Pokémon Go: Advice for Parents

I signed up for a Pokémon account.  It wasn't on a whim; I really wanted to find out what the fuss was about so that I knew what I was banning in my classroom when I get back to school in the fall. Now that I've had it for two weeks I am second guessing my assumption that I will ban it.  Further to that, by allowing my kids to participate with me while I played I have noticed a number of lessons available to them that are typically really difficult to work into their lives authentically.  I call them:

The Rules of Pokémon Go - for Parents.

Lesson 1:  Stepping to the Side

The Rule:  When you Play, you must Step to the Side

It was interesting watching this one develop in my 7 year-old.  We were hanging out in a small village during summer-break with narrow lane-ways and I had given my phone over to my son so he could finally play Pokémon Go.  The only rule I had at the time was that should he wish to actually do anything with the game he must first step to the side of the lane.  Safety is important but I realized quickly that there was a great life-lesson in this.  When a new Pokémon appeared he would quickly step to the side and then look down at the phone to play.  I imagined him as a teenager receiving a text message, or an adult looking for directions or talking to a client and I thought I'm seeing one of those social graces we all wished we saw more of in life - people capable of stepping out of the way when their day is inevitably interrupted by their electronic device.  Here was my 7 year-old developing a positive social habit without any real direction from his parents.

Lesson 2:  Multi-Tasking

The Rule:  Only Look Down when there is an Alert

As a teacher I often see students who have difficulty task-switching.  Whether it is the social conversation they are bringing into the classroom, the game that they can't stop playing, or the conflict of the day they can't seem to leave behind.  It is a habit of mind to be able to be present where you are even though you are surrounded by distractions.  By asking my son to look up while the game was being played I was asking him to set a bearing and trust that he will arrive there without having to watch the map the whole way.  I could have taught this same lesson through Geocaching mind-you, but this was an opportunity that was more in his wheelhouse.  Every time he was forced to pull his eyes from the screen he could engage in conversation, ask questions about the things he was seeing, and be present on our walk.  I was allowing him a chance to train his ability to prioritize tasks in a way in line with our social values.

Lesson 3:  Ettiquette

The Rule:  Don't talk Pokémon Constantly

Mom hates Pokémon.  Well actually she seems to be frustrated by anyone who might fritter away time engaged in a 'video game'.  I created this rule out of my own shame early on - I was afraid that others were going to see us playing and then unfairly judge us so I wanted to keep very quiet about it.  It wasn't a very good rule because it was formed out of pride, but it had an unintended lesson in it about Ettiquette - especially for kids.

Mom doesn't know anything about Pokémon.  She doesn't really even care enough about it to learn anything about it, and as a result when there are three boys (myself included) sitting around giggling about where and how we found what creatures she is left out.
It is important for kids (and all of us) to learn that we can exclude others simply by choosing to engage a small group of friends in very esoteric conversation.  There is nothing inherently bad about talking about Pokémon, but the awareness that not everyone in the social-circle is going to understand or share that passion can help a child avoid conflict.

Early on in the phenomenon that is PoGo'ing I witness a group of teens bantering about which Pokémon were where and who caught what.  I was with a group of men waiting to play soccer and we all (regrettably) shared a deep annoyance and disdain for this group of kids choosing to be frustrated by some cultural behavior that we saw as different, and unintelligent.

I was glad that I chose to try and understand it before carrying that attitude for very long.

There is one final lesson worth mentioning, but I mention it only as an aside to this article because it really doesn't have an accompanying rule:

Lesson 4:  Life

I was out for a walk with my kids.  They were engaging in conversation with me, and excited about what might be around the next corner.  We were engrossed in random chats about this and that and after our very first visit to a PokéGym my son shares his disappointment that our Pokédex doesn't have stronger more competitive creatures that would allow us to win, even once.  My son has already shown signs of being hyper-competitive, particularly when it comes to his younger brother.  I have seen him pack up a fishing rod simply because someone he was with caught a fish first.  He's one of those kids who puts a lot of stock in 'winning out of the gate' and we have to coax him to remember that the joy of competing comes from knowing you can lose at any time, and to remeber that you can't catch any fish if you're line isn't in the water.


Pokémon Go has allowed us one more glimpse into real life.  There will always be someone who has been training harder, or training longer, or paying for premium, or just simply more prepared than we are at the time -- until there isn't.  Your passion is a choice, and when you find others who are passionate you gather with them to learn, compete, and train with but you're not always going to be the best... or early on, even competitive.

I looked at my son PoGo'ing and I saw myself dropping out of hockey, avoiding basketball, leaving the theatre before the audition and took a moment to put my arm around him and say 'I understand'.



If you've learned lessons from playing Pokémon Go with your kids leave a note in the comments or mention @stayathomegang #PoGoParents on Twitter.

The Pride of Parenting

The telltale heart of being a parent is that ever present aroma that accompanies that cardinal sin; Parental Pride.  Oh, you may take careful steps to double, nay, triple-bag those double deuces that the two-year old drops in his diapers, and you may place that waste in the waist-high pail that waits outside the walls of your child's room, and you may even endeavor to emigrate that excrement to the exit, but no matter how you slice it, the smell seems to seep right back in.

And that smell is the Pride of Parenting.

If, at this point, it is unclear what I mean when I pronounce this Pride of Parenting then I humbly encourage you to consider the following:

a)  There appears to be an innate natural drive to having children.
b)  Leading up to having children, there appears to be an innate natural tendency to inaccurately judge the skills and values of those who insist on allowing their children out in public.
c)  Having children is humbling, not in small part due to the amount of crow you are required to eat, when realizing just how small minded we were about the context and condition of those parents we shamelessly judged while slug-a-bed we wallowed in the murky, tepid waters of prenatal self-righteousness.
d)  Parenting a child is rife with doubt, feelings of supreme inadequacy, hopelessness, fear, and regret and a particular awareness that there are people out there still enjoying life in part b).
e)  In order to survive d) one must realize that children seem to (at the best of times) grow and develop in spite of everything we appear to be doing wrong, and arrive as a semi-competent adult due (in no small part) to blind luck, or divine intervention.

BUT... every so often a parent will adopt a policy akin to b) where they start to believe that they are doing something right.  Or doing something well.  Or doing something better than other parents.  And that, my dear friends, is the Pride of Parenting.

It is a fetid, ugly thing and I feel it is my duty to warn you of its perils while seeking my own redemption for committing such a heinous thing as believing I might be on the road to being a successful Stay-at-home Dad.

For those who might be regular readers of my irregular ramblings you may, at this point, say to yourself, "Self, I read those irregular ramblings often irregularly and I thought that man was doing things just fine."  No really, I give you permission to say that to yourself.  And sure, maybe you weren't looking to harshly judge me.  Maybe you actually thought, "hey, good on you man, you're taking on the responsibility of raising two boys with your head held high and an army of support behind you."  Maybe you truly believe I can help you consider something valuable that will help you become the parent you know you are capable of being.

And that my friends is the Pride of Parenting.

So as I settle into the irony of writing this message to you, know that I'm really just writing to ask forgiveness for thinking that what I was doing was "working" any better than what someone else might be doing.  It's true!  Listen, I actually hear myself think things like, "well I'm sure not going to be that dad that races to the side of my boy when he falls down..." or "You won't catch my boys in organized sports/school/scrapbooking too early." or "these boys of my will grow up to be resilient and confident men because I love them openly and with signs of physical affection like a hug, or a kiss."  or "I wonder what my wife thinks I do in this #microoffice of mine for such a long time..." but I digress.

I'm working to raise my kids to be independent, strong-minded, men of integrity... with a delightful sense of humour and killer smiles.  As I start to see evidence that it's working I realize that in my zeal I have forgotten to let them be boys.  Vulnerable, frightened, and reliant on the knowledge that there is someone there next to them to catch the bike when it falls, hold their hand in the thunderstorm, or just simply let them cry when they fail.  You see?  I got caught up in my own Pride of Parenting.

My son will wander off in the middle of an event to see the sights explaining that he "was bored, so he went for a walk."  Or he'll disappear into traffic because he saw something cool, and says "Dad, what are you worried about, I looked both ways?!"  I half expect him to be out in the backyard grilling meat on the barbecue before the end of summer announcing that he "was just jonesin' for something juicy."  But he's FOUR.  Maybe I shouldn't make him stand in line to apologize to the desk-clerks for making a scene in their lobby, or let him wash the dishes when he asks.  Maybe taking the training wheels off his bike and letting him take the neighbour-kid's homemade jump the next day is too soon... Maybe these signs of hyper-independence really are symptoms of what happens when you ask him to fold his own laundry and ride the bus to work in the morning; doing things earlier, writing things earlier, reading things earlier, producing his first symphony... I'm realizing more and more that I've had a part in all this...  Before I know it he'll be grown up and resentful just like we were and I'll have let him miss the best part of being a kid:  Being a kid.

In my reflection I've realized something important, and I hope you have too.  AND I hope the next time my four-year old says "Dad, can I help you use the band-saw." I really hope that I'll remember to say, "you know son, I think you're too young for that... let's wait and cut-off your fingers tomorrow."

Postscript:

No son's (in whole or in part) were harmed during the writing of this article.  I think... wait, I hope they're still in the yard.  Oh right... phew, we already put them to bed.

Make Your Own "Canorpheum"

In 2007 my wife and I spent some time touring the jungle in Borneo.  Whilst we were there I got the unique opportunity to play some of the authentic village instruments, in particular anything percussive.

 I searched high and low while we were there for some small instrument I could bring home as a special treasure and ended up bringing home 9 plate sized gongs... and they do get played now and again, especially by some young boys of mine.

What I learned from the trip though, is that the "authentic" instruments from villages in Borneo are not the ornate and beautiful carved gems that many of us might see in an import store down Specialty Lane in Super-Hipsterville, CA but are put together from the most basic materials that scavenged from the nearest renovation project.

For instance--  The instrument I am playing in this photograph is largely old wood floor boards which have been sized so that they make different sounds.  These are tacked onto old plywood with what looked to be shoe tacks, and the blocks themselves rest on rubber cut from the soles of old flip-flop sandals.  A couple Balsa-wood sticks from the forest and some paint and you've got yourself a pretty ingenious indigenous instrument.

Since that trip I have been longing to create my own unique instruments, and I have finally found the resources I needed to do so.

It started with some empty Pringles cans which I collected post 4 year old birthday party.  Add in some scrap planking and screws that were left over from the bed I made (in the last post) and some rubber bands stolen from the junk-mail rolls that perpetually appear on our front doorstep and I had myself a design for what I have called The Canorpheum.

I'm in between on providing the schematic on how to make one yourself... seems excess... but I have it for anyone that wants to comment.  I was lucky that the boards were already cut almost perfectly for the box itself.  I had but to chop a couple boards here and there, and use a drill and jigsaw to make the template for the cans to sit in.

Now all it needs is some paint.  I'm using the iPod to create some unique stencils of the boys (Fotofiti for anyone who cares).  Take a listen:

Stay at Home Furnishings

So last week I was involved in a production of one of the world's only Parkour-Plays as part of a #GIGYYC grant that was won by a friend of mine late last year.

He phoned at the end of January to say that he could have ~$1200 if he could put up a play inspired by Parkour by March 30th.  He just needed a script...  And as proud as I am of this project we are all overwhelmingly proud of (every ticket was sold) my wife knew that it was keeping me from my real passion -- dumpster-dive furniture fashioning.

That's right.  Be it known that I have always had a real knack for handy work, in particular carpentry.  And there is no subfield in carpentry more respected and awe inspiring than that of quality home furnishings.  Yes, I know it seems like I have never actually built anything, but when you've spent as long as I have thinking about building stuff, I'm practically an expert.

In all seriousness-- I get this phone call midway through March:

Tom, I have an odd favour to ask, you see there's this old palette I saw in the alley behind the church, if you get a chance while you're out with the boys to swing by and pick it up--

Sorry what?!

An old palette, look I saw on the internet [during a late night in front of the t.v. of course] that you can make a headboard for a bed from an old palette and I was hoping you'd pick one up for me.  I know it's weird but ---

Yes, it's weird.

but, really, don't feel obligated to pick it up...

and when your wife says that -- well let's just say I wasn't married yesterday.

"Seriously Dad, you built this?!" Not likely...

She didn't however mention that this palette was 7 feet tall at the time she suggested I pick it up.  I did manage to shove it into the back of the van on a wild tangent to my normal daily errands and didn't give it much more thought until (while sitting in the Mr. Lube line-up) a kind sales clerk mentioned "Ha! Sorry, I didn't realize you had two kids [in the back of the van] can't hardly see the second one for the giant palette in the way."

So then I get this email a couple days later with about 19 sites related to at-home-scrap-recycling-keep-your-husband-busy-projects with no other explanation than --- this was what I was thinking about.

Now and again I wish that my life was more like the movies and she would send me a message saying "this is what I was thinking about." and it might come with some sort of pseudo-sexy attachment suggesting perhaps a little romantic rendezvous was heading my way... but no.  Just links to DIY sites... as though she's saying -- hey, do it yourself.  Yes, that's what she said.

But I'm inspired.  I'm feeling handy.  I can do this.  And you know what... I think largely because of the success of Mindfire (the play) I felt a little... well... indestructable?  As though I could do anything... so -- and here's my proudest accomplishment, I turned off the internet, turned on my time lapse and you can watch the results of my efforts w/o commentary and reserve judgement for yourself. (p.s. when the composer for the music reads this and watches the movie then I expect that artist to contact me with the correct permissions and attribution rights just like when that artist contacted me before he cut my head from my blog-photos and pasted it onto unicorns frolicking near rainbows...)

In the end the project cost maybe $100 and it took three solid days working with and around my two sons.  But it was fun, and it felt good to finish it, and for the first time I was really proud of my handywork.  Like I might actually be able to build nice things too.

Things of note:

Supplies (for those interested in facsimiles)

Wood = knotty pine, cheap cheap at the local hardware mart (6" sideboards, 8" top-board and 10" runner)
Stain = Minwax Wood Stain: Classic Gray 271
8 x 2" bolts, washers, and wing-nuts
2" #8 wood screws
1 1/4" #8 wood screws
6 x corner brackets
Wood glue
1 old weathered palette from some back-alley
Grand total ~ $70


The extra cost came from the steel finishing plate added at the end, totally frivolous and extravagant but super-keen!

Final Version (three days in)

Steel plate not shown in this picture
 -- but you can see it on Instagr.am!

I can't wait to show off my next project...  It involves music and Pringles (tm).

What Bored Dad's Do

I admit, it has been a while.

I wanted this to be a weekly journal of sorts, something to read that would let my friends know how the boys and I are doing, and something to read that might give you a snicker or two at my own expense.  Come Christmas time though, I found I really had nothing more of interest to say.

Life has become routine.  The mistakes I make now are simply expressions of earlier mistakes I had hoped I would overcome.  I've fallen into a holding pattern and the system has stagnated.

And What a Glorious Stagnation.

The honeymoon is over.  If phase one of staying at home is intense passion for creating new experiences with your children, then phase two is the calm indulgence that follows.  A balance between sustaining the children and realizing that you (as an adult, and an individual) have an identity, an individuality, a purpose beyond serving others, and suddenly you find yourself indulging fancies that serve only you.

Where you used to plan your day to suit your kids, you're now planning your kids to help suit your day.  You have systems by which you are able to sequester moments to yourself to do the things that stimulate your intelligence and restore vigor to a life that has become routine.  Like a marriage, the early passion and immaturity of the early years is sedated, and allows for more distance, and more space for "self".

And like a basket full of peanuts at the pub, you convince yourself you will only eat an handful, and the next thing you know you need a second beer to wash the first basket down.  Then you find yourself battling the guilt of leaving all those shells behind.

December I joined a panel of teachers as a facilitator for an Open Online Course, and started the process of engaging education in a whole new way (for me).  This was the first peanut.  This created that desire to have another, and then another...

January found me writing a "poem-a-day" with a group of Australians in an online forum.  A creative outlet that flexed the brain-muscle.  I invented a new style of poem called "The Sudoku" complete with a programmed spreadsheet to help calculate the poem's structure.  If you put all the words in the poem nine to a line for nine lines you get a perfectly filled sudoku square (words in place of numbers).  I learned what a Sestina was, and how to write one.  On the side I rewrote "The Velveteen Rabbit" from the viewpoint of a teacher who yearns to become real... Stay at home parents should not have time for all this!

February I was invited to write a script for a friend who has won a grant to bring "Parkour" to the stage in Calgary.  March 30th is the deadline to have a show, thankfully I'm not involved with the production of it, just creating the words behind it.  The working title is called "Have Kourage".  Meanwhile this same friend had me dress as a "Sexy" Lumberjack at a Lise Watier new product release party.  Inspired by my rekindled manhood I promptly came home, installed a window in my back-door and converted a toilet to dual flush.

Sometimes My Reality is Like Your Imagination

Now in March I'm finding I've got that dry, parched feeling you get when you've eaten too many salted nuts, and I'm looking for something to wash it all down with... and thankfully I've found the restorative properties of my boys to be sufficient refreshment.  The next event to plan is a four-year old's birthday party.

I'm so stoked.

What Bored Dad's Do.
(Yes, that's fresh roasted Kale-Chip hair)

The party is to be a blend of engaging learning activities, collaborative and cooperative, that stimulate both the kinesthetic proclivities and intellectual capacities of my young men.  The event will be accompanied by a carefully constructed script, likely performed in costume... I look back on the selfish events of the past three months and realize that, as in all things, with proper reflection and firm grounding in "who you serve" those momentary relapses to self-indulgent fantasy can worked to polish the best parts of self so that our children can enjoy days dedicated to remembering the gift they were, how ever many years ago.

Community Affairs

For those who love to read The First Folio, and would like a new spin on the Elizabethan formula, I dedicate this to you.

A quick note on how to "read" this script.

1. It has never been performed, and contains a few details I would likely change in a workshop.
2. It is written following the grammatic rules of Shakespeare's First Folio, in essence, much of the punctuation is written for actors and not for accuracy.  In layman's terms: breathe only at periods, and audibly at semi-colons in the verse.  Stress misplaced capitals and words with an additional e, and don't forget to follow the iambic pentameter.
3. As with many of the Shakespeare plays, the use of verse is to lend some importance to the characters who are speaking, and prose is used for more "common" language.
4. Unity can be read as a singular entity or can be a chorus of characters.
5. Written staging is minimal (as they are often in Shakespeare's plays) to allow for flexibility in adaptation.

Download the original file here.

Community Affairs by T.C. Andrew is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Dadvent Conspiracy

"I can do this."

That's how it starts for stay at home dads. They get a great idea, they have a wife who believes in them and at least one child who looks up at them with big glowing eyes and gives them the feeling that they are a world beater just before they fart and giggle. The kids I mean, usually not the wife.

Well, whatever. I said I was going to do the Dadvent thing, and one item on the list was to make a gingerbread house from scratch.

...And then I got this great idea. I was reading this "Do One Cool Thing with your Kids" app called Timbuktu (because you know all the coolest people you know get their ideas from cool-help books) and they posted a gingerbread recipe and I was like... woah there. This is the one.

"An amazing recipe to bake Gingerbread cookies with kids! via @TimbuktuMag"

Now hold on to your shorts (you who are lucky enough to live near either of the tropics) because this is where it gets wonderfully elaborate.

See there is this app I once used called 123D Make. (I include the details at the end 'cause it's free and like porn for geek dads... was that too crass? Sorry...)

First you draw a design, like this:


And it turns it into a 3D model that you can play around with like this:


But the best part is it lets you print off a template to build the model! Like this!


Remember what I said? "I can do this."

One 3D model design, one order of gingerbread and one wildly eclectic and adventuresome dad and we have the makings of a true sensation.

So I pulled up the recipe and I baked. And I rolled. And aside from getting the instructions backward at times, and putting it in the oven, and suddenly realizing that you can't cut gingerbread out using a template after it's been baked -- so pulling it out of the oven... I was able to start cutting, and trimming, and shaping, and then, when it was all done I knew I would soon have the COOLEST gingerbread tree ever created and my 3 year old would look up at me and realize that he has the single greatest father ever created and there would be angels dancing on my back lawn under the cover of twinkling stars... with a lute! Yes a lute, or maybe a Lyre.

Well, that's how I saw it going in my head.

Here's the timelapse:


So I ran into a problem. There was an inescapable design flaw. The template was built for cardboard I was definitely going to be working with -- well probably better tasting cardboard but it swells when it bakes!

My heart sunk and my dreams were dashed. There would be no more NHL in 2012. And my gingerbread tree wasn't going to be a stand-alone 3D-model, and my 19 month old was going to grow up a drunken reprobate... (Sorry to all you drunken reprobates who might be reading this... I mean no offence) And my beautiful wife, in all her house-coated glory, would look at me with sad eyes, and say, "Hon, -- the garbage?"

On to Timelapse 2. Did I want my sons growing up knowing their dad was willing to give up? Did I want them to think it was okay to be beaten by a bread? Did I have enough courage to press on, and was there enough icing sugar in the pantry to fix this disaster?


I did it. It wasn't what I thought it would be. It was better. Like marriage. Like my kids. Like my first prostate exam... will be... dear God I hope.



Dadvent. Tomorrow my kids will wake up, and we will break open bags of candy and together we will systematically destroy my sculpture and make it into something better. A memory... of time spent in the same room, making meaning from something utterly meaningless.

That's a door I want them to open. That's the conspiracy.

---

The "Two Apps I Mention and Endorse but Receive Nothing Aside from a Retweet in Return From But I Endorse Them Anyway Cause I Care About You" Header

123D Make Intro by Autodesk Inc.



Timbuktu - Free stories, fun and games for parents and kids by Timbuktu Labs, Inc.