Forty-eight months old

The first Because I Said So column I wrote for The Commercial Appeal appeared on April 17, 2008. Four years ago today. And it's still in the archives!

We still had a kid in diapers and daycare then, and we were probably just a little in awe (and fear) of what we'd produced. It was an exciting time, wasn't it? There seemed no end to the subject matter and fodder for columns. I hope you have all enjoyed the ride, I know I have, even if we haven't successfully colonized the moon ... yet.

Thank you to my editor, Peggy Reisser, and partner in crime for so long, Stacey Greenberg. Thank you to my kids for putting up with being put under a microscope and in a clown suit by me for so many years.

I hope you will enjoy that very first column all over again:

Real kids shrink notions of big family

My grandparents, Bob and Shirley Fachini, raised seven children, a respectable number by anyone's standards.

It was the 1950s and '60s, a much simpler era, I'm told. Families were larger then because this country needed as many citizens as possible to fight communism, go to Saturday movie matinees for a nickel and colonize the moon.

They would later come to call these babies "boomers," because of how much noise that many children, at one time, in one place, will make.

Their house was warm and loving and, sure, it was cramped, but they made do. Bob built a table large enough for everyone to eat around, and Shirley sewed dresses for the girls.

It sounds like an idyllic time, and the stories of the antics of my aunts and uncles as kids have engaged me since I was a child.

It was those stories that had me wanting a large family of my own.

My wife, Kristy, and I have four children between the ages of 21 months and 10 years. And, as it turns out, we're done.

That's right. I don't know what got into my grandparents' brains to make them think seven kids was a good idea, but I'm afraid something had to be a little off for two intelligent people to willingly welcome that many little people to live with them.

By stopping now, we're not squashing my dream of raising a big family, because four is the new seven.
When Kristy and I tell people, especially new parents with only one child, that we have four, the look we get is generally awe and amazement.

Never envy.

Maybe just a hint of pity. Yes, mostly pity, now that I think of it.

The truth is, we weren't exactly sure at the beginning what we were doing.

Kristy researched parenting styles, while I was content, and over my head, just keeping the kid alive and somewhat happy. Ten years, and three babies later, it's still all I can do.

But our home now is full of love. Just as much with love, in fact, as it is with discarded Pop-Tart wrappers, broken and mismatched toys, half-emptied cups of milk and diapers, both clean and dirty.

Parenthood is an easy enough club to enter, though staying in the good graces of the club's membership board -- your kids -- is tricky.

Nothing was easy for my grandparents either, yet they signed on for seven kids and dealt with them as they showed up. And if they could handle seven, then four should be cake, right? Or at least a chocolate icing-smeared face smiling up at us.

We're doing our best with our quartet, in the spirit and with the tenacity of my grandparents.

We'll send them to the best schools we can, we will communicate openly with them and we'll raise them to be caring and informed citizens, who will one day, hopefully, grow up to colonize the moon.

Because I Said So: Family has advantages in dystopian, sci-fi future

I woke up last Sunday morning and sat on the couch in my office with a mug of coffee, a pencil and a legal pad to write this week's column, just as I do every two weeks. And I wrote it, and I was okay with it. Then I woke up Monday morning with a whole new column in my head.

Dystopian S

It seems there is no escaping "The Hunger Games." Even if you didn't read the book, even if you won't see the film, it's everywhere and in the collective subconscious. So that's where this week's column originates. I had a vision as I came up through the fog of sleep of my own kids involved in such a struggle and how woefully inept they may be based on what I've seen of their exemplary lounging habits here around the house. It was frightening, and funny all at the same time.

I wrote a story for The Commercial Appeal ('Hunger' Fever: Young adult novel of dystopian future headed to screen as next 'Twilight'; March 15, 2012) on the popularity of the book and the anticipation of the film's release. I spoke with adults and teens, and the excitement was the same in both camps. I haven't read the book, but I had Kristy and C tell me about the plot and characters, and the appeal of a story about a child who has to defend her life, and that of her sister, in this dystopian setting. I don't think I'd ever uttered the word "dystopian" until I began writing the story and this column but I bet I've said it a million times since.

The original column for this week, by the way, had to do with The Rolling Stones, their saxophonist Bobby Keys and encouraging our children to follow their dreams and passions, though not too far; not to the point of throwing a television set off a hotel balcony. I may put that column right here in this space next week as a bonus.

Until then, enjoy this week's column from all of us here at Because I Said So:

I'm in the minority in my house in that I don't read young adult fiction. The kids read it. My wife, an English teacher at Central High School, reads it. I think I can't get into it for a couple of reasons. First, I'm a not-young adult. Second, I don't really go in for fantasy and science fiction and the lot. This may put me in the minority of all of today's readers, come to think of it, but I need the action to take place in real cities and countries; I need the plot to twist on something other than time travel, wizardry or the backs of sparkly vampires.

Regardless of my views on young adult literature, there is no escaping the latest craze, "The Hunger Games." There are more than 20 million books in print, and the film adaptation opened last weekend with a record-breaking box office. Well played, author Suzanne Collins.

It seems that quite a bit of such books has to do with a postapocalyptic world, a dystopian future where a person relies on wits and cunning to survive against roving bands of marauders, dictatorial and all-seeing governments, or zombies. My family wouldn't make it very far in such a world. I hope they're learning survival skills by reading these books and watching these films, but if it comes down to who can get to the dwindling food supplies first, we'll starve waiting for 5-year-old Genevieve to find her shoes so we can leave the house.

In "The Hunger Games," children are forced to fight each other to the death for the amusement of television viewers tuning in to the reality show of the same name. When I asked my kids which of them would win, 9-year-old Somerset was the first to exuberantly claim rhetorical victory, followed quickly by, "Wait, what are 'The Hunger Games'?" Seems she hasn't read the book after all.

My children aren't so competitive, and their strategy in such a format, from what I've seen, would involve them walking around the book's setting of the Capitol looking for their mother so they could tell on lead character Katniss Everdeen for trying to shoot arrows at them.

The advantage this family will have in any end-of-the-world scenario is if the new wasteland and societal machinations work more like the world of Mario Brothers than that of AMC's "The Walking Dead" with its abandoned urban landscape and roaming zombie population. When confronted with flying turtles and fire-breathing plants, there really is no one more nimble than 10-year-old Joshua.

Of course, to survive in any such scenario, the basic necessities are first priority, and we have our own version of "The Hunger Games" that plays out around the dining table. The kids are hungry, I know they must be hungry, yet they insist on playing games. "How much of this do I have to eat?" "I don't like this." "What kind of animal does that meat come from?" I'm defeated nightly.

The Mayan calendar predicts the world will implode or explode or freeze or do something unknown this coming December. I just consulted the all-knowing Google calendar, however, advancing the months until I got bored, so I know we'll be around until at least August of 2041. I also found that my birthday that year is on a Wednesday.

Whether the world and our society as we know it ends tomorrow, in December or on my birthday in 29 years, my kids are as ready as they'll ever be. They've read the literature, seen the films, found their shoes and are ready to take on whatever Hollywood, or Donkey Kong, might throw at them.

Richard J. Alley is the father of two boys and two girls. Read more from him at uurrff.blogspot.com. Become a fan of "Because I Said So" on Facebook: facebook.com/alleygreenberg. 

© 2012 Memphis Commercial Appeal. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Because I Said So: Big family can reward with peaceful little society

I wrote both the column and the feature for today's "M" section in The Commercial Appeal. The feature is on the young adult novel "The Hunger Games" and the upcoming release of the film adaptation. I knew very little about the book going into it, but learned a lot about the the characters, the plot, the genre and the folks who read it.

The "Because I Said So" column today is all about siblings, which I knew a lot about going into. I have two sisters and two brothers, I have a house full of little siblings and I grew up in a big family full of aunts and uncles. I've always admired the way these adults were not only brothers and sisters, but great friends as well. This last year has been a trying time for a lot of reasons, and it is in these times when true teamwork and trust, respect and love become evident. It's been inspirational and made me look at my own kids as a unit independent of Kristy and me. The Quartet will become their own team, they already have in many respects, and my hope is that they'll remain close no matter where life and career and family take them. Siblings are our first best friends and should always remain so.

Big family can reward with peaceful little society

What we create with a large family, other than a large mess and a lot of noise, is our own little society within a society. It has its own rules to be broken and its own hierarchy to be either respected or usurped. It has its own ways of operating to ensure that the machinery of family and home run smoothly.

The best way to keep things operating evenly, of course, is for all of the cogs in the machine to work together, for these brothers and sisters to come together and work as a team, all with the same goal of cleaning the kitchen, agreeing on what will be watched on television or simply passing the potatoes down the table at dinner.

When there is discord, factions develop, and strife becomes the norm; war breaks out over an otherwise peaceful land, and no one is happy. Happiness, and quiet, are the overarching goals every day.

I've been reading "The Saturdays" by Elizabeth Enright to my 9-year-old daughter at bedtime. It's the story of the Melendy family with four children that mirror my own -- two boys, two girls -- living in a Manhattan contemporary to the time of the book's first publication in 1941. Lamenting not having enough money to do what each really wants, the siblings agree to pool their weekly allowance (a total of $1.60) and take turns privately doing what each likes on Saturdays. By the end, they realize they don't want to go off on their own for a day, but decide instead that it will be more fun to have their adventures as a group. It's the story of working together for a mutual cause and respecting each others' wants and dreams.

Much of the time, my kids are at each others' throats with the predictable arguments of sibling rivalry. But there are those moments of peace, a cease-fire as welcome as a clean kitchen when I see them come together in small ways as an older one stops what he's doing to help a younger with homework. There have been our own Saturday afternoons when one child will prepare lunch for all of the others. Sometimes, they pass a dish at dinner without being asked. As a parent, it's what we strive for -- siblings getting along as friends. There is nothing more encouraging for a parent than to see your kids, with ages spanning many years, playing together as a cohesive unit. The only thing better is when they're doing so out of earshot.

There are nights when bedtimes have passed that I hear the kids talking until late, and part of me wants to stomp in there with my scary father voice and tell them to be quiet, to go to sleep and that they have to get up early in the morning. But another part knows that they have many years ahead of waking up early, and I just want to join them, to be a part of the secrets kids tell late at night, the inside jokes passed back and forth and plans being made.

I've witnessed recently that in times of difficulty, brothers and sisters working as a team can accomplish great things; they can oil the wheels of their machinery even as that machinery is coming apart. We should learn to lean on each other and teach our children to look to one another for strength and advice and an ear when times are tough.

Siblings are there for us forever, and sometimes it takes a fictional family to remind us of this, but sometimes it takes only looking to the person beside us at the dinner table and asking them to pass the potatoes. 

Richard J. Alley is the father of two boys and two girls. Read more from him at uurrff.blogspot.com. Become a fan of "Because I Said So" on Facebook: facebook.com/alleygreenberg. 

© 2012 Memphis Commercial Appeal. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Because I Said So: It's not about who wins -- oh, who are we fooling?

Years ago I got caught up in playing chess online. It was a lot of fun, but maybe a little too fun as I found myself consumed with it, having half a dozen or more games going at once. Some matches were quick, back and forth games, while others, those being played with people on the other side of the planet, were longer affairs with turns being taken during each of our waking hours. I finally had to let it go. I finished a final game and never went back to the site. I was spending too much time thinking about my next moves and checking the status of ongoing games.

So when I received an invitation from Andria to play Words With Friends, Facebook's answer to Scrabble, I hesitated (which would be a great Words With Friends word), and when Kristy then joined in the fray, I wavered (also a good play), but I finally had to sip from the pitcher of Kool-Aid being served me.

I've really only dipped my toe into the pool of possible number of games, but I've found Words With Friends to be just as big a time suck as chess was. But it is highly entertaining, and I keep telling myself that I'm using my brain. I'm using language! It's probably educational.

I've won quite a few games while a couple of opponents (Caleb and Steph) seem unbeatable and are probably cheating, though I haven't figured out how yet. My uncle Aldo from Georgia challenged me to a game out of nowhere and thrummed me soundly. In a follow-up game he seemed to have other things on his mind, or perhaps I was actually playing his son, my 7-year-old cousin Aldo, the entire time, because I managed to eek out a win.

It's been fun, if not time consuming. I'm not sure I'll keep up with it, I may just drop it the way I did cyber-chess. Until that time, though, I'll keep searching for the perfect use for this 'Q' and gleaning whatever column fodder I can from the distractions the Internet offers.

Today's "Because I Said So" column in The Commercial Appeal:

It isn't about winning and losing.

I have a child who comes home from school each day, tackles his homework (always homework first!), and then it's straight to the computer or the Wii for an afternoon of video games. Within a half-hour, I can hear his anguished cries of defeat and near, so very near, expletives.

It's an addiction, the video games. I can see the sweat beading on his forehead when he's away from it too long, the trembling in his thumbs. On Saturday mornings, he's the first one up and standing in front of the television playing whatever his current obsession might be. These days, it's one featuring an elf who may or may not be riding on a seahorse and wielding a large butter knife. I'm awakened by the vocal frustrations of his losing a round to a gnome riding a starfish, or something.

The blips and bright lights of this simulated world are all too real for him, the losses far too personal, and this is an issue.

So we stick with the tried-and-true mantra -- it isn't about winning or losing; it's about enjoying the challenge itself. This, of course, falls on deaf ears, or ears too stimulated by the bells and whistles of the game.

I know of what I speak. I should admit to you that I've stopped writing this column no fewer than three times to check on the seven different games of "Words With Friends" that I have going at the moment. I'm happy to say that I'm winning five of them. This makes for a good afternoon regardless of what we, as parents, insist.

If you're not familiar with "Words With Friends," it's the online version of what we used to call Scrabble. Alec Baldwin was recently and famously removed from an airplane for refusing to end a "Words With Friends" game; it's addictive enough to forfeit first class.

As a child, I spent long evenings with my family around the dining room table attempting to parse vocabulary words from the "Q," "P" and five "E's" in my rack. Aunts and uncles would come over, and we'd make a night out of it with snacks and good-natured competition. The adults appeared to be more interested in winning and not losing.
I'm still playing with my uncle Aldo, who is 500 miles away in Cordele, Ga. And I'm playing with my wife and a friend, who are sitting 6 feet away on the sofa (I'm winning all three of these games).

Is this a new era of family game night? Games are being played, perhaps not in the same room, or even the same time zone. The fun is in the games themselves and not necessarily the winning face-to-face (I just took the lead in a sixth game), and my win over a friend in Midtown is no more enjoyable than the experience of the humiliating defeat at the thumbs of one in East Memphis.

My son isn't yet into "Words With Friends," though I expect he will be soon enough. And when he is, I'm sure he'll be a force to reckon with if his scores on vocabulary tests and his skill maneuvering that seahorse-riding elf are any indication.

Until the time I'm able to crush his spirit in cyber-Scrabble from across the house, or across the room, though, I'll continue preaching the ideology we've discussed.

And, of course, to always do as I say and not as I "D-O" (3 points!). 

Richard J. Alley is the father of two boys and two girls. Read more from him at uurrff.blogspot.com. Become a fan of "Because I Said So" on Facebook: facebook.com/alleygreenberg. 

© 2012 Memphis Commercial Appeal. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Because I Said So: No debate here: Make it a real tree every year

In the previous post, I lamented the process of writing a column. Or, rather, coming up with an idea for a column. As I'll do in such situations, when inspiration is slow (as slow as Christmas sometimes) in striking, I walked around our doughnut-shaped house with pad and pencil in hand and stared at the kids, stared out the windows, peeked into the refrigerator and lay down on the couch in my office.

Later that afternoon, we put up the family Christmas tree in our living room. Kristy went to get one and, while she was gone, I climbed into the attic to pull down the boxes of decorations, dug up the tree stand and cleaned it and told the kids, again and again, to stay away from those decorations until the tree arrived.

And when the tree arrived, while I had my face stuck in it removing it from the van, forcing it into the stand and attempting to right it, the one thing that struck me was the smell. The aroma of this particular tree, for some reason, seemed more pungent than in past years and it flooded me with memories and with the season. And since then, I've heard more people comment on the smells of Christmas as they decorate - their own trees, candles and baking.

So here is this week's column as seen in The Commercial Appeal. Smell it and enjoy.

When I was a kid, the Christmas tree lights we had were the large, outdoor-style lights. They were painted bulbs of red, blue, orange and yellow, and the paint invariably chipped, allowing the pure white light to peek through. I don't know where those lights came from; they predated me, but that strand was something we always had balled up in the collapsing cardboard box of decorations hauled from the attic each year.

For our first Christmas together after my mother remarried, my stepdad, Steve, came home with a 14-foot tree that just barely brushed the peak of the cathedral ceiling in our house in southeast Shelby County. In the place of a metal stand was a crude X of 2-by-4s hammered to the trunk just like in the movies. We raised it and used twine to tie it off to various places in the living room to hold it upright in a scene that would have made Clark Griswold proud. I'm not even sure how, or if, we decorated it to the top.

I've had a Christmas tree in every place I've lived as an adult, and all have had one thing in common -- from my childhood tree weighted down with 50 pounds of lights to the towering spruce of adolescence and the very tree in our living room as I write this -- they've all been real.

I refuse to take part in the real vs. artificial debate. I don't want to hear about your aluminum, your multicolored, your fiber optic. There has never been any choice for me; give me the sap, the imperfections, the needles swept up well into springtime and the smell. That smell is the very scent -- along with baking cookies, cinnamon candles and anticipation -- of the holiday season, the aroma of memories.

The tradition in our house has become one where my wife, Kristy, goes to a lot to find the tree. I have no more business choosing a tree than I have in choosing an assortment of doughnuts for this family; something is always a little off -- too short, half of it is missing or dead, there aren't any chocolate sprinkles on any of these. I buy, I don't shop, and I've been known to walk onto a lot and point at the first tree I see. "Tie that to my car."

So she goes, and she has fun with it, and she always finds a good deal and a pretty tree. My job is to cut it from the car, haul it inside and make it stand upright. My job is to keep from saying things in front of the kids that will keep me on the naughty list. But we manage to stand it up, and have it stay there, every year, and once it's decorated and the kids are standing around watching, despite the imperfections, it's perfect.

Not only does it look perfect, but it smells perfect. It smells just like Christmas.

Richard J. Alley is the father of two boys and two girls. Read more about him and his family at uurrff.blogspot.com. Alley and Stacey Greenberg, the mother of two boys, take turns on Thursdays telling stories of family life in Memphis. Read more from her at fertilegroundzine.com and diningwithmonkeys.com. Become a fan of "Because I Said So" on Facebook: facebook.com/alleygreenberg.

Candy Corn in the Pipeline

GK called out for me this morning when she woke up so I picked her up and carried her to my office. We sat on the couch and she fell back to sleep curled up in my lap while I read. I wish I could have stayed right there the rest of the day, partly because she's very sweet when she's asleep and partly to procrastinate even further on things I need to do.

I have 13 stories in the pipeline, plus That Other Thing, and the pipeline appears to be plugged someplace. I think the blockage is probably me napping in a fetal position because nothing is getting through. The paid writing (and napping) is also why I've been ignoring this blog, I suppose.

So today I have to find a globe and figure out where England is, then go to Cooper-Young to interview some kids from Nottingham, England. I've done five interviews in the past week and haven't written any of them up, so there's that. I was trying to work out lunch with Kristy, but her job is keeping her unconscionably busy lately. I need to nap.

I should vote for mayor today, too. I wrote my column in today's Commercial Appeal about that very thing, so I feel obligated now. I'm not taking GK, though, because she eventually woke up, crawled out of my lap and put on a dress with a shirt over it.

The shirt has a picture of candy corn on it and reads "Sweet." She says it's because candy is sweet, but I think it's because she is.

Yes, Virginia ...

I believe in Santa Claus. Of course I do. But I don't believe that Santa coordinates all those elves and toy making and delivering. No, that would be Mrs. Claus.

Luckily, I have a Mrs. Claus here at the house. She does the planning and the buying and the baking and makes the gift decisions. I ... carry the tree into the house. It's a lot of responsibility, really.

Oh, and then, after Christmas, I carry it back out and dump it on the street.

But Christmas around here happens because Kristy makes it happen, and without her, well, all we'd be celebrating is the winter solstice. Maybe we'd make some popcorn, or watch a little TV. Perhaps a trip to Walgreens so the kids could pick out their favorite size of battery. It certainly wouldn't be the time of year filled with wrapped gifts and cookies and a decorated tree.

So, thank you, Kristy. And Merry Christmas to all the Mrs. Clauses out there who, I know, are the busiest and jolliest of the elves.