Bathman

Listen to this reflection by playing the video below or continue down the page to read the full text version.

Tonight, I am flying back from Florida. The flight is only three hours, but whenever I have too much time to think, sadness overtakes my thoughts. So, I pulled out my book of story ideas to see if I could distract my mind for a few hours.

My thought process reminded me of one of Amy’s philosophies: structure is good in all things, especially raising children. Since the kids outnumbered us and the twins had diabetes, this applied even more to raising Claire, Morgan, and Carson. Amy had daily schedules for the kids. Breakfast complete by 9:00. Playtime 9:00 to 11:00, etc. Just because Amy had a schedule, however, did not mean she stifled their creativity.

At the center of their early play was one of the largest backyard sandboxes in the neighborhood. At 12×10 feet with a massive quantity of sand, it allowed for a wide variety of construction and imagination that few of their friends could match.

Foremost among their sand creations was Happy Harbor, a name coined by her brother Mark when, during one visit, they turned the sandbox into a seaside resort. Happy Harbor typically took more than an hour to build before they dragged the hose out to the sandbox. At this point, some sort of tragic tsunami or burst dam would wipe out the entire population of poor, sleepy Happy Harbor. They would stomp, crush, and roll in the wet sand in delight at the village’s fate. The backyard was always a bit soggy. I am sure our water bill was substantially more than our neighbors.

Happy Harbor always resulted in bath time for the kids to wash the sand, dirt, and mud off them before dinner or bedtime. As I observed Amy’s approach with the kids, I made a conscious decision to emulate Amy’s structured, but joy-filled approach with them.

Thus, I created Bathman. When it was bath night or whenever they needed a bath, I would tell each of them to get ready for the bath by putting their dirty clothes in the hamper. While they were doing that, I would leave and close the door behind me. After I had filled the tub with water, I grabbed a bath towel and flung it over my shoulders as a cape and started loudly humming the Batman theme and ran into the room and started chasing them. “Na Na Na Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Bathman!”

I would let them run around squealing for a good while and would eventually catch them, and lifting them over my head, proceed to dump them into the tub. Bath time in our house became a fun and tried tradition for a couple of years until they grew too old for such silliness. While it lasted, I never viewed bath time as a chore, but a fun escape from the more mundane parts of being an adult.

Bedtime, however, was always structured. Amy or I would read to the kids for 15 to 30 minutes, depending on their level of tiredness (or ours). We would then turn out the light and say goodnight. After a while, I came up with the idea to expand the goodnight to “See you later alligator.” As time went on, we continued to build on the ritual by adding animals to the mix with the added challenge of saying them as fast as possible.

• See you later alligator
• After a while crocodile
• Tu ta lu kangaroo
• Hit the road hoppy toad
• See you soon big baboon
• Chow now brown cow
• Hang loose silly goose
• Say goodbye butterfly
• Make a wish little fish
• Do a jig little pig
• Do a dance red ants
• Sleep tight little mites

Silly, I know, but they loved to hear these as their final goodnight.

I am far from a perfect Father. At some point, however, you have to decide what kind of parent you want to be for your kids. Through her example, Amy taught me how to be the Father I always wanted and needed to be. Thank you, Love.