I am happy to say that, unlike most parents, I can actually pinpoint the date on which Aidan surpassed his father in the area of brilliance. It was yesterday, March 23, and it happened after a long day for everyone.

Upon returning home, beaten by life, I encountered my son asleep on the couch. My wife told me he had been snoozing for about a half-hour and that her attempts to waken him had been unsuccessful. I went over to him, said hello quietly and brushed his hair. He made a groan that seemed to say, "If you don't get away from me right now, I am going to kill you."

We Kaye men are known for our violent, if not overly wordy, groans.

He turned over and went back to sleep. A few minutes later I tried again, only to be met with an identical experience. By the third time, I just knelt down next to him and whispered, "Do you want me to carry you upstairs?" To me surprise, he nodded and wheezed a tiny "yes."

I scooped him up and made my way upstairs. Since he is 6 and I am old and feeble, maneuvering the stairs was not as simple as I would have liked. The fact that I didn't bash his head into the wall, banister, window or door was remarkable.

We crept into his room and I gently put him on the bed. As I was about to make my getaway, a small but strong voice said, "My eyes are open, you know."

Nex thing I knew, we were on our way back downstairs. He was too fully awake to be in bed; heck, it was even still light outside. But his groans returned and I offered (for reasons I cannot fathom) to carry him downstairs on my back. He was happy to take that ride, and within minutes we were back where we began.

How this proves that Aidan is smarter than me is the mere fact that, based on a groan, I carried him all the way upstairs, gently and slowly so as to not wake him. He was evidently very much wide awake and was seeing all this as a big joke. Then, after the fraud was revealed, I offered to carry him back downstairs.

These are not the actions of a healthy mind. These are the actions of a father, head over heels in love with his child. And when that happens, and when the dad realizes how helpless he is over it, the child has won. The student has become the master.

Next time, I'm making sure the little monster is asleep. Where's my ibuprofen?

Labels: autumn, child, dad, dadography, parenting

I don't think my mother was ever on the PTA and I KNOW my father wasn't. Both were awfully busy when I was in school: my mom with work and college, my dad with work and with not being around. So all I knew about the PTA was what I saw on TV - "Harper Valley PTA" and such. (Yes, I am that old.)

So after Aidan began kindergarten a few weeks back, we saw a notice on the school calendar that the PTA was meeting on a Thursday night. Wendy couldn't do it, but my schedule was a little flexible that night so I thought I'd go. I didn't give it too much thought, thankfully, because I probably would have convinced myself not to go, and would have missed an enlightening experience.

The place was pretty packed when I got there and I stood around looking dopier than usual as I tried to figure out what to do. Everybody seemed to be talking to someone, or filling out their names on forms or appearing equally comfortable with what was expected. But all I could think of doing is walking around looking at things and smiling nervously at whoever would look at me.

Finally I saw someone I knew, a friend of my wife's, and went to say hello. I sat down near her and she started to explain what would happen - speeches, questions answered, calendar of events notices - and I began to feel more comfortable. Then I was tapped on the shoulder by another friend. Things were getting better. Then I saw someone else I knew, and another, and another. Any nervousness I might have been feeling went away. I was still only one of about four or five males in the room, but things seemed OK.

What followed was a series of quick speeches or updates from the president of the PTA, various officers and the school's principal and vice principal. There was a mention of someone named Sally Foster, but she turned out to be some kind of decorating product thingy (as I found out just before asking someone who Ms. Foster was and why everyone would want her).

I was especially made comfortable by the president of the PTA, a young mom who seemed to be very clear that parents today are terribly busy and that money is tight, so that we shouldn't feel obligated to come to every meeting or donate to every fund-raising sheet that came home with our children. She was also very appreciative that we were all there that night and that we were willing to hear her ideas and share our own. I think the fastest way to a person's schedule is through expressions of appreciation.

I honestly enjoyed the evening. It was nice to get a 21st century definition of the PTA and to meet so many interested parents. It was interesting to see that people - no matter how busy they are - want to contribute to their child's life. It was inspiring to hear the projects they had planned for the kids and how we could all play a role.

So I'll be going back to the PTA. I've already signed up for a project and am maintaining an email chat with the PTA president. I'm doing it because I want to, not because anyone is forcing or guilting me into it. I'm also doing it because I want Aidan, 5, to know how much I believe in education. By going to these meetings and getting involved, I hope he'll see his schooling as important, fun and integral to his life.

Me, on the PTA. Hee, hee, hee...

Labels: aidan, education, parenting, PTA, school

Is there anything more important in a young man's life than the first time he loses a tooth? Well, I mean aside from his first time walking, talking, sleeping away from home, riding a bike, conducting the Royal Philharmonic, dating Madonna, etc.

For Aidan, 5, the moment he discovered his tooth was loose was wonderous and magical. He would wiggle it with his finger, push it with his tongue and show it to pretty much anyone who could stomach it. He would talk about it incessantly, asking what would happen when it came out, what if he lost it, how would the Tooth Fairy know where he lived, what would happen if she couldn't find it under his pillow, and on and on. In this, he was certainly a normal kid.

I remember when I would loose a tooth. It was fascinating and bizarre and seemed absolutely wrong and super cool all at once. Sometimes it hurt a little, but mostly it was just gross - so that made it awesome! It was also regarded as another step toward growing up. I was losing my "baby teeth," which meant I was no longer a baby. I was so excited about it, I regularly went to biker bars and pushed over as many motorcycles as I could, in the hope that someone would knock all my teeth out and I could speed jump into adolescence. I can tell you, it's not easy to push motorcycles over when you're 5, but the payoff would be tremendous.

Aidan spent the few "Wiggling Tooth Days" just being happy with the situation, and if you really think about it, that's odd. But even weirder than that, were the reaction he received from his peers. One little friend of his was absolutely crestfallen that Aidan could lose a tooth before she did. She cried about it and was obviously angry when the subject came up. I had to tell Aidan, "Now don't brag about your tooth being loose. You know that could hurt some kids' feelings."

I swear he looked at me with an expression that said, "Yeah, right. Whatever dude. Like I'm not going to talk and talk and talk about this. Heck, this is going on YouTube."

When the tooth came out, in the middle of a pool party, he skidded inside the host's house looking for me, soaking wet with a little blood in his mouth, holding the tooth like King Arthur held Excalibur, with the same look of delirious joy on his face. His voice, three octaves higher than usual, shook with delight.

When he returned to the party, all the kids were talking about their Tooth Fairy experiences. While the grownups told stories about getting dimes and quarters as prizes, one little girl explained how she was given $5 for her first tooth. Aidan looked at me wide-eyed with a bloody, semi-toothless grin that took over his head.

And knowing full well Aidan would not get more than $1, I told him the one thing every parent probably tells their excited, hopeful, ecstatic child. "Sorry buddy, I think the Tooth Fairy likes her a lot more than she likes you."

Labels: boy, first, parenting, teeth, tooth

Aidan, 5, is unbelievably curious. He needs to know how everything works and why things are the way they are. It doesn't matter the subject matter - buildings, cars, monkeys, the Gross National Product of Argentina - he is consumed with the idea that how something comes to be is of the utmost importance.

Yesterday, that took the form of the dismantling of an old portable heater. At 6 a.m., he and I found ourselves sitting on the floor of our very dirty, very messy basement, staring at said heater longingly. He wanted to see how it worked, why it had stopped working and what pieces were being hidden inside.

So we picked up several screwdrivers and a couple of pliers and went to town. It was like an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. There was a big ball of smoke and all you saw were various hands working feverishly. When we got to a particularly difficult part, I forcefully broke it apart - eliciting squeals of approval - so we could get to the treasure inside.

When it was done, all around us were torn wires, screws and bolts, long pieces of copper, bent metal and broken plastic. True, we didn't learn anything about how a heater worked or why this one broke, but we did see everything inside.

And then Aidan and I looked at each other, with sheepish grins, and he said what every dad wants to hear after such an experience.

"Daddy, that was AWESOME!"

Labels: aidan, dad, dadography, parenting, son