Election journey a wild ride

In just over five months, it seems I have lived a whole new life.
Running for regional council in my municipality in the election of 2010 was an amazing experience, filled with many ups, downs and in-betweens. I had to try and I firmly believed I was not only suited to the role, but it could have become my true calling, my next career move.
Alas, it wasn't to be and I finished a respectable second, earning 1,528 votes, a decent 23.39% of the vote (2nd in a field of 4). A total of 5,559 votes were cast in my town of Bolton.
This election was fraught with challenges and when they say small town politics can be weird, awful and dirty, boy were they right! Plenty of all three to go around.
My family was rock-solid in their support. My wife was my foundation and my campaign manager; my three kids beat the pavement with dear, old dad and my father-in-law walked more kilometres in two months than in the past 2 years!
I liken the experience to the most strenuous job interview imaginable! Knock on 8,500 doors, give your personal sales pitch to total strangers; write speeches and deliver those speeches at public debates attended by hundreds of people; hope and pray you don't do or say anything stupid and hope for the best. Spent many sleepless nights pondering the what-ifs and why-nots and what-abouts. Second guess yourself constantly.
I found the caliber of fellow candidates to be quite high and they all something to offer. I met some great people and I hope some will remain my friends.
This competition was unlike any other contest of human strength and stamina. It tested everything you have and everything you are. For adrenaline junkies, it's strangely addictive.
We all longed for the end, but of course we all longed for victory. There can be only one per seat!
After the election, I was flooded with emotions and came crashing down. I spoke some fellow candidates and we were somewhat lost, wondering just how to fill those hours and how we would ever return to "normal."
Maybe we won't. But that's not a bad thing.
Life won't ever be "normal" after such a journey.
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!

Kids and politics

Kids are unique. And often, they just don't mix well with many other of this world's ingredients.
Kind of like oil and water.
Kids and politics - two terms you seldom hear uttered in the same breath. And for good reason.
But I went against the grain and dragged all three of my charges to the town hall to witness history in the making. I made them watch as dear, old dad submitted his nomination papers to run for regional council in this fall's municipal election. I even took pictures outside town hall and a good citizen stopped to snap one of me and my brood. Felt like tourists, but it was fun.
Of course, I had to explain to them the intricacies of local politics in several car rides where I had their full attention. Not easy teaching local government 101 to eager beavers who have limited attention spans. But I think I got my message across.
I told them I'd be busy over the next few months, getting out and about meeting and greeting people and talking with them about local issues. They were already primed, given my years as editor of the local newspaper, so this won't shock their tiny systems. I also told them people aren't always nice during election campaigns and mud will be thrown. They wondered why. I do, too.
My son's solution was, of course, fitting for a young male. A well placed kick to a sensitive spot on the body, was his recommendation. But his comment made me think of the conflicts that typically arise in a school yard or sports field. Maybe kids do have an understanding of politics after all!
I've wanted to run for politics for years, but my newspaper career prevented me from exploring this level of public service. Now, the timing is perfect and I'm eager to roll up my sleeves and get to work!
It's a strange thing, trying to garner public support for a job. It's like trying to prove to thousands of potential bosses that you're the most qualified and best suited person for the job. And so, over the weeks and months to come, I will try to do just that. In the end, the grueling "interview" will be conducted by literally thousands of my fellow citizens, who will judge me, question me, test me, poke me and prod me.
As scary as that seems, there are three souls who have my back - my kids. They've given me the thumbs-up and that's the fuel in my tank that I need to hit the ground running.
I hope I make them proud!

Ill prepared to deal with sugar and spice

Dads, despite their unique and ever-evolving place within the hierarchy of the species, are still somewhat limited in what they can, and cannot accomplish, in the parenting department. Particularly with girl children.
Today's dads have little in the way of any practical child-rearing experience, unless of course they were the proverbial and physical heads of the household at an early age.
My only ace in the hole is my "wisdom" - the tools and know-how I've accumulated in my years stumbling around this planet. Of course, that stumbling seldom landed me in a library or on a parenting website.
Nothing prepared me for raising girls. Girls make me nervous, always have. They intimidate me, always have.
So, is it any wonder I'm somewhat threatened by my own female offspring? And like jackals, they sense the fear and apprehension in this old dog - they smell it! I can hear them yelping right now!
The result? I allow my eldest, a pre-teen, to often get the better of me. She may not have mastered the Internet (thank goodness), but she's a pro at manipulating dear, old dad, most of the time with very little effort at all. When asked to dash off to a friend's house down the street, I assume it's okay, even though I have no way of contacting her when it gets dark. Rollerblading with a couple of friends through subdivision streets? Sounds like a plan, I say. Bringing friends over to "play" in the basement or watch movies? No problem. I even offer to make popcorn.
Fortunately for husbands like myself, we have wives to read us the riot act, um, set us straight. After our lapses in judgement, we are informed about the error of our ways and are then told to commit these reprogrammed responses to memory for future use. We shyly offer up a few well meaning "buts" and "I thoughts" and these are laid waste by the female heads of the household - the true power brokers.
I've asked my wife, time and again, for her personal handbook, or the Coles Notes version of Parenting for Dopey Daddies, but she's not very forthcoming. I think our female counterparts like to keep these things close to the vest, and keep their males somewhat perplexed. The more chips on your side of the poker table, the better armed you are to go "all in" when necessary. See, even my analogies are male-dominated! We males like to play poker, chess and watch sci-fi, attempting to summon applicable tidbits from card game strategies and years of Star Trek. But, alas, there are few pointers in this pile of accumulated drivel that are perfectly suited to raising assertive female children.
I wouldn't say we're wreckless, by any stretch of the imagination. Dumb, yes, careless, no. But our women folk don't see the clear distinction or even the gray areas.
My first born soon be on her way, exploring the world and changing it forever. There's no doubt in my mind she'll be more than up to the task when the time comes. My role in molding her ended years ago. My "rein" was short indeed, from birth to about age five, when her brain was still in its formative, sponge-like stages and I was placed, rightly so, on my pedestal.
Now, all I get is attitude, lip, know-it-all determination, even lectures about my approach. While I can't place it, this sounds vaguely familiar.
Well, I still maintain my undisputed titles of "joker" and "goofball" that took years to learn and sharpen.
My youngest girl child is another matter all together. She's supposed to be still under my charms, at least technically speaking. But she's found a loophole in the system and has discovered a way, early on, to usurp my authority. This girly-girl is my cutie and I'm still figuring out the intricacies of lip gloss, Barbies, hair pretties and every shade of the colour pink. But don't let her angelic face fool you. Her diminutive frame is a powerhouse of stubbornness - it's her way or the highway. Given her closeness to the ground, she's also tough to move when cemented firmly in place.
She's a small concoction of conflicting metaphors. Sugar and spice to be sure, along with a sprinkling of oregano, yogurt and brown rice. Did I mention females intimidate me? When she crosses those arms and attempts to place a angry frown upon her face, look out! She wants you to know she's upset and for very good reasons.
Again, due to my maleness, I often provoke her, instread of trying to console her. I'll tell her that her face will stick that way, or that being angry will only make her more upset inside. I'll debate the finer points of who's the boss in a battle of wits, only to be reminded - again by the real head of the household - that she's only little and I'm acting immature! I need to show her coping mechanisms and try to alleviate her angst with a well placed tickle to the tummy or an offer to hold a tea party in her honour.
The bottom line - she wins, I lose.
But this little charmer does have her soft side. When she smiles, widens those eyes and comes running with arms outstretched, I'm helpless to resist. I bend like overdone pasta. When she's grumpy and I assume the pose of a fire-breathing dragon looking for a tasty girl snack, she giggles with delight - musical notes that only dads can hear.
I guess being unnerved by the females in our lives has its advantages - it makes us try harder!
After all, a king can never have too many princesses.

Lighter Side of Parenting

These bedbugs pack a punch!

I awoke the other morning with a dull ache in my nether region, the bit of geography typically hidden by a loin cloth or fig leaf - at least in story books. I've never seen either of these for sale at Walmart or Winners.
Being the pessimistic hypochondriac that I am (a deadly combination), I thought I pulled something or gave myself a hernia carrying the nine-year-old bag of cement to his bed the night before. Alas, he, too, appeared in our bed - and he was still there!
Our youngest daughter had already vacated her new part-time roost in our king-size bed, whisked away by my better half to early morning day care where there are no king-size beds to be found anywhere. She made an impression, not only upon the mattress, but yours truly.
Hernia? I think not! My senses of deductive reasoning, honed to a razor-sharp edge by years of covert parenting, pointed me in the direction of my kids - those who sneak into the bed in the wee hours to inflict pain and suffering upon those who raised them. The ball of a tiny foot; the boomerang-like elbow; the sledgehammer-like chin and even the blunt, rock-solid forehead become a tiny tot arsenal. When such weapons descend upon the aforementioned nether regions, anarchy reigns and devastation ensues.
Fathers reading this may have already winced once or twice, or may still be cringing at the thought. Mothers reading this, on the other hand, are likely smiling or even chuckling out loud, thinking the male parental units deserve such wrath. They may be right - they usually are!
But where's the nocturnal peace and serenity I was promised? How have I allowed to happen?
We have made beautiful, nicely appointed bedrooms for our offspring - nicer than the lumpy single bed and desk I had in my tiny room during my formative years. They are brightly coloured, filled with really cool accessories, mobiles, shelves, even action figures and portraits of Disney princesses.
The adult bedroom has none of these. Okay, I do have a few knick-knacks and some model airplanes flying about, but that's it, I swear! Our retreat, bright and airy with heavy wood furniture, is no place for children! That's why there's a lock on the door!
Maybe they like the Sony TV, DVD player or fact they can stretch out on the carpet with their colouring books, Barbies, Star Wars figures and Transformers. But can't they do that in their own rooms, surrounded by their own stuff? My son has a Wii. My eldest has an iPod and my youngest a cool looking vanity. What more could they want? What will it take to make them stay put?
As one of our physicians often told us, the kids won't have these habits by the time they're walking down the aisle. True enough. And if you think about it, what's the harm if they want a few more minutes of shut-eye, cuddled up next to their mom or dad? There are times I cherish these moments and never want them to end.
And then the alarm goes off, shattering my peace. And the days turn to weeks, turn to months. Birthdays come and go, hundreds of candles are lit and extinguished. Before you know it, you'll be feeling the empty space next to you, wondering what became of your little bedbugs!

The Lighter Side of Parenting

Love them, but be very afraid

I'm adamant that our little offspring aren't really "people" at all in the true sense. They're an anomoly; a strange gift from above to be sure, but they're so out of place in this world, it's quite enigmatic.
In recent months, I've looked into their little, absorbing eyes and discovered we can learn a lot from these other-worldly creatures. The thought did cross my mind they're actually planted here by aliens, sent to study us and look for weakness. Good plan.
Sure, they're "fruits of our loins" (ick), but they seem to be anti-humans - they think, act and speak in the exact opposite of their parental units and adult figures. They live to contradict everything we hold dear, almost questioning our fundamental beliefs in democracy, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. They make us feel good, but they also have the keen ability to make us feel like crud.
Okay, they're really not that bad. Or are they?
If you look at these smallish human creatures, the differences are apparent.
Their sponge-like big heads are perched precariously on awkward, little bodies. Their eyes dart, roll around in their sockets, looking for a target to hone-in on. Like some high-tech military targeting system, they scan the perimeter, find something or someone new and interesting and burn a hole in their subject with laser-like beams from their eyes.
Moments after this deliberate seek-and-destroy mission, their attention fades and they become preoccupied with a bodily function or something shiny in another kid's hair. Then they band together and engage in a sort of gnat-picking ritual, like our simian cousins.
Evolution, it seems, is an ongoing process, something that has to be revisited with each generation.
They can transform a room from a peaceful haven of shapes, colours and crafts into a reinactment of some Asian parliament, minus the bad words and shoe-throwing.
They go through their days void of rules, regulations, tact and diplomacy. We give them some rope, not wanting to burst their bubbles. But I'm convinced it's all part of some grandiose plot to overthrow us.
Perhaps, when the parents are all asleep, the secret agency in charge of our young send them telepathic messages - the next day's marching orders. If you think about it, what better way to unravel the very fabric of western society than to defeat parents on their home turf, in subtle, covert ways that whittle away at our fortitude. Wear us down and we become unproductive workers, fall asleep at the wheel and make bad fashion choices. Our kids can have us eating out of their hands in no time, without a shot ever being fired!
A massive conspiracy to be sure.
We must be diligent, as adults, to make sure these lovable wee ones don't usurp the very foundations of our adult-rule society.
Sleep with one eye open, I say! And it doesn't hurt to have a clown puppet or marionette handy - these scare the bejesus out of kids.
They're very good at concealing their true mission, of course, often appealing to our softer sides.
When my son asks why weekends are so short, I smile, but I'm on to him. Sure, they'd love if it we extended weekends and shortened the work week - so they can overthrow us by reducing our economic output.
I toss out a nugget to confuse him. I tell him hot dogs are made from inedible pig parts, the lips of fowl and the wrong ends of amphibians. This derails him momentarily.
He then asks me if I ever jumped out of an airplane, secretly gathering intelligence to see if I'd make a good paratrooper. I tell him I would, but I'd be shrieking like a baby until my chute opened. He got the better of me with that one.
At the dinner table, I tell him most would-be astronauts love broccoli and Brussels sprouts and they always do their homework. He succumbs, reluctantly. Chalk up another victory for the good guys!
Their suspicious nature continues into the night.
When the lights dim at bedtime and they're snuggled beneath comfy sheets, they listen intently about the "Wild Things" and whether they'd eat "green eggs and ham" with a fox. They smile, wrap their tiny hands around a big finger or thumb, anxiously awaiting the end of the story.
And then they fall asleep, in an almost angelic fashion.
Boy are they good!
The tiny ones are cute, cuddly and make us feel warm and fuzzy inside. But don't let down your guard; it's all just a ploy. Even our preschoolers have a master plan to suck us in, and then blind-side us.
My youngest walks around the house, jotting down notes to herself on any scrap of paper she can find. The adult brain can't decipher the secret code, but I'm sure she's amassing detailed information about us and then passing it on to the powers that be.
These child-like tape recorders also have a habit of throwing our own statements back at us, and putting mom and dad at odds, in their quest to divide and conquer.
My eldest has become quite the insurgent. She tests us with her homework questions, trying to find weakness in the school system and further weakness in her parents' gray matter. But I'm one step ahead of her and give her more information than she can handle. I even presented her with a brain teaser to confuse her co-conspirators. I told her a circle actually has two sides - inside and outside.
I have found that if you befuddle them often enough, you're one step closer to pinning their shoulders on the mat.
So, fellow parents, our work here is far from done. This is one war we just have to win. The world as we know it is at stake!
© Mark Pavilons 2009