Steely Dad

At 9 PM Central on Thursday, Oct. 29, the Steely Family embarked on an ambitious adventure that most parents dare not even mention. What am I talking about? The Family Road Trip.

So far, the trip has been pretty eventful, complete with overnight stays in Wal-Mart parking lots and dances with crazy drivers. During one stretch through Kansas, we were greeted with a noisome odor. Being that we were in rural Kansas, I assumed it was produced by bovine manure. However, this particular scent had that distinctive “human” quality. I took a quick peek in the backseat at Steely Daughter and was stricken by absolute fear at the site of my beautiful daughter covered in poop after having a colossal blowout! She had it all over her hands so this emergency required swift, evasive and direct intervention. Needless to say, we will be one pair of pants short on our return trip.

This incident, along with some others, required me to take pause and ask the question: why do (sane) people go on road trips? More specifically, why do parents go on road trips with their kids? This trip has been different from all previous road trips. What happened to the romance of the road I recall, the road I knew intimately when Steely Wife and I camped across this great nation for our honeymoon (we subsequently enjoyed an Alaskan cruise but our camping adventure was our REAL honeymoon). The road I engage today is a distant relative of the one I once knew. The victim of an evolutionary defect that robbed it of its soul? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is me who had undergone the metamorphosis. Perhaps my psyche no longer requires the challenge of rugged survival on the road, but instead relishes in the creature comforts of the Four Seasons (or even the Sleazy 8, which is just as good as the Four Seasons after a sleepless night in a Wal-Mart parking lot).

The reason we go on road trips is for the opportunity such adventures provide for self-introspection and self-discovery. On the road, our souls are baptized by the wind and the endless stretch of asphalt that leads to the horizon of our dreams. Of course, at this stage in my life, I feel confident I can obtain the same soul-searching revelations with a warm bed and a plasma TV.

In any case, this stay-at-home dad wants to provide his loyal readers with a veritable “real time” experience of this unique adventure. Thus, I’m going to provide a kind of play-by-play narrative, including all the gory details, at Twitter (and maybe Facebook). So follow me: steely_dad for exclusive updates. Missed what’s already happened? You can read previous tweets on my Twitter homepage. And, in a Steely Dad first, I’m also going to attempt to provide ALL updates utilizing nothing more than my mobile communication device. Enjoy!

I have a favor to ask of you.  Yes, I’m aware that it’s rather presumptuous of me to make any requests in light of my prolonged absence, but a favor I ask of you nonetheless.

You might be saying to yourself, “You schmuck! You abandon us, your faithful and loyal readers, for weeks on end and now you want to ask a favor? You’re a stay-at-home dad for cying out loud! You should have time to write a stupid blog at least once a week!” and you’re right. All I can say is mea culpa. For whatever reason, the inspiration hasn’t been there as of late and I don’t want to offend your fertile minds by simply writing drivel that’s worse than the usual drivel you’ve come to expect from Steely Dad. Yea, doing so might help with SEO and page ranks but I think it’s safe to say those elements hardly provide me motivation.

The favor I’d like to ask of you is to stop reading this post right now. WAIT! Before you do, because I know just how happy you are to oblige, please follow these very important instructions: GO HUG YOUR KID(S). I mean REALLY hug them.  Tell them how much you love them, how special they are to you. No, don’t lie. I want you to hug them and kiss them and hold them tight and let all that love in your heart spill forth. Don’t be afraid; you can’t spoil a kid with love. For those of us parents with younger kids, we don’t appreciate the brevity of these early years. Parents with older children are often cursed with the wisdom that kids just grow up way too quickly. Never again squander another opportunity to let your kids know how much you love and adore them.

I know this would be the message of Sophie and Tyler Crew, dear friends of the Steely Family, if they could speak to you right now.  I know they would love nothing more than to be able to hug their beautiful baby girl, 13-month old Emma, right this very moment. I know they would do anything to be able to hold her, to touch her, to smell her sweet and familiar scent that only they recognize. I know they would do anything to be able to hear Emma’s silly giggle and to tickle her to hear it over and over again. Even big sister Ava would love to share her toys with Emma. But they cannot, at least not right now, for their precious little Emma is in a crucial fight for her fragile life after being victimized in what doctors have described as a Shaken Baby Syndrome incident.

Sophie and Tyler are living a parent’s worst nightmare.  Sometime after dropping off Emma at daycare, they received a call from the facility that something happened to Emma. At that seminal moment, at that singular second in time, their comfortable world was eternally shattered. And even if all prayers are answered, even if the miracle of all miracles happens, nothing for the Crew Family will ever be the same again, not EVER.

After hearing this tragic story, I wondered how anyone could do something like this to a little baby, an innocent child who is not able to defend itself . How could someone turn into such a monster? It seems unfathomable, unimaginable and demonic. And you know what, it is all of these things but apparently it doesn’t take much to turn into such a monster. A brief yet uncontrollable fit of anger coupled with several violent shakes in a few seconds is all it takes to steal the life of a child. According to the National Center on Shaken Baby Syndrome, an estimated 1,200 to 1,400 children in the United States are injured or killed by being shaken each year.

No gun, no blunt instrument, no poison was used. In fact, the person probably started off with good intentions of trying to comfort a crying child. But when nothing they tried worked, the person transformed from caregiver to monster. Hands, an inability to control impulses and the law of physics that would leave adults unscathed but literally shakes the breath out of those much smaller than us were the only weapons used in this case. We’ve all been frustrated with our kids, when they don’t listen, when they cry incessantly and inconsolably for unending hours, and we’ve wished it to go away, quickly, so we can get back to sleep, get back to work or get back to whatever it was we were doing. The only thing the Crew Family wants to get back to is a normal life.

Sophie and Tyler sit vigil by Emma’s side, where they have remained since this nightmare took on a momentum that far exceeds their tolerance.  Three hundred and sixty hours have passed since the last time they saw their happy, healthy Emma. Think of all the hugs they would’ve shared had it not been for a person’s, a stranger’s, rage.

Mom and Dad, sitting on either side of Emma, read her favorite books, sing her favorite songs, looking, waiting, wishing, hoping for anything that resembles life. A sign, a twitch, a movement, a response, a sound, anything. How do you hold on to hope when doctors say to let go of it? How do you manage expectations when doctors tell you not to have any? I don’t know how but I do know that Sophie and Tyler and Ava have not given up on Emma, have not lost hope and have not abandoned expectations. Emma knows this too, and she can feel the love and support and she hears our prayers and she has responded by moving one of her arms and one of her legs. She has opened her eyes. These are small but meaningful signs that nuture the seed of hope. Remember, all mighty oaks start out as tiny acorns. Let me tell you, this little girl has more fight in her than any, save her family, knew she had in her heart. She’s not giving up and she wants to let us know not to give up on her, that she’s going to keep on fighting.

Emma doesn’t understand what losing this fight would mean to her parents, to her sister, to her grandparents. She doesn’t know the grief that would descend upon an entire community of people who love and adore her. Yet out of nothing more than sheer life instinct, the genetic code that resolves us to take another breath when doing so presents greater challenge than not taking one, this little girl fights on.

It’s easy to think something like this will never happen to us and when we don’t personally know the people struggling with a tragedy such as this, it’s even easier to take comfort in the emotional distance that frees us from any reminder of the grief  being experienced by those hit hardest. But don’t forget; instead, think of little Emma struggling for the very existence we take for granted.

I’d like to make one last request. I am asking for everyone reading this story to pray for little Emma Crew. Organize prayer services at your church, synagogue or other place of worship. If you’re not comfortable with prayer, then please send your positive thoughts Emma’s way. If praying is fine and dandy but you feel moved to do something more “tangible” the family would be most grateful for any financial contributions. Obviously, both Sophie and Tyler have taken an indefinite leave of absence from their respective jobs (Sophie is a school teacher and Tyler works in construction) since Emma’s hospitalization. I know we’d all like to lessen the burden that was thrust upon this family by minimizing financial stresses in order that they may focus their energies on little baby Emma. Donations, in any amount, can be made at the Crew Family blog by clicking on the “Donate” button. I hope you will contribute out of a desire, rather than an obligation, to help.

If you’re a blogger, have a Facebook, Twitter or any other social media account, please feel free to post this wherever compassionate eyes may read it.

Thanking you in advance,
Todd (AKA Steely Dad)

I just returned from an orientation for parents whose kids are signed up for summer camp. Yup, that’s right, my son is going off to summer camp. OK, it’s not like a camping camp; it’s a day camp. Nevertheless, whereas many of the parents look forward to summer camp with greater anticipation than the kids, I’m counting down the minutes like a Dead Man Walking.

Yes, I know he will only be away for four hours a day. Yes, I am aware that the camp is only three days a week. Um, yes, I can do the math (with the help of a calculator): that’s only 12 hours a week.

But I’m REALLY sad.

I mean, REALLY melancholic.

My son, my little buckaroo, is taking his first real giant step toward independence. I seriously can’t believe it. Even as a stay-at-home dad (SAHD), a role which provides me the opportunity to enjoy a majority of my son’s time, I’m still bummed. Of course I’m happy for him and I know he’s going to have a blast but a selfish part of me still wants to spend the entire day with him. There’s a part of me that now feels guilty for all the times I brushed him aside so I could do really important things like write blogs, Twitter, Facebook and the lame list goes on. I took for granted that I had all the time in the world with my son. Even though I became a SAHD for the sole purpose of spending the most amount of time possible with my kids, I still fell into the trap I so adroitly tried to avoid.

And it’s a total cliché: the time goes by so fast.

And it’s so very true.

He can’t be ready for summer camp. I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday.

I’m aware it’s not cool for dads to feel like moms but what can I say? I’m just one of the girls.

I worry about my son. I don’t know. Maybe it’s me I worry about. As parents, we’ve already experienced the agony and the ecstasy of growing up. The break ups, the heartaches, the rejection. We thought most of the volatility that goes along with the maturing process was well in the past but guess what? Once kids enter the picture, you have the distinct privilege to relive these special memories all over again only this time in a vicarious manner. It’s difficult and even more frustrating because you know your power to soften the blows will be futile.

My son is very sensitive. He really cares about other people. Whenever there is a new kid who joins his class at the drop-in center, he is the first to befriend the child. Parents have come up to me saying, “Your son was so nice to my boy. Thanks!” Comments like these are not unusual and each time I hear them I feel awesome. Just yesterday, for participating in a reading program, my son earned the privilege to choose a toy out of a treasure chest at the library. There were all sorts of cool little figurines that I thought for sure he’d snatch up. He ended up choosing a dinosaur straw. Later that evening I asked him why he had chosen the straw instead of the astronaut figurine or the little pirate dude. He looked at me with his big brown eyes and said, “Daddy, I thought those little figurines were too small for Ivie (his sister) and she could choke on them.” My eyes welled up with tears. You’ll recall the recent trauma we experienced when my daughter choked on a piece of food and had surgery to remove the obstruction. In any case, how does a boy this small have such a big heart? It’s a biological anomaly, especially if one considers his parents. I don’t know the kid’s IQ but I can tell you his EQ (emotional quotient) is off the charts and to me I’ll take that over “brains” any day of the week. Think of all the serial killers out there. Most of them have/had above-average intelligence. Let’s face it. Our basic job as parents is to make sure our kids don’t turn into sadistic criminals. If you see a story about your kids on America’s Most Wanted, you’ve probably goofed it somewhere along the way.

Most kids are cool but there are some mean little fuckers out there. My son has shared with me that some kids are not nice to him. They say mean things, exclude him and sometimes even hit or kick him. I’m not sure why that is; perhaps they mistake his kindness for weakness. Nevertheless, it breaks my heart when I hear these stories from him. I know he’s not making them up because I’ve personally witnessed several instances of this behavior. I don’t usually intervene unless the behavior is egregious. I think it’s important for kids to learn how to work things out on their own. I’ve tried to teach him how to handle tough situations, including how to defend and protect himself should things get physical. Although the kid loves to play rough and wrestle, he doesn’t have an aggressive bone in his body. Teaching him to fight back is like teaching the Dalai Lama to become a shit kicker. I don’t want kids to take advantage of my son’s peaceful nature but I also want to respect and encourage his unique personality. And therein lies the dilemma. The world is not always kind and is not always just and sometimes it swallows the innocent.

Summer camp will really be the first test, as much for him as for me. For the first time ever, we’ll be apart. His personality and genteel temperament will be challenged without Daddy’s occasional intervention. For the first time, the principles I’ve tried to teach him will undergo the stress and rigors of real-life application. Will they stand up to the test? Gulp. I just took my first huge swig of blind faith.

Hey, don’t forget we only have two more days for our fundraiser to help fight childhood cancer. Please consider making a contribution. Just click on the Alex’s Lemonade Stand button above. Thanks!