It’s Awards Night… Or I Just Got Rick Roll’ed on WordPress

A few days ago my Droid chimes that I have a WP notification and low and behold it is a notification for a comment that Jules, a fellow blogger, enjoys my banter and raves about fatherhood enough to pass on the recognition honor bestowed upon her blog by another.  The Kreativ Award.

Now I have a rather cynical view of awards, trophies and more so award shows.  They are for the benefit of the people who need the recognition for their efforts and not the self-pride for their hard work.  Meaning in a pool of 100, one is honored for their efforts whether it be sports, movies or music.  Now on the flip-side I am not the parent that believe every person should be a winner, that mantra is just as silly, if not more so.  I don’t just say it half-heartedly either, every trophy I ever won as a child/teen in sports went into the trash.

But what I did like about this award was not that I could post a silly badge to an awards page I will never create, but that I could take this award and honor and discuss some of my favorite blogs.

So as the rules say, first I must thank the person who took the time to recognize my site:

Jules, Thank you, not for the award, but for reading.  I would rather have 10 loyal readers than an award that says someone liked it just once.  Please don’t mistake this post as a dis-appreciation of the honor, it is just the opposite, I am thrilled you think so highly of my writings to consider me, but if given the choice I would take you as a loyal read in exchange any day.

Read Jules at:

Secondly, is that a word, I must give you 10 facts of myself. (In no particular order)

  • I sometimes wish for a zombie apocalypse so I can put my swords to use and not have to work.
  • A beat up George Brett (virtually worthless) baseball card  I received from my Grammy is still the best gift I ever received for my birthday, I think I was 15.  She was a widow and retired, she found a way to give something with meaning.  How she ever remembered that I liked George Brett I will never know, because the woman could not remember which grandchild was which for the life of her.
  • I sat out in the cold November air for 10 hours to see Prince once.  Election day in 2000, I never cast a vote in the Bush-Gore election and it was worth every moment.  General admission, second row, standing, center.
  • Hearing Johnny Cash sing about love, Life and Loss on his final few albums, through his old and tired voice gets me choked up to hear the pain and feeling in his words.
  • I don’t drink coffee or alcohol, occasionally tea is my stimulant in the AM.
  • I sat down for a spaghetti dinner with Maya Angelou through a twist of fate and was able to talk about writing with her.  To meet a person like that when your name is not David Beckham is something you will think about nearly everyday.
  • I wish I could have stayed in college forever.
  • Save the aliens, Hollywood keeps killing them off.  They watch our movies and will never visit us if they think it means war.
  • I hate to drive, I wish I could live solely on public transportation.
  • I pray thanks every morning for my wife and son.

And finally, recognize my (in no particular order) favorite blogs:


Easter Memories Cost 3 Cents

While the ideals of Easter has moved from the Resurrection of Jesus to the idea that a magical bunny breaks into your home and hides candy it has added another section to the family album all along the while also lined the pockets of Mars Inc and some company in Taiwan that makes pastel plastic-lined faux-wicker baskets for $6.99.

For Halloween you have cute little costumes, for Christmas it is pictures with Santa and the toys, summer holiday give us family photos.  The issue with Easter is that it follows the winter holiday’s so funds are typically low and demand for any toys is usually minor.

How do you live up to the hype of Christmas with a small present, or the nastiness of Halloween with tiny candies in an egg?  You don’t.

First, go to Walmart, or if you are a hippy that boycotts the Waltons’ for destroying America, then drive over to the local market and get yourself some baby powder and make your own happiness.

I won’t take credit for this, and neither can my wife… but it is her history, not mine.  Patter some tracks from the door all over the home into rooms with a path left to carrots… and in our home, a pineapple.

Trying to fight with corporate America and t.v. media that Easter is anything more than a “Bunny Holiday” is fruitless, so embrace it.  The amazement on our son’s face this morning with his discovery of tracks is clearly worth the intrusion of corporate sales into holidays.  He is 3 and the belief in a bunny is much easier on the mind then the Rising of a Savior, especially since the notion of death is not in his mind yet, we will cross that line in the 1st grade.

Global Warming – Myth or Reality it is Working

So here it is, March, not even spring and the week has been as Jim Carey would say “B-E-A-utiful.”  The New England winter was mild and felt like the break we needed, because after 36 winters I think I was contemplating a move to South Carolina.

But whatever is going on out there is a welcome change to wet and wild post-winter thaws.  The weather should hit 75 today and I will have the evening to spend out running from the police again… yes, the PD.  After a ticket or two I have kept that copper on the run.


This has been a good week for him and Aside from loving to play I noticed something last night.  During his evening “remove the grime” time in the tub he had his back to this aquatic-time supervisor and I noticed a ring around his neck.  Not a dirt ring, but a sun ring from his shirt.

It’s March and he has a slight tan.

That is awesome.

I am glad he is getting the real outdoor air, he sleeps so heavily and exhausted after a day of room to really run and scream.  He had fun times in the house with his learning games  and Christmas toys to occupy his time, but after a winter cooped up in the house, even if it was mild it was still cold, it is nice to watch him run on the soccer field and kick the ball into the net.  We both have fun doing that this weekend. 😉

Last night he and I ate a burger out on the picnic table and he for the first time asked me, “Daddy, How was your day?”  He must have picked it up from t.v. but it was sweet.  And to sit there one-on-one and just talk about my day with him was a treat.  He gets to play all day, and I am rewarded with a 15-minute conversation that will last an eternity.


Treasure Hunting and Catching Our Own Chicken


Following a map, even if it is a GPS enabled phone is treasure hunting to a boy of three.  Every parent should try this, and if you don’t own a smart phone a GPS device is fairly affordable.  I think you can get one for under $50, and I may look into investing in one rather than use a phone.

Our trip started with a little dress up of a pirate hat and an eye-patch, though that came off after the car ride to the park because a toddlers attention to surroundings and the loss of depth perception is just a combo platter nightmare.  So we left that little number behind.

300 meters from the car, not far, except pace is set by the shortest legs and a detour out to the island across a man-made rock bridge.  Not the brightest idea but we did snap a few cute photos in the middle of the island, no smoke monster on this deserted isle.

By the time we traveled the remaining 220 meters he had soon to forget about his quest and was talking lunch.  Chicken on the picnic tables.  Problem is, we have no chicken with us, maybe we can catch one in the woods.  After all I am I guy, I have it in my blood to know how to de-feather and skin a chicken with a sharpened rock tool, if I could just find a caveman to give me a crash course in outdoorsman life.  O.K. we got this.

So the GPS counts down to 10 meters, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4 ,3… it’s right here somewhere.

Scanning, nothing.

5 minutes, 10 minutes.

Kid has completely lost interest.

5 more minutes

Wife says she quit.

Only dad is looking and he can’t read a map, even if it is a digital one.

So we will cheat a bit, read the descriptions of other hunters who have found the booty.  A 3 by 5 box, really 3×5?  That is the size of a cigarette pack.  I am not just looking at my feet we have 100 sq feet of the woods to find a box that may be in the trees, under the leaves, under a rock or buried under ground.  RIGHT!

5 more minutes, oh the GPS says the cache is on the other side of the path, renewed persistence from everyone.

Another few minutes and the GPS has recalibrated and pointing back to the other side of the path?  O.K. This is starting to get annoying., and everyone is getting hungry.

If I had an hour and no distractions I could find it, but with a 3 year-old you don’t have even 10 minutes before they are off and moving onto the next adventure, even if the activity they are running from is a treasure hunt.

Time to catch that chicken, convert the phone into a hunting device.


“Hello, Duguay’s Chicken”

“Hi could I order a 6 piece meal with jo-jo potatoes please?”

“Be ready in 10 minutes”

Chicken hunt, successful.

Walking Home from The Lorax

While we were waiting for the corned beef to cook and mommy did what ever women do at a baby shower we walked down to see The Lorax.  Another remake in the age of noting original, though it is not really a remake, but more of a second adaptation.  And a very loose adaptation at that, but very nicely done.

He really enjoyed the film, and for a children’s movie I did rather enjoy it… not like the three times I sat through Chipmunks Part 3 this summer.  Made by the guys who created Despicable Me and almost as good, Lorax would get an A- from the in child in me.  My wife would say my inner child dominates my personality, she may be a bit more right than wrong.

On the way home I thought I would try to be philosophical dad and talk about nature and how important it is to all of us and he looks up at me and says:

GG: Dad You silly! I like trees, but Lorax wasn’t about trees!

Me: Well what is it about?

GG: I don’t know.  (His favorite words, even when you know he knows the answer)

Me: Is it about promises?  Or maybe doing what you are told when a wise man warns you not to?

GG: Yes, bad things happen when you don’t keep your promises.

Me: Well then just remember what you promise, your word is very important to keep when you make a promise.  Ok?

GG: (Looks at his feet for a moment) Ya…..

GG: (Then looks up with the epic-eyes that I know I am in for something good)  Dada, I promise I will never let you down.

Me: (Speechless) Thank you bud.  (What else can you say when a 3-year old drops that line.)

We may think we are the teachers of our children, but sometimes they surprise us and let us know that they have it under control.

Love you bud.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day and a Cooking Expedition

I am pretty sure I don’t have a lick of Irish blood in me, I could be wrong, I have most else.  My wife does, so therefor my son has some green blood and not of the alien kind, of the erin-kind.

Since she cooked our first corned beef, which I have never had prior… maybe because I was raised in an Italian heritage household, I have been hooked.  We usually buy a few beefs for the day and then a few to freeze to make some months down the road for a craving day

This year mom is off at a baby shower and dad is cooking.  Oh boy.

We have two briskets, 5 pounds of potatoes and a cabbage half the size of the boy.  I am a horrible cook, so I was only on hand to handle the hot water and peel and cut the potatoes.  The boy handled all the intricate and important aspects of the preparation.

  • Handing the unpeeled potatoes
  • Washing the potatoes
  • Putting them in the bowls
  • Opening the carrots
  • Wearing his Celtics apron
  • Recruiting Uncle Mike

Without him the dinner would be failure for sure.  The brisket is slow cooking for a few hours and in the meantime we are going to take a walk down to the theater and watch the new Lorax movie.  We are both very excited about the food, and the movie.

Potato Power!


I know it is going to happen so let us just put it out there now.  “Not Dad of the Year” does not mean I am a dead beat dad, I think I am a great father… or at least I hope I am.  But I am not in a running to win an award for buying my son the best education (I have no money), dressing my son to the nines (I have no style), or helping him become a child superstar (I have ethics).  Fatherhood is not a contest, it is a gift.

I would like my son to grow up with the best childhood possible and be a happy boy.  I want him to learn life lessons the right way and make friends regardless of race, class, and/or social groups.  My success is solely the result of his success in life.  Not financially, but based on being happy in his future.

You don’t win awards for doing the right things, the right things are expected as a parent.

That said, no one should try to be Dad-of-the-Year, just be Dad.

This is a blog chronicling my quest for my son’s happiness and hoping he follows in my footsteps to one day be a father as proud as myself.

And regarding the logo “Raising a Geek of the Future” please don’t take it as an insult, a few people called Stephen Hawking, Brian Greene, Lisa Randall, Jack Dorsey, and Stephen Spielberg were once called geeks, today they lead their industry.  Whether or not my son is a physicist, scientist, computer wiz, movie producer or maybe a midfielder I will be happy, but a love for sci-fi, books, math, comics, football and Bruce Lee is highly likely for a child raised in this household.  Too have a son be smart is never an insult.

I hope you read, and I hope you share your thoughts as we grow.