Emergency equipment

Parenting is much more an art form than a science. It's open to different styles, various interpretations and has different value depending on who's doing it.

But I think I'm safe in saying the one thing all parenting has in common is it's gonna cost ya.

Both of my kids have gone to out-of-state colleges, one in Texas and one in Iowa. Don't ask. Anyway the one in Texas transferred back here after his freshman year, but he still has a little gift I gave him when he first moved out.

The emergency credit card. They both have one.

It's the peace of mind card, the one that let's them take a cab home when they find themselves outside a club in the senseless murder district at midnight. The one that says use me at urgent care to stop the bleeding, or get antibiotics for the sinus infection. It's the airline ticket if they have to come home in a hurry.

Yes it's the credit card I gave them to be used in emergencies, but I now realize the other thing I should've given them is a long lecture on exactly what constitutes an emergency.

Buying posters from artists you like, new shoes, that cute sweater—you know the one, sushi because it's the best sushi place in Iowa (how many can there be?) are all examples of non-emergencies.

Yet every once in awhile, I put on my little green visor, open up the inter webs and go through the "emergency" charges my darling offspring have made. And almost every time, one or two of them will spring out at me like a Jack In The Box, or a coiled rattler.

That sound you hear is my wallet screaming.

I don't want to make it seem like they're on wild spending sprees with my money. They're not. For the most part, they let me know when they're buying something on the card, or they ask if they can.

But as any parent will tell you, it doesn't matter how old your kids get—they're always testing you and seeing how far they can push it.

And sometimes that means re-zoning the borders of Emergencytown right up against Retailville.

Seeing double

The same person I overheard talking in the hall about his teeth the other day was back at it again. Only today, the topic was twins.

When I first decided to slam out—I mean thoughtfully research and craft this post—I had plenty of choices when it came to the picture. It was the first thing you were going to see, so I wanted it to be good.

Sexy brothers. Attractive sisters. Older fraternal twins. Twin dogs. And cats. I decided to go with the babies because (imagine pinching their identical chubby cheeks) wook how cute the widdle babies are!

If you've followed this blog for any amount of time—and if you have you might want to consider a more productive lifestyle—you know I'm an only child. As such, I'm pretty used to the fact the world revolves around me. Just ask my wife. Or my children. Or anyone who works with me.

Growing up I never missed having a sibling, but I always thought it'd be cool if there were two of me the world could revolve around. There'd be so many advantages. My twin brother and I could share clothes, instantly doubling our wardrobe of black shirts and black pants. We wouldn't be those freaky kind of twins who dress identically all the time, but we'd do it once in awhile to mess with our parents. Or our girlfriends.

It sounds creepy, but hey, I've heard stories.

There's also the proven psychic connection twins have. They know what's happening to the other one even when they're thousands of miles apart. They finish each others sentences. They have a silent language of their own just by looking at each other.

I have a silent language, but I'm the only one who speaks it.

Many famous people are twins. Elvis had a twin brother that died. Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are twin entrepreneurs who run a billion dollar business empire. Napoleon Dynamite himself, Jon Heder has his twin brother Dan.

I suppose one nice thing would've been having someone who understood exactly what I was going through when my parents died. I just light up a room don't I?

Sure, there would've been rivalries. One of us might've gotten accepted to a great college while the other didn't. We could've both fallen in love with the same girl, and there's no upside to that even if you're not a twin. We probably would've argued and gotten in fights once in awhile, and it would've made me feel mad at myself for being mad at myself.

But if wishes were horses beggars would ride. The fact is they broke the mold after they had me, and being a twin wasn't in the cards. So I'll just have to settle for being what I am.

One of a kind.

The unimaginable

Mom wakes her up. Like every other morning, it’s a "5-more minutes" war of wills. Today mom wins. Not happy about it, she gets out of bed to get ready while mom heads back downstairs to make her a quick breakfast before she leaves.

Dad had to leave early for work, but he looked in on his sleeping girl before he left. Standing in her doorway, he smiled, thinking it was just a minute ago he was holding her in his arms, giving her a baby bottle. He thought sometimes day by day can seem like it goes on forever. But year to year, it goes by fast. Too fast. He makes a point to treasure every minute. He blows her a kiss, then quietly closes the door.

No time for the breakfast. She grabs her backpack, yells “Bye mom, I love you.” and heads out the door. She reaches down to pat her golden retriever Duke on the head as she runs out. Mom yells back, “Love you too honey.” but she’s not sure if she heard it.

Mom has errands to do, but she decides to take a little me time, and has a cup of coffee while she sits on the living room couch. She looks around at the home the two of them have made, and her eyes scan the family photos on the mantle. She smiles, thinking what a great girl they’ve raised, and how the world is going to be her oyster.

She picks up the remote and turns on the television, thinking she’ll catch a couple of back to back reruns of Modern Family while she has the chance. That show always makes her laugh.

At the office, dad is interviewing a potential new employee. While they talk about his past experience, the candidate notices the wood-framed picture of his daughter on the bookshelf behind him. “How old is your daughter?” “She just turned sixteen.” “That’s a great age and a great time – everything is ahead of her.”

On Modern Family, Cam is freaking out because Mitch has been hiding something from him, and mom is laughing so hard she almost does a spit take with her coffee. Unexpectedly, the show is interrupted with a Special Bulletin banner, and a very somber looking anchor man is suddenly talking about her daughter’s school.

At the office, dad’s assistant comes into the room, interrupting the interview. Dad says, “What’s up?” The assistant says, “I need to talk to you right now. It’s important.” He excuses himself for a minute, and leaves the office to see what’s so urgent.

Mom is crying hysterically. She’s frantically trying to reach her daughter on her cell phone, but there’s no answer. She has never prayed so hard or felt so helpless.

Dad is screaming at the computer, because he can’t get the video to work on CNN.com. He yells out to anyone listening “Does anyone know how to make this damn thing work?”

Mom decides to drive to the school. She tells the dog she’s sorry, but she’ll be back soon. She runs upstairs to get her purse. She comes back down the stairs so fast, she almost loses her footing.

All the way down the stairs as she heads for the front door, she’s telling herself over and over that her daughter will be alright. She’s a smart girl. She’s probably hiding with her friends, and they don’t want to make any noise and that’s why she’s not answering her phone.

Dad goes running out of the office, leaving his laptop, his jacket, his briefcase and his job candidate in his office. His assistant is crying.

Mom goes running out the door, about to slam it shut.

Then the phone rings.

Au revoir

You don't have enough paper, or a monitor big enough to list all the things I'm not good at. There just aren't enough hours in the day. But if you decided you had nothing better to do than to try, at the very top would have to be saying goodbye to my children when they're taking off somewhere.

Lets start here: I want them to travel the world, be explorers and adventurers, have experiences and memories that will shape who they are and widen their horizons.

It's just that I hate saying goodbye to them.

When my daughter went on her 8th grade class trip back east I was a mess. When they left us to fly home from New York together it brought me to tears. When my son went to UT in Austin, you could've mopped the streets with me.

Then when he transferred back and I saw the grocery bills, well, I digress.

So today was another one. He took off about an hour ago for Paris, with a couple of days planned for a side trip to London. He'll be meeting up and traveling with a good friend of his, and he'll be staying with a good friend of mine in London. Plus, if he has any questions at all about Paris, he knows how to get hold of my friend Janice MacLeod, who literally wrote the book on it.

I'm excited for him, but I hate to see him go. But let's be clear again—I do want him to go.

What makes it harder is he's not traveling in the world I traveled in. It's a lot more dangerous, although at least he's going to two cities that are probably among the safest in the world right now for all the wrong reasons.

See, that part right there? You know what that is? That's the parent tax anyone with children pays every day. It's that low, constant hum of white noise in the back of your brain asking "Are they alright? Are they safe? Are they being careful?" You come to understand it's the reason our parents still treat us like kids no matter how old we get. They'll never stop. And I suppose I won't either.

So, I put on my brave face, bid my boy au revoir, wish him a safe, wonderful and exciting (in the good way) trip. And when he returns in a week, his horizons will have been widened, his world view expanded and his budget blown.

But then I was already thinking this was going to cost me a few Euros by the time it's all over.

Silent night

I was thinking what I could write about tonight when the tragedy in Oregon occurred. And I find myself too numb to write about anything really.

I certainly don't feel like being funny tonight (I know, why is this night different from any other night...).

I've written here how I feel about guns as it pertains to personal safety and protection for the family.

And tonight the news will be filled with all the talking heads on both sides of the issue seeing who can scream the loudest.

But while the gun lobby and gun control advocates both plot their strategies and figure out how best to politicize this, the fact remains at least ten families won't have their loved ones coming home tonight. Many if not all were students. As a parent, it brings me to tears thinking of the pain the families must be going through.

There's always the quest to understand why the shooter did what he did. Reports have said he asked people to stand up and tell him what religion they were, and if they gave the wrong answer they were shot. Survivors say after he asked the question, he just started shooting people randomly, even those who hadn't answered his question.

On social sites, posts by the shooter said, "I'm so insignificant. This is the only way I'll ever get on television." A warning and a reason at the same time.

Some people have said police should've done more to bring him in alive so he could be questioned. But fortunately, their first priority was making sure no one else got shot.

The shooter was - in police parlance - neutralized.

I can't even imagine their pain. I don't even want to try. God bless the victims and their families now and forever. I hope they eventually find some peace and their hearts begin to heal.

As for the shooter, I'm only sorry he wasn't neutralized sooner.

My new favorite teacher

I'm not going to bury the lead, I'll just come right out with it. My new favorite teacher is Mr. Hayashino. I say new favorite, because I just met him tonight for the first time at my daughter's high school Back To School Night.

If you don't have kids you may not be familiar with Back To School Night. Almost every school has one. It happens at the beginning of the school year, usually on a night there's a major sporting event or a television program you've been waiting three months to see.

Parents follow their child's curriculum, going from class to class between bells, cramming ourselves in the students' chairs and listening to their teachers give an overview of who they are, what they teach and what they expect from both us and the students.

They have ten minutes to do it before the bell rings and everyone hustles onto the next class.

Tonight, I met my daughter's chemistry teacher, Mr. Hayashino. I know, I said chemistry. I'm sure for those of you who follow this blog with any kind of regularity, you already see where this is going. And it's going exactly where you think it is.

I'm not sure what Mr. Hayashino was saying during his allotted ten minutes. I was busy looking at the Periodic Chart, trying to find the element symbols that spelled Felina, which as I'm sure you know was the name of the series finale episode of Breaking Bad.

When the bell rang, I went up to Mr. Hayashino, introduced myself and asked if he'd watched Breaking Bad since it's required viewing for chemistry teachers. He said he saw the series - all of it - for the first time this summer. I told him I'd binged it six times. He was duly impressed.

We immediately started talking about chemicals, cooks and how we have to get together and talk some more about the show. Twist my arm.

So this semester, I'm going to be taking a keen interest in how my daughter is doing in school. I'll monitor her progress, and talk to the teachers when necessary.

When I get to her chemistry class again, I'll ask the teacher, "Who the hell are you?"

And if Mr. Hayashino's the chemistry teacher I think he is, I'm pretty sure his answer will be, "You know who I am. You all know. Now say my name."

It won't be like this for long

I know you're getting tired of posts about my son going off to college. But that's what's taking up all the brainspace right now, and writing about it here is cheaper than therapy (and a lot cheaper than tuition). I promise this will be the last one on the topic for awhile (fingers crossed, snickering to himself...).

This startlingly beautiful baby is my boy. It's always been one of my favorite shots of him. It was taken at our great friend Michelle Purcell and her husband John's former house in San Clemente, just before he gave a piano recital of Rachmaninoff's piano concerto number 3 (I recall he was pretty accomplished at number 2 as well - BAM!).

I don't remember how old he is here. I only know he's sure not that age anymore.

We just got back from dropping him off at his dorm room in Austin where, if you don't know by now, in between going to all-night movie festivals, eating barbecue brisket by the pound and locally-sourced quinoa salads, he's majoring in film.

And I don't mean dropping him off in the "here's your hat what's your hurry" sense. More in the "we're going to take six days, fix up your dorm room, buy even more things for you at Bed Bath and Beyond, take you out to eat for every meal and let you stay with us in our nice hotel until you absolutely have to move in" sense.

I won't go into what it was like to say goodbye before we had to leave for the airport yesterday. As I'm sure you've surmised by now from the other posts I've put up on the subject, suffice it to say I was a mess (I know, I'm as shocked as you are).

But twenty-four hours later, you'll be glad to know, it's not one iota easier.

I'm lucky in that I have a kid who wants us to text, call, FaceTime and Skype with him all we want. Or so he says. We won't drive him crazy, but we will be in touch on a regular basis. But he's grown up and he's growing up, and we're going to let him do it - no matter how much it hurts or how counter-intuitive it is.

It's been said they're leaving you from the moment they're born. Maybe, but for sure he's been leaving faster and faster as he's gotten older.

And now, in the blink of an eye, he's off becoming the man he's meant to be.

I'm so lucky, because I can't remember a time when my son and I ended a conversation without saying "I love you" to each other. And I'm not about to start now.

I love you buddy man.

Now I have to go help your sister move into your old room.

The Grandstands of Heaven

Every once in awhile, it occurs to me how many people I’ve lost along the way. Can you tell this isn’t going to be one of my more humorous posts?

I suppose it’s no more or less than anyone else. But on those days and nights when I let my thoughts roll around to them, it occurs to me how much I miss my dearly departed friends and family. I was trying to figure out the reason I don’t dwell on it more often than I do, and I think it’s because I still feel surrounded by them. Not in the ooo-eee-ooo kind of way, but in the “they’re never really gone, love never dies, they’re watching over me” kind of way.

I heard a great phrase the other day: the grandstands of heaven. That’s where I believe they’re all sitting, looking down and cheering me on. Of course, since they were my friends and family and probably did some traveling with me while they were here, I'm sure they're sitting in the clubhouse and not the general bleachers.

No flight too short for first class.

Right about now I’m sure some of my atheist friends are having a good laugh at this. It’ll give them something to make fun of and mock, because sometimes being content not believing in God or Heaven just isn't enough. Have at it. I love you anyway, and believe I’ll see you on the other side - even if you don’t.

Anyway, to Jim, George, Babs, Peter, Uncle Jimmy, Pete, Gommie, Jacques, Mark, Paul, Uncle Lou, Mom, Dad and the rest, since I can’t send you a thank you note (postage is outrageous) I want you to know I appreciate your continued support and love, and look forward to seeing you guys again. Not soon, but again. Save me a seat.

By the way, I heard you can eat as much of whatever you want up there and not gain weight. If that’s true, I’d appreciate one of you sending me a sign.

Maybe something like this.

That's the ticket

Much to the dismay of both my kids, we weren't the parents that ran out and bought them cars when they got their license. They've had to make do with sharing our cars when they're available - which we do our best to see that they are.

But a few weeks ago, that changed. The wife had been driving a sixteen-year old Land Cruiser, and was next in line for a new car. So she got one.

Not new new. A certified pre-owned, 2012 model with considerably less mileage (19,400) than her current wheels (245,000). We hang onto cars for a long time.

So now, instead of moving two cars in and out of our driveway, we have three to juggle. Which requires considerably more planning than two. It's like one point higher on the Richter scale is a thousand times more powerful quake.

Alright, we know analogies aren't my strong point, but you see where I'm going.

The daily ritual now is who's leaving first, who's coming back with a car at what time and who drives which car. The only thing we know for sure is no one but the wife drives the wife's new car, although recently there's even been some leniency with that rule.

The problem is there are three cars and four drivers. But that'll change in August when young Mr. Spielberg goes off to film school in the blue dot on the great red state of Texas. Needless to say, his sister is quite excited thinking she'll have a car any old time she wants one after he leaves. We won't spoil her little fantasy just yet.

Besides driveway parking, the other situation exponentially worse with the addition of a third car is insurance. We were already paying an arm and a leg to insure everyone. Now the premium has increased to a small fortune. And if one of the teenagers happen to get a ticket, we've been told it gets jacked up to a king's ransom.

Anyway, we'll continue to plan accordingly when it comes to jockeying the cars in the driveway, even if we have to invest in new equipment to do it.

I don't mind. I look pretty good in those little red jackets.

Picture this

Last night was the high school graduation party for young Mr. Spielberg before he goes off to one of the top ten film schools in the country, and his good friend Trevor, who is graduating with him. It was a fun-filled evening, with many of his friends he’s literally grown up with and known all his life.

I’ve also known most of the kids there since they were in kindergarten. Which was great, because I never get enough reminders of how fast time is going by. Wasn’t it just yesterday they were asking me for 5’s instead of 20’s?

Anyway, besides the portable pizza oven catering the party, candy table, impromptu stage where my son (did I mention he plays five instruments?) sang with Trevor, was a wall with items representing who both boys were, their interests, where they’ve been and where they’re going. My boy was on the left. Trevor was on the right.

Each of our families had room for nineteen pictures. So late Saturday, we went online and had a ton of pictures printed out at Fromex. And they came out spectacularly.

The other thing they did was remind me how much I hate digital pictures. Not digital photography, just digital pictures.

Once you have the pictures in your hand, spending as much time as you want with them, they become time machines. They have the ability to take you right back to the moment they’re showing you.

I think too often we get caught up in the technology of seeing pictures on screen, and lose the meaning of the pictures themselves. I was reminded last night of something I've known but had forgotten - I'd much rather pass hard copies of pictures around than watch a digital slideshow any day of the week.

My beautiful son moves to Texas in August. But thanks to these pictures, and the many more I’ll be printing out, I’ll still be able to hold on to him.

Things I was wrong about: Remote control

So here it is - the second in my series of Things I Was Wrong About. By the way, if you missed the first and feel the need to catch up - and frankly, who could blame you - you'll find it here.

I'm kind of partial to this series more than some of the others I do (Guilty Pleasures, Don't Ask, Things I Don't Need To Know), because, as my wife, children, close friends, banker, work colleagues, doctor and complete strangers on the street keep reminding me, I'll never run out of topics to talk about.

The one I'm talking about today is an American cultural icon, companion of couch potatoes worldwide and best friend of the AA battery industry. The remote control.

I remember the first remote control TV my parents bought. It also happened to be the first color TV we owned. It was an RCA console television, and looked similar to this one, minus the statue collection of the mixed fox/bull terrier Nipper that was the RCA mascot for years (Impressive I know that, yes? My mind is a crowded place).

Besides being able to finally see the NBC "in living color" peacock in living color for the first time, now we didn't have to get up to change from one of the seven - count 'em seven - channels to the other (3 network, 4 local).

The remote controls then weren't the streamlined, digitally programed, colorful, button-laiden devices they are today. The were like little bricks, usually offering only four buttons: volume up and down, and channel up and down.

Still, not having to get up to change the channel was a revelation. It gave me the perfect excuse get even less physical activity than I was already getting. I know you wouldn't think it to look at me now, but I was a fat little kid (you know I can hear you laughing, right?). And this new, magical device wasn't going to help that.

As the years have gone by, we've been able to control more and more things by remote. Lights to drapes. Thermostats to DVRs. Cameras to ovens. Today, with the power we hold in our hands, there's virtually no reason to get off the couch to do anything. Except get the potato chips.

Even as I write this, it seems hard to believe there was a point in time where I thought, "How lazy do you have to be that you can't get your fat ass up and walk four or five feet to the TV and change the channel?" But that was before molded-to-your-hand grip remote controls. And Netflix.

So on the long, long list of things I was wrong about, let me add the modern day convenience I could now never live without. The remote control.

I think that just about wraps up this post. CLICK! Power off.

Incomplete

It's another sad, sad day for parents everywhere, but especially in Marysville, Washington.

If you've seen or heard any media today, you already know a student named Jaylen Fryberg - who was by all accounts a great kid and homecoming prince - walked into the school cafeteria, walked up to a table of his friends, pulled a gun and started shooting them.

One girl died instantly. Four others are in extremely critical condition. And at the end of it all, Fryberg killed himself.

Whenever this happens, and it happens all too frequently, I always try to calm myself down with the same false mantra every other parent uses: it could never happen at my kid's school. I'm sure every parent at Marysville was thinking that until today.

There are so many things we didn't have when I was in school. One of them was school shootings. The worse that would happen back then is you'd get beat up by someone in a school gang. Not shot or stabbed, just beat up in a fist fight.

My thoughts and prayers are with everyone in Marysville tonight. I know how much I hate it when my kids are late getting home.

I can't imagine the agony of knowing they're never coming home again.

Clean thoughts

Over the holiday weekend, my son was away with a friend, starting to concept his next award-winning short film. My daughter was spending the weekend as a counselor at a camp near Big Bear.

Which meant my wife and I had the very strange and rare treat of having the house - not counting Max, world's greatest dog - all to ourselves.

If you’re married with kids, I’m sure you’ll appreciate it almost as much as we did. I don’t think I have to tell you that we proceeded to do what any long-married couple does when they finally get a little private time away from the kids.

We cleaned and organized the house.

First, we decided instead of drudgery it was going to be fun. We put on the soundtrack to the movie Chef (awesome – go to iTunes now and download it, I’ll wait) and blasted it while we were working. We decided to spend twenty minutes on the living room, and take no prisoners.

Everything was on the table, figuratively and literally speaking. Books, magazines, receipts, DVDs, papers, pillows, blankets – things that had been lying around or just left out for the last few years were either put where they belong, donated to charity or trashed. It’s amazing how much we accomplished with a focused effort and a predetermined amount of time.

Then we did the other thing long-married couples do whenever they get the chance and the kids aren't around.

We took a nap.

It's a great idea after all

Have you had the unshakable feeling that today wasn't just an ordinary day? It was different wasn't it. And if you live in Southern California or Orlando, the suspicion was even more intense. The idea kept running through your head, like an annoying song you just couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried, that today was unlike every other day.

Here's the reason. Today is the 50th anniversary of It's A Small World at Disneyland.

The ride was introduced in 1964, and, to quote Wikipedia, "The ride features over 300 brightly costumed audio-animatronic dolls in the style of children of the world, frolicking in a spirit of international unity and singing the attraction's title song, which has a theme of global peace."

Sure, whatever.

The point I'm making is that after half a century, I think it's time to update this iconic Disney attraction, with its unforgettable yet masterfully irritating theme song into something adults can enjoy just as much as the kids. And I know exactly how to do it.

Shotgun Small World. Here's how it works.

Every adult who gets on the boat gets handed a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a sawed-off 12-gauge when they board. Of course, these aren't real weapons. They will have been made by Disney Imagineering, which means they'll look and feel real, but they'll have a Disney logo on them and replicas will be available in the gift shop.

Then, as the riders cruise through, they get points for each one of the dolls they take out (extra points if you can waste them before the start of the second verse).

Now, I know this sounds shocking at first. But at second, it sounds fun doesn't it?

Besides, it's Disneyland. The dolls will just reanimate in time for the next boatload of tired parents with really good aim.

I'm just spitballing here, but if Imagineering's too busy creating the next ride, like Frozen Mountain or whatever, maybe they can borrow the guns from Frontierland.

You want this to be the happiest place on earth for parents as well? C'mon Imagineers. Get on it.

Breaking news

The radio said breaking news.
The announcer called it another tragedy.
Parents were told to stay clear of the area.
As if that was possible.

Ambulances on both sides of the freeway.
No traffic mid-day, yet not moving at all.
Chaos and yelling.
All those red lights.

The playground is closed.
Yellow tape makes that clear.
I see other kids running.
I see bodies under blankets.

Did he wear those shoes this morning?
Shit, they all wear those shoes.

Some teachers have taught another lesson.
About the unpredictably of life.
The meaning of sacrifice.

Gurney wheels rattling. Children screaming and crying.
They can't get to sleep. They can't stay awake.
Just like when they were babies.
Remember life before them? Of course not.

Others have been through it.
Forced smiles, empty eyes and broken hearts
Say you learn to live with it.

The truth is life will go on.
The real truth is it won't.

Parents, prepare for takeoff

Like her brother before her, tomorrow morning my daughter will be going with her eighth-grade class to New York, D.C. and a few other stops on the eastern seaboard.

The wife and I will be getting up at 3a.m. to take her to the school, where she'll board the bus to the airport with her friends as she gives us a cursory wave goodbye and heads off on her Big Apple adventure.

Of course we're happy for the time she's going to have, the things she's going to learn and close friends she'll be even closer to by trip's end. What we're not happy about is the fact she'll be away from us for a week. Three-thousand miles away from us.

It's every parent's dilemma: how to let them go without worrying about them the second they're out of your sight. The answer of course, as any parent can tell you, is you can't.

In a book about her daughter, author Joan Didion said, "Once you have children, you're never unafraid again." As a parent there is the continuous loop of white noise, playing at a very low level in the back of your brain always wondering if your kids are alright.

I know my daughter will be fine back east and have the time of her life.

I also know I won't be fine until she's back home.

UPDATE: This was originally written in June. My daughter went on the trip, had a great time and returned safely to me. When she came down the escalator at the airport, she ran into my arms and held me so tight I thought she'd never let go. For my money, best way for both of us to end her trip.

Crazy control

Just when I said I didn't feel strongly enough about anything to post for awhile, this happens.

I didn't hear about the shootings at the midnight show of The Dark Knight Rises in Aurora, Colorado until this morning. My first thought was about the horror and sadness the victims and their families have been exposed to in this tragedy.

My second thought was that my son had gone to a midnight show last night, and thank God it didn't happen here. Of course the sad truth about that thought is it can happen anywhere. Unfortunately, crazy doesn't pay much attention to state borders or jurisdictions.

It knows how to travel when it needs to.

I won't try and make sense of it - there'll be pundits galore all over cable news tonight doing that.

I do know it wasn't the movie's fault. Warner Bros. has cancelled the Paris premiere, and pulled some of the advertising for the film indefinitely. Two things I believe they shouldn't have done.

For all the talk there's going to be about gun control, for me, here's the bottom line: more gun control laws wouldn't have helped. Colorado, like most states, already has a number of them on the books. But when crazy wants a gun, crazy gets a gun. You can argue a background check and waiting period might've prevented this, but crazy is also skilled at not looking crazy when it needs to. Ever see the neighbor interviews?

"He was always such a nice guy." "He was quiet but friendly." "He used to wave and smile when I saw him."

He bought the guns in his possession legally - in compliance with all the gun laws - from local gun shops. He purchased the ammunition legally off the internet. You simply cannot close all the loopholes.

For my pals against the death penalty, this is why you're wrong. He may plead crazy, but he was lucid enough to put on bullet-proof armor and buy tear gas first. There's no reason for this monster to be walking the earth. Hopefully it won't be years before the courts come to this obvious conclusion.

And while I'm on the subject, I think there should be a special category of execution for crimes as horrendous as this. In the same way that labeling something a "hate crime" makes one murder subject to a harsher penalty than the other, I think by creating a separate category of crime we could execute these abominations in the way they deserve to go.

And it isn't peacefully with an I.V. line in their arm.

All I keep thinking about, besides the victims, is the parents. As if there aren't enough reminders in the day you can't protect your children from everything evil in the world.

In the aftermath, all we can do is hug our kids, let them go to the movies and teach them that even though bad things happen, life goes on. Teach them fearful is not a way to live. That's what crazy wants. Don't give it to him.

And for as long as you can, hold the people in Colorado affected by this tragedy in your hearts, thoughts and prayers.

They're going to need it.

UPDATE: TDKR director Christopher Nolan's statement on the shooting:

"Speaking on behalf of the cast and crew of "The Dark Knight Rises", I would like to express our profound sorrow at the senseless tragedy that has befallen the entire Aurora community. I would not presume to know anything about the victims of the shooting but that they were there last night to watch a movie. I believe movies are one of the great American art forms and the shared experience of watching a story unfold on screen is an important and joyful pastime. The movie theatre is my home, and the idea that someone would violate that innocent and hopeful place in such an unbearably savage way is devastating to me. Nothing any of us can say could ever adequately express our feelings for the innocent victims of this appalling crime, but our thoughts are with them and their families."

Stroller derby

Seems like yesterday my wife and I were taking our baby boy out for a stroll in his awesome Peg Perego stroller - the Rolls Royce of strollers at the time.

Since we lived in Santa Monica at the time (100 yards from the beach in a rent-controlled apartment on the top floor of a 17-story building - don't get me started), we'd take our son for daily stroller walks on Main Street and the Third Street Promenade. The Promenade was a wide expanse of walkway, with plenty of room for us even when it was crowded. And when we were on Main Street, we made a point of staying to one side of the sidewalk so people coming and going could get around us easily.

More than rules of the road, it was just common courtesy. Seems like such a quaint notion from a gentler time doesn't it.

Fast forward to this evening as we're trying to get around these sidewalk hoggin', cell-phone talkin', baby ignorin', stroller pushin' mamas blocking 2nd Street in Belmont Shore with a Mitt Romney sense of entitlement to the sidewalk.

It'd be one thing if they were going slow to carefully navigate the walking throngs so their babies wouldn't get bumped or jostled.

But no,these mamas were in their plastic bubble, oblivious to everyone else on the sidewalk because they were so caught up in their own fabulousness. They didn't care one whit about anyone in front or behind them.

I suppose the good news is we were behind them. With a clear view of their rear bumpers (yes, that is what I meant), we could see the faces of the oncoming crowd as they had to quickly engage in avoidance tactics so as not to get run over by the clueless moms.

I know you can't make people more considerate. Believe me, I've tried. Maybe strollers need to be reclassified as moving vehicles, and parents operating them would be required to take a driving test to get licensed.

The other question that went through my mind is why do they have these babies out so late on a cold February night, with all the germy strangers passing them by anyway.

Oh that's right. You don't need a license to be a parent either.

One and only

I'm an only child. And I'm okay with that.

Sure, I don't really understand the whole sharing thing. Or not having my way when I want it. But for the most part it hasn't held me back.

Naturally there's been one or two times in my life where it would've been nice to have a sibling. For example when my parents died. As you'd expect, an extremely tough time. It would've been nice to have somebody who knew exactly what I was going through because they were going through it too. Another tough time: when Springsteen tickets go on sale. A brother or sister would double my chances of getting the good seats.

When I tell people I'm an only child, I usually get one of two reactions. They'll say, "Oh you're so lucky." Or they'll give me a sad, sympathetic look and say, "Oh that's a shame."

It's not a shame. For the most part, it's awesome.

I have lots of friends with siblings. Some of them get along, some don't. Many of them have found a way to negotiate a truce because they have family obligations and joint decisions that have to get made, none of which happens if they're fighting like cats and dogs all the time. But it always seems like an uneasy truce.

I also have people I don't get along with. The difference is when I don't get along, I can get away. I don't worry about having to see them at home, or running into them at family events or holiday dinners.

Also, I think because I'm an only child my friendships take on even more importance in my life. Well, some of them anyway (you know who you are). I tend to invest time and energy to nourish and grow them, and find myself getting more than just a little out of sorts when that investment isn't returned in kind (you know who you are).

Anyway, I'm not making an argument for being an only child. I'm just saying there are worse things that could happen in the world.

That would be the world that revolves around me.