The Middle Aged to Oldish Man and The Creek

Kids look to their parents as gods and the Bits are no exceptions. We control when they sleep, when and what they eat, where they go and just about every aspect of their lives. We have god like power over them and for the most part parents like this arrangement (Yes, I realize this will all go out the window when the kids hit puberty but let me bask in the glow of my deity status while I still can). There are times when it comes to bite me in the butt though. Now Big Bits is going to The St. Louis Language Immersion School, he wants to know what things are called in French. My knowledge of French ends at omelette du fromage but when he asks “How do you say this is French?” and I say, “I don’t know” he looks at me for a moment and then laughs, “Yes, you do!” I have one other place where my knowledge is lacking but so far I’ve been able to hide it from him: I know next to nothing about fishing.

This lack of knowledge is not restricted to fishing; there is a lot of things I don’t know about but Big Bits has not asked about how a carburetor works or how a DVD plays a movie so I’ve been in the clear. But he has asked about fishing. And so far, I’ve been able to fake it.

It started last year when Big Bits was deep into “The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess,” an amazing video game everyone should play. In it, Link, the hero, finds time while saving the land of Hyrule from slipping into ever lasting darkness to take in some fishing, a hobby Big Bits decided he wanted to try in real life. And here starts our problem.

I’ve been fishing before but it had been almost thirty years so my “skills” were rusty (“Lacking in their entirety” might be a more apt description). Luckily we have relatives who LOVE to fish so off to my sister- and brother-in-law’s we went. Sarah and Chuck took us out to their favorite fishing hole and we set up to fish.

Before going out, we bought Big Bits and Little Bits fishing rods, Spiderman for Big and Lightening McQueen for Little (Little Bits didn’t really care about fishing but if Big Bits wants to do something so does Little Bits, even if he has no idea what it is). Armed with their superhero fishing rods, they were ready to do battle with the fish.

First we had to bait the hooks which entailed impaling fairly innocent looking worms on big hooks. I’m generally against this, both as a Buddhist and as a person who doesn’t like things he would describe as “icky-poo.” Luckily Chuck did the impaling so my karma and stomach were feeling good. I helped Big Bits cast out a few times and got him into a good rhythm before helping Little Bits but he had found rocks were near the water and really couldn’t care less about fishing. He had a goal get ALL the rocks into the water and would rather be left alone.

With Big Bits doing well, I grabbed one of the many poles Chuck already had in water and took a cast of my own. The bait hit the water (already passing my wildest dreams for this entire trip) and I started reeling it in. Suddenly, the line got heavy, the pole began to bend and, low and behold, I had caught a fish! A epic struggle only Ernest Hemingway his own drunken self could properly describe began but I shall try to paraphrase: after a fight lasting at least seconds, I wound up with a three inch long fish on the end of my pole.

Big Bits’ eyes just about popped out of his head. I was a better fisherman of not only his uncle but of Link too! We cast the fish back out and let Big Bits reel him in a few times before Uncle Chuck took the fish off the hook (another icky-poo moment) and threw him back in the water. I was elevated to god like status in my child’s eyes and so the rest of the day was great as far as I concerned (no one else caught anything and I didn’t have kill any worms—woot!). We got home later and put the fishing poles in the basement, never to be seen again and my secret shame would be safe from the light of day.

Or so I thought.

Earlier this summer I was puttering around the basement and suddenly found Big Bits standing behind me. He, of course, saw the fishing poles and immediately wanted to go fishing again. With a sigh, I tried to think of a way out. Spotting my tool box nearby, I had an idea: practice. We could tie weights on the end of the line and go in the back yard to practice casting. The chances of catching a fish or having to torture a worm to death were slim, plus if we didn’t use hooks there was also little chance of the kids hooking their ears or eyes. I realized there were still a slight chance of all these things happening (our backyard is a strange place) but I was willing to take a chance.

So moments later the four of us were standing in the backyard (Tiny Bits joined us but mostly to play with the epic weeds growing near the fence) and with washers tied to the end our lines, we practiced casting. What should have been a relaxing afternoon of throwing nearly invisible plastic wire around the lawn became an unending quest to untangle invisible plastic wire from around fence posts, trees limbs and telephone lines. One time we even got the line into a tree on the far end of our neighbor’s yard. While it’s impressive Little Bits could cast a line that long, it was a pain in my rear to get it out of the tree.

So, did that placate Big Bits (Little Bits gave up pretty much the moment he realized there was going to be no body of water nor any rocks to throw into it)? Well, no: he wanted to know where MY fishing pole was and when were WE going to go fishing, as he put it, “With, like, water and stuff.” My fear was growing but not as much as my desire to make my boy happy. So, a day later we were standing in a large department store which shall remain nameless (but really likes the color red. That about hits it right in the bull’s eye) and I found myself buying a rod, reel and small collection of multi-colored, bug shaped lure thingies. So we had the equipment and were ready for some HARD CORE FISHING ACTION (but hopefully without catching any fish)!

My father-in-law grew up in a picturesque valley with a creek running down the middle, large trees and a actual log cabin built back in log cabin times. This place makes Little House on the Prairie look like an abandoned Detroit slum. It’s just a hour or so outside the city and so we go there every few months to chill out. This time we went with my in-laws for a camping adventure…and fishing. We hadn’t even gotten out of the car when the cries of “Can we go to the creek?” were echoing through our car and I could hear similar cries coming from my brother-in-law’s car as my nieces, Niece Bits and Cousin Bits, the 12 and 11 year old dynamic duo are the Bits’ favorite people, were chanting the same thing. So we switched into swim wear, bathed in sun screen and grabbed the billion and one toys, towels and sundries needed to go swimming in a six foot deep creek with five kids. I was hoping to leave my shame in the car but Big Bits shouted as we started walking, “Dad, don’t forget the fishing poles!”

Once everyone else was swimming (I’m not a big fan of swimming in natural water; it’s murky and murky water can hide things…things that can hurt you: sharp toothed fish, crawdads, whales…it’s all very frightening) I headed off down the creek to where the water was calm and clear enough you could see the little fish swimming around. Cousin Bits, an avid fisherwoman, came with me with Little Bits’ fishing pole in hand. I cast into the creek (hit the water again!) and let the little, yellow, bug looking lure with it’s sharp, fish catching hook sink into the water and with it any hope my son would not know how much of “a neo maxi zoom dweebie” I really am.

But maybe not. For once again the moment I started reeling in the line my rod bent and I had hooked another fish. Cousin Bits let out a cheer and Big Bits came running. My father-in-law called the four inch, quarter pound wiggler Blue Phil but I thought he looked more like a Green Carl. We let Big Bits take a close look at my trophy fish and then my father-in-law unhooked him and let him go. My son looked up at me with admiration and that’s the best trophy of all.

Spring creates crazy kids; here’s help controlling them

Children are heavily affected by spring. As the days become longer and the weather warmer, the barely constrained craziness that had been building up all winter in their little bodies explodes out, and smart parents know to be on their guard to control their little hellions or face the consequences.

Kids’ physical energy is parents’ biggest challenge. During the long winter months, when the nights are long and the days are cold, no one has much energy. Even kids don’t want to go out in freezing weather. Well, after the first snow that is – they’re biting at the bit to get out the door once the the first big snow fall of the year hits but after a few hours of freezing, they’re through. The next day, playing a snowboarding video game in a warm living room looks like a lot more fun. Heavy comfort food and thick blankets make everyone lazy and happy to lie about and do nothing.

With parents, energy we didn’t use in winter turns to fat and we have to work very hard to release it. With kids, they store it somewhere magical, and they can tap a nearly endless supply at a moment’s notice. And when is that moment? The first warmish day of the year. And the worse thing? While they can tap the energy instantly, they can’t stop the flow once it’s pouring through them. This would be livable if the weather got warm and stayed warm but, of course, this is St. Louis so we get a warm day followed by a week of miserable weather. Those weeks of bad weather can test your parenting patience, but you can do a few things to help you through the dark times and have everyone make it alive and sane until the sun once again basks us in all its glory.

Exorcise the Ya-Ya Demons: The Ya-Ya Demons will dig their evil claws into your beautiful, prefect child and turn him or her into a crazed beast from the dark recesses of your worse nightmares. One moment your kid is hanging out, being fairly normal and the next they are jumping off the couch a dozen times in a row while scream-singing songs they don’t know the lyrics to. Oh, the fun. In a situation like this, your only choice is to get the energy out of the kid ASAP. If it isn’t horribly cold or raining, take them outside, get them to walk around the block with you, say hello to your neighbors and help them with their numbers by counting how many houses on each street are for sale. If it is horrible out, get to the Science Center, the City Museum or even your local mall if it has a indoor play area; any place where kids are encouraged to run and jump up and down will work. Work them into a frenzy, tucker them out and, if you’re lucky, they’ll be passed out in the car seat before you get halfway home. This, of course, makes utilization of every halfway nice day a must. If it’s sunny out, get your kid out of the house. Walk to a park and make them play, kick a soccer ball around the back yard, anything to get them to move. Because if you let them sit, the energy they aren’t using will be stored up and will bubble out of them sooner or later, regardless if the weather is nice or not.

Get their mind moving: Anyone who remembers school will testify to the tiring effects of studying and using their minds a great deal. This is another way to get your kid tired on those days when you can’t get them out of the house. The trick is to get them involved in something intellectual before the Ya-Ya Demons attack. This doesn’t have to be discussing 19th century German philosophy or ranking the highlights of the Fillmore administration; it can be as simple as a board game or coloring. The idea is to get them concentrating on an activity and get them to focus their boundless energy there before it builds up and attacks you with screaming, running around like crazy people and missung song lyrics.

These are two ideas to help you with your crazy kids. Just remember it isn’t their fault they can’t control themselves, it’s just this time of year. So, you’ll get to do this all again next year. There, doesn’t that make you feel better?

Originally published on stltoday.com