Gunga Homework

The kids squawk about grade five
Homework “eating them alive”
All the parents go mad just trying to keep it straight.
“Did you do your math today?
Smirks are giving you away!”
A pencil sitting on your desk while time gets late.
As the evening sun goes down.
Hear complaints, many a frown
Three boys find excuses both physical and mental
“My folder’s far away from here.
Stupid instructions are not clear!”
They do not understand to sit is elemental.
It is “write, write, write”
You have pencils, brains and paper so please write!
While the math is fresh in mind
The erasers you can find
Put pencil down to paper and just write!!

Even in the grade of one
When kids learn while having fun
My twins learn how to complain with older sibling.
Counting pennies, nickels, dimes.
Reading small books with small rhymes.
Seems to generate big moans and serious quibbling.
Both rewards and punishment tendered.
Has no effect, decision rendered.
Homework is not an easy sale by any means
Parents therefore show a smile
Hoping, dreaming all the while
That a tutor solves the problem before they’re teens.
It is “write, write, write”.
You have workbooks, brains and fingers so please write.
When young, just form the habit.
Opportunity is here, so grab it.
Stop driving parents crazy, please sit in the chair and write!

Saturday Soccer Coach

Four kids per side, colors are bright
Crimson on the left, Yelllow Lightening on the right.
In the middle with stop watch going “tick”
Is referee Dad calling offsides and goal kick.
With parents watching him doing his schtick.

Up goes small hand, smacking the ball
The referee ponders, “sould I make the call?”
Don’t stop the game, “ball still in play!!”
He decides and then he jumps out of the way.
The ball zooms into goal on this hot sunny day.

After four quarters, with kicks quite deft
The 6 year old boys have no energy left.
Forty minutes of running, now end of the game
With snacks galore, the boys become tame.
Eating, not soccer, is their clame to fame.

Old Man and the Lake

Yesterday, a friend and I spent the morning on Shoreline Lake in Mountain View, California learning how to windsurf. Dave and I enjoyed three water-soaked hours of instruction while our 10 year old boys literally did circles around us. Yes, their words were ones of encouragement, but the boys were dry and the dads were wet.

Dave and I are now “certified” to rent equipment and windsurf with our sons. It will be a long time, if ever, for the Dads to be as accomplished as the sons when we are holding a sail out on that lake.


Old Man and the Lake

Last summer at the age of nine
Our big son found talent galore
Catching the wind on board
Then surfing from shore to shore

“Join me on the lake”
He said to his creaky-kneed Dad
“We’ll race the morning away
I promise you’ll be glad.”

He made it look so easy
And he was just a kid.
My confidence abounded
I could do it like HE did.

With life vest and a swagger
Private lesson on the beach
I crawled onto the board and stood
For the uphaul line I did reach.

The sail was supposed to rise straight up
From salt water to strong hand
I proved a “Santiago” to this Marlin
Muscles struggling just to stand

Old Man on the Lake was I
Fighting wind and natures best
After falling over a dozen times
In water I did rest.

The ten year old circled expertly
“C’mon Dad, I know you can!!”
He screamed with strong encouragement
Gliding gracefully far from land.

The joyous moment then did arrive
As I stood and raised the sail
Being “one with wind” and bending knees
I captured a mighty gale.

The wind did push, and puff and blow
The boom and mast did shake
The board moved forward with steady speed
And kicked up a tiny wake.

Cheers erupted (OK, not really)
But without warning the wind just stalled
Losing balance, the smiling old man windsurfer
Took a mighty but happy fall.

Liberation Day

School starts tomorrow
Parents (including the two in my house) will rejoice
In sounds echoing but reversing the day of birth
When parents say, to the newborn, "welcome, welcome"
And now parents say, to the school child, "go, go, go, go"
Together.

Take your backpack
Filled with protractors and glue sticks,
Pencil boxes and erasers,
Packed with delicacies of bologna and apples
(and Cheetos and Corn Nuts while your parents were not looking).
Take these and all other tools of learning,
and burdened by this pack on your back depart the Egypt of your parents' homes.
A childhood Exodus to the promised land.
En masse.

From morning to mid-afternoon
Mothers and fathers now praise the teacher and the school.
"Watch over my child," they ask.
"For their daytime is yours, and not mine, for 9 months"
No sibling squabbles or summer camps,
For the Autumnal Equinox is almost upon us (Sept 22).
And parents will celebrate the new day's quiet with wine and song.
Working.
Alone.

Four Nights Five Days

Blog
Wife blogs
Women blog together
BlogHer conference in Chicago
Creates Blog widowers
Watching kids
Alone

Four
Four nights
And Five days
Alone for four nights
With three boys
Two cars
House

Food
Nine meals
Cereal, eggs, toast
pasta, chicken, mac, cheese
Camp serves lunch three days
Dad cooks, but cleans?
Big bicycle ride
Water balloons
Wet

Fun
Boy fun
Watching action movies
Male bonding without Mom
Building “junkyard wars” in driveway
Wearing underwear as hats
Drinking non-organic milk
Eating nachos
Messy

a week at end

This poem is in the uncapitalized style of E. E. Cummings. It's Friday. The kids have been in camp all week and my wife has been a social media maniac from sunrise to sunset. The weekend is welcome.


a friday so nice
to end the week
chicken and rice
the calm we seek
arrives today
and grows grows

a camp of tech
the older of boys
he made a wreck
geek games and toys
adventures on screen
he knows, knows

to run and play
two younger of boys
in sports all day
made lots of noise
big water balloons
use hose, hose

the beautiful wife
so busy so sweet
tells story of life
with blog and tweet
her smile so bright
It glows, glows

Jobberwocky Babysitter

In summer with silver DSi
From babysitter strength of teen.
Their smiles go ‘round from ear from eye
With YouTube rumbling Queen.

“Jump over Babysit, my sons!”
The basketball kicks, the Giant’s hat.
Clear college path to fireman runs
Over our welcome mat.

Small youth of boys denies their brain
The sense to shun the Babysit.
Running round to flank like train
Attack with ocram fit.

A water pistol murks the day
With gurgle balls and starmples stream.
To strike the mystery “hooray!!”
Some babysit the scream.

Arise the monster they create
In running, jumping, freeze.
He bids the harple boys, “It’s late”
Into the car he flees.