Guardians of Twilight’s Shroud
Fathers, guardians of twilight's shroud,
Defend our dreams, both fierce and proud,
They shield us from brutal storms,
With love, their armor, in all its forms.
They work each day, in toil and sweat,
Ensuring that our needs are met,
Their wisdom and love a guiding light,
That helps us make the journey right.
Abel Keogh
6/17/2023
Spend 4 days this week off the grid in the High Uintas with my teenage boys. Camped near Ryder Lake, ~10,600 ft. above sea level. High recommend the scenery and getting off the grid. Highly recommend getting a way for a few days to recharge.
Recently I did a webinar with the Open to Hope foundation about celebrating Father's Day when you've lost a child or father. You can watch the webinar below below.
About the webinar: Father’s Day honors fathers and celebrates fatherhood. Yet for fathers who have lost a child or father, the day can be difficult or painful. Join author Abel Keogh, Dr. Heidi Horsley and Dr. Gloria Horsley who will discuss how you can manage this holiday. If you are a father who has lost a child or someone who has lost their father, this webinar is a perfect way to start the journey toward hope and healing.
Wating for totality, August 21, 2017. Rigby, Idaho.
We drove up to southeast Idaho this weekend to experience the total solar eclipse. It was part family vacation, part goodbye-to-summer trip (school started yesterday!), and part hoping we could experience a once-in-a-lifetime event together as a family. (It’s also something I’ve been planning since January.) I couldn’t have asked for a better trip. There was minimal fighting and arguing, I got to know some of Marathon Girl’s extended family better, and there was nothing but clear, blue skies the morning of the big day.
And then there was the eclipse itself: Sitting on lawn chairs watching as the shape of the sun shrink from a round, yellow ball to a thin, yellow bear claw, realizing you could no longer feel the heat of the sun on your skin, and watching shadow bands wigging across the cement. It was exciting and unreal all at the same time.
Three of my kids watching the solar eclipse, August 21, 2017. Rigby, Idaho.
Then there was totality.
Totality. The most magnificent celestial event that I’ve ever witnessed. The photos I’ve seen on social media and as part of news stories are incredible, but even the best of them don’t do it justice. It’s something that you have to experience in person to really understand how astounding and amazing it really is.
In Rigby, Idaho we experienced two minutes and fourteen seconds of totality. It was the fastest one hundred and thirty-four seconds of my life and not anywhere near enough time to take it all in. Just a couple of things I noticed during totality included:
It was like standing on an alien world.
I wanted it to last forever.
And just like that, it was over. The sun peeked out from behind the moon, light flooded the world, and life returned to normal.
But what made the event really unforgettable wasn’t just seeing a total eclipse with my own eyes—it was experiencing it with Marathon Girl and our kids. It was seeing them jump up and down with excitement, hearing their cheers as everything went dark, and listen to them talk about how cool it was to see on the (long!) drive home.
The kids excited to leave on our Idaho eclipse trip, August 19, 2017.
I’m happy I got to experience it but even more delighted it wasn’t something I did alone. Events like this are made sweeter when you experience them with family, friends, and others you love. It those kind of memories that will be talked about and passed down decades after the event. It’s those kind of memories that last forever.
There will be another solar eclipse in the United States in 2024. My advice is to do everything you can to see it. (If you live outside the U.S., find the next near you here.) But when you go see it, bring along at least one person you love. Things like total solar eclipses are best experienced with someone at your side.
With the arrival of this little cutie this week, our family is now complete. Both Marathon Girl and the little one are doing well. The older kids also seem excited about having a new sister in their lives. Let the wonderful memories and the sleepless nights begin again.
Several years ago I noticed something different how my kids played games with me. When chasing them or involved in some other activity, instead of calling “time out” when I got to close or they got to tired, they’d hold up their hands vertically so they were parallel with each other and “pause” the game—just like a video game. Even though they don’t spend a lot of time playing games, I found it curious that video games had that much influence on their free play.
In the last couple of months, another video game influence has crept into our playtime—one that never would have crossed my mind when I was a kid. Now when, say I’m a monster and chasing them around the house, I have to tell them what level (read: difficulty) I’m playing at.
It started during Christmas break. The kids built a big fort out of the couch cushions. I saw it and decided to attack it. The kids thought this was lots of fun. However, after the kids beat me back a couple of times the oldest (a 10-year-old boy) said: “Dad, you’re not a very hard monster. Why don’t you level up.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“You know, be a harder monster. Go up to a level or two. Right now you’re playing like a level one. You’re too easy to beat.”
It took me a second to realize what my oldest son was asking me to do. In many of the video games he likes to play, enemy combatants or monsters start out easy but get progressively harder as his character and skill level improves. He wants me to do the same thing.
Needless to say the other kids thought this was a great idea as they rebuilt the fort, they told me to come back with a higher level.
So I came back as a level three monster. I was harder to beat but the kids still managed to take me down. Then I came back as a level four monster. Then level five. Then level six. We played until I came back as a level 20 monster. It took them several minutes but they finally managed to take the monster down. By that time we were all sweaty and exhausted. I told the kids that level 20 was as high as this monster could go today and that they were awesome for beating such a strong monster.
I didn’t give the leveling up thing a second thought until two days later when they kids asked me to be the monster and chase them around the house. After I agreed to play, the six-year-old son asked what level I was starting out on and how high my levels went. Now before I play any kind of chase or monster game with them I have to let them know what level I’m starting at and how high my levels go.
Admittedly, this has made playing these kinds of games much more fun to play. With each level I come up with some new and exciting powers that the kids don’t know about and they in turn have to figure out how to deal with. Apparently this makes it more fun for the kids to play too because ever since we started doing this the requests to be a monster or chase them around the house has gone up dramatically.
Though I still restrict how much time my kids play video games, I have to tip my hat to them for pulling some game ideas over into the real world.
I can’t wait to see what video game themes they bring over into our next game.
Five years and one job ago I worked with someone whose wife coached soccer. While he was supportive of his wife, every spring he would comment that he hated the spring soccer season because it was always cold and/or rainy and/or windy. At the time, I didn't think much about what he said. Our boys were two young to play organized sports and I was leaning more toward putting them in other sports.
Years have passed. The older boys have gravitated toward basketball and football. Our oldest daughter prefers gymnastics and tumbling. The five year old watches with insane jealously every time they go to practice or compete at their games. Last fall we put in him soccer because that's the only sport they allow pre-kindergarten students to play. He loved it and enjoyed every moment of it. All winter he talked about wanting to play it again. February rolled around and so it was time for spring soccer signups. While I was in the process of registering him, the thought flashed through my mind what my co-worker said about the weather. I looked at the calendar and realized games didn't start until April and figured the weather wouldn't be much of an issue.
April rolled around and the season started. All the practices have been ice cold. All the games have been rainy or windy. My five year old has had a blast but it's been less than enjoyable for me and the other parents to watch the games and practices in such conditions. Last Saturday was his only bye week. That day it was 80 degrees and sunny. The forecast for his game tomorrow is 58 degrees with a 60% chance of rain.
The gods look down and laugh.
Views from Salamander Flats. Uinta National Forest. Camping. Hiking. Fun.
Last week our oldest child came home from school and proudly announced that he had a Gmail account and wanted to email his friend. This announcement took me and Marathon Girl by surprise. Email? In third grade? I assumed this day would come but I thought it would be something I’d be dealing with in toward the end of elementary school—not at the close of third grade.
Curious to see what was going on, I logged into my laptop and the next thing I know he’s typing in a username and password and there’s an inbox full of email messages from him and his friends have sent over the last couple of days. Then he proceeded to show me that he could email any student in the school district. He typed in the name of a girl who lived next door to us before we moved. Her name came on the screen and he typed her a quick message and clicked Send.
“I don’t know how I feel about you having a Gmail account,” I said.
“It’s not a regular Gmail, dad,” he replied. “It’s a school account that works with Gmail. It’s totally safe. The block out the bad stuff.”
Turns out the kid was right—well mostly right, anyway. After doing a little research I learned that the school district, starting in the third grade, gives kids in their own district email account that is run through Gmail. And apparently they do have decent safety standards because I tried to sending him test emails from work and other email accounts and all were bounced back as being undeliverable. Still, nothing is ever 100% secure in the online world. I work for a company sells computer security software to businesses. It’s a great product but I’m also well aware of the limitations that such products have.
So we’re letting him use email—for now. We really don’t want to discourage him (or any of our other kids) from learning computer technology or using email—especially where our oldest has such a gift for learning anything related to computers, smartphones, and tablets. The challenge is to find the balance between letting him learn and keeping him safe from all the online garbage out there. We have basic computer rules at home (Mom and Dad have access to everything they do online, the computer is a public space, no interactions with strangers, etc.) but now we’re going to have to incorporate some email rules too.
My only real complaint about the email incident has to do with the school district. It would have been nice to be notified that our kid would be getting an email address before he got one so we could have talked about email safety and rules ahead of the game.
Even though I’m a technical person, I always figured keeping up with my kids and new technology would be a challenge. Thankfully, I got an early reminder that it’s time to up my game.
It’s time I return that World’s Greatest Dad Award.
Yeah, I know, that award is bestowed upon almost every dad on Father’s Day usually in the form of a coffee mug or T-shirt. And for the most part every dad who gets one of those deserves it.
Usually, I do enough to earn it—at least in the eyes of my kids.
But I’m returning my latest award it because I don’t deserve it.
Not by a long shot.
For those who have never received the World’s Greatest Dad Award, you really need to do two things to be worth of it.
First, you need to father offspring. That’s the easy part.
Then you need to do, at the very least, basic dad stuff like throwing a football with your kid, teaching them how to ride a bike, and going camping with them.
Pulling your six-year-old son’s loose tooth. Yeah, that World’s Greatest Dad stuff.
Screwing up the tooth fairy end of things?
Well, that’s why I’m returning the award.
Yesterday I pulled a lose tooth for my six-year-old son right before bedtime. As I tucked him in, he went to bed rubbing that empty spot in his mouth with his tongue, excited that the tooth fairy would be leaving some money under his pillow. I make a mental note to return in a couple hours and make sure the tooth fairy showed up.
Then, well, I kind of forgot to check.
I didn’t realize my mistake until the next morning. I was finishing up a run on the treadmill when the kid walks into the room with a concerned look on his face.
“The tooth fairy didn’t come,” he says dejectedly.
I just about fall off the treadmill.
Before I can say anything he adds, “Maybe it was because of the storm last night. Maybe she couldn’t get here because of the rain and the wind.”
“I think you’re right,” I say between breaths. “She’ll probably come after breakfast.”
I end my run a few minute later and head upstairs to get breakfast ready for the kids. Marathon Girl comes down and in a low voice I tell her that the tooth fairy didn’t come last night.
Marathon Girl gives me the look. Yeah, you know what look I’m talking about. That look. The Fix-it-or -Else look.
I tell her not to worry and I’ll take care of everything. I’m not the World’s Greatest Dad for nothing.
So while the kids are eating I head downstairs and discover that the tooth fairy has indeed left some money and the tooth is gone. In fact it looks like the tooth fairy has slipped in an extra dollar because she was late and caused a six-year-old boy to needlessly worry.
Feeling like I dodged a bullet I head up to our room to shower knowing that by the time I’m done I’ll hear an story about the tooth fairy coming during breakfast.
Only it didn’t quite work out way.
As expected, there the six year old had found that the tooth fairly had arrived and left a little more money than usual. Excitement abounded.
The World’s Greatest Dad knows how to make things right.
Then my son paused and asks, “Why did the tooth fairy leave me a receipt?”
“What receipt?” I say.
“A receipt from a restaurant,” he says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a long, white piece of paper. “It was stuck between my two dollars.”
I’m speechless.
I turn to Marathon Girl for help. She gives me the You-Really-Screwed-Up Look--the one all husbands get at least twice a year from their wives. It’s followed by the Fix-it-or -Else look that I got a few minutes earlier.
In other words, she’s not going to help me. I’ve got to solve this on my own.
“Oh, she probably stopped and got some breakfast this morning on her way here,” I say as I take the receipt from his fingers and set it on the counter. “But hey, you got an extra dollar. And that’s really cool.”
The Art of Distraction is something the World’s Greatest Dad knows well. It usually works wonders on kids this age.
Not this time.
“I don’t understand why she would leave a receipt,” he says truly mystified.
“Well, maybe it was so you’d know why she was late.”
“Maybe,” he says, but I can tell deep down he’s not buying it.
I hurry and get them ready for school. He doesn’t say anything on the drive over but I can tell the wheels in his head are spinning. He likes to solve problems. That’s the kind of kid he is.
By lunch he'll probably put two and two together and figure it all out.
Meanwhile, I'll take the World’s Greatest Dad trophy down from my shelf. Maybe I’ll put it up next year if I can do enough to earn it back.
And, yes, I still plan on pulling all of my kids teeth when they get really loose but I’m leaving the rest of it to Marathon Girl.
They don’t call her the World’s Greatest Mom for nothing.