Summer's Almost Done Around Here

Hi All,
What a cool, cool summer this has become. I responded to a job listed on Craigslist that was from the local JCC camps. They wanted a music specialist, who could play guitar, for their summer camp. The very same camp my daughter attends. I responded, and got the job.

It's been so great going to work with a guitar on my back every morning. At first I was scared about what to play for the kids. After all, I only had about 10 or 11 songs in my back pocket, and one of them was "I've Been Working On the Railroad." I just didn't know if that would connect with kids at all. I'd played for Stella's school a couple of times, but only for 20 minutes a shot, and then I got to leave. This would be three 45 minute sessions a day, and I didn't want to play all the same songs every day.

But I found ways to stretch the material out. I found so many songs that feature easy, fun choruses. I also learned that it's crucial that the songs have things for the kids to do as well, so they're not just sitting there. Songs I loved, like "Rock Island Line" ended up being duds because there was just nothing for the kids to do. Songs I was blase about, such as "She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain" ended up being pretty good because there were hand movements for the kids. And songs I never thought I would play, such as "Heads Shoulders Knees and Toes" became huge hits, because it gave kids something to do, could be played fast or slow, and could take as much time as necessary.

The kids are great. As a dad I've come to appreciate other people's kids so much more. And some of these kids are the same ones who have been in Stella's classes for the past several years. I'm really getting to see them grow up. I've just come to care about and love so many of them. I will really miss them when camp's over in two days.

As the same time I am outside every morning, in the sun. True I am also right by the highway, which I don't love, but overall I can't complain. My fellow specialists, in sports, science, and art, are wonderful to talk to, and I've enjoyed getting to know the other counselors. Most of whom are in their late teens to early 20s, which is a bit strange.

In the afternoons I've come home focused, ready to write, and make the most of my time here on Earth. Which maybe sounds dramatic, but something about this job, it's helped me regain the eye of the tiger when it comes to writing. Which is great.

The only sad part is that school starts so early here, August 20, and camp is done this Friday. I've been here before, it's always surprisingly sad when camp ends, I know that. But I'll still miss this summer. It's been the best one I've had in years.

The last time I worked in a camp I was 19 years old, and was a counselor at a NJYMHA sleepaway camp. I knew so little about kids, and did maybe half a good job. But I'll never forget as all the counselors and staff boarded the last buses and drove away. I was left at the camp, pretty much all alone, because I had a car. I cried for maybe 10 minutes straight, already missing everyone, and then had to go clean up my bunk, because the kids had all left and it was a mess. After that I loaded my heavy, black trunk into my Mitsubishi Mirage, and it tore the plastic fabric as I tried to stuff it into the back.

I looked around, and all was empty, like summer had almost never happened. But it had happened, I had the heartache to prove it. Then I closed the hatchback, somehow, put the car in gear, drove down the hill one last time, and went to our country house, where I met my mom for an early dinner. I never went back, but a part of me never left either.

The Brooklyn Baby Daddy ... Book?

I've never sought to make a dime from the readers of this blog. You know, polluting your experience with banner ads so I could reap a few shekels from this enterprise. 

But there is something I've done that might be of interest to you readers. I've written, over the past two years, a book. Some of it is based on the work in this blog, some of it was new as I wrote the book, some of it was from journals I kept during the time I wrote this blog. It's good stuff, and tells the whole story of our lives from right before Stella's birth to two years later. A fascinating, tumultuous, trans-formative time in all our lives. And a funny one, too.  

Would you have interest in reading such a book? If so, let me know. You can even let me know by emailing me at daveserchuk@hotmail.com. Or you can let me know on this blog. I very much hope that assuming I get it published, which is the goal, of course, that if you've enjoyed this blog that you would support my book. 

It's not a thing where you don't need to buy the cow because the milk was free. You've only gotten some of this milk free, much of it you've never gotten the chance to drink, I mean, read. 

But you can. If you buy my book when it's time!

Stella's Preschool Graduation

We arrived in Louisville in mid-2010 with so many things to consider, including Stella's daycare and/or preschool. 

We were concerned that every place would be booked for the fall, as New York had taught us to fear being squeezed out, at all times. 

But when we arrived at the preschool for Adath Jeshurun synagogue the principal, Melissa, gave us a personal tour, and it was such a friendly, warm, inviting place. The building was mostly empty as camp had drawn to a close and the school year had yet to begin. But we loved the feeling there, and, as a new Jewish family moving to Louisville, they said they would work hard to find a place for us. The clincher, for me, was that a bunny rabbit had made its warren in the childrens' playground. Anyplace that inviting seemed good to me. 

Cut to almost three years later, and I am in one of AJ's auditoriums watching Stella Rae graduate from preschool. Our little two year old is now five years old, and so confident, tall for her age, and she had loved virtually every day of her schooling at AJ. We now live down the block from AJ, not across town, and are members of AJ's synagogue. There was also always room for us. 

Randi was next to me, trying, and failing to not cry. Okay, maybe she wasn't trying all that hard. 

Around us were families we had met and befriended through AJ, and Stella's own classmates, many of whom were also her friends, and whom we had also seen grow, over the years. Next year they will scatter to the winds as they attend their various kindergartens, all around town. But for now they remained together, a class. 

As the graduation ceremony began singer/guitarist Mr. John Gage, one of Louisville's many accessible legends, performed a few songs, on his ancient, beaten up Martin guitar. "Get on board, little children, get on board," he sang, as all the children listened. To my left I saw teachers in their 60s mist up. When I grow up it would be nice to turn out a bit like John Gage, I think. 

Then John sang one of his signature songs, the Garden Song. The lyrics are thus: 

"Inch by inch, row by row

Gonna make this garden grow
All it takes is a rake and a hoe
And a piece of fertile ground

Inch by inch, row by row
Please bless these seeds I sow
Please keep them safe below
'Till the rain comes tumbling down

Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones
We are made of dreams and bones
Need a place to call my own
'Cause the time is close at hand

Grain for grain, sun and rain
Find my way in nature's chain
Till my body and my brain
Tell the music of the land"

When Stella was young she used to sing, unknowingly, "All it takes is a rake and a hoe, and a piece of turtle ground." So that's what Randi and I sang today, looking at one another, and smiling. Now when we sing that she, so ordered, gets angry at us. But we sing it anyway. Or at least I do. 

After the music Stella was called up, and received her brightly colored diploma. 

Okay, I thought, maybe there is a bit of  shall we call it graduation inflation. Sometimes it does seem that every time Stella turns around someone is handing her an official-looking piece of paper with her name on it, but ... I don't care. Or didn't at Stella's graduation. 

Then it was time for Stella's favorite part, and what she had looked forward to the most, cake. 

Stella: Our Easy Girl

I've neglected this blog, and some have wondered what happened to Stella. Specifically people who have high needs kids, as we did. There is some good news. Parenting remains a full time job, but Stella has blossomed into a sweet, delightful, relatively easy child. We talk, we joke, she eats, and, most importantly, she SLEEPS. Every night she is tucked in at 8:00 p.m., and sleeps through the night, waking up at 6:30 a.m. or sometimes 7:00 a.m. She is now almost five years old, time flies! This August she will even be a big sister. She is thrilled about this. So, if your kid is a high needs kid, and you want to jump out a window because you think it will never end ... don't! Stella started to finally start sleeping at 16 months, about, and after two years was sleeping almost every night through. It could change for your child as well. I stopped blogging regularly because as Stella got older I felt like my blog was becoming an invasion of her privacy. When she was a baby, it was like, whatever. I needed an outlet. But now that she walks, talks and has her own opinions I want to keep her story more private. I think this is the right move. She's a kid now, not a baby, and has her own life, her own likes and dislikes. Her own way of moving through the world. I started to feel like I was exploiting her, a bit, for material. So I decided to stop. But she is the greatest thing ever. She is a very sweet, kind, sensitive, loving girl. I think she still has traces of sensory processing disorder, and sometimes is overwhelmed, even now, by loud sounds. And sometimes I think she isn't 100% engaged at school, but her teachers tell me she is just the most lovely child, and very sharp. She remembers pretty much everything, and delights in correcting us when we make mistakes in books we've read over and over again. She remembers most of them word for word, but still prefers for us to read them to her. So, keep your chin up stressed-out parents. It can get better, and almost certainly will get better. I am here to tell the tale. Chins up! And if you read this blog because you are looking "The Story of Fourteen Bears," yes, I still have it, but packed it away when we moved a few months ago. It's here somewhere, in a box I am sure, I just haven't unpacked it just yet. But I will get it one of these days. I should post a few panels for those who want to see it again. I know how you feel, I really do. Be well, and stay strong. --Dave

The End of Something Sweet

Two nights ago we attended the annual open house and picnic at Stella's pre-school in Louisville. It's so hard to believe this is the third one of these we have been to, and the last, at least at pre-school. She was two when she started this school, and is now four years old. A big girl, one of the older kids in the school. Just two years ago we didn't know anyone in town, really, and she was afraid to talk to anyone, even her teachers. Now she proudly showed us where she plays, we talked to her teachers, and I feel like I was at last year's open house just a few months ago. Something about kids, they age you in dog years, in a good way. After the open house we brought our picnic dinner across the street to the playground. It was a perfect late summer/early fall evening, cool, the weather held out, so no rain. But warm enough to not need a jacket. There were maybe 50-60 kids there, and their families. We set up our blankets next to a new family we have gotten to know, and near our older friends, the Kolers. Stella is classmates with the daughter of the new family, a sweet little girl named Rhia. (I am not sure about the spelling here.) Rhia's parents are lovely, warm people, as are so many of the people at Stella's school, from the principal to the teachers, to the other staff, to the other parents, to the children themselves. We feel so blessed that we have been able to give her this gift for the past two years, this time at this little oasis of sweetness and kindness. Mr. John Gage, one of Louisville's treasures, a wonderful folk singer, set up his guitar, sat down in a chair, and began to play. The children danced, ran around, or played on the playground. The light began to fade, and I wished I could freeze time right there, for just about ever. Or, at least, take it for a moment, bottle it, this sweetness, and open it up on a cloudy cold day when Stella's 13, or leaving for college, or whenever we need it. The children ran, sang, listened, the parents talked, and reclined. The food was eaten, the drinks were drunk, and you could really understand, for a moment, why Holden Caulfield wanted to be the catcher in the rye after all. Why do they have to grow up? Why can't it always be like this? I ran up to Stella and she chased me, then, asked to be swung in the little kids swing, for old time's sake. I obliged, but it wasn't too long before she wanted to go back to our blanket to finisher her macaroni and cheese. I took off my shoes, she did the same, but left her pink and white kitty-cat socks on. Soon she played on the jungle gym in just her socks, but we made her choose. It was either shoes, or barefoot, not just socks. She chose to play barefoot, in the early Autumn night, climbing, sliding, being just her wonderful self. All too soon John Gage played "Puff The Magic Dragon," a song all about a child who grows up maybe just a bit too much. I looked at Randi. "This has to be one of the all-time bummer kids songs," I said. Randi looked back, so sincere: "I know, but I just love it." The truth is, right then, right there, the song almost made me cry, despite myself, as I saw Stella start to slip, in a moment, away from being just a child. Into something better and bigger, but a door was ever so gently being closed, and by having her in my life, I got to experience it again, and remember my own far lost young childhood, and my own late, late summer nights, nights that still held the waning power of summer's magic, but were bordered by the beautiful melancholy of autumn.

Home

(I know I've been delinquent with this blog. We'll just have to let it go at that.) So, we bought a house. Which is something in a long line of things I never thought I would say has got to be near the top of the list. It's like this. Back when we lived in Brooklyn we once saw a two bedroom apartment, where the parking space was $80,000. I heard that and knew, right then, that we would never be able to buy in NYC, except for like a fix-me-up in, I don't know, Brownsville. (Good schools!) But then we moved to Louisville, Ky., and it was like a weird time warp. A time warp to a place that seemed a bit familiar to me. Closter, NJ in the mid-80s. Prices were about the same here as they were in New Jersey, where I grew up, almost 25 years ago. I don't know how this is, I don't know how the idea of a middle class place to live, and my town was middle class, meant plunking down $100,000 cash for a deposit, but it happened, and apparently there are just crap loads of people who are way richer than I thought you needed to be to be considered middle class. Louisville is like the idea of middle class that I had from when I was a kid. You can live on a nice block. Your kid can go to a decent school, or, let's dream, a good school. You can have a yard. Your house is not built out of matchsticks, or on an abandoned Indian cemetery. The house is very nice, maybe a little bit bigger than what I thought we would get, I'm being honest, but it's essentially what I see as middle class. In a middle class neighborhood, basically, in a middle class city. Some of our neighbors, of course, are much wealthier than we are, which is fine. But we all get to walk under the same sky, on the same tree lined streets, go to the same parks. The mortgage will be a little bit of a stretch for now, but after I finally secure full time employment again it will be okay. That's the only touch and go thing about it, really, but we have money saved, and plan to live frugally. Maybe we can be even more frugal than we had been. But I'm happy with this move, and love my new area. The block seems to have a lot of kids on it, and Stella has a new pink bedroom, and a playroom. (This playroom is also going to be our guestroom, assuming we can ever afford to furnish it. But for now it's Stella's playroom. And, believe me, she loves that. She looked out the window of her playroom many times yesterday, our first full day in the house, jumped up and down, screaming "I have a playroom!") We've quarantined her toys in boxes, and told her we don't have TV here. (We do.) What did we find, she's playing just as happily with the few toys we do have out that she had mostly ignored before, like the $80 kitchen set we bought almost two years ago that she never gave a crap about before. Well, guess what? She's really into it now, now that there are no other toys out. We sit on little blue plastic stools, and she makes tea for us. This means taking empty plastic tea cups, and putting them in the oven of the plastic kitchen set. And then when they're done, in five seconds, we clink mugs, and drink our tea. Here is a typical conversation. Stella: "Daddy, this tea is PINKALICIOUS!" Me: "I think it's owl-flavored." Stella: "No! It's not!" Me: "This definitely tastes like owl-cream. Which is ice cream ... made from owls." Stella: "No! It's not owl-flavored! It's not! Stop that!" Me: (Taking one more sip) "No, you're right. It IS pinkalicious. I was wrong. Thank you Stella!" Rinse, lather, repeat. Anyway, so this is our new home. I think it's really nice.

It's The End Of Rush Limbaugh As We Knew Him

The era of big Rush Limbaugh is over.

It’s been almost a week since Limbaugh hurled vile insults against a private citizen who had done him no harm, Sandra Fluke. As is well known by now Limbaugh likened her to both a “slut” and a “prostitute”--I thought those terms were antonyms--for her opinion that contraception should be considered part of general health care. To top it off he then suggested that women who want such services should first submit sex tapes.

The general repulsion against Limbaugh’s comments was immediate and visceral. So far 11 major advertisers have left his show and two stations have dropped him. Perhaps the image of Rush Limbaugh drooling over amateur porn was too vile for them to stomach for an additional minute.

Limbaugh broke with his all-bluster style to issue a classic non-apology “apology.” He said his choice of words “was not the best, and in the attempt to be humorous, I created a national stir … I sincerely apologize to Ms. Fluke for the insulting word choices."

Wow, so your choice of words were really “not the best” Rush? Calling a law student a slut didn’t come across the way you intended? You apologize for your “insulting word choice” but not for the actual insult? No wonder your quarter-loaf mea-culpa is a non-starter.

So that’s the past, but what about the future? I think this episode represents the moment when it is revealed to all that the times have truly left Rush Limbaugh behind. First he doesn’t seem to know beforehand that you can’t simply call a woman with a different point of view a whore. Then he and his supporters ignore the problem for a little while, and only when his wallet starts to get a little thinner, if only his wallet, he issues an apology that is as insincere as it is late.

And, now there is some circling of the wagons taking place. Look on the web, it’s all there. If you try not very hard you will get to see remarks like these: “Sarah Palin and her family have endured far worse than the professional agitator Fluck and CNN has remained silent. If liberals didn't have DOUBLE STANDARDS, they'd have NO STANDARDS!” That’s from the comments section of an excellent piece written by David Frum on CNN.com. As if Sarah Palin had anything to do with this at all.

Or this one from Rush’s Facebook page from a guy named Richard Paris: “Dear Mr. Limbaugh, There is no need for you to apologize to that liberal "lusting" Sally Fluke … This Ms. Fluke aka ho-bag is paying over $252,000.00 to be indoctrinated into the ‘progressive’ agenda. She's a ‘plant’, not a ‘fluke’!” So, Fluke's a ho-bag? No, she's a law student at Georgetown University, one of our best schools. And what are you again?

In Politico’s story about Rush the comments section ran 1212 responses long. And there were many like these from a person calling themselves Kilowatt: “Maybe if you had really heard the testimony instead of of just jumping to your liberal conclusions,you would realize I wasn't talking about her using contraception but the way she portrayed her insatiable sexual appetite and loose moral character. In other words she ADMITTED to being the promiscuous slut that she was called.” Funny, I have a hard time imagining Fluke's personal testimony lived up to the "Scarlet Letter"-inspired masturbatory fantasies of Mr. Kilowatt.

They are not the only ones defending Limbaugh: Newt Gingrich’s PAC, Winning Our Future,--which, by the way, is not winning Newt's present--had stepped up its ad buys as other advertisers flee. But it would be a mistake to think that this is a minor tempest, and that Limbaugh’s lame non-apology is going to make this all go away. The only thing going away is Limbaugh’s air of invincible influence over Republic party discourse, and, by extension, America.

It’s already happened. Look at the shambles we call the Republican primaries. It’s no secret Limbaugh despises Mitt Romney, yet Romney soldiers on, seemingly despite himself, and Rush. Limbaugh can inveigh all he wants, but all he’s accomplished is a historic disunity in the GOP. He’s helped lead it down the cannibalistic path toward what Barbara Bush has called the worst campaigns she’s ever seen. And she's seen more, way more, than a few.

But, on a more primal level, Limbaugh is just the latest example of a person who has been isolated from the real world for so long that they have lost touch. As we’ve heard a million times before, he just doesn’t get it. And when people of his stature don’t get it, “it” in this case being a world that’s changed, they really don’t get it.

Limbaugh doesn’t seem to grasp that you can’t call a woman the vilest things imaginable and expect people, not just women, to not be offended. He then didn’t get that his usual doubling down on a bad bet and bluster would not get him out of it. Then he didn’t get that when he apologized for being so gross he actually had to mean it.

It’s also like he didn’t get that women are an extremely powerful and massive part of American life, growing more powerful every day. And they don’t like their desire for safe, affordable reproductive control to get them labeled as town whores, like we were all back in a bible-belt high school in the 1970s. That’s considered offensive. This should be obvious. But he’s happy to write off more than half the American population.

Think women, as a group, don’t go the mat for their right to reproductive choice? Ask the Susan G. Koman people.

We’ve seen this scenario play out time and again. It’s the moment when someone powerful comes up against a problem that they used to be able to wish away. Then they no longer can, and are unable to comprehend that things truly are different.

We saw it with Joe Paterno. Completely believable allegations of horrific child abuse were brought his way. He passed the buck and forgot about it. More kids were likely abused by his negligence, and when it all crashed down he looked as clueless as a newborn.

We saw it with another radio host, Don Imus, who didn’t get that you can’t call a team of female college student nappy headed ho’s.

We saw it with Michael Richards, aka Kramer, who immolated his career, by hurling a bunch of racial insults an audience member in a comedy club. But Richards didn't seem to understand that this wasn't the Friars Club, and that people now have smart phones. After that Kramer was never welcomed into America’s living room again.

Will Rush make a full recovery? Maybe, but probably not. His divide and conquer tactics have reduced his potential number of future listeners again and again. I can’t imagine he’ll get a whole lot more new female ditto-heads after this all blows over. And they make up, again, half the country. His Captain Ahab-like political brinksmanship has likely isolated him from what used to be called “Reagan Democrats.” Instead he is left with a hard core of conservatives. It’s a huge core, of course, but don’t expect it to grow. Already Rush is less influential than he was two weeks ago.

Once this primary season is over and his enemy, Romney, gets the nomination expect Limbaugh’s influence to diminish even more. He won’t go away over night. But over time he will fade in power and influence, inexorably, his name immediately leaving a bad taste in people's mouths. He will end as he began, a lonely man in a radio booth, shouting at the air.