Author: Mark Myers

I am a husband of one, father of four daughters, a dreamer, a builder, a believer, and most enjoyably a writer. In 2015, I became a reluctant Childhood Cancer Advocate as we lost our youngest daughter Kylie to the disease. Kylie taught me to steal joy from even the worst of circumstances and I will always be on the lookout for happiness among the thorns of life. Join me for a generous helping of laughter and tears.

Can You Smell Maturity?

.Reading time 4 minutes.

This could possibly be a reflection of my utter immaturity, but I have shown signs lately that I actually might be growing. I have spent 47 years barely registering a score on the Lipsching Scale of Maturity which rates maturity in humans from 1-30. According to Dr. Lipsching, ultimate mature is a 30 and infantile is a 1. Thus far I have lived my life at a 3, but maybe now I am finally hovering at a 7 – which is exponential growth for me but still represents an incredible lack of refinement.

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How do I know I’m making strides?

We had visitors for the weekend. New friends with young kids, the kind of kids that run all over the place and make tons of noise. My kids are older now and don’t run unless they are being chased and even then, maybe not. More likely they would analyze the threat and play possum figuring potential death is better than exertion. They aren’t much for running. As for noise, mine make incoherent grunts and occasional complaints. But they are grown up noises, not high pitched squealing and constant chatter.

These kids made NOISE! The kind of noise that accompanies unadulterated fun. Constant buzzing noise that swept through our house and caught us all up in its whirlwind.

It was wonderful!

It has been a long time since we parented little ones. We’ve moved past that phase.

I classify parenthood into three phases, each builds on the other. You can’t jump into phase three without knowing and experiencing phases one and two. I suppose you can if you are thrust into it by adoption or marriage, but that would present numerous challenges. Likewise, once you move to a new phase you can’t go back. Again, you can if forced, but you might need a straightjacket or a fully stocked wet bar to get you through.

Phases of Parenthood According to Mark

Phase 1 – Cuteness, Poop, and Drool        BABY

Phase 2 – The Age of Destruction         TODDLER to PUBERTY

Phase 3 – The Age of Hormonal Dysfunction      TEENAGER to “THANK GOD THEY ARE OUT OF THE HOUSE!”

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We are in the last phase. It has its ups and downs. The house stays neater, but I sometimes miss the chaos of phase 2.

Enter our guests, or as I’ll call them, The Seattle Tsunami. This is where I think I am growing up because a few years ago if kids had come over and blown the roof off, I would have been tense. I would have gotten quiet and reserved as I tabulated the costs of their destruction like an insurance adjuster. I think I would have had to excuse myself several times while a cried over spilt milk.

Maybe it’s because I’m older, maybe it is because I have gotten a life lesson in what really matters, or maybe I’m preparing for the shake-them-up-and-send-them-home grandparenting years. Whatever it is, I had a ball! I loved every second of it and didn’t flinch. In fact, I joined right in. One time the two year old came upstairs holding a curtain rod like a javelin and rather than panic, I gave him instructions on proper technique. I wrestled, laughed, and played like I haven’t in a long time.

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This weekend, I came to the following conclusion:

I don’t own anything that can’t be repaired, repainted, or replaced.

Nothing! Experience is king. Enjoy, kids!

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Oh, and if you planned on Googling Lipsching and his theory, PPTHHPTHPFFTHPPPT!!!! Gotcha!

Free Awkward Hugs

.Reading time 6 minutes.

I have never been comfortable with the manly hug. I can’t tell you why – I think man-hugging is one of those things you either experienced as a youngster or didn’t. I didn’t. I’m more of a firm handshake kind of a guy. That’s my zone. I learned early to give a girl’s father a firm squeeze and look him straight in the eye as you say hello. I appreciate my dad teaching me this skill because it makes a great introduction before you load yourself, your date, and your dubious intent into a beat-up jalopy to go out for the evening. Eddie Haskell had nothing on my teenage self, Mrs. Cleaver. The good news now is that any Eddie can spot a young Eddie immediately. They’ve come to my door hoping to see my daughters. The minute that kid takes my hand, I look into his gleaming eye and send him packing. Of course, he just lowers his head and leaves because he knows he got busted… It might take a minute, but a young Eddie can recognize an old Eddie.

Current circumstances have taught me much, and I am certainly learning the comradery, affection and compassion wrapped up in an embrace. I have another cancer dad who tells me I’m getting better at it. Read More