Up with the Sun

My dad is a very friendly guy. He says hello to everyone he passes on the street, and this morning in a neighborhood of my childhood it seemed many people even knew him by name. He pays no notice to if someone is wearing headphones and sunglasses and avoiding personal contact - he says hello anyway. And he almost always habitually shuffles me to the inside of the sidewalk when walking along.

What is stunning about this is that when I was a kid my dad was more of a disciplinarian, authoritarian presence. I was rarely in public with my dad unless we were in his public - trade shows, gun shows, and the crowded cave of his livelihood, a gun and surplus store. In these venues my memory of him is as a brash, somewhat surly, inflexible king of his domain. He was a bit scary and exciting to my friends, especially the boys I knew. It's an element of his personality which has shifted radically in the last few years, along with the acquisition of dementia and an Alzeheimer's diagnosis. It has occurred to me that I am losing my father as I knew him, but more interestingly I am gaining an adult companion.

Early morning may be my dad's best public self. Until now I hadn't slept at my parents' house in nearly two decades. These days, my dad rises early. Before the sun. It was nearly three hours later when I got up, and I found my dad fully dressed, reading the newspaper where he had already been poised for over an hour. I greeted him with a suggestion to go get coffee, and the spring in his step and cheerful, "Okay" that followed was so simply and honestly boy-like I was glad the impromptu invite were the first words out of my mouth. It wasn't the only time in twelve hours I realized how similar being with an aging adult is to free-ranging with young children. The attention to getting on my dad's own time was highly enjoyable and successful each time. I can count the number of times I have watched television before bed as an adult on one hand; last night I settled right into the sofa to join my dad in this nightly ritual (and had the lucid dreams to prove it - dreaming of a deftly disemboweled woman whose murderer was commended on her skill - stemming from an unsolved mystery show watched with my dad near midnight). I sat with him as he nodded on and off and the hour grew late, something that used to make me a little crazy because who isn't more comfortable in the quiet and comfort of bed? Heading out, I had a coffee destination in mind, though when dad told me turn to the left as we drove I followed his lead. He couldn't name where we were going, but it was clear he had a couple of ideas about where to land. When we got to a place he had in mind, the sign said closed (too early to be open). I parked anyway. We walked right in, were served and had coffee in the dim before the lights were up and the regulars (and his familiars from his years having daily coffee in the past) started streaming in. Although I got us out the door, my dad led every interaction for our morning. I was struck again by the importance of momentum, the support to get somewhere and the trust to let it be so. After coffee and a collection of "long time, no see" hellos from the fellow diner patrons, we took a morning walk to the river, my dad insisting on taking the uneven outer edge of the sidewalks. He was cheerful and distinct and communicating pretty clearly, which are things that often diminish as a day goes on.

The beauty of having no agenda and no distractions to draw off attention is that it's unlikely to be disappointed with how things go. I am often encouraging parents of young children in my work domain to follow a child's lead, to get on their time in our shared environment. It's a hard habit to nurture in our own home base environments, and it's most definitely a skill I have acquired with age. With my dad, on occasion he has goals but no words to describe them. Conversely, he also relies upon and even succumbs to the plans of others to conduct his days. It's hard to position oneself in the most supportive aspect to reach an agreeable lead. But I think when aging, and when mental acumen is consistently unreliable, the very best companion is one who can offer momentum but provide resilient companionship. I often wonder, will I know my dad is gone when he is no longer angling me to the inside of the sidewalk.

A Day in the Life of, er, Teacher Beautybutt

Once upon a time, Crazy Day at preschool was simply a day to wear crazy hair.
It's still a day to wear crazy hair, dress differently than usual, and for the past two years my 4 & 5 year old classes have REALLY latched onto the idea to make Crazy Day truly, well, Crazy. Most significantly, this has involved using an alternate Crazy Name for this one day, a name of one's choosing that anyone at school can call you on this day only. Most of the students come to school and announce their names to be written onto name tags with a lot of enthusiasm. There are typically some surprises, some funny choices, some sensational choices, and some taking on of each others' names. 

But the real 'excitement' this year was when the kids then asked me what my crazy name was. 

Naturally, I was crazy enough to ask them for suggestions. 

Here are 13 out of 18 suggestions that were made: 
Butthead, Poopyface, Buttcheek, Eyeball Head, Dinosaurs Everywhere, Butt Toilet, Butt Toilet Butt Head, Toot Toot, Tootybutt, Beautybutt, Teacher Toilet, Poopoo Butt Toilet Butt, Fancy Pants. 

Notice a theme? 

We have a lot of conversation around minimizing the intrusion of bathroom words, because they simpler aren't comfortable words for everyone. We have rules for where they can be said (in the bathroom, privately), and rules about calling people only the name they come to school with or is part of a complicit game. I know how much attention they pay this agreement because they exhibited PRECISE understanding of how and when these words are not generally to be used at school by offering them to me as my crazy name. Exactly one child adopted a name of this ilk for her Crazy Name for herself. But the absolute permission to be crazy, and give a sensationally crazy name to me was overwhelmingly powerful for most students. The thrill of crossing the sensational boundary was full of giggles and recognition of how the rules and social norms could bend with guided permission. The looks on their faces were priceless.

I thanked everyone for their fabulously crazy suggestions that day.

I sort of kind of really wanted to be Teacher Beautybutt for the day. But honestly, I hear my name a lot at school and although I successfully addressed a student as Butthead to her sheer delight all day, I suspected I'd live to regret laughing through any further mention of Beautybutt, not to mention risk a perverse favoritism. 

I took a stab at choosing my crazy name with a nod to their inspiration. 

Alas, nobody called me Miss Fizzlerumpus all day.