bed. Because of how badly it hurts the bed, you may not jump on it."

Scooter: "But father, isn't it true that we are buying a new bed for our new apartment?"

Taran: "Yes daughter, we will be getting you and your sister a new bed after we move."

Scooter: "So can't we jump on the bed since we will be getting a new one?"

Taran: (silence...thinking...thinking...silence)

Scooter: PLEASE!!!!!! (Skeeter makes a very pleading face)

Taran: "Yes daughters, you may jump on the bed."

The girls chirped their thanks and bounded up the stairs. I soon hear the little bed squeaking and groaning under their collective weight. Their giggles bring a smile to my face.

Then I ignored them and turn on the Texas Rangers game.

Time passes (minutes, hours?) and the front door unlocks and opens. Kadie has arrived at home.

Before I get in a greeting she freezes and says (like Samuel to Saul) "What's that sound that I hear?"

(squeak, giggle, squeak, giggle)

Taran: "Oh, that's the girls, they're jumping on the bed."

Kadie: (silence...silence...)

Taran: (sensing trouble, speaking quickly) "Well, as Scooter pointed out to me, we are going to be getting a new bed, and jumping on the bed is fun, so I told them..."

Kadie sliced off my explanation with "Taran!" (which sounded like an expletive). It then dawned on me that she was wearing her scrubs. I remembered that she was a nurse. I remembered then that she was at that moment a practicing pediatric nurse. I remembered then that she was a pediatric nurse who often worked with children who have experienced blunt head trauma injuries.

"Taran" she said, and held up her hand to stop my stuttering 'explanation'.

Kadie then took on a tone of voice that she had previously reserved for talking to three-eyar olds. "Taran, the danger is that they might fall from the bed onto the hardwood floors that are, you know, hard wood."

She continued "I am not concerned about the bed, but rather head injuries. Don't you even sing a song to them about it?"

Taran: "Ummm....I thought that was just a song."

A Burden of Parenting

We had a difficult situation to handle the other day. Scooter has a friend her age at church named Sandra. Sandra’s parents are divorced, and she spends alternate weekends with each of her parents. While at her mother’s home (in another town) she often has friends over to spend the night. Recently, Sandra asked Scooter to spend the night at her father’s house.

Now her father, Jim, is one of the nicest men in our church. He is very active and has taught all three of our kids in Sunday School. But here’s the catch: he’s still single. And at the end of the day, Kadie and I were uncomfortable with Scooter spending the night with them. We agonized over this decision, but ultimately decided to follow our rule about not allowing Scooter to spend the night with people we do not know extremely well. (Outside of family, I think she has spent the night in two homes over the last ten years). We did let Scooter play with Sandra during the day, but did not let her spend the night.

We had a similar situation last year where an acquaintance of Scooter’s (not really a friend) invited her over to a slumber/birthday party. We didn’t know the parents at all and finally decided to let her go play until around 10:00 pm and then picked her up and returned her at 7:00 the next morning. Her parents repeatedly assured us that Scooter could stay the night, but we didn’t allow her to. We were the weird parents!!

The statistics about sexual abuse absolutely terrify me. 1 in 3 girls will be sexually abused before the age of 18. So at the university, in one of my typical classes of 60 students (around 40 girls), about 13 girls have been molested. So besides being “overprotective parents” (Jim’s words), what else do we do?

1) We talk to the girls. We specifically tell them that no one should ever touch them anywhere their bathing suit covers. Also they should never touch anyone else wherever their bathing suit covers. We try to reinforce this in a serious conversation every year or so.

2) We talk to them from time to time about the importance of being open with us. One of my fears is that something will happen and they will be too ashamed to share it with us. We try to prevent that by always being accessible and assuring them of our love no matter what.

3) We explain to the girls why they cannot spend the night or play in someone’s house we do not know very well. I have found that when we take the time to explain it, they are often more understanding.

4) We pray always for their safety. Ultimately, as much as we would like to be the ones in control, only God can keep them safe. We pray for them constantly and trust in the LORD to keep them in the palm of his hand.

Do you have any other suggestions???

So ultimately, while we damaged our relationship with Jim, I do feel that we made the right decision. Ultimately we will sacrifice some of their fun, and some of our comfort, in order to try to do our best to keep the girls safe.

Taking A Stand

Skeeter has a fascinating habit that she has developed over the years. Whenever she dines at home, she eats standing up. When we are out at a restaurant or at church for a meal, she usually remains in her seat. But at home, something possesses her to take to her feet. It could be honor for the daily repaste, latent feelings of superiority, or even an innate desire to always be prepared to flee the room if needed. But it's not something she does intentionally. Do other people do this? I mean, Lileks stands up when he writes, but surely not when he eats. Here is a typical picture of breakfast on a busy school morning.

Note also Squealer in a quiet moment of reflection. (I am unsure how he managed to get his portable piano to the table during the meal. I was never allowed to sing at the table growing up, much less play the Rach 3 as he seems prepared to do). Note also his spoon, under the table, cast aside as too cumbersome a device for eating Cheerios in milk. Fingers work better.

We have threatened Skeeter with time outs and other, more stringent, actions to get her to stay in her seat, but they are to no avail. She remains upright. We have essentially accepted this little eccentricity on her part and not forced her to conform to Western society’s arbitrary standard position of eating. It helps that she is roughly the same height as everyone else while they are sitting. So it really isn’t too distracting. It’s not like we are eating a meal next to an upright Yao Ming.

This episode demonstrates parenting in a nutshell. Figure out what habits and directions are destructive and try to weed those out. Accept the inconsequential behaviors. As one wiser than I has commented: Keep the end result in mind. Is Skeeter’s habit odd, and somewhat annoying to the uninitiated? Undoubtedly. But if our goal is to work to produce Christ-like children, then I suppose sitting down at the table is optional.

If somewhat annoying.