Parenting Guru

“Ouch, that was quite the tumble.” I laugh.

My daughter stares at me, fighting back tears, looking at me for clues as to how she should re-act. I laugh again.

“Are you bleeding?” I ask. We have a rule: no blood, no crying.IMG_20150629_093431

She scans her body for any excuse to let out the water works. Her fingers freeze on her left elbow. She shows me the wound. “See look, blood.”

“Pffft, it’s nothing.” I kiss her scrape as if my saliva had medicine in it. “There, all better.”

“But it’s not better. It really hurts.”

“Your blood tastes like rust,” I say as I help her back onto her new bike.

“Is that a bad think, dad?”

“Nah, it means that you have the heart of a race car.”

She buys it. Off she goes again, wobbling from side to side. I make a quick mental note for later. Google: rust flavoured blood.


Forever Fido

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The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was telling my children that Daisy died. She had jumped a fence while chasing her ball at the dog park. The truck had jammed on its breaks, but not in time. There was no doubt that Daisy was gone.

My sons didn’t take it well. Their words re-assured me that it wasn’t my fault, but their eyes betrayed their true feelings. Between tears my youngest asked, “Where is she?”

“Her body is in the car. I’ll take her to the vet and they’ll take care of her.”

“Can I see her?”

“You don’t want to son. Trust me. She’s all mangled up. I promise you, she didn’t suffer.”

My oldest perked up. “What about Forever Fido?”

Forever Fido? I’d seen a commercial for them on really late night TV. “That’s nothing but a scam, son.”

“No it’s not. It’s real. I’ll show you.” My sons begged and pleaded for me to hear them out. They showed me videos from Metube. It was all too good to be true.

But guilt has a curious side effect of wanting to seek restitution. Which must have been why I agreed to give it a try.

I covered Daisy up in a blanket and along with my boys, we drove all night to New Port City, to the promise of new life.


“You didn’t need to bring the whole corps, Mr. Williams. A whisker would have been sufficient.”

“I didn’t know.”

“No worries, Mr. Williams. These times can be difficult. But rest assured, you made the right decision.”

“Whoa, slow down, I haven’t made any decisions. How is any of this possible? How much will it cost? I haven’t given my consent to do anything.”

“It already done, Mr. Williams. Everything has been taken care of. Daisy will be out shortly.”

“Wait what? Can I speak to a real person?” My voice was getting louder. I paced back and forth in a the tiny, white waiting room.

My boys raised their heads from their tablets and looked at me worriedly. “Relax Dad,” my youngest said. “They said Daisy will be out shortly.” And then he returned to his Metube.

A small door slid open to my left. I peered into it and everything was dark. “Hello,” I hollered into the void.


“What’s going on? Who’s there?”

And then I heard a familiar bark.

No. It can’t be.

She ran to me, just like she always did when I came home from work. Instinct, instead of common sense, made me kneel down and embrace the chocolate lab that jumped into my arms. She licked my ears and nibbled on my lobes, just like Daisy always did. My children joined the family hug and we were together again. I gripped Daisy’s head and stared into her blank eyes. Is that really you, girl?”

Dem Bones

IMG_1177Mom watched her children play in their new backyard as she washed the dishes. She adored their innocence and imagination.
“Do you think these could be dinosaur bones?” Simon asked as his fingers were gingerly cleaning off the earth from his recent discovery.
“They’re too small,” Becky responded.
“There were tiny dinosaurs too, you know,” he explained to his little sister. “They got eaten by the big ones. See look at the scratch marks on this one.”
“Wow,” she proclaimed. “I bet our garden has many treasures for us to find.”
Little Becky was all too right. Her garden held countless secrets, many buried there by its previous owner.

Well Known Fact: Boys Can’t See the Colour Yellow

img_0860-2We saw the yellow tape that warned us not to go down that side of the hill, and we choose to ignore it. Ken and I shared the common knowledge that twelve year old boys are invulnerable.
We jumped on our sled and raced down at Olympic level speeds. Visibility was nil. Snow was everywhere. We launched into the air and…
“You’re back,” I heard Ken say. I was lying in the snow. “Walk it off, let’s do it again.”
I did.
Twelve year old boys may be invulnerable, but I still feel the pains of my youth. Unprovoked headaches and dizzy spells are a part of my life. I have boys of my own now and I doubt they’re any smarter than I was at their age. I make them wear helmets for dangerous sports.
But if they wear them when I’m not looking, well, that’s another story.

A Moment Within Eternity


She jumped.

She was here just a moment ago, looking beautiful and alive.

He squinted as he forced himself to look over the edge of the eighteen story building. She didn’t look beautiful anymore.

Their relationship up until now had been a fairy tale. Talented Hollywood screenplay writers get paid very handsomely to dream up stories as romantic as theirs. Admittedly she was always a little messed up, like a bird with a broken-wing, but that just made him love her more. He wanted to fix her.

He would give anything to kiss her again; to hold her once more. He peered over again and felt sick. No more looking over the edge, it made him queasy.

Her last words to him where delivered with the upmost clarity, “If you want to love me forever, you’ll have to follow me anywhere.”

He was alone now. Would he be alone for an eternity, or would he be with her?

Falling wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He saw people’s faces, just as they realized what he’d done. By the time he reached the ninth floor he was content with all and at ease. As he flew by the third floor, he heard her say, “What took you so long?”



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Student: this piece is brown and has no marble. The livestock was probably caged and received very little exercise. It most likely ate nothing but junk. It would be a select grade at best.
Teacher: Very good analysis. I wouldn’t feed this meat to my dog. Now how would you rate the second cut?
Student: Much better. See how red and fresh it is. It’s perfectly marbled. I’d say this person regularly worked out and was a vegetarian.
Teacher: Excellent perception, Ivanka. Remember children, here at the Institute of Fine Dining it is essential that our meat is of the highest quality. When consuming the poor, we must ensure that they were properly treated prior to slaughter. A healthy diet and a lifestyle consisting of rigorous physical training are crucial for the superiority of the final end product. Remember everything put into them, we get out in fold.

The Devil’s Punch Bowl

“Okay, I’ll do it?” I agreed because I was 13 and she was pretty.

“I was just kidding, please get down from there.”

“You shouldn’t have dared me if you didn’t want me to do it.” Fool-hearted logic from a young boy feeling his first real surge of testosterone.

“You’ll trip and die,” she pleaded.

Her red hair swayed with the wind and I felt alive for the first time in my young life.

So I did it.

And she was wrong. I didn’t die and my hospital stay was rather pleasant. They spoon fed me Jello every day.

Sometimes I run my fingers over the lines of my scars as I watch my two young sons fall asleep.

I wonder what they’ll do one day for love and I pray that they’ll survive it.

Gypsy Jazz

(as it twirls itself into an artless rhyme)

A sideways smile
eased my thoughts
like a hand upon my back
or a light summer rain.

I voted for life
and freedom
and a tiny house
free of strife
and full of children at play.

We all voted for the same thing.

Campaign promises grew into pipelines,
Mother Nature’s amber alert
drowned out by the greed of the whole;
yet the prosperity of so very few.

Still, it’s warm in the month of May,
and no one complains about a sunny day.
Still, the flowers bloom
and the bees speed upon their way.
For these are the years before Nero will play.


I looked into your mossy eyes and glimpsed an isolated future.

 So I scurried home and drank until my belly ached.I dreamt of a perfect curves paired with a perfect love.I wanted so much more, but had far less. (Old magazines and a slow internet connection)

 So I retreated back to you, tail between my legs and accepted the facts: we are solitary creatures and the future is over-rated.

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I had a Mole

I had a mole that grew large and became unsightly. It was on my belly (which has also been growing and becoming more unsightly). Two distinct, black dots formed on its head and I grew concerned. My doctor referred me a dermatologist. I waited 2 months to see her, and yet within 10 seconds of inspecting my blemish she advised, “Moles often change; it’s nothing to worry about.”

My father-in-law once had a mole. The dermatologist told him not to worry about it. He’s dead now. Skin cancer. So when this doctor told me not to worry, I worried.

I typed into Google, “Can I remove a mole myself.” It advised to use pineapples or apple cider. Sometimes the internet is full of idiots. Other people said that you can’t just cut it off, because it’s too painful and has a deep root. Sounded like challenge to me.

Do you know what really hurts? Cancer.

So I took a pair of scissors, and sterilised the blades by dipping them in rum. I took a solid swig, to strengthen my resolve. With my left hand I pinched the portion around my mole, as to elevate it and extract a large chunk. Cut it all off– just make it quick. Cancer ain’t going to get me.

My right hand was steady and with three quick snips it was done. I stood before the mirror, a surgeon admiring his handiwork. I cauterized the wound with rum and applied a band aid.

It healed well – but the mole grew back. But it is much smaller now and lighter in tone. No longer are there two black dots staring back at me.

I returned to Google and I re-typed, “Can I remove a mole myself.” I scrolled to the bottom of the comments and wrote, “Stop being a wimp. I cut of my mole and I’m cancer free. Are you?”