Father-Son Bonding

Not sure what made it pop into my head this morning, but as has been my theme for most of my recent blog entries, this is a story about something that happened a few years ago. It was when I was still living in Dallas, and my sons Zeb and Stephen were staying with me for part of the summer. At the time, they were about eight and six, respectively. Along with juggling work and parenting, I was trying to do as many fun things with them as I could in the short time we had together. Since money was tight, it was sometimes a challenge finding new and interesting stuff to do.

Then an opportunity presented itself: baseball tickets. One of our print production people at work had gotten Rangers tickets through a vendor (print production people always get all the good kickbacks), and she was kind enough to throw them my way.

Okay, I’m not much of a sports fan. That’s actually a bit of understatement. I have no interest in sports whatsoever. I’m completely lacking that inherited male gene that makes men enjoy watching other men run around chasing balls in tight clothes. I just don’t get it. But taking your son or sons to a baseball game? That’s a rite of passage. It’s Americana. They write songs and make movies about it for goodness’ sake. Here was my chance to create a moment my sons would remember for the rest of their lives. They’d talk about it fondly long after I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. This was going to be special.

When I got the tickets, the game was still a few days away. I didn’t tell the boys what we’d be doing, only that I had “an awesome surprise” for them. I talked it up really big. I mean I really promoted it. I even used it to keep them in line (“if you don’t behave, you won’t get the awesome surprise I have for you!”).

The day before the game, I picked up the boys from their summer day camp, and one of the teachers told me that Zeb had been behaving very poorly for several days — and had even started a fight with one of the other kids. He definitely needed to be punished. My first thought was that he didn’t deserve to go to the game. But I couldn’t really punish him that way. In doing so, I’d also be punishing Stephen and myself, as well as squashing all the lifelong memories we were going to create! Too much was at stake. So Zeb and I had a very serious talk about how disappointed I was in his behavior, and I told him if I got another bad report the next day, the surprise was off.

Finally, game day arrived. I took the boys back to summer day camp, and reminded them (again) about the exciting surprise I had for them that evening. They were super excited, and didn’t even know why. I also spoke to Zeb again about his behavior, and reminded him that I’d yank the surprise if he misbehaved. But the truth was there was no way I was going to back out. I was also way too excited. I just had to trust that my “threat” was enough and I wouldn’t have to follow through (note to future parents: it usually isn’t).

The workday dragged on and on, but finally it was time to go! I hopped in the car and raced to go get the boys. When I got to summer day camp, I asked Zeb’s teacher how he’d been. The response I got was, “better, but still not good.” The proper thing to do would have been to make good on my punishment. But as I’m sure I made clear, that wasn’t really an option. Zeb won that round. An example of my parenting skills at their finest.

But screw that! It was time to go to the game! They got in the car with me and asked me a thousand times where we were going. I stayed mum. As we got closer, the kids were smart enough to start looking for signs — I knew they’d figure it out soon. Okay, here’s where I have to tell you a little about the layout of Dallas. Rangers Ballpark is in a suburb called Arlington. Also in Arlington, right next to the ballpark, just happens to be another major attraction. That’s when they saw the sign. “OH MY GOD! WE’RE GOING TO SIX FLAGS!!!!” Yes, Six Flags over Texas is right across the street. It had never occurred to me that they’d see the signs for the amusement park and assume that was our destination. As we pulled into the ballpark parking lot, I quickly corrected them and told them that we were not going to Six Flags, but were doing something better. Then one of them (I forget which) saw the Rangers sign and asked if we were going to a baseball game, to which I excitedly responded, “yes! Isn’t that awesome?!” Then they both replied, “can we go to Six Flags instead? PLEASE?” I explained that the surprise all along was that we were going to our first baseball game together, and were going to have a great time. They asked again if we could go to Six Flags instead of the ball game. Oh boy. I told them no, and asked them to give the game a chance. I knew once we got inside the spectacle of the event would win them over.

The tickets the print production person gave me were primo. They included valet parking, and the best seats I’ve ever had at any sporting event. We were right behind home plate, just a few rows back. It was a beautiful evening and the temperature was just right. It was actually really fantastic. It wasn’t long until we were seated and experiencing all the sights, sounds and smells of the game. And I was certainly giving the boys the full treatment. We got hot dogs, sodas, big foam fingers, baseball caps, the works. I spent a small fortune on goodies. I was going to make this an occasion to remember if it killed me!

But the boys couldn’t get over the disappointment of not going to Six Flags. It was clear that they weren’t going to enjoy themselves at the game. No amount of enthusiasm on my part was going to help. I kept trying to get them excited, and at one point asked them, “isn’t this fun? Aren’t we having a good time?” That’s when Stephen responded with an answer I will never forget. He turned to me, looked me right in the eye, and with all seriousness replied, “Worst. Surprise. Ever.”

I managed to keep them there through three innings, and we left at the top of the fourth. That’s all they could stand. We got in the car and quietly drove home. And so ended my father-son bonding experience. Well… at least one of us will remember it for a lifetime.

The Most Memorable 4th of July Ever

This is a story I’ve been meaning to put to paper… errr… type up… for a long, long time. It involves my most memorable 4th of July holiday. Let me preface by saying that there are a couple holidays I generally don’t plan anything for: 4th of July and New Year’s Eve, most notably. When I was younger I’d always make big plans and have huge expectations for these holidays — then inevitably someone would crap out or the plan would go horribly awry — and I’d wind up disappointed and sad. The approach I’ve taken since then is to plan nothing. That way there are no expectations. If something comes up, then great! If not, then no big deal. The 4th of July holiday that turned out to be my most memorable was one of those for which I didn’t plan anything. See? It works.

Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll – The Reality.

This weekend, my band played yet another fist-pumping, panty-wetting show. In other words we really brought the rock. Saturday night’s show was in Geneva, and the town will never be the same. Prior to booking the show, I’d never heard of Geneva. I mean, I’ve heard of the Geneva Convention, and I know there’s a place somewhere over in Eurasia called Geneva (I have a theory that the two may be connected), but that was the extent of my knowledge on the subject. It turns out that Geneva, Illinois is a quaint little burg about an hour west of Chicago. The place we played was a bar/restaurant called Sanfratello’s. It’s a long story, but due to a misunderstanding, we arrived way earlier than we needed to. We’d actually left the city about 3:00 p.m. No sleeping all day and rolling in drunk just in time for the show for this band! There’s tearing down, packing up, loading, unloading, setting up, waiting, waiting and then waiting.

Offering The Black Jellybean

When we were kids, my brother Ken and I both got a package of jellybeans for Easter.  He, like me, LOVES the black ones.  Well this particular package that Ken got only had one black jellybean in it.  Basically, Ken got hosed.  But being the happy-go-lucky kid he was, he decided to focus on the positive.  He proceeded to make a big production about how he was SO looking forward to that black jellybean, and how he was going to save it for last and enjoy it SO MUCH when he got to it.  We were in the car when this happened, by the way.  So he got down to the end of the package, and all he had left was the lone black jellybean.  He, wanting to show how kind and generous and selfless he was, stuck it in my dad’s face and offered it to him.  My dad meanwhile, was fighting traffic and not paying attention to Ken’s shenanigans in the back seat.  He saw the proffered jellybean, said, “sure, thanks,” and unceremoniously snatched it from Ken’s hand and ate it.  It took about  5 seconds for the shock to hit him, but once it did, Ken started crying  – and he continued to cry for roughly the next 2-3 hours.

The jellybean was not offered so my dad could really take it, but so he could refuse. You see sometimes, like Ken, a person will make an offer because he or she really only wants to be recognized for the kindness and generosity of the gesture.  And also sometimes, like my dad, the other person doesn’t catch that it’s a hollow offer, and doesn’t realize he or she wasn’t REALLY supposed to accept it.  This leads to hurt and confusion on both ends.  In short, you should never offer something you’re not truly willing to give.  Ken and I BOTH learned a valuable lesson on that fateful Easter day.  Although his lesson was slightly more painful than mine; I still got all my black jellybeans.

To this day, when I suspect someone of offering something they’re not willing to give, I’ll refer to it as “offering the black jellybean.”  Now you know why.

6″ Turkey Breast on Wheat!

6″ Turkey Breast on Wheat. That’s what I had for lunch. Do you care? No. There’s no reason you should. So why, when you go to most any sandwich chain (like Subway or Potbelly), do they make you bellow your order across the entire store for all to hear?

We’re going to need a bigger bus

Welcome to this week’s CTA drama. There certainly doesn’t seem to be a shortage! I really should thank the CTA. If it wasn’t for them, my life would probably otherwise be boring and uneventful. I’d certainly have a lot less material for this blog.

Today’s story actually starts last night, when I was about to go to bed. I noticed both my iPod and cell phone batteries were almost dead. I thought about putting them on charge, but then decided they both had enough juice to get to me to work the next morning. I could put plug ‘em in there. Bad decision.

Proposed new slogan for Target

“Target. We have nothing you need, and everything you don’t.”

You know what I’m talking about! I would never dis Target. For some reason, people are rabidly loyal, even though Wal-Mart is better. But anyway, I made a Target run last night, and it’s always the same story. If I ever go in with a list of 3 or more things, they are inevitably out-of-stock or no longer carry at least 1 of the 3 items. I really don’t understand their stocking strategy: “let’s make sure our shelves are at least 33% empty at all times.” I’ve NEVER gotten everything on my list in one trip. And yet I never get out of there without spending a ton of money. Last night, for example, I went in for 5 things- which should have run me about $30. I only got 3 of the 5 items on the list, yet somehow ended up spending well over $100. How does this happen? (Answer: refer to my new slogan.)

Gotta cut footloose

The day actually started out well. My work-load was fairly light, and because of the time change (I’m assuming), the day seemed to go by kind of quick. Adding to the bonus, my boss is out on vacation this week, so there was nothing stopping me from leaving right at 5:00. All in all, a good day. I was in a good mood.

At exactly 5:02, I grabbed my coat, hit the elevators, and made my way down to the street. And wow! The sun was out. “Hello, Mr. Sun. Haven’t seen you in a while.” I think it’s only come out about half-a-dozen days or so since October. After not seeing it for so long, it was a real pick-me-up. Then I thought, if I made good time on the train, I might even have some sunlight left for my walk from the station to my apartment. That’d be really nice. And considering I left work right at 5:00, I might make it home by 5:40 — maybe even 5:35! Optimism. That was my first mistake.

My favorite Superbowl spot

This one. I think it’s simple, effective and funny. It didn’t rely solely on major special effects or a high budget (as so many do these days) to hit on a very real fear and how the product can solve the problem.

A behind-the-scenes peek into advertising

As you may or may not know, I work in advertising. As I’m sure you do know, this is a very prestigious and venerated profession. it’s not just a job that anyone off the street can do. There are countless closely-guarded secrets, lessons and tricks of the trade that have been passed down from one generation of ad exec to the next, and to the next. Today, Readers, I’m going to give you a rare glimpse into something not many outside the inner circle get to see – a peek into what goes into taking a photo for an ad.*