Building Castles on the Beach

As you can see, we let the boy's hair grow for over 18 months. It got pretty long. But super cute, right? He was only mistaken for a girl once, even though he was wearing overalls with a football on the bib, which is downright iconically boyish, if you ask me, so it must have been the hair. The mullet is also worn by spiders from Mars. His grandmother took it upon herself to cut his bangs a few times while she was watching him. A small price to pay for babysitting, but one more time and his cute, shaggy 'do would have turned into a mullet to rival Ziggy Stardust. On Monday, Memorial Day, we opted for an official haircut. I thought I might just get out the clippers and buzz it down, but I know my wife well enough not to mention it. Our brother-in-law said we should go see The Russian, an old barber who's been at this little strip mall shop for decades, I guess. This appealed to my wife because of the spinning red, white, and blue barber pole in the window.

I hesitate to write this post. As you know, I am an exceptionally humble human being. I'm uncomfortable promoting myself because it smacks of showing off, and I am anything if not modest. I mean, if anyone will inherit the earth, it certainly should be me. Still, I want to make a point about education that has nothing to do with my teaching prowess, and in order to do so I'm going to have to do something that might seem a little like boasting. I suppose a real teacher would claim it's all about the kids, they did this of their own free will, etc..., but my point isn't about the students. Therefore, at the risk of sounding like a braggart, I present the following thank you notes, precise transcriptions from cards and letters I received from students at the end of this school year. "This year I have enjoyed traveling and understanding the world through literature. With your help I was able to travel from Venice to Colombia, and later on to Africa. At times I k

I'm fascinated with stories of the far future. Something about speculation showcasing the future of the human race through time and space speaks to me on a cellular level. Recently I've engaged in a few of these kinds of stories, and I want to try to explain what makes them meaningful to me. As a result, this post might be a bit lengthy, so if you don't want to read about the books, skip down to the part about Star Trek because that's where I gets provocative. This trip starts with my perusal of the book Vortex by Robert Charles Wilson. It's the third (probably the last) in a series that begins with Spin and then  Axis . The premise begins with the day the stars go out. Spin is about how the Earth is suddenly encircled by some kind of force field that allows the planet to experience time at a much slower rate than the rest of the universe (which is the phenomenon they dub "the Spin"). Millions of years pass on the outside, while just a few pass for

I disclosed a couple of weeks ago that I cried at the end of a movie. I wasn't ashamed. Here are the movies that made me cry. All five of them. I'm still not ashamed. Sorry, but the following contains spoilers. Because I have to explain why I'm crying at the end of the movie, see. We Bought a Zoo . It wasn't my fault. Read why . About Schmidt . I love me an Alexander Payne ending. In Sideways , it cuts out before she answers the door. In The Descendants , the dad simply eats ice cream on the couch with his daughters. And in About Schmidt , Jack Nicholson reads a letter. Then he cries. Admittedly, I was in the beginnings of a divorce when I watched this, so I wasn't anything but a pile of weepiness, but even now I get misty when I think about those stick figures drawn by the African boy. I am Sam . This is a tough one to confess. I'm a grown man who's worked with developmentally disabled adults, and I know when I'm being manipulated. But

Starburst jellybeans taught Xander how to say "Please." You see, I'm plagued by cravings for seasonal sweets. During the winter holidays, Sam's Club bakes these red velvet/ white chocolate chip cookies that are great gobs of cosmic delicacy. I was physically depressed when I went in for my fix in January and was told they only make them during the holidays. I'm in a forced state of remission until November. Then I get this thing for Starburst jellybeans every Spring when bean season comes around. I'm fond of most kinds of soft, fruity, jelly candies: the orange slice, the gummy bear, the Mike and the Ike. A regular jellybean is a tasty treat, even the black ones. But the Starburst jellybean completes the Easter basket. I don't think they taste much like the old-school, square Starburst fruit chews. But each flavored bean is something better. Even the yellow ones. And especially the purple ones. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, purple is the best fruit. T

This marks my 100th blog post. I'm home with the boy today. It's fitting since I started this whole thing by staying home with the boy in the first place. The difference is that last spring he was a little peanut squirming around, attached at the nose by a line of oxygen. Today, he's still pretty squirmy, but with clearly defined motor control and he's able to breath his own air. He's about to hit 18 months, and he's turned into a pretty healthy, extra cute kid. Look, see? We celebrated (my staying home, not my blog) by taking a long walk around the neighborhood, stopping for a while at the park for some climbing and sliding. The X-man loves the slides. He'll climb up a straight ladder to get to the top of a slide, then he throws himself down the slide by basically walking off the edge and falling onto his diaper-padded bottom. He's gratefully learned to lean backwards and not forwards because half the time he's so quick I barely get to the