|
|
Boy, have I been getting sidetracked!
My original plan was to tell my life story. To leave behind a record for Chip. But every time I start, I roll across some switch in the track and my train of thought gets diverted. Yosemite. Menus. Screen-Free Week. And now, today, another unexpected (but wonderful) detour: the kids left me a Gratitude Box. They took a plain old shoebox, and with a few carefully trimmed sheets of construction paper, turned it into a life-affirming work of art. All around the edges, in big block letters, they wrote my favorite Meister Eckhart quote: “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” But they left off the last words, “it will be enough.” Instead, the words “thank you ...” end on top of the box, next to an open slot. They glued a pad of rainbow-colored Post-It notes to one side of the box, and Velcroed a 4-color ballpoint pen to the other. I found the box on top of a library book of Ansel Adams’ black and white Yosemite photographs. Scanning the book, I came across this wonderful line: “Yosemite Valley, to me, is always a sunrise, a glitter of green and golden wonder in a vast edifice of stone and space.” Opening the box, I found the kids had already added the first note: “Thanks for taking us to Yosemite.” For a minute there, I got pretty choked up. We dads can be so emotional, especially when no one is around. I spent the next hour filling the box with gratitude. All I can say is, we’re going to need a lot more Post-It notes. Comments 
Media Jean: Your dad sure likes his Gratitude Box. 
Chip: Yeah. He’s on his second block of Post-Its.
Media Jean: It’s funny how just having a box makes you want to fill it.
Chip: Maybe we should throw in a few notes.
Media Jean: Definitely. But I had something else in mind.
Chip: What?
Media Jean: Well, what if we made 20 or 30 Gratitude Boxes?
Chip: I doubt even my dad could fill that many, and he’s a gratitude guru.
Media Jean: Not for us. For the town. I was reading “The Guerrilla Art Kit” by Keri Smith. She talks about creating art and then putting it in unexpected places, you know, to surprise people.
Chip: So we scatter Gratitude Boxes all around town?
Media Jean: Exactly! We can make them different sizes, too. One of those small tissue boxes would be perfect for stores. Put it by the tip jar in the bagel shop. I bet tips go way up!
Chip: We could put one in the post office. There’s always a line of grumpy-looking people.
Media Jean: Exactly! Tie one to the chain link fence at school.
Chip: Sneak into every doctor’s office and leave one in every waiting room.
Media Jean: On the bus.
Chip: In the library.
Media Jean: The bowling alley.
Chip: We could make a waterproof one for the park.
Media Jean: And the pool!
Chip: This is a great idea!
Media Jean: Yeah. Too bad Johnny wasn’t here. He could probably figure out a way to turn all this new-agey stuff into a product.
Chip: Yeah. He’s good at that.
Media Jean: Oh, well. I guess that’s how it is with business. You got to be in the right place at the-- 
Johnny: OK, OK, I’m here already!
Media Jean: I knew it! Lured you out, lurker!
Johnny: Fine, I admit I was lurking this one time. What matters now is turning this ThankYou Box into a viral product.
Chip: It’s just a box, some decorations, Post-It notes, and a pencil.
Johnny: And Coca-Cola is just sugar and carbonated water! Have you learned nothing from your time with me?
Media Jean: More than I ever wanted to know, actually.
Johnny: Very funny. Look, the most common, everyday object properly branded becomes a must-have product. Don’t think of it as a shoebox and decorations. Think “The Guerilla Gratitude Box.”
Chip: The Guerilla Gratitude Box?
Media Jean: I hate to say it, but that has a nice ring to it.
Johnny: Just wait until the cash starts rolling in!
Chip: I don’t know. Does everything have to be turned into a product?
Johnny: Are you kidding?! Of course it does!
Chip: But this is a Gratitude Box. Maybe some things should be left on a personal level.
Johnny: Please. When you turn personal expression into a consumer product, you give everyone the opportunity to benefit.
Media Jean: You mean you give everyone the opportunity to pay.
Johnny: And what’s wrong with paying if you get something out of it?
Media Jean: I suppose that’s true. And let’s face it, everyone can use more gratitude in their lives.
Johnny: Exactly! The Guerilla Gratitude Box can help an individual appreciate his or her life, motivate a family to be thankful for each other, inspire a community to come together. “The Guerilla Gratitude Box: Because ‘Thank You’ are the most important words you’ll ever say.”
Chip: Wow. I’d buy one.
Media Jean: Me too.
Johnny: We’ll sell a million of these!
Media Jean: I have to hand it to you, Johnny. You could sell anything to anyone.
Johnny: Why, thank you, Media Jean. That’s nice of you to say. Now stop idling around and get to work on those boxes! 
Comic strip from the series "The Gratitude Journal"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I checked with Johnny’s dad and Media Jean’s parents. They’re excited and surprised that their kids want to go to Yosemite. Neither has shown much interest in camping. We’re all going to meet in a couple weeks to talk about the trip.
After my first visit to Yosemite, mom suggested we return each May. But dad wanted much more. He had only two weeks off all year, and he yearned to see all the great national parks “before I move on to that big wilderness in the sky.” "What about Sequoia and Yellowstone?" he argued. "How can we miss the Grand Canyon and the Smoky Mountains, the Rockies and the Tetons?" So the next May, when I was eight, we visited Sequoia National Park. We delved into Crystal Cave, hiked through the Giant Forest, and stood in awe before General Sherman, the largest tree in the world. It was beautiful. It was breathtaking. But it wasn’t Yosemite. After three days, dad reluctantly pointed the Ranchero west down Highway 198, took 99 north, branched off on 41 ... and in just a few hours, we were back in Yosemite Valley. Mom wrote in her journal, “There is something here that Bobby finds nowhere else. Yosemite is Pascal’s missing piece for him; Yosemite fills the God-size hole nothing else can fill. If I could, I would move our family here, just for him.” After that, we spent dad’s precious two weeks every year in Yosemite. I thought Yosemite was the one place we all loved most. But after dad passed so much sooner than any of us expected, mom shared her journal entries from that time. “He wouldn’t let me tell you,” she said. “But I thought you should know.” I was only thirteen when I read those entries, and they made me cry in a way I hadn’t cried before. I learned that each year, my dad secretly planned trips to Zion in Utah, Acadia in Maine, or his dream of dreams, Denali National Park in Alaska. And each year, thinking about his son’s mysterious connection to Yosemite, dad put his own maps and books aside and steered our family back to the one place he felt I needed to go. After he passed, I spent days in his office. I found an old gas station map with a hand-drawn checkbox by each national park he hoped to see. But only two boxes were checked: Sequoia and Yosemite. The Yosemite box had been checked so many times, the map had torn through, leaving a hole that seemed to grow bigger the longer I stared at it. My dad died without having seen Bryce or Haleakala, Mt. Rainier or Arches, Joshua Tree or Glacier, Everglades or Death Valley, or even the Badlands where T-Rexes once roamed. And he died without hearing his son say, “Thanks, dad.” Not once. Not for that. Somehow, I only thanked my mom for Yosemite. In one of those stunningly self-centered blind spots of childhood, I didn’t see what my dad had given up. I didn’t understand that he had traded away every road in America for just one. I’ve been checking national parks off his map ever since. I’m about a third of the way through. If I don’t make it, I’ll leave the map for Chip and hope he finishes the adventure for us all. Thank you, dad. Comments
Media Jean: Now I'm crying.
Chip: Me too.
Johnny: Why does your dad always tell such sad stories?
Chip: Sometimes sad stories are the happiest ones.
Media Jean: I think I'll go and say thank you to my parents right now.
Chip: What for?
Media Jean: Anything. Everything. I don't know. Just THANK YOU.
Johnny: Now that I think about it, I thank my dad all the time. But I never thank my mom. My dad and I act like we're running the world, but mom runs our world.
Media Jean: That goes double for me. For both my parents.
Chip: And it's not just our parents.
Media Jean: What do you mean?
Chip: Well, shouldn't we be thankful for our friends, too?
Media Jean: Does that mean I have to thank Johnny for being Johnny?
Johnny: You should thank me. Hanging around me is like going to business school—for free.
Chip: Media Jean, thanks for being my friend. Thanks for always being there for me. Thanks for making me laugh. Thanks for being braver than I am, for doing things I'm afraid to do, and letting me share in that. You're my best friend.
Media Jean: Wow. Thank you, Chip, for being my best friend. Thanks for helping me see the other guy's point of view, especially when I get carried away. Thanks for showing me that kindness is maybe the most important thing of all. You make the world a better place.
Chip: Johnny, thanks for always being yourself, no matter how much we tease you. Thanks for pushing us to get things done, because otherwise we might spend all our time playing. I'm glad I know someone as different as you.
Media Jean: Same, here, Johnny. Thanks for all of that.
Johnny: Oh, man. I hate this mushy stuff.
Chip: It feels great. Try it.
Johnny: I'd rather not.
Media Jean: Just think of it as practice.
Johnny: Practice?
Media Jean: Sure! When you're a CEO, you'll need to motivate the minions, right?
Johnny: That's true! Great job, I really appreciate you, we couldn't do it without you, yada yada!
Media Jean: Exactly! Why not practice on us?
Johnny: OK. Let's see. Media Jean, the way you think outside the box challenges me to think outside my boxes. Our company needs leaders with independent minds like you. I don't always agree with you, but I want you to know I respect you.
Media Jean: Thank you, Johnny.
Johnny: I'm a natural at this! Chip, you're a geek genius with a heart of gold. That's a rare combination in today's dog-eat-dog world. Thanks to your innovation, our company is more profitable than ever before. We wouldn't be where we are today if not for you.
Chip: Thanks, Johnny. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
Johnny: Did I seem sincere? Did you buy it?
Media Jean: Hook, line and stinker, I mean, sinker.
Johnny: This is going to be easier than I thought! And the best part is, I don't feel a thing! I can say whatever I need to say to drive the lemmings to the sea, and not feel a twang of real emotion. You can't buy this kind of experience. Thanks, guys, really!
Media Jean: Was that last part a real thanks or a CEO thanks?
Johnny: Wow, that really hurt my feelings, Media Jean. Couldn't you tell I was being sincere?
Chip: I could.
Johnny: Then you're a sucker! Ha ha! I'm the Master of Platitudes!
Media Jean: That was rude, even for you!
Johnny: You're right. Sorry. You know how I get carried away sometimes. Sorry, Chip. I really do appreciate you.
Chip: Thanks, Johnny.
Johnny: Pow! The CEO of Cliches strikes again! Ha ha! So long, suckers!
Chip: He just logged off the network.
Media Jean: I didn't want to encourage him, but Master of Platitudes was pretty good.
Chip: Ha ha! CEO of Cliches!
Media Jean: Ha ha! He got us, twice!
Chip: I guess if you're going to really be thankful for someone like Johnny, you have to have a good sense of humor.
Media Jean: You can say that again! 
Comic strip from the series "Employee Handbook"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Just flipped back and read my last journal entry. All those memories. All that time passed.
Now here I am again, awake at 3 in the morning, sitting with my mortality and a cup of hot cocoa. We all take turns at the wall; we all have dark nights of the soul. Soon, too soon, all my atoms will be recycled into cosmic potting soil and that’ll be the end of me. Or, soon, still too soon, my soul, my essence, my Me, will continue on to the grand, mysterious Whatever Comes Next. Is there a heaven? What form will it take? Is reincarnation the way it works? If so, I’ll be like Albert Brooks in Defending Your Life, trying to prove myself fearless enough to continue onward rather than being shipped back to remedial earth. Or will heaven be scriptural, and if so, which scriptures apply? Will heaven be purely metaphysical, consciousness without form, and if so, what the heck does that even mean? Or will heaven simply be another place? Just as we go from the womb to the world, will we go from the world to some wider place? I could keep spelunking on mortality until these typewriter keys are hammered flat. Instead, I’ve decided to do something immortal here and now: I’m going to tell my life story for my son. Not the whole story. I’ll try to leave out the boring parts. I just want to leave enough information for my son to know me and remember me after I’ve traveled on. I want to leave him a typewritten time machine through which he can meet his father as a child, as a teen, as a young man. I can secure that small immortality for him and for myself, here and now. As for the Big Forever, I’ll just have to wait and see. Comments 
Media Jean: Have you seen Defending Your Life? It’s hilarious! 
Chip: I like “The Pavilion of Past Lives.”
Media Jean: You know, your dad overlooked one kind of possible heaven: man-made heaven!
Chip: You mean bioengineering?
Media Jean: Bioengineering, nanotechnology, artificial intelligence, cloning, resetting biological clocks. There’s a lot happening on the frontiers of mortality.
Chip: I don’t think any of that will be ready in time for my dad.
Media Jean: Actually, it probably won’t be ready in time for us, either.
Chip: Yeah. If it was ready, right now, would you use it?
Media Jean: Heck yeah! Wouldn’t you?
Chip: Definitely! But I don’t think my dad would. He’d probably say it was unnatural.
Media Jean: You know, technology usually leaps ahead faster than we think.
Chip: Yeah! Maybe a longevity treatment will be ready in time for my dad!
Media Jean: Exactly! We just need to make sure he lives long enough to take advantage of it.
Chip: How are we going to do that?
Media Jean: First, he goes on a low calorie diet! I read that reducing your caloric intake by 30% can increase your lifespan by 30%.
Chip: Really?
Media Jean: In lab rats, anyway. But I’m betting the science holds up for humans.
Chip: I don’t know. My dad loves food.
Media Jean: He’ll need to start exercising, too.
Chip: He hates exercise, unless you mean hiking?
Media Jean: Hiking, jogging, walking, aerobics, pilates, weight lifting—all of it. He needs to hit the gym!
Chip: He doesn’t belong to a gym.
Media Jean: We’ll sign him up online. We have to extend your dad’s lifespan a little until science can extend it a lot.
Chip: You’re right! I’ll go through our kitchen and toss all the high fat stuff.
Media Jean: Great! I’ll come over and help. I bet we can boost your dad’s lifespan to 100, maybe 110!
Chip: Which should give technology enough time to develop a more permanent solution!
Media Jean: Right! Immortality, here we come! 
Comic strip from the series "Johnny Green's Avatar"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
When I was younger, I spent December stacking resolution upon resolution, Yertle the Turtle of Good Intentions, gazing into the new year at what I thought would become the new me.
Resolutions were emotionally resolute, but in terms of practicality, they were no better than predictions. Making a New Year’s resolution was more like gambling than work. Black Jack Self Development, Who I Want To Be playing against the House of Who I Am. Sure, I might win a few hands. Might even get a hot streak. But sooner or later, the House always wins. My resolutions always left me feeling bankrupt. So now, I don’t make resolutions about the future. I make course corrections to the present. I don’t stand in December and look for little worm holes of self-improvement to transport me into January. Instead, I cruise along the highway of December, cross the state line into January, make adjustments to my internal GPS, and just keep on truckin’ into February. Here are my latest course corrections:
Not a “resolution” in the bunch. Just simple course corrections, on-the-road activities to add variety and joy to this good long ride. Comments
Media Jean: I don’t get adults. Why are they so big on resolutions, promises and rules? Can’t they just be happy?
Chip: They do make it kinda hard on themselves.
Media Jean: Them?! I’m talking about us!
Chip: What do you mean?
Media Jean: They’re always trying to change us! They can’t let anything go! Leave socks on the floor, forget to make the bed, walk on the couch, make too much noise, use a rude word, you name it—and BAM!—they pounce on you!
Chip: It does get annoying sometimes.
Media Jean: Sometimes?! For kids, every day is New Year’s Day and adults pile on the their resolutions! Be more polite! Clean your room! Brush your teeth! Don’t put your feet on furniture! Get more sleep! Wake up on time!
Chip: Do homework first. Eat less junk food. Eat more vegetables. Play less video games. Read more books.
Media Jean: Kids don’t need New Year’s resolutions. We have New Year’s Nags and they last all year long!
Chip: And they’re not even new.
Media Jean: That’s true! I’d love to hear something really new from a grown-up. Like, “Eat dessert first in case you get full.”
Chip: Or, “Plant vegetables like flowers: to look at, not eat.”
Media Jean: “Don’t take anything I say too seriously: consider the source.”
Chip: “It’s too quiet in here, make some noise.”
Media Jean: “It’s too neat in here, make a mess.”
Chip: “Sometimes it’s OK to pick your nose.”
Media Jean: Wouldn’t it be great if we could make New Year’s resolutions for grown-ups?
Chip: Maybe we should.
Media Jean: Let’s meet at the park and start a list!
Chip: It’ll be a long list.
Media Jean: I got time.
Chip: Me, too. See you there!! 
Comic strip from the series "The Homework Protest"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Chip has been carrying a book everywhere he goes.
That got my attention. He hauls entire libraries on his cell phone and Kindle, but one physical book? I tried to remember the last time he carried an actual book. I think it was, Brown Bear, Brown Bear. The book turned out to be, The Truth about Santa: Wormholes, Robots, and What Really Happens on Christmas Eve, by Gregory Mone. I read a few pages and couldn’t put it down. Mone sets out to prove, scientifically, that Santa is real. I figured Chip was reading it for the same reasons: it’s a smart and funny spoof on the whole Santa myth. But that night, as I tucked him into bed, our conversation took an unexpected turn. CHIP: Dad, do you believe in Santa Claus? I mean, really believe? ME: Well, uh... CHIP: I think I believe in Santa. Almost everything he does is theoretically possible. ME: I don’t know... CHIP: Santa probably isn’t true. But I like the idea. It makes me feel better about things. ME: OK, but-- CHIP: Say there’s a 99% chance something isn’t true. Is it wrong to hold on to that 1%? ME: That’s kinda tricky-- CHIP: But what if that 1% is really, really great? What if it made you feel braver, or kinder, or happier? Shouldn’t you believe it then? I mean, there’s still a 1% chance that it’s true, right? By this time, I was lost. What was the best answer here? I needed time to think! So I took the Parent’s Prerogative: I stalled. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I said, which as all parents know is code for, “I don’t know the answer.” I tucked him in, read, The Twelve Bots of Christmas, kissed him goodnight, and got out of there before he could pile anything else on. Sometimes, as a parent, you just have to retreat until you’re ready. Comments
Media Jean: Parents have a code??
Chip: So all those times my dad said, “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he really meant, “I don’t know.”
Media Jean: This is our Rosetta Stone! Now we can decipher all of their hidden messages!
Chip: Like, “We’ll see.” That’s parent code for, “I already decided and the answer is No.”
Media Jean: Ha ha! “Time for bed” is code for, “I need a break from my kids!”
Chip: “I’m the parent” = “Do as I say, not as I do.”
Media Jean: “This hurts me more than it does you” = “I don’t know what else to do!”
Chip: “You don’t always get what you want in life” = “I never get what I want in life.”
Media Jean: “I’m not going to ask you again” = “I’m going to keep on asking until you give up and do as I say.”
Chip: This is fun.
Media Jean: Yeah! Let’s turn this into a card game. We’ll call it, The Parent Code: A Game for Over-Parented Kids. It’ll be a classic, right up there with Uno and Go Fish!
Chip: I’d buy one.
Media Jean: Heck, what kid wouldn’t? We’ll sell a million copies! 
Comic strip from the series "Santa's Wormhole-Powered Sleigh"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
Darndest thing happened last night.
Chip said he wanted to read me a bedtime story. He looked so sincere, what could I say? So last night, he was the father and I was the son. He watched as I flossed and brushed, and waited while I settled under the blankets, finding my spot. He sat on the edge of the bed, took out a couple sheets of printer paper, announced, When Death Comes, by Mary Oliver, and started to read in his small voice: When death comes... I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it is over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.* Then he made me close my eyes and listen as he read it again. Next thing I knew, dawn was on the curtains. I had slept the night through. I woke rested and calm and at peace. How did that happen? After all my sleepless nights, all my metaphysical strike outs, one little poem read by my son changes everything. Go figure. Maybe you need more than prayer and philosophy when facing Death. Those are the basics, good in most situations. But sometimes prayers bounce back. Sometimes philosophy rings hollow. Sometimes you need something else. Maybe a joke, or a battle cry, music or a poem. Some other kind of reminder spoken in someone else’s voice. A whisper not your own. A whisper to live, live, live, because when you lease all the rooms of your mind to Life, there’s no vacancy for Death. When you wrap both your arms around the waist of Living, Dying can’t get close to your heart. Here’s to you, Life. * From When Death Comes, by Mary Oliver, from New and Selected Poems (Beacon Press). Comments
Media Jean: Wow, he got a lot more out of that poem than I did.
Chip: Yeah. I’m not even sure what it’s about. I just found it online and it sounded kinda comforting.
Media Jean: You know he’s gonna ask you about it.
Chip: Yeah. He’ll want to know what I think the poem means.
Media Jean: Well, what do you think it means?
Chip: I’m not sure. I like “cottage of darkness.” That doesn’t sound scary at all.
Media Jean: I think it means don’t capitalize Death.
Chip: Ha ha! Lower case death. That makes me think of the Grim Reaper wearing short pants.
Media Jean: It’s like Voldemort in Harry Potter. Wizards calling him “You Know Who” and “He Who Must Not Be Named.” Give me a break! That just made everyone more afraid of him. Harry and Dumbledore had the right idea.
Chip: My dad likes Harry Potter.
Media Jean: Tell him to stand up to death the way Harry stood up to ol’ Snake Face. Stand up for life and love and friendship and truth and all that jazz.
Chip: All that jazz. That’s funny.
Media Jean: Maybe we should get him one of those Harry Potter wand remotes, so every time he watches TV he’ll feel like a wizard.
Chip: Ha ha! That’s a great idea! 
Comic strip from the series "Bedtime Stories"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
2 A.M.
Can’t sleep. Find myself stepping up to the plate once again. Mortality takes the mound and fires away: Your Aunt Bosky has cancer. You’re overweight, so you’re at risk, too. Your father had a stroke at your age. You’re afraid of dying. You don’t really believe life continues after death, do you? If nothing remains, does anything matter? One after another, hour after hour, right over the plate. Hey batter batter swa-wing! Strike! Strike! Strike! I should be hitting ‘em out of the park by now. I should have Death’s number. But after all these seasons, I’m still a rookie. Every pitch sizzles by. Sure, I tip one or two with a weak prayer or philosophical chestnut. But truth is, I don’t got what it takes. My faith can’t stand up to this stuff. I’m minor league all the way. At least, that’s how it feels at... now it's 3 A.M. Need to figure Death out. If not for me, then for Chip. Sooner or later, he’s going to ask about Aunt Bosky, about death, about life after death, about What It All Means. His storehouses of Google-knowledge are going to burst and he’ll finally turn to his dad for a little rock of wisdom. I need something to give him. Something to put into the palm of his hand. Something he can hold on to. 4 A.M. Keep watching for dawn on the curtains, as if I’m not even sure the sun’s coming up. Another good ol’ Charlie Brown dark night of the soul. Sigh. Comments
Media Jean: If not for his blog, I’d never know your dad was having such a rough time. When I see him face to face, he seems like his old cheerful self.
Chip: Yeah. Since he types his journal on a manual typewriter, I think he forgets everything gets posted online.
Media Jean: When are you going to ask him about Aunt Bosky?
Chip: Well, I was going to ask him tomorrow, but…
Media Jean: Yeah.
Chip: I was thinking, maybe we can help him.
Media Jean: What do you mean?
Chip: Maybe we can figure out what Death is all about. Solve the problem, then let him in on it. He’s taken care of me all these years. Maybe it’s my turn to take care of him.
Media Jean: I’m in! Let’s do it.
Chip: You think we can really figure out this whole Death business?
Media Jean: How hard can it be?
Chip: When should we start?
Media Jean: Right now! I’ll come over.
Chip: How long do you think it’ll take? Haven’t philosophers been working on this problem for a while?
Media Jean: Yeah, grown-up philosophers. Give me a break. I’m on my way, and I’m bringing a fresh bag of kettle corn.
Chip: Fresh kettle corn! I got a 4-pack of Izzie soda. Sparkling Pomegranate, I think.
Media Jean: Mom gave me some Fair Trade Chocolate.
Chip: I can slap together a couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Media Jean: Great! We’ll tackle ol’ Death for a while, then have a feast!
Chip: I rented Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium online. We can stream it while we eat.
Media Jean: A movie and a feast? What a great night! Death doesn’t stand a chance!
Chip: See you in a few.
Media Jean: On my way! 
Comic strip from the series "The Fortress of Childhood"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
I can see Chip percolating on Aunt Bosky’s diagnosis.
I miss how it used to be. He’d climb into my lap, we’d talk, and all his troubles got sorted out right there, with my arms around him. Of course, most of his worries were the sortable kind. His little Rubik’s Cube was never more than a few turns out of sync. Now? I’m not sure how it happened, but most of my fatherly tasks have been delegated. So when Chip heard about Aunt Bosky’s cancer, he took his questions to Google. Meanwhile, I stand in the wings, waiting like an understudy to be called on stage. Let’s face it, dads. Fatherhood is being outsourced:
Wake up, dads of America! The Father Fire-Sale is on! The marketers and sellers and branders have hijacked your role! Task by task, you are being replaced! Stand up before it’s too late! Unplug those computers, turn off those Wi-Fis, box up those game stations! Take a page from Howard Beale’s notebook: get up, stick your head out the window and shout, “I’m a mad dad and I’m not going to delegate any more!” Whoa... Got a little carried away there. Take a breath, Bob. Wait a minute! Why am I apologizing? Maybe I need to get carried away. Shouting is appropriate in a burning house. Comments
Media Jean: I sometimes forget that your dad doesn’t just dislike technology. He kinda hates it.
Chip: Yeah. Once I tried explaining how the newspapers and books he loves are also technology. I mean, newspapers were new at some point. People used to gather in the town square. News was a real community event. If you asked a Town Crier, he might say newspapers ruined everything.
Media Jean: I never thought about it that way!
Chip: That’s nothing compared to books. Books were a bigger change than the Internet ever was.
Media Jean: I guess that’s true. Books changed how people got and shared information. The internet is just an upgrade.
Chip: Right! If you look at today’s technology as just the next step, then it’s not so scary because there was a step before this step, a step you were comfortable with. From that point of view, changing technologies are as natural as changing seasons.
Media Jean: I love that kind of thinking! What’d your dad say to all that?
Chip: He said, “That may be technically true, but it’s not emotionally true.”
Media Jean: Uh… What does that mean?
Chip: Beats me. He tried to explain it, but lost me after the fifth Thoreau quote.
Media Jean: Your dad has read us the Thoreau Riot Act so many times, I practically got that book memorized.
Chip: The Thoreau Riot Act. That’s funny.
Media Jean: Thoreau! What a sour puss! I bet he wasn’t invited to a lot of parties.
Chip: Ha ha! Thoreau the party pooper!
Media Jean: Ha ha! Instead of, “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately,” maybe his first draft of Walden really read, “I went into the woods because nobody liked me.”
Chip: Ha ha!
Media Jean: Let’s go to Project Gutenberg, download Walden, and publish an “unauthorized first draft.” We can rewrite the whole thing from a whiner’s point of view.
Chip: I don’t know. It’s pretty preachy already.
Media Jean: That’s true. Man, you can’t even make fun of Thoreau for long. What a sour puss! 
Comic strip from the series "Bob's No Tech Igloo"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 2: The Batcave of Childhood) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected]
To all you dads out there:
Do you feel out of sync with this synced-up world? Does the skiff of your soul struggle on the choppy waves of the future? It’s OK, you can admit it. You’re not alone. I have a feeling there are more of us adrift out here than you think. Here are my top Overwhelmed Dad Mantras, just for you:
There isn’t much in this world more wonderful than having all the answers for your kids. We really do know everything they need to know, but only for a few years. I still hear Chip asking me all those kid-sized questions: What time is it? Can you make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Where do strawberries come from? Can you tell me a story? How do we get home? What’s the moon? How do you tie shoes? Can you teach me to ride a bike? Why’s the sky blue? Can you walk on clouds? Now he has Google and AI. When I wanted to learn origami, I asked my dad. When Chip wanted to learn origami, he asked YouTube. When I wondered where my food came from, my dad and I planted a garden. It took all summer to answer that question. Chip gets all his answers right away, in clicks and bits. He doesn’t ask his ol’ dad much at all anymore. And when he does, he checks my answers online. Being a dad isn’t what it used to be. I miss gazing in his wide open face when I gave him the answers. Miss looking up the answers together when neither of us knew. Miss how long it used to take to discover the world around you. Miss all of that. It was over way too soon. Comments
Chip: I’m going to ask dad why the days are so long in summer. I already know. I looked it up online. But I’m going to ask him anyway. Then I’ll ask him to make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Media Jean: It’s hard work raising a parent these days. I still ask my dad to take me to the last video store in town even though I got everything streaming on my phone. Maybe mom’s right: it’s the little things that count, especially with dads. 
Comic strip from the series "The Story of Fall"
(Kid, Inc. Volume 1: Look Out, Tomorrow, Here We Come!) Have a thought for Bob? Write to us at [email protected] |
AuthorHey, I'm Bob, and I hate technology. So why am I blogging? Because I love my son. He upgraded my typewriter to wirelessly post every keystroke online. It makes him happy, so here I am. Archives
April 2026
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed