The Show Must Go On

This past Thursday night I had the chance to see my son appear in the fourth grade spring concert. It was exciting for everybody except my son. Chris was upset that he had to miss his little league game against the Yankees that night and had no interest in playing the William Tell Overture on his baritone. I suggested to Rosanna that maybe he could play ball instead of baritone. With one glare from my wife it was obvious to me that any further talk of missing a school concert could result in my immediate castration, or worse (if there is worse - I hear from other husbands that there is!).


For those of you parents new to the game, I have managed to put together some basic advice on what to expect when you're going to an elementary school concert.


For starters, your child will have to wear a white shirt. I think that it would make more sense to let them go dark on the wardrobe. Black can hide pudding, chocolate chips, grease stains, and charcoal. By the time some of those kids get on stage their white shirts are polka dot. Somebody please alert every music department in America that if black was good enough for Johnny Cash it's good enough for the fourth grade band.



Make sure you arrive early. For a 7:30pm concert I suggest getting there at least a day in advance so that you can be first on line to get a close seat. No seat should be considered to close. One parent was very upset to hear that she couldn't sit in the french horn section.


Bring lots of clothes. You won't be wearing them during the concert, they are to be used for saving seats for your family members who are on their way. On each chair place either a jacket, scarf, hat, sock, whatever is available to reserve your seat. Be careful not to sit near anybody who has a big family as they may be in their birthday suit by the time they are done saving seats.


Do yell things like "WOO-HOO" followed by your child's name whenever you get the chance to. The best time is in between songs. Be sure to yell loudly as you will have to try to drown out that annoying applause.


Afterwards be sure to go to a local family restaurant with the rest of town. Every child that appeared in concert will be there with their family. Be prepared to wait a minimum of three hours for a table. There will be a staff of about two people working that night so it could take another 45 minutes for a glass of water after you collapse into a booth. Bring ear plugs. Even though the maximum occupancy will be 200 people it will sound like you're at a Giants playoff game. When leaving the restaurant take a moment to take in the scene of absolute destruction that has been left behind for the staff to clean up and tip accordingly.


In closing Readers, enjoy your kids concerts. Just promise me one thing - if you're going to scream "Woo-Hoo," please don't sit behind me. I hear there are some good seats behind the tuba player.


The Frazzled Father

The First Time

My first "Big Deal" family story that I had published was in Newsday. Everybody close to me was excited about it with the exception of one close family member, who shall remain nameless, who was concerned that all the elementary school children who read Newsday would see that I mentioned a "pusher." Anyhow, here it is - thanks to my editor Aileen Barber at Newsday for all her help and for believing in the story.

The Cookie Monsters Are Back Again

A pack of elves in pastry-chef hats have moved into my living room. It's not the Keebler family I have to blame. It's my wife, who decided to take on the duty of "Girl Scout cookie mom" for my daughter's troop.

I can only surmise that an 18-wheeler pulled up the other day and dropped 10,000 cases of Do-Si-Dos and other assorted favorites into my house. My neighbor told me in confidence that he saw a team of what looked like 50 Oompa-Loompas with hand carts drop off enough chocolate to make Hershey's jealous.

"These will be out of here in a few days," Rosanna said to me from behind a wall of Thin Mints, reading my mind as any good wife can. "We have a few extra cases, because I'm holding the cookies that we're going to sell the next two weekends at the supermarket parking lot."

I'm pretty sure that I heard the sounds of a Hi-Lo moving crates of chocolate chips behind the television set. I grimaced as I thought back to last year's parking-lot cookie sale. That's where the leaders set up card tables loaded with cookies and send the girls off to sharpen their sales skills with the public, while dodging traffic and shopping carts.

Willie Loman they aren't, but typically, after 200 "please-please-pleases!" they are able to shake down a few shoppers.

"How much for a box of Tagalongs?" I asked.

"They're $3.50 a box, but the first one's on me," Rosanna said, sounding like a schoolyard pusher who gives the first taste out on the house.

I sensed danger as I put the first cookie in my mouth. I could feel the beautiful blend of peanut butter and chocolate ignite my senses. What was this going to cost me?

"I should probably move out for a couple of days," I said.

She raised an eyebrow.

"At $3.50 a box, I'm afraid I'm going to end up owing the Girl Scouts a couple of thousand dollars by the end of the weekend." I imagined a gang of Scouts showing up at my door to collect on my binge.

"Don't be silly," Rosanna said. "How many boxes of cookies can you eat?"

"Well this box of Tagalongs is almost done."

"Already?" she shrieked.

Later that evening I thought back to the year my daughter won the award for selling the most boxes of cookies. She sold about 12 boxes, and I moved approximately 400 at the office for her. My peers honored me with an award, "World's Ugliest Girl Scout."

I truly believe that behind every great Girl Scout cookie seller stands a parent who is one Thin Mint away from joining Weight Watchers.

The First Frazzle

Welcome to my blog where I promise to write about the phenomenon of parenting. This blog is going to focus on the day to day activities that make a parent scratch their head fifty or sixty times by dinnertime. For example, when you leave your daughter alone for two seconds near a pair of scissors and she decides to cut her own hair (guilty). Or when your four-year-old son decides to go "full-monty" in the pew five minutes into Father Gallagher's sermon (also guilty). All the things that helped me become a "Frazzled Father."

I'm sure I'll spend some time on other things that cause a parent to frazzle as well. Like the time my wife and I got into a horrible fight about my dirty socks and where they belong (not on the bathroom floor guys). Or why as I approach the age of forty I still find boogers and gas to be a great source of entertainment. My wife is still amazed that I can remember things like Gary Carter's batting average in August of 1986 but after five years of living in the same house I still can't remember what the trash schedule is.

In closing, my goal is to have a new post up on this blog at least every week. I hope you guys will read it, enjoy it, and recommend it to your friends. I'd also like to thank my wife, Rosanna, and my kids for giving me the material to keep such a blog. Remember, it's all in fun - right Honey?

Sincerely,
The Frazzled Father