Tag: raising-a-child

Just Get in the Car

January 23rd, 2026

Getting Asher to school in the morning is often an ordeal. Asher is a kindergartener at a Waldorf school in Milwaukee which is about a half hour drive from our house. That’s on a good day when traffic flows. There have been a few mornings when driving in rush hour actually took us a full hour. So, my wife and I make a concerted effort to get Asher up, fed, and dressed in a timely manner. We have to get on the freeway before it is packed with slow-moving vehicles.

Asher is not necessarily uncooperative. It is more that he is easily distracted by the world around him. He is at an age where everything is interesting, and his mind flits from idea to idea like a hummingbird darts from blossom to blossom. The primary struggle is to get Asher to focus and keep him on track. The secondary goal is to do that in a way that does not require shouting. It is difficult to remain calm while a young child revels in chaos.

I can give you a classic example of what I mean. I generally wake Asher up at 6:20 AM, or at least I try to do that. Yesterday morning, Asher hugged the pillow for dear life and only grudgingly got up from the bed. I carried him to the kitchen and then he grumpily refused all of my wife’s suggestions for breakfast. Karin, Asher’s oma (Note:”oma” is the German word for grandma. Karin from Germany, therefore she is Asher’s “oma”), had made him a waffle with Santa’s face on it. He liked that, even though the Christmas season is long gone, and he reluctantly sat down to eat.

I sat next to him holding two hand puppets. I had Ellie the elephant and Froggy the frog. They need to eat with Asher if Asher is going to eat breakfast. Asher talked to the puppets while he carefully cut and consumed the waffle. Then he had to take his daily vitamins. Then he needed to drink some strawberry and banana smoothie. All of this takes time.

From the breakfast table, Asher and Oma went to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth. She also got him dressed. I let Karin do that. She is amazingly patient with the boy, and she can make getting dressed into a game. In the meantime, I got Asher’s backpack and lunch into the car. I got myself ready to go for the road trip.

Asher still needed to get on all of his winter gear: coat, knit cap, scarf, mittens, sweater, snow pants, boots. Once again, this all takes time. Karin has made Asher numerous knit caps, all of which look like animals: tiger, reindeer, frog. Asher had to carefully select which cap to wear. Everything Asher does is accompanied by a nonstop monologue. He seldom does anything quietly.

At last, the boy was dressed for the cold, and he came with me out to the garage. I had the car door open and was ready to hustle him into his child seat. Apparently, we weren’t quite ready. He told me,

“Grandpa, I got to go back inside to tell Oma something!”

He ran back into the house to give Karin instructions regarding what to do with his stuffed animals. My patience was wearing thin.

He came back out and started to explain what he had told Oma.

I said, “JUST GET IN THE CAR!”

He did, but not without protest.

I finally got on to the freeway and rapidly shifted three lanes to the left. Asher said to me from the back of the car,

“I don’t like it when you yell at me.”

I replied as a semi roared past us, “I don’t like it either.”

He responded, “Then why do you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

Asher was silent, but I could tell that he did not think I gave him a good answer.

The cars moved along well until just after the Mitchell interchange. Then all I saw was a sea of brake lights. We slowed to a crawl.

Asher asked me, “Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

He said, “I need you to be okay.”

“Okay! I’m okay!” I said this as some bastard cut me off without signaling.

Traffic started moving again. I cruised past the twin spires on St Stanislaus Church on my left. As we approached the high-rise bridge, Asher told me,

“Grandpa, I like you.”

“Good”.

Then he continued, “But I like Oma better. Is that okay?”

I smiled and replied, “Yeah”, and then tried to slide over three lanes to the right to get to the McKinley Street exit.

We were on the last leg of the journey. I turned on to Brady Street. The school was only a couple blocks away.

Asher said, “Grandpa, I love you so much.”

I made a left turn on to Franklin Place and miraculously found a parking space across from Tamarack Waldorf School.

I parked, sighed, and told him, “I love you too.”


Old Men Talking about a Boy

October 13th, 2025

The old man sat across from me in his apartment. His wife had gone for a long walk when I arrived. Maybe she needed some air, or maybe she just didn’t want to be part of our conversation. I can understand her wanting to be elsewhere. It wasn’t a terribly pleasant discussion, but perhaps it was a necessary one for us to have.

The elder and I were talking mostly about my grandson, Asher. The old guy, who is my father’s age, couldn’t understand Asher’s strange behavior in their home when we came to visit a couple weeks ago. The old man is a Ukrainian Jew. I know him from the synagogue, and we have been close friends for several years. He has had a hard life by any objective standard. He and his grandfather fled to Kazakhstan just after the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union. Both of his parents were officers in the Soviet Army during the war. The old man knows all about hunger and poverty. He knows about fear, having grown up during Stalin’s regime. He’s experienced raw antisemitism. He immigrated to the United States with his wife after the Soviet Union collapsed and attempted to start a new life here at the age of sixty-five. The man has been through hell.

Asher had behaved badly while we were visiting the old guy and his wife. The man and his wife love Asher dearly. They really do. The man had found a small model school bus to give to Asher as a gift. At first Asher wanted it, but then he got annoyed and frustrated. He refused the present. I told Asher that we would take it home with us. The little boy got angry and argued with me. He became more and more upset, to the point where I couldn’t control him. The man’s wife had prepared a lunch for us, and Asher saw nothing that he liked. Eventually, he ate a single slice of bread and then we left. I did not take the toy with us. I think at the end Asher gave the old guy a hug, but overall, the visit was painful for the elderly couple.

The old man talked about that visit with me. I would have preferred to forget the entire episode, but he didn’t want to do that. He asked me,

“Don’t you think you should teach Asher to be grateful and thank people for gifts?”

I apologized for the fact that Asher had been rude to the man. He went on,

“No, I don’t mean just to me. That is nothing. I mean in general; shouldn’t he learn to be polite?”

I told him, “Asher is a wonderful boy. He is a good kid.”

“Yes, yes, of course he is. But he must learn how thank a person.”

I thought to myself, “Yes, he should learn that.” Then I said, “We try to teach him that, but he has been through some terrible things already. He has been through a lot of changes, especially with the new school. He struggles to control his feelings.”

The old man asked me, “What feelings?”

I replied, “He’s scared.”

“But scared of what?”

“He’s lost people in his life already. It’s hard for him to be with strangers.”

The old man said, “But I am like his uncle. I am no stranger.”

The truth is that almost everyone is a stranger to Asher. He has me, my wife, and his mama. That’s it.

The old man softened his voice. He told me,

“My wife and I, we often talk about you and your family. We know it is hard for you.”

I nodded.

He said, “I think of you as a beacon to your family. I think I am using the right English word. You have to show the way.”

Do I show anybody the way? If I am a beacon, I often have a dim and flickering light. I try to figure things out, but I am in the dark.

The old man continued, “You have to keep things together for your family. You have to do this for Asher, for your wife, for his mama.”

I don’t want to be the one to keep it all together. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I am strong enough. But if I don’t, then who will?

There was no more to say about Asher. We both stood up. He shook my hand and put his other hand on my shoulder. He said,

“We think of your family every day. You are always in our hearts. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Tell the boy that his uncle will have another toy car for him the next time he comes.”

“Okay. I will.”

I haven’t told Asher yet. He needs time. So, do I.

Sunshine

September 3rd, 2025

Every Thursday I take my grandson, Asher, to see his therapist. Once we get off the elevator, Asher runs down the hallway and bursts into the waiting room. The office manager grins at Asher from behind the counter and says,

“There’s that energy! There’s that sunshine!”

Other people react to Asher in a similar way. Asher had his first taste of kindergarten today. There are seventeen children in his class. The teacher uses symbols to designate which locker and chair each student has. Most of the kids can’t read yet, so they key on their personal symbol. One child has bunny for a symbol, another has a rainbow, one has diamond. Asher has sunshine. His image is that of a blazing sun with rays flowing out from it.

The teacher picked symbols that somehow capture the essence of each child, or at least what she perceives that to be. She sees an inner light in Asher. When he’s excited, he’s incandescent. He can bring joy to people without any effort at all. It’s just who he is.

This is not to say that Asher is all sweetness and light. He’s not. An angry Asher is a sight to behold. I have a Buddhist friend who described the boy as “a force to be reckoned with”. Indeed. Asher has a strong will and an equally strong intellect. He is often intensely passionate. I can’t recall him ever being lukewarm about anything. The boy isn’t even five years old yet, and he already lives on the edge.

How do you control a kid like that? Well, you don’t. You work with him and try to guide that erratic geyser of energy. A child like Asher has a rare gift, but he is also a person who requires love, patience, and understanding. He is simultaneously lovable and terrifying at times.

That’s our grandson.

Too Tired to Live, Too Busy to Die

August 5th, 2025

I have a t-shirt with a picture and quotation on it from Hunter S. Thompson, the gonzo journalist who wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I have always been a fan of Thompson, especially since I did a short stint in the Las Vegas jail back in 2017. I won’t describe that episode in this essay. I have written extensively about it elsewhere in my blog. You can find those articles if really look for them. Instead, look at the quote on the t-shirt. (See above).

I was wearing this t-shirt a couple days ago. I was sitting at the dinner table with my wife, Karin. We were both exhausted from a busy day. She stared at the t-shirt for a while, and then she said,

” ‘Too tired to live, too busy to die’. That’s us.”

Indeed it is.

We care fulltime for our grandson, Asher. He’s four-and-a-half years old. He is smart, active, and bursting with energy. Karin and I are not. Karin is seventy years old. I am sixty-seven. There are many days when we feel our age quite clearly, especially if we have been chasing Asher around nonstop. We can keep up with the boy, but just barely. As is fitting for his age, Asher is headstrong, and he tends to oppose our wishes. We grow weary of fighting with him. We were able to deal with willful kids thirty years ago, but now it can be an overwhelming challenge.

I pray each day. I don’t long recite prayers from a book. My petitions are straight and to the point. God literally placed the Asher in our home. As far as I am concerned, God gave us the job of raising him. Karin and I made an open-ended commitment to do just that when Asher was just a little baby. It is our spiritual calling. We have been conscientious about fulfilling our duty as his guardians, but it gets tough at times. I figure if God wants us to do the work, He/She better give us the strength to do so. When I pray for strength, it is often more of a demand than a request. I need the resources to keep going.

I also need the gift of discernment. I am a mere mortal. I can only do so much. I need to know my limits. God is only going to give me the strength that I need, and maybe not even that. If what I think I need exceeds that allotment, then I have a problem. I have to understand what I need to do, as opposed to what I want to do. I have to know how hard I can push myself.

I have a friend, Ken, who I know from the synagogue. He’s an Orthodox Jew. I go to his house almost every week for beer and conversation. We discuss our respective struggles. Ken likes to say that each person has a “peckla” (that’s a Yiddish word that could mean a backpack or a burden. Imagine a “peckla” as a load that a person carries on their back). Each person has a particular peckla that is specific to them. God knows every person’s strength and each individual carries a load that only they can manage. The burden I carry might crush another man, and the load he bears might be beyond my strength. I sometimes think of this load as a cross that I carry. Ken probably would not use that analogy.

The peckla that I carry is like my wife’s. We bear the burden of caring for Asher and bringing him to adulthood. We carry this weight voluntarily. We could set it down and say, “That’s enough. No More.” But we don’t. We won’t get rid of the peckla until we are unable to walk any further with it. We carry it because we love Asher, and he needs us. Love gives us the power to continue the journey with the peckla on our backs.

Love is sacrifice, and it is also strength.