i sprained my ankle at a golf tournament this weekend.

i don't play golf, per se. golfing for me is driving the cart, whacking at the ball a few times, drinking beers throughout and not giving a shit after four or five holes. from what i understand this is the actual definition of "Golf" in Webster's, so i'm certainly not missing the point.

second to last hole, i stepped in a hidden, grassy miscreant, heard a loud pop and lay on my back for a good 3 or 4 minutes. i'm pealing with laughter - "oh my god this hurts so fucking bad. i'm going to kill you all. you're all bastards. oh jesus that hurts..." more joviality. I'm glad my pain induces happiness in all - the Life of the Slapstick Prince.

i'm bringing this up for two reasons.

1. i have no idea what tumultuous pantheon of gods has it out for my family's joints but fuck you already.

2. reza isn't here. mike and erin came by, (after bringing me crutches. win!), and whisked her away to play with elliot at their house. she cried when they left the first time, and in the middle of Dora the Explorer, she put on her chanclas and almost left with erin without giving me a hug and/or kiss goodbye.

ivonne is off at Paige's baby shower.

i don't like being alone. not without them.

learning our letters

over the course of the last week or so, Reza has taken to bringing me her large wooden alphabet puzzle, dumping the pieces out on the cushions of the couch, handing me the empty board and asking:

"daddy, what letter sounds puh puh puh?"

"daddy, what letter sounds buh buh buh?"

she'll bring a letter and she'll ask the question. we'll say it together. she'll smile and place the wrong letter in the right spot. as we correct each other - it's always a 'together' thing - she's on her way to the next letter and the process starts all over again.

"daddy, what letter sounds zzz zzz zzz?"

"daddy, what letter sounds ruh ruh ruh?"

i got home from work a bit late tonight, so i was catching up on the day with ivonne. she comes up to me and says, "daddy, time to do letters?"

"let me finish talking to mommy and we'll do your letters, ok?"

she starts to stalk off to her room and grins. two minutes later here she comes. first letters on the couch, then the empty board to me.

she looks at the first empty slot, next to a picture of an alligator and an apple. i can see her brain working and it's fucking amazing. "Daddy, what letter sounds ah ah ah?"

"i don't know love, what letter sounds ah ah ah?"

all i hear are wooden blocks clinking together from behind the arm of the sofa when she raises her prize like the olympic torch. "the letter A!"

"good job!" ivonne and i look at each other like, ok, what the hell?

as she's placing the A in the slot, i watch her eyes move to the right where she sees the bear with the ball.

"daddy, what letter sounds buh buh buh?"

"i don't know love, what letter sounds buh buh buh?"

beeline back to the sofa for "the letter B!"

my smile is as wide as the cheshire cat. "good job!"

ivonne, incredulous, doesn't want to spoil the moment, but can't help silently mouth the words 'you've gotta be kidding me...'

Reza cocks her head, looks at the empty C, looks at the pictures next to it then looks back to me. "daddy, what letter sounds Mooooooo?"

we laughed and laughed.

today at Sunset Cliffs

this weekend marked the second in an eight-week series of high degrees, cranky denizens and general summertime blues. we are not summer people, but we live in it's natural environment. we were invited to a BBQ at a work-mate's house in Ocean Beach this afternoon which turned into a quick walk down to Sunset Cliffs for some unavoidable sand and surf action.

fuck, i'm making too much of it.

look, we rocked it to Elaine and Jason's, met up with Damien, Juan, his wife and son, and Wendy for some afternoon relaxing. we don't go down that way often - getting in and of OB is a bitch and usually makes a cranky asshole crankier and assholier. we tend to avoid it. but when we got the invite earlier in the week, i was like, "yeah, you know, let's bust it up. it's been a while."

so we kicked it in their back yard/common area for a few hours, ate some carne asada and trekked a few blocks to the beach. Sunset Cliffs is one of my favorite places to chill along the California shoreline and i completely forget about it. when we got to the staircase that led down to the coves, it dawned on me that the last time i was there, i was rolling balls. but that's a long time ago in a galaxy far far away... being jolted back to reality is your three year old (almost) jetting down said steps with a beeline for the surf. i'm glad those days are over.

we spent about 45 minutes down there, running in and out of the surf between two jettys that were maybe 35 to 40 feet apart. the waves crash in, run up the walls, splash against your legs from the side while another larger swell is rushing in on you - you're getting wet. it's unavoidable.

Reza has no fear. she jets in without a second thought and plays 'catch me if you can' with the surf as it crawls up the sand. i'm thinking, "aw shit. Ivonne has the camera and there's no way she's on Water Detail..." so i gotta man-up.

first wave: fuck you, that's cold.

second wave: fuck you, that's cold.

third wave: god dammit but Reza's too far out to be by herself so suck it up.

fourth wave: aw fuck it, have some fun.

fifth wave: woooooooo!

there were about 20 to 25 people around the same area, eight or so in the water, the rest on the rocks drying off or yelling at their dogs. i detest people who flaunt their ferocity by screaming at an animal or a child. it does not make me appreciate your strength; it only accents your classlessness. dogs are running, people are yelling, other people are wearing things they shouldn't be, still others are wearing things they know they can and i took my eye off her for a second. i turned back to see her lying face up, wave coming over her, sand and water in her face and a gasp for air.

i was maybe four steps from her, maybe less, but it felt like an eternity before i got there. she was crying and i picked her up, trying to brush the sand out of her eyes but feeling like i let her down. so many horrible thoughts ran through my head, but i had her, sopping wet and sand in her hair.

she was fine literally a minute later. the salt water burned her eyes and she had a bit of sand in there, but a few tears later and she was good as new, running up and down without a care in the world. i wasn't so fine. when she hugged me tight on the walk back to Elaine's apartment i felt especially thankful.

but between those moments exists memories that don't happen unless the clock strikes midnight first: she held my hand the rest of the time, tight as could be, sandy and cold, as we stood in the surf that crashed around our legs. "come on daddy, hold on my hand, here it comes!"

i'd look down at her and see sand in her hair, sand in her ear, her dress sopping wet and a new wave coming in. nobody was there but us.

while i'm thinking about it:

1. if you wish to comment to any post, please do so here, not on the syndicated feed. i don't get those replies.

2. i'm making a list of subjects to cover - i'd be appreciative of any suggestions, especially from those current dads or want-to-be dads so we can get the discussion moving.

i think it's time to get this started.

i've been procrastinating, thinking that some golden turd is going to come flying out of my ass and voila! i'm a literary superstar!

i've asked for a bit of help with CSS stylings for tabs - that'll be the catalyst to setting this up properly. i have a few design thoughts, particularly on how to lay out the information.

this isn't going to be a personal blog, per se, but a treatise on the adventures of being a dad and how to get from point New to point Great. i think it's absolute bullshit that dad's don't have resources available to them to explain some of the finer points. we're relegated to reading What To Expect When You're Expecting during secret late-night cram sessions after our ladies hit us with the "ok, yeah, i thought my vaginal mucus was getting thicker"...

what the fuck!? gimme that book.

close your eyes and repeat after me:

if you don't read it, it can't happen.

if you don't read it, it can't happen.

if you don't read it, it can't happen.

so it's time to air out the laundry and discuss the things that we're left to figure out for ourselves. what the hell is that black shit in her diaper? is it jacked up to ask the doctor for a Husband Stitch if she's having a cesarian? her cans are HUGE and she won't let me touch them! this is barbarism!

if there are any particular subjects you'd like discussed, please let me know. i figure the best place to start is in the beginning, but i'll need a running list of items to cover. i'd start with the sex, but that'd be too obvious. (P.S. pregnant sex is the shit! and no, the baby can't see your dick.)