Dear Jack: You’re Starting Pre-K Next Week

4 years, 9 months.

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Dear Jack,

Our family recently attended the Rainbow Summer Social at Rainbow Child Care Center. They had a fire truck for us to tour; as well as a photo booth and carnival games.

You were very happy that you basically had unlimited access to just keep playing the same games and to have the ability to keep winning prizes.

Dear Jack: You’re Starting Pre-K Next Week

A collection of sticky rubber frogs made their way back to our house.

Next week you officially begin Pre-K. You and I, along with your current teacher Ms. Aimee, recently made a Jack-Man episode to promote the brand-new Pre-K classroom.

(Click the image below to watch our video.)

You’ve expressed to me that you’re particularly excited about your new classroom because, “it has really cool dinosaurs.”

Jack, this is your last year of preschool before I begin taking you to Kindergarten! A year from now, I’m sure I’ll be posting my (obligatory) “1st Day of Kindergarten” picture on Facebook.

Dear Jack: You’re Starting Pre-K Next Week

Mommy and I keep saying how you really are a boy now.

As your parents, we’ve grown accustomed to living with a boy version of a toddler. Now, with you nearly 5 years old, we’re living with a boy; not simply just a boy version of something.

These are the days of you getting to pick out which underwear to wear each day. You get to decide whether it’s going to be a Transformers or a Ninja Turtles kind of day.

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I look at your genetically unlikely blonde highlights as well as your genetically unlikely blue eyes and think, “This kid used to be my baby. But now, this is my boy.”

Though I might be saying this too much here lately, I’m just so proud that you are my son.

The future is unclear whether or not Mommy and I will ever have another child.

You may be it. Either way, you are one special kid.

Love,

Daddy

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The Importance Of A Boy Owning A Fire Engine Truck

September 23, 2012 at 9:31 pm , by 

22 months.

My wife and I joke about the fact we hardly ever by our son any new toys.

He has six caddies full of toys that mainly consist of gifts A) from his birthday party nearly a year ago and B) from when he was first born nearly two years ago.

Between his regular daycare and his church daycare and his friends’ toys when he has play dates, Jack has daily access to several toy communities.

For the past couple of months now, Jack has had the same amount of love in his heart for fire trucks as Elmo, which is saying a lot.

The flames of his fascination are flamed even more every day at his daycare, which happens to be located right across the street from the local fire station.

Jack can do a pretty incredible impression of a fire truck by now.

I’ll be driving him home and from the back seat I’ll  hear, “Wwwwhheeeaaahhhllllwwwhhh!”

(Yes, that’s the official spelling of the sound of a fire engine.)

However, it was only just today that we finally got him his very own fire truck. You’d think it be pretty easy to find a Matchbox or Hot Wheels fire truck, but no…

Either you pay at least 7 bucks for a goofy, cartoonish-looking one, or you pay at least $25 for a giant fire truck that your son wouldn’t be able to carry around with him everywhere he goes.

Well fortunately, we were able to find the right sized and the right priced fire engine truck today at Walmart. It’s made by a brand called Maisto and the thing only cost 72 cents!

Now granted, Jack’s new fire truck is also unintentionally (?) a lowrider. And it could also pass for some weird tank thing if the ladder were a canon instead.

But hey, Jack couldn’t be more excited! All he knows is, he finally has his very own fire truck.

He is so proud of it.

When he got home, he lined it up as the leader of a parade consisting of his two Thomas the Train cars and two of my old Stomper cars from McDonald’s Happy Meals back in 1985.

Oh, and a horse and a goat. They were also part of the joyous celebration.

With Jack’s 2nd birthday coming up on November 16th, I know my parents have already hinted that they got him areal fire truck toy.

I imagine it is the kind he can roll around on the floor with the big Tonka truck they got Jack for his birthday last year.

He will be so excited to get it, too; I’m sure of it.

Something he’s been doing here recently is when he has both a small and large version of toy, one becomes the baby and the other becomes the Dada.

In other words, today we bought Jack his “baby fire truck.” His “Dada fire truck” will be arriving within the next 60 days.

 

Snail Trails: Your Memory May Be the Only Proof an Event Ever Happened

Nothing, not even a blank screen. Then suddenly on April 20, 1983, life as I know it began. Not the day I was born, but the day my memory started. With all my family gathered around me at the kitchen table, my first memory of life begins with a song- “Happy Birthday”. Maybe I was simply overwhelmed by that many people in the room at once. Maybe I thought the song had a sad tune. Maybe this is where I got my fear of being in front of a bunch of people with nothing to do or say. But all I had to do was just blow out that giant number “2” candle on my Mickey Mouse cake. Instead, I cried.

Flash forward to the summer of 1985. I put on my cowboy boots, grabbed my He-Man lunchbox, stood by the front door, and announced to my mom, “Okay, I’m ready for school! I want to meet friends.” I wasn’t even enrolled for pre-school yet, but my mom took care of it and a month later I was present at First Methodist’s “Mother’s Day Out” program (the year before Kindergarten: 1985-1986).

Though I was four years old, I can specifically remember that Simon Milazzo had a toy dog that I liked so much that my mom bought me one like his. I remember Meg Guice crying one day because somebody ate her pineapples when she was looking the other way. I remember Laura O’Dell gave me a valentine with a scratch ‘n’ sniff vanilla ice cream cone that smelled really good, while Alex Igou gave me a valentine with Darth Vader that said “Be Mine or Else…”.

I remember having a daily “play time” where we all went to the dark green carpeted fellowship hall where we were often forced to play “Duck, Duck, Goose” or sing and act out “The Farmer and the Dell”. Meg Guice would always want to be the wife when “the farmer chose a wife”. I never wanted to be chosen to play a character.

Instead, one day I wandered off to play with my fire truck. Alex Igou also managed to escape from the group, going to the opposite side of the room. We both got in trouble for doing this so the teacher put us in “time out” together. Alex said to me, “Do you like your truck I got for you?” (It was the one he gave me at my birthday party.)

I used to think I was weird for having such detailed and vivid memories from such an early age. But while in my Childhood Developmental Psychology class in college, the professor asked those of us who had a vivid memory from age two or younger to raise our hands. Twenty-five percent of us raised our hands and then had to share with everyone what our memory was. We were told that having a memory that clear from such a young age isn’t common, but it’s not abnormal either.

When I think of elementary school, I don’t remember much about what I learned, but I definitely remember clear conversations and events starring my classmates: In 2nd grade (1988-1989) while in line for a relay race during P.E., I was standing next to Cody Vartanian and Charles Robertson. In honor of the new Nintendo game, Cody said to Charles, “Skate or die!” Charles firmly responded, “I don’t have to skate if I don’t want to skate and I don’t have to die if I don’t want to die”.

Last week I told the story of breaking up a fight while dressed as a giant wolf exactly ten years ago, during my final month of high school (see “Cry Wolf”). I feared that it may come across like I had in some form exaggerated the details. According to my memory, no one I was friends with was there to witness it. So I was much relieved when Adrianne McClung Smith commented on the story, saying she was fortunate enough to see the event in person.

For many childhood memories we have, however, there was not a “constant” in the equation. In other words, without someone else who was there who still remembers a specific event taking place, in essence it only happened in our own minds. It makes me think of the “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it…” question. My immediate response was always to ask if I could put a tape recorder in the forest before the tree fell. My next response was to realize I didn’t care if anybody heard the stupid tree fall anyway.

In the same way, I exclusively hold thousands of memories recorded in my mind. Memories about people I grew up with. Memories these people would never have known happened unless I tell them. Since I am the only person to verify such specific events, in theory they happened BECAUSE I remember them.

All anyone else can do is question the validity of my memory. But I know for a fact these memories are real, not simply evolved from a dream or an old snapshot. Everyone else has this ability though, at least to some degree if nothing else. Every person alive owns exclusive copyrights to memories involving other people.

I am constantly disappointed with the sad truth that even in the year 2009, there is no such thing as time travel. So badly I want to go back to those actual random memories; I want to replay them. In the back of my mind I’m hanging on to this thread of a hope that somehow someday I can revisit my past. Not to change it. Just to see it again, like a good movie.

This hope that when I get to Heaven there will be a series of doors with a different year written on each one, allowing me to revisit- in the likeness of Disney World’s Epcot Center how you can visit several “countries”. Evidently I have a condition which causes me to leave a trail of me behind throughout the history of my life, like a snail. At any given point, I am living in both the present moment and simultaneously each year of the past since my memory began in 1983.

As a writer and as an every day conversationalist, things seem incomplete to me without a nostalgic year or story in there somewhere. Some people have a habit of going off on “rabbit trails”. I end up on “snail trails” instead. My short-term memory is awful- I can’t remember who won American Idol last season. But my petty long-term memory is a little bit Rain Man-esque.