Shoveling

I was expecting to bring Bubs 1 sleigh riding with our neighbors yesterday morning, but the driveway needing shoveling first. Roughly ten inches of snow just fell over night. The bubs graciously helped out (with a promise of an Angry Bird pillow, from his mom).

It's not automatic that Bubs 1 is always willing to help out. Bribery helps. We're still teaching him to be one of those people who offer themselves, when nobody else does. We still have some more road to cover, but he's getting there. His mom got him outside, "May I help you daddy?" he asked.

I handed Bubs 1 a smaller shovel. It was the perfect size for a four-year old. He used it for a few scoops of snow. I was able to capture his shoveling technique in a few photos. He then set it down. "It's too heavy. Can I use your shovel, daddy?" he asked me. I didn't explain that it was the snow scoop that made his shovel "heavy." Instead, I decided to let him discover that for himself. "My shovel's just as heavy, bubs," I responded. Bubs 1 ignored my response. "Can I use your shovel, daddy," he asked again. He has a knack for side-stepping information that he does not want to be told. 

Good use of knees, but also too heavy

So, I decided to let him use my shovel. I didn't say a word. I just handed it over. He took it and positioned it for a scoop of snow, but he seemed to realize something before even attempting to operate dad's shovel. It was too big.

Shovel too big

I captured a picture of his expression. Looking at this photo tells me that there would have been nothing that I could have said to explain/transfer the knowledge he just constructed on his own through his own discovery. He held onto the longer handle a few more seconds and then dropped it on the ground. He turned back towards the garage.

Bubs heads back to the drawing board

"I'm going to get another. I'll be right back, " he said to me, as he headed back to the garage. I assumed that he was going to retrieve the planter shovel. You know, the hand-held shovels used to dig in a garden. Sure enough, he came back with one. He used this shovel for a while, but he wasn't moving as much snow as he was with the larger shovel. Although, he worked harder with the smaller shovel. I thought this would be good for his sensory deficit needs. "Heavy work" is good for that.

He lost the little shovel in the snow, a few times. He asked me where it was each time he lost it. I said, "I don't know. Where did you have it last?" This helped him look for it on his own. He found it every time. "Oh, there it is!" he'd say, while pointing at it.

He's four years old.

All this snow spurred a childhood memory. I was 11 years-old and my mother brought me with her on a visit to her friend, Ruth's house. Ruth had a son named Billy. Billy was differently abled. Although he was about 5 or 6 years older than me, he operated at my level, mentally. I remember Billy had shoveled paths through some deep snow in his front yard. It was a maze and the snow walls were pretty high. We ran through them for hours outside while our moms visited inside. We all went somewhere after. I can't remember where, but I do remember being at a store where Billy was paying the cashier for an item he was purchasing. I specifically remember Ruth, standing behind Billy, as he slowly interacted with the cashier. Her eyes were smiling as she watched her son.

Later, in the car on our way home, my mother told me that that was Billy's first time purchasing anything. It was his first time exchanging money with a cashier. I remember feeling some sort of understanding when I heard that, but I was not a parent yet. I now look back on that moment with more empathy for Ruth and the concerns she must have been dealing with. Ruth was a warm person and she like my mother very much. I could tell. She provided some space for my mother to live in her home, after my mom lost our house to the bank. My mom slept on Ruth's downstairs couch for a few months, before my mother moved in with another friend until she got back on her feet.


During that time in my life, I had moved in with my father, who was living with an aunt and uncle of mine. Later, when he moved into his second home, I shoveled the driveway at that house. That driveway was not much longer than his car, so I never had a big shoveling job to undertake.

The driveway that Bubs 1 and I just cleared is much longer than any driveway where I've lived before. Now that Bubs 2 is beginning to walk, I may have to purchase a second gardening shovel and get him out there on the next snowfall too.

Kids and The Workplace

It's been over three months now, that I've been back in the workforce. I'm no longer the at-home dad I once was. Bubs 2 stays with a lady who watches a handful of kids in her professional, home daycare during the days. Bubs 1 attends a preschool in a district-funded pre-k/k charter school (The same school that initiated the concern about his ASD). Instead of working for the three-going-on-four-year-old Bubs 1, and his one-year-old sidekick, Bubs 2, I now work on a nearby community college campus. I work in an office full of moms. All of their kids are older than both bubs - much older. But they have great stories to share about their kids growing up.

The other day, one of my bosses was showing me how the college audits curriculum requirements for students who are applying for graduation. While going over the myriad of benchmarks to check, we got to talking about her kids. This discussion occurred after she received a phone call from her younger boy. While sitting in her office, and waiting for her to wrap up a quick phone call with younger boy. I realized that I was listening to a mom who loves her boy with all her heart. Her voice changed while talking to him and she never stopped smiling throughout the quick phone call. It made me think about both bubs and I then found myself quietly smiling to myself.

After the call, she apologized for the interruption. This was when we began telling me about her younger son, whom is now in his late twenties. Although to me, it sounded like she was talking about a much younger boy, but that's because parents tend not to recognize the fact that their kids become adults. She told me how different her youngest was from her older boy. She said that she loved them both the same, but that she had "different" relationships with them. Her younger one is gentle and thoughtful. However, her older one is much more independent. He had some troubles during his teens/early twenties, she said. My boss (I have three bosses in the same office, by the way) went on to tell me about her older boy's troubles as I watched tears build up in her eyes. I listened to her voice quiver at certain points during her story, I mean, his story. I was amazed at the love she poured out while discussing the fears that she had for her older guy. He certainly pushed the envelope many times in his early life. But after a few rough years, she said that he seems to have made the transition to managing himself better. He's healthy and is even talking to her about proposing to his girlfriend, of seven years. She told me that she could not be prouder of him. After her story about her older boy, I realized that the relationships are quite different, but her love for them is the same. I felt myself getting a bit choked up as I listened to her describe his obstacles. Listening to her made me miss Bubs 1 and 2. Part of me doesn't want them to grow up and leave his mom and me for the world. It's selfish, I know.

Listening to my boss, talk about her boys, also reminded me of my mother. Coincidentally, I just had received some pictures of my mother, who's been gone for over 22 years now. I received them a day after talking to my boss about her boys. It made me think about how much my mom loved to talk about her boys, and how much she loved us. Pictures of her always stir me up inside. As random thoughts connect, one from another, I began thinking about when I accompanied my mom to work. This thought led to when I recently brought Bubs 2 to work with me. In fact, it was just last week that I brought Bubs 2 to work with me. Bubs 2's daycare provider had come down with a fever and couldn't take in the bubs for a couple of days. So I took a sick day on the first day and brought him to work on the second. I'm relatively still new at my job, so it was hard for me to even consider taking two days off in a row. I didn't want to be labeled a "slacker" by my peers. I found it hard to transition from a guy who never took a sick day (pre kids) to a guy who now takes a sick day because his kid is sick, but that's the way I'm evolving.


I had a presentation to give on that second day and didn't want to miss it. It was a short presentation, but I still didn't want to miss another day of work. Before I presented my portion of the meeting, I addressed the group by saying, "I apologize for the disruption in bringing my little boy to the meeting this morning. Before I had kids, I would occasionally see a coworker (in previous jobs) bring their kid into the workplace and I remember thinking how unprofessional that was," I said. I continued, "I remember thinking how I couldn't believe that they actually thought that bringing their kid to work was 'ok'." I then stood there for a moment, in silence. I then ended with, "I know better, today."

 Everybody laughed in approval. I was talking to a bunch of moms.


These moms knew what I was talking about. Not only could they relate, but they all gawked over Bubs 2's presence. In fact, the same boss, of mine, who shared her story with me (above) came down to the podium where I was standing with Bubs 2 and asked to hold him while I presented my part of the program. In hindsight, she might have not even asked, but rather just took Bubs 2 from me. He was asleep and I could tell that she wanted to hold him. She held him while I did my part of the presentation (and continued to hold him even after I was done). She didn't want to give him up just yet. I really appreciated that. I appreciate all the moms that I work with.


I appreciate them, because they "get it." They understand that kids spend their parents sick days. They don't frown upon my absences and they don't frown upon me bringing my kid(s) to work. In fact, they support me. "Scott," they say, "we're all moms here. We've been there. Don't sweat it," they tell me.
So, back to "accompanying my mom" to her work. She worked as a secretary in a high school in Sussex County, NJ. She was in the Guidance Office. Although I work in the Registrar's Office at the college, the environment there is interestingly similar to the office environment at the school where my mom worked, over 30 years ago.  While at work with my mom, I remember hanging out underneath some couches. Two couches, to be exact. They were positioned back-to-back in the center of the Guidance Office. There was just enough room below the couches for me to scootch around down there and watch people walk by. I felt safe there; hidden. I could also clearly see my mother's feet at her desk. I would try to guess who's feet belonged to who, as the feet walked by the couches. I would hear my mother's laugh as she interacted with her coworkers and students. She had a distinctive laugh, like all mom's laughs.

Perhaps there's a connection that I'm working in a similar environment as my mother. I think there is. There are laughs that I hear coming from distant offices while at work. I hear these laughs over the discussions going on nearby my desk. I seem to zero in on those laughs too. I think it's because a few of them sound like my mother's laugh. It's a comforting feeling. At those moments, I could close my eyes and pretend that I'm under those couches again. I think it is a big part of why I enjoy my job and my colleagues, that much more.

Thankfully, there are no couches in my office, because I'd likely would have already found myself underneath one.

Mom Turns 4

Both bubs got to celebrate their mom's birthday tonight (hopefully this blog will publish tonight... the 16th). I prepped Bubs 1 yesterday and today. "Bubs, it's mommy's birthday tomorrow. We're going to sing to her and eat cake," I repeated to him on our car ride home after work yesterday. "What? Are you kidding? What are you saying?" he kept replying. I'm not sure where he learned these scripted responses, but it was creeping me out. "No, bubs. Mommy's birthday is tomorrow," I said again. "She's going to turn (age concealed)." Bubs replied, "Noooooo, she's 4 daddy." He was adamant. He wouldn't accept any other age except 4. We got into a little power struggle. He said she was 4 and I came back with her real age. He was starting to get angry. I stopped, because I knew he won even though he was wrong.


Sometimes I just want to tell this kid that I'm 10x his age and I know a thing or two about a thing or two.


I then remembered that he had recently watched Yo Gabba Gabba's episode where the green-striped dude with lanky, long arms that bend in strange ways (Brobee) was celebrating his birthday. Except it was a surprise birthday that Brobee was having planned for him (I think it's a he). So I just assumed that Bubs 1 was repeating some script in that episode. Based upon this assumption, I added, "But we have to make her a card secretly. It'll be a surprise. Don't tell her." He loved that. "A surprise?" he asked excitedly.

We were cool again.

Since things never exactly turn out the way I plan them, I ended up buying a birthday card today. For one reason or another, we just lost track of time last night and never got that birthday card started. Although we did get to add some glitter glue to the card I bought today and that added some authenticity. Bubs 1 even signed it upon request. He must get that request all of the time in preschool. I notice that his artwork has his name on every piece that is sent home in his backpack. The bubs had his own birthday a couple months ago, so the concept is especially fresh after figuring in the Yo Gabba Gabba birthday show.

Bubs 2 was quiet. He seemed to be in amazement. He just starred at this candle-lit cake in the middle of the table as we all sat in the dark... singing. If he knew better, he'd likely believe that he was in the middle of a cult-like seance. Lucky for him, he's only had limited exposure to things. He has witnessed a three birthdays, at least, so that should have helped him see some degree of normalcy in the ritual. His birthday is next.

I've had some fun birthday parties in my past. Let's see, I've visited the Statue of Liberty on one, although we didn't get to climb to the top due to the 100-plus temps inside Lady Liberty that day (August too). What else? There was... well... hmmm... I'm drawing blanks. My CRS is setting in. I'm sure that I had a few good ones. It seems that my birthday always fell on, or around, some other events anyway, so maybe that's why it's hard to remember. That' s ok, because I'm not big on being in the spotlight. I've had a few birthdays and holidays that spent on my own and I was perfectly ok with that. Especially when I lived out in California, where I spent a couple Thanksgivings and one Christmas completely on my own. It really wasn't bad, because I was living just two blocks from the ocean in beautiful Huntington Beach... and there was always a football game on the television. I have "loner training" too.

I spent many years, as a teenager, being a loner. I went to four different high schools in four years and attended who-knows-how many colleges over a 14-year-undergraduate career before earning my "four-year" degree. I find comfort in being alone, because I had to. The bubs mom likes her solo time too and that's why we click.

As for both bubs, well... I think Bubs 1 can find some utility in his alone time. However, Bubs 2 hates it. He's a people guy. Don't let him see you walk by, if he's alone.

He'll make you come back and pick him up.

Election Day. It Takes a Village...

Differently abled events

The General Election is this Tuesday and the bubs' mom just told me that Bubs 1 learned about the word "vote" last week. He learned the concept while watching a cartoon. The program had the characters voting on weather to play on the slide or on the swings. Perhaps not the most pressing issue to me, but likely one for a 4-year old. Not only that, but the cartoon's characters ended up voting on the swings, because all of them could use the multiple swings at the same time where only one at a time could use a slide. It was a message about community over individualism.
 
I was wondering when Bubs 1 (and Bubs 2) would be ready for me to teach them about the little-discussed issues invisibly prevalent in American society. Issues like systematic racism, which perpetuates disproportionate percentages of minority and working-class cultures without college degrees and therefore earning a lower-than-meaningful wage. Issues that question why these same populations are over represented inside our prisons. Or on other issues, such as corporate greed, which exploits low-wage earners, prevents class mobility and has a hand in creating poverty. I hope to soon (relatively) discuss these issues with both bubs. I want to discuss how power operates below the surface in our society and somehow manages to influence many of us to buy into their discourse of "work hard and all can achieve the dream."

These issues are important because as we get ready to choose a president it's these very issues that influence, or affect, public policy.

Walking for a cause

As you've witnessed, my blog posts move all over the place. It's gone from what books Bubs 1 loves to read to threading in stories about me and how it relates to both bubs to just plain old political rambling. At the end of the day, it's all an artifact for both bubs to enjoy later on in their lives.They'll certainly learn more about their dad, as well as their past.

Bubs 1 donating canned food

Moving on with this post's discussion: I want to take one example of a term that is packed with assumptions. Many people seem to hold onto a belief that "hard work" will make you successful. I put this term in quotes, because there are multiple understandings of what it actually means. My hope is to teach both bubs how to identify the misleading assumptions in words, like "hard work." I hope that both bubs will soon understand that hard work doesn't promote the same successes. This is not to promote working less hard, but rather understanding that words are used loosely in our society. For example, just as someone may be working hard in school inside a grand university library, somebody else may be working just as hard inside their two bedroom apartment as they study for a test, but also have to babysit their younger siblings while their mother works a second job at night. In this instance (and there are many of these instances in our society), simply working hard may not deliver the same outcomes. These extrinsic forces, beyond one's control, are rarely mentioned when discussing "hard work" in our society. It's assumed to believe that we all begin on a level playing field. There are other examples of "working hard" around us too.

At a local Hurricane Sandy relief center

When I was a middle school student, I remember my father leaving the home. He moved to the next state where there was a job waiting for him. This job moved him up in class status. He spent the previous few years taking classes to earn his education while my mother worked a secretary job at a not-so-nearby high school. Years later, I remember talking with my father about "working hard." I listened to him talk about how he had to "pull (himself) up by (his) boot straps" and get serious about getting himself an education. He was referring to that period of his life when he returned to college.

I realized that he neglected to mention the fact that he had a wife who worked full-time and carried the family health insurance. He also didn't mention that he had a job, which allowed him the luxury of making his own schedule and even allowed him to work less than full time. His hard work is not questioned, but his further comments on how everybody should just simply "work harder" to achieve their goals lacks understanding of culture in our society.

My father's individual-minded account of his hard work reminds me of former Gov Mitt Romney's recent campaign. All throughout his presidential campaign, he repeated a story about an honor roll school student. He said that he wouldn't share credit with a school-bus driver for a student achieving the honor roll in school. To me, it seems that Romney doesn't grasp the working class culture very much. This is enough for me to question why he's even chosen to represent a very large nation with a large working class population. Many of us do not have the luxury to drive our kids to school, work part-time hours or have a spouse who can carry the family insurance in order to complete a college degree. It's an ideology of individualism over community. 

Resting before the community run

So in 12 more years I'm hoping that Bubs 1's first voting experience will be one where he is well informed on not the candidates, but rather the unspoken party ideologies represented. I hope he decides to vote for the candidate who's social location reflects that of the "many" and not the "few," because there's a disconnect between the two cultures. For example, Romney tended to expose his own culture gap routinely throughout his campaigning. His class status does not reflect the majority of American society. Instead, he likely has experience in promoting low-wage jobs and economic hardship on families with the businesses that he folded and models designed to operate others "more efficiently." Although our congressional institution generally produces richer individuals when they leave office (than when they entered office), I hope Bubs 1 (and Bubs 2, for that matter) chooses the party ideology that more closely reflects the cultures of the working class. The true character of a nation can be measured by how it treats its poor, according to former judge Hugo Black. This is how I hope both bubs look at the situation too, because simply pulling up your own bootstraps doesn't necessarily guarantee equality.

Bubs 1's first official run

At the starting line

Maybe there is more time for both bubs to absorb all of this as they head down their own paths. For now, both bubs' mom and I can actively participate them in community efforts like bringing canned food for those who cannot afford, running in local runs/races to support nearby community centers and walking for differently-abled individuals who get labeled in our society.

All of the pics in this blog post are of  Bubs 1 interacting in his community. His mom and I will promote community over individualism, which will hopefully plant a seed. We know that Bubs 2 is watching and hopefully he will learn this valuable lesson as well.

Walk for Autism

Bubs 2 couldn't hang

Bubs 1, 2, their mom and I recently walked to support autism. Autism Speaks was the nonprofit that organized this walk. Bubs 1 walked the entire way, while Bubs 2 rode (and slept) in the jogger/stroller. We walked in teams. We walked with Bubs 1's Occupational Therapist's team and had a fun time. The bubs' mom raised almost $250 for the nonprofit.

Bubs 1 and mom walking

We knew about the controversy that surrounded this nonprofit prior to the walk. Apparently, this group uses language, which many individuals with Autism and parents of children with Autism, find offensive. I happened upon a blog while searching the Internet for this discussion on the language issue. I read this writer's comment, "... and I do not want my children, when they're older, to feel that they are diseased or poisoned or otherwise flawed, and it will be hard for them to escape that message given the common perceptions of autism in our society..." and instantly thought about Bubs 1's future perception of himself. How crazy would it be to consider this walk detrimental to those individuals on the spectrum? It would depend on how influential you think language is in our society. It's a deeper understanding than just simply dismissing that idea by stating that the walk is only guilty of raising awareness of ASD. The message I took away from this walk is that ASD is larger than commonly aware in our society, but more to the blogger's point, the walk helped perpetuate the notion that individuals with ASD are different from others, rather than promoting the opposite. We're all human beings, right? There is a discourse out there that says individuals with ASD cannot operate in society. Why not addressing the limits that society constructs and erase these invisible lines of demarcation? There's no need to point out the differences, because those "differences" are a social construction being misinterpreted as biological fact.

Another statistic

I'll be sure to teach both bubs about the construction of language and how power influences a culture's words. I'll also be sure to point out how a dominant culture's language tends to label, categorize and also dismiss cultureal norms outside of the mainstream culture.

Positioned stats along the walk

As both bubs grow and participate in the multiple social institutions they're going to be more and more submersed into the mainstream language (and its knowledge). We'll discuss the rules that will affect their lives. They'll likely question some of them and not others. We'll dig deep into the reasons why some of these rules were constructed. From there, we'll figure out who benefits from these rules, if anyone does at all. It'll be fun to deconstruct the world around us in order to better understand it. This will empower them to be more informed information consumers, which will help prevent them from being misled or unjustily influenced. I make it my job to share this education with them.

Bubs 1 and mom walking

Bubs 1 waves to a cow

Why do I want to do this? As a kid, who grew up with Type 1 Diabetes and I understand what it is like to exist on the periphery of the mainstream. For a long time, up until relatively recently, I wasn't even aware that I was on the fringe. I wasn't aware that my disease had a constructed discourse interpreting it. I simply assumed it all to be scientific "facts." I was different, according to the mainstream. I had no reason to disagree since I was surrounded by this common discourse. I ended up forging a life where I was different. It was subtle in some instances, and huge in others. Necessary? No. My school was the first social institution that reconstructed society and trained me to be different. For example, in elementary and middle school teachers and administrators told me to eat my mid-morning snack in the nurse's office because food was not allowed in the classroom. They were afraid of introducing my diabetic condition into the mainstream, because assimilation was more important. They decided to hide me, which I interpreted to mean that I should keep this disease quiet. And that's what I did. That's how I operated my life. The unconscious turmoil/conflict was never identified and dealt with. Rather, it just came out as low self esteem.

Ocean background

The bubs lives in a different world today. Medical conditions are typically well explained to students in the classrooms - not hidden. I've witnessed many medical conditions addressed inside the classroom when I was observing and student teaching inside classrooms.

Kids understand more than we give them credit for.

Censorship is never the answer and Autism Speaks doesn't act like my school's officials did. In fact, AS does just the opposite. Autism Speaks held a walk and promoted the statistics that describe how many people are different in our society. It's a paradigm shift to think of the limits society places on the mainstream. Instead, we've been trained to point out the individuals who differ. AS falls short of erasing these invisible lines.

Bubs 1 Turns 4

Bubs 1, mom and Grandpop Bernie

Bubs 1 turned four years old, two Sundays ago. He understood the birthday-concept thing this year too. His mom and I kept the celebration low key, because he's not a big on crowds. At least we don't think that he is. Maybe he'll surprise us one day, but from what we've seen thus far... he seems to function more comfortably in intimate settings.

Bubs 1 about to blow out his candles

Bubs 2 observed. He's learning a lot about life by simply watching his big brother. Their age difference is just over three years, so this automatically makes Bubs 1 a role model for Bubs 2. From what I've experienced so far, Bubs 1 is more of a teacher to Bubs 2 than both their mom and me put together. Bubs 1 must fall within Bubs 2's zone of proximal development simply due to his closeness in age. Being so close in age must make Bubs 1 a more meaningful teacher. His mom and I are just too darn old (and uncool) to be taken seriously. :)

Oh, birthday cake, I can't wait to eat you!

In a few of the pictures, we see the bubs' grandpop Bernie. He makes the trip up to the house, along with grandma Helen, twice a year. They travel up from Lynchburg, VA, where the bubs' mom was born. Grandpop Bernie grew up in Wisconsin and later, Oregon. Grandma Helen was born in the Phillipines and made the journey over to San Fransisco, with her family when she was a little girl. They made their way to the states on a Naval ship, courtesy of her grandfather who never returned home after serving with America during the Spanish American War. He decided to stay in the Phillipines. Apparently, the military honors their return trip no matter how long we wait. Grandma Helen is also a member of the DAR, Daughters of the Revolution. She has ties back to the Revolutionary War. Her grandfather was from the northeast.  She visits the historical archives, in the New York area, whenever up here. She spends a lot of time and works hard to learn more about her American heritage. At the same time, it must help her learn more about herself.

Grandma Kathy circa 1970

Bubs 1 blows out his candle

Bubs 1 was excited when he heard that his grandma and grandpa were coming up. It was exciting for me to watch his excitement. Last year, he was still seemingly unaware. However, this year held noticeable progress with his understanding of what was going on. Now that he's more aware and vocal, it makes me miss the time taken away from my mother, his grandma Kathy. She never had the opportunity to meet Bubs 1, because she passed away 18 years - almost to the day (Oct 4th) - before he was born. It's unreal to write that my mother died "18 years ago" and that instills in me a responsibility to keep her memory alive on this blog, so that both bubs can visit her anytime. This blog can serve as an artifact for them to get to know who she was, while allowing me the opportunity to write about her from post to post. Although I plan to be around a good long time and be a pain-in-the-ass for both these bubs, I'm sure that'll they'll learn a thing or two more about me after reading this blog.

I continue to learn more about myself with every post.

Pit Stop Turned Hay Ride

We took both bubs to a farm in upstate NY, on our way home from visiting uncle Vinny, cousins Gavin and Grace. We didn't know that this farm was here when we took a break from the road. It just happened upon us.

Within minutes all four of us were sitting on a trailer, sectioned with bales of hay for seats, hitched to a farm tractor. Our driver was a recently retired history teacher, who pleases his wife by staying out of the house working on the farm. Unfortunately, I'm forgetting his name. Now that it was about three weeks since this trip, my CRS is setting in. I was supposed to have this post up already, but now that I'm working myself... my free time has slipped away. At any rate, I digress. The history-teacher-turned-farm-tractor-hay-ride driver, yes - that guy. Well, he seemed to be enjoying the heck out of his new job and even offered Bubs 1 a seat on the big blue tractor.

At first, Bubs 1 seemed uninterested. He walked towards the trailer, instead of the tractor, when we asked him if he wanted to sit on the tractor. Then the interested seemed to seep into him. This is when Bubs 1 casually glanced over at the tractor, then he looked at us. We continued our encouragement. Bubs 1 stopped in his tracks, smiled and walked back over to me seemingly embarrassed by all the attention. Without asking again, I just picked him up and handed him over to the retired teacher, who placed the bubs on the tractor seat.
 Bubs 1 sat there silently looking around at the big ol tractor. I think he was amazed at the size of it. His no words described it perfectly. We went on to pick out some pumpkins in the patch and returned back to the farm. Our pit stop was done and back on the highway we went.

For the first 11 years of my life (before the shit hit the fan), I grew up in farm land country, in northern NJ. I remember a "Farm and Horse Show," in Sussex, NJ. It was about 30 minutes from our home. I think that we (my mother, brother and I) went there on a few Octobers. I have a memory of a picture (unfortunately not the event... more CRS??) where I was sitting on a pony. There was some other person holding the pony's straps (Bridle?) as they guided this pony in circles around a pen, giving rides to kids like me. I don't remember much else about this fair, but we're also talking about the 1970's so my memory may not be that bad at all.

Bubs 1 told his mom and me that he want's to be a ghost for Halloween. We were surprised, but very happy that he's taking an interest. So a ghost he'll be. I'm wondering if he'll allow us to put a sheet over his head? Not likely, so we'll have to get creative with this costume. I remember being a ghost when I was in Kindergarten (almost the same age as the bubs), but this memory also comes from a picture. There's another picture (where are all of these pictures!!!) of me somewhere standing in front of my old house in a Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost costume. You know the old school costumes with the mask that didn't allow you to breath properly? Yes, those.

Where are all of these pictures of me as a kid? Who knows. I think they were all left in that house I lost when my family fell apart. I'm glad that I'm keeping this blog, because I don't think that the Internet is going to be lost anytime soon.