"A Dog + a Little Girl + An Automatic Car Window = Family Nightmare" Or "What You Gonna Do When Life Poops on You?"

It was an ordinary day. We had no reason to think it would spiral into a nightmare for my 8-year-old daughter, Kristin--and for our chronically shabby, ungroomed schnauzer named Frosty (Frosty's a she by the way).

The family was packed into the Blazer, making a rare trip to Frosty's groomer. Lined up on the backseat are Mike to one side, Frosty on the opposite side, and little Kristin wedged in between them (Frosty is a space hog in the car--and for a child to avoid having a doggy butt in their face...they have to give Frosty room to find her perfect "snout-out- window" position.)

Like every other dog, Frosty loves to go "bye-bye" in the car, head out the window, tongue lolling out to the side, slobbering on my windows--socializing via barks with passing furry friends and catching up on all the doggy news with every whif out the window. On this day, she was enjoying just such a joy ride.

(Kristin and Frosty sharing happier moments.)

Witness accounts vary on what happened next. All agree it happened quickly, quite without warning.

Just as we are driving into the driveway of the groomer's home, I decided to shut the window Frosty is not using...or so I THOUGHT she was not using. Turns out Frosty was in full snout out position at that window...thus getting her neck caught in the automatic window, thus trying to pull her head back, thus couldn't, thus yipped loudly, and thus..and thus...she immediately POOPED AND PEED...right on poor, innocent, and WAY unsuspecting Kristin. Her neck, hands, leg, chest...the kid was covered in dog poop and pee!!

In less than 5 seconds we had a 4-alarm family "fun" situation happening.

Kristin didn't cry...didn't freak out...didn't throw-up, though the stench was unbearable (nothing like raw, fresh dog poop in an enclosed car...nothing my friend). We think Kristin found some alternative plane of reality to inhabit, a place where bunnies and other furry friendly animals frolick in the meadow with the butterflies and the wise old owl and a friend named Pooh--her happy place if you will, a space of denial and disbelief...(the kind of place us Florida State football fans have tried to find for about 5 years now).

My wife Karen found a few napkins in the car (some already used) and made a few brave and daring motherly attempts to clean up this hazardous waste disaster, but even her maternal instinct was overwhelmed by this funk--there was no way to undo what Frosty done did. "Drive faster!" she said as she rolled down the windows.

The drive home to get cleaned up was only 5 minutes (though the longest 5 minutes in my daughter's life).

She was okay...she began talking again several weeks later. :)

Sometimes life...poops and pees on you. Whether you are good, bad, rich, poor, smart or stupid, careful or risk-taking, purposeful or pointless, lazy or hard-working--life is going to poop or pee on you. I promise you. When that happens--what you gonna do?

What this world needs...and what kids need, are parents and adults who don't fly off the handle, freak out, flake out, fall apart, or freeze in fear when life poops on them. How we handle the tough times speaks volumes about our character and does worlds in giving our kids a great example of strength they will respect and imitate. Not to mention the sense of security they get from knowing they can count on you in tough times. (Hey, we all have times when poop times get the best of us. But what is our typical, consistent response? That is what's most important.)

Now, when friends ride in the back seat of my vehicle (different car--obviously had to sell the Blazer after the "incident"), they might see dog slobber on the car window.

When they ask "What's this?"
I say, "Dog slobber, no worries!"
"Dog slobber? Gross!"
"It could be worse...much, much worse," and I smile.

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Caring About What People Think: The Hat, The Car, The Suit, The House

My Dad The Hat

THE HAT

This hat looks much better than the one my dad wore to our Father's day meal this year...at a restaurant...in public. Whereas the hat to the right might be seen at a country music concert, dad's wouldn't be. His was kind of lopsided and crushed down on one side, had more black spots, was frayed around the edges, but had a very festive, decorative band. Not to mention this hat was HUGE--I almost didn't see dad under there!

It struck me as one of those "lucky" hats one has worn for decades, more for sentimental reasons than for any real practical use, now relegated to being worn during yardwork--not meant for restaurant wear. It was hard to miss--though I was hoping everyone would.

No such luck. Quite a few snickers from onlookers and a couple of sets of rolled eyes from the grandkids proved I was not alone. I was so embarrassed, so suddenly, I was surprised. But it was not the first time, oh no...

THE CAR (STATION WAGON)

Just before I began junior high, dad bought a beat up old gold station wagon that spewed large clouds of black exhaust and started and stopped with a gunshot backfire and a frame-jarring shudder. Oh, and the best part? This car had a hood colored bright "primer" blue. Dad bought the car for $700 with the promise of getting it repainted one day. That never happened.

Every day of junior high, my arrival was announced by a large cloud of smoke and a "ka-BOOM" that stopped every conversation and turned every head (sending some of the more skittish kids running for cover). I leapt from "the heap" as it trembled violently (if mom stopped totally it would stall and possibly not restart) to the amusement of the kids from the local Washington Park projects who were being dropped off in Cadillacs and other big, nice, new cars.

Sure they lived in the projects and lived off food stamps and my dad owned a music store and a rental property, but as dad would point out--"at least my car is paid for." I would counter this with my junior high wisdom that I wished I had their parents cause at least they understood the importance of cool and of not just getting there, but "arriving."

Paid for. Who cares? I wanted prestige. Apparently the “prestige gene” was missing from my dad. The “paid for” gene was in charge. That station wagon with the unpainted hood was with the Kochenburger family through my college years. (One victory--I did successfully lobby not to be driven to my high school graduation in it. I was driven in my older brother's car which was one color.)

THE SUIT (WRINKLED AND MISMATCHED)

My father showed up for one of my middle school concerts driving the heap (I had stayed at school to avoid having to be driven in it). Parents of my friends from the projects (mostly single mothers) showed up too. But whereas they were dressed to "the nines"...my dad was dressed to the "two minus", in a wrinkled, outdated sport coat with equally wrinkled and mismatched shirt and pants. Dad didn't put a whole lot of stock in gazing at himself in mirrors, wasted no time on matching colors--comfort was rule #1 and overruled all else.

My junior high heart was mortified, to the point that I avoided sitting with him, paying visits to my friends, leaving him to stand alone with no one to talk to. Finally, after the room had cleared a bit, I went over to him. Even though he had done it again--lowered my coolness factor a few notches.

THE MESSY HOUSE

My dad likes everything in his house to be where he can find it...which means everything is all over the place all the time. He also doesn't like to throw anything away because "you never know when you might need this", including warped 2x4's, many empty gallon milk jugs, various lengths of PVC pipe, lengths of twine and rope, flower pots, large boxes of screws and nails--all unsorted, the list goes on. (His explanation for this was having learned during the depression that you don't waste anything...and I think part of some plan to hedge against when the next one hits.)

Bottom line...my brothers and I and our younger sister didn't invite friends over to hang out at our house. Besides, it took training to navigate--we didn't want to lose anyone in the clutter.

Who's Right, Me or Dad?

All this to say, it isn't just the hat. My dad has never had that something in him (let's call it that "prestige" gene) that cares about what other people think of him based on outward appearances and making impressions. And that has variously mystified, frustrated, angered, disappointed, mortified, or embarrassed me in my teen years when I knew everything and was certain I was right about most things, especially the the whole image thing. But now, with me at 46 years old, why the reaction to the hat?

It got me thinking. And as I noodled, I realized that at 46, I born of the "prestige" gene, may NOT be as right nor my dad as wrong as I had always thought.

After all, he has a lot less to worry about than I do. This maintaining appearances and making impressions business can get nerve-wracking! He is really happy as he is, pretty carefree in most regards. We throw too much away in America. And, you can't argue with refusing to go into debt to purchase something that depreciates as quickly as a car.

I am willing to allow my dad that maybe he and I are about 50-50 on the whole "prestige and image" thing. He could care more, I could care less. So to the words "embarrassed" and "mortified" by my dad, let me add the word..."humbled" as well. I am still learning from dad.

Here are a few other thoughts and observations...

My embarrassment is my problem, not dad's.

Dad was happy that day wearing his hat, looking how he wanted to look. I was the only one who was unhappy. It was my problem and I needed to get over it to be happy. What I eventually told myself was, "Jim, that's your dad under that hideous hat...now give him a kiss and get down to the business of the day, honoring him as your father, who always did his best for you--and who just might have it more right than you do on the appearances and image thing."

At least dad was there

Wrinkle-suited as he might have been, he was in my life and he was interested in me and what I was doing. Many of my friends from the projects didn't have their dad there. Their dad wasn't around, wasn't interested. And dad and mom have been my biggest fans in life--always interested in what I am doing. They love the new site http://www.parentconsensus.com/ and all my books, including the latest one, 101 Movie Clips That Get Families Talking http://www.parentconsensus.com/index.php?p=Store (which was part of my gift to him for Father's Day).

I'll take them being there for me and showing interest in me over a nice car and good fashion sense any day.

Freedom from what people think is a key to happiness

I love those freeing moments when I don't care at all what people think. Those are some of my happiest times. That I am able to go there at all is a gift from my father. Maybe that "paid off" gene will rise up and overcome that "prestige" gene some day.

Don't let your child, teenager or young adult's image fears and insecurities control you.

Be sensitive to how self-conscious they are. Don't do things purposefully to provoke them or to get them "over it" (that means don't embarrass them on purpose with hopes they will desensitize). But don't let their fears and concerns dictate your behavior. Don't let their insensitive comments get to you. Your security in yourself, and refusal to be overly concerned with what others think (even them) are two of the most important things you can model.

I hope you too find some freedom from what people think today. Do at least one thing today that you don't care what ANYONE thinks about...even your middle school child.

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