Interview with my son about not having a dad.

Interviewing Actor/Comedian Extraordinaire, Kody!

Do you feel any different having two moms?

Yeah - one of a kind.
Do any of the kids at school care?
No.  When I was a kid I thought you were a dad, Mom.  

Yeah I know.  I wasn't too happy about that I remember.

But you weren't a dad.  

What do you think would be different about me if I was a dad as opposed to my being a mom?

You wouldn't be as loving
...and you would pick your nose like me because all men pick their noses.  I heard that from the movie Frozen.

Ah Disney.  How you corrupt our young!

The World is Missing an Obernburg

When I was a kid my granny had a house upstate NY just outside of this tiny little one-intersection town called Obernburg.  It cost nothing as it had been passed down from generation to generation in my pop-pops family, and it was in a town with a population so small the "school" was literally a loft in the church with maybe 4-5 farmer's kids and all mixed up grades.  I mean, this was Little House in the Prairie time.

   It was only a summer home for us that my uncle Robert would occasionally visit in the winter to hunt.  We'd open every Memorial Day weekend and close every Columbus Day in the fall.  But every summer vacation, every weekend in between almost, someone was always visiting and for whoever it was it became a fairly annual tradition. 

   I wouldn't say we were a very rich family, but I remember being at least comfortable for a while.  There weren't too many modern conveniences there (if you don't count the running water and electric oven).  You had to climb a long hill and follow a long dirt road to get there.  The things that stood out was that there was a giant Lilac bush right outside my granny's bedroom windows (always blooming opening weekend), a wood burning stove and separate fireplace that was the only source of heat for the two hemispheres in the house, several small bedrooms (it was almost littered with them), two pits on the hill, one for barbarque and one for garbage, and great big front porch lined with mismatched rocking chairs.

   It wasn't any one of these particulars that lent this place it's magic.  I've since been to many one-intersection towns, and barbaqued on several different barbaque pits.  I've even come to envy some of the more modern conveniences of other people's homes in the country.  None of that was what made this place special.

   There was no just "stopping by" as it was hours away from really ...anything.  And there was no TV, so when you were up you were engaging.  Each swarm of people who came had their own charm and each bring back such unique little memories I won't share here because I can't.  They are a part now of the very fabric of me.  

   Years later, as my granny retired she had to make a choice of whether to keep Obernburg, or sell it and continue her "real" life in the city.  In the end she thought she chose to be close to family.

   It's ironic though as for me it seems that was the end of family.  No more long weekends working together to complete the chores of opening the blankets, taking the rock off the chimneys, or mowing and weed whacking the tremendous lawns.  No more revolving doors of company.  No more late nights playing board games at the table, rocking with the old folks on the porch, or lying out under the stars up on the hill.  No more long uninterrupted chats.  No more swarms of people looking into each other's eyes or side by side watching whatever.  No more real sharing.  No more clear memories.  No more laughter.

   But whenever I catch a scent of Lilac, or cedar and moth balls, I'm back.  Clear summer skies, long afternoons, and stars so close and plentiful you could almost literally taste them.  The world needs a little Obernburg again.  I'm not sure what is wrong with all of us, but that I know now for sure.

Parent Teacher Night

Parent Teacher Night is becoming so special for me.  Don't get me wrong.  I love being part of a two parent household and I don't know what I'd do without my wife.  But she's an elementary school teacher, and I'm a middle school teacher.  In NYC's DOE that translates a rare responsibility solely mine (at least for the next 5 or so years.)

   It wasn't always so easy.  I remember coming home crying.  "He's hitting his peers" I was told about my oldest when he was in Kindergarden.  They wanted to send him away to some special school.
   "I don't understand why he's hitting anybody!" I exclaim in frustration to my South Bronxian coworkers the next day.  We never hit him a day in his whole life!"
   "Ah well there's your problem!"  I was told almost in unison.

   But Kody has always been different.  When he was 18 months our worse fears were confirmed as my wife and I heard the dreaded word "autism" through white hot pounding flashes and in slow agonizing motion.  As special educators we knew the initals "PDDNOS" and the prognosis: different.  At least, we thought we did.  But there was one thing we didn't know: Kody.

   This child is my Superman.  There is no challenge he cannot leap over in a single bound.  I have had a front row seat to a human being saddled with the most pervasive, debilitating, overwhelming challenges at the most vulnerable time of his life, and been floored with his focus, and stamina, endurance, and sheer power of love and will!  One week it's his speech.  Next week?  It's licked.  Another week it's joint attention.  Next week "Look!" This goes on and on until I internally know they just needed to stick it out.  He'll stop hitting, I knew.  Just as soon as we make it clear to him it's a priority.  He'll conquer this too.

   And he did.

   And now our youngest is in Kindergarten.  He beams as he finally gets to strut through his older brother's halls, long hair flowing behind him.  Niky's teacher blushes as she describes escorts to the bus with Niky as a paparazzi leveled event!  His report card is all 3s and 4s, he's ahead in art, drama, gym, every teacher looks shocked when they describe his levels, and the words "smart" "genius" and "rockstar" become synonymous with his first name.

   I'm proud, don't get me wrong.  Niky is another force that was meant to be.  It took us 4 years to make Kody.  It took us one month to make Niky.  Thank God I'm a lesbian, because Niky's donor was the first sperm to enter this body in 20 years.  I was terrified of having a baby my whole life, had one moment of desire to make Kody a sibling, and vowed that would be the last try for a while moments after insemination.  But I didn't need to worry about another try.  That was it!  Niky had his window and he bounded through.

   And it's been that way ever since.  With Kody we dreamed of a good report card, and he worked and worked on every single obstacle of the thousands that stood in between.  One at a time.  Each in succession.  One foot in front of the other.

   Then Niky hands one to us, and just as he does Kody wins the "Get-Your-Seatbelt-On-First Challenge for the last chocolate Munchkin.  And despite Niky's tears I don't even need to look as Kody breaks it in half and offers Niky his choice.  Niky chooses the bigger half.  And I beam.  I could not love either of these kids more.  I wish everybody had my perspective.