London Calling

Miguel entered the qualifier for the school's geography bee as a joke. His friend, Sam, said, "I'll do it if you will."

Miguel said, "OK." They both raised their hands and were entered. He never even told me.

Then he shared last week that he had qualified for the school-wide geography bee held earlier today.

"Miguel, that's great," I said. "How did you do?"

"OK."

"How many questions were there?"

"Forty," he said. "I got 23 right."

"Wait," I said, driving dangerously close to the side of the road. "You missed 17 out of 40? Just better than 50%?"

While I was proud of his accomplishment, I wondered how someone, even my son, could qualify for a school-wide test of knowledge after only answering slightly better than half the questions.

"The questions were hard," Miguel explained with a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

He then explained that the top 30 kids automatically qualified for today's competition. So, conceivably, one could have missed even more than half the questions and still made it to today's final showdown. Sam was bounced from the preliminary round for talking too much.

"Miguel, you need to study. Did they tell you about some websites with sample questions?" I asked.

"I can Google them," he said.

Turns out that National Geographic, the main sponsor of the geography bees, has sample questions and test-taking advice on its website. There are three or four other free sites as well. We immediately went to them on Friday and Saturday.

"Miguel, the biggest advice is that the question often contains a clue for the answer," I said. As an example I read one question to him: which European country possesses oil reserves and is known for its famous fjords?

He was stumped. I said that the clue is famous fjords. He'd never heard of a fjord. So he didn't know the answer was the country from where his grandfather's ancestors called home, Norway.

I read him another question: which state's climate is suitable for growing citrus fruits, California or Maine?

"Maine," he answered.

"Maine?" I bellowed. "Maine?"

"California," he said meekly.

I then explained how the clue was in the question. Citrus fruits grow best in warm and sunny climates, which would lead one to answer California, a much more temperate state than Maine. I started thinking, "He's going to get creamed. I am proud of him for making the school tournament, but he doesn't know that much."

He did several practices tests and quizzes over the weekend. He said they were hard. They were. Questions such as Dresden, a city that has been rebuilt since WWII, is situated on what river? The three choices are the Darling, the Elbe, or the Thames River. The correct answer is the Elbe. Or name two large islands separated by the Strait of Bonifacio. The choices are Corsica and Sardinia, Corfu and Cephalonia, or North Island and South Island. The correct answer is Corsica and Sardinia.

Miguel went to school late today because he got just two braces and his headgear this morning. Within nine months his whole mouth will be glittering silver.

"I don't want to stay for the tournament," he said. It was held after school. "I barely studied."

"Miguel, you are staying for the geography bee," I said. "You brought your permission slip?"

"Yes."

I told him I'd pick him up outside school at five. He called me at 4:30 and said, "Dad, can you pick me up now? The geography bee is over."

But I couldn't leave work because I was covering the break for one of my staff. One of the teachers helping to proctor the competition volunteered to drop Miguel off.

Miguel advanced to the final round to determine the Miller Creek Middle School 2010 Geography Bee champion. The final question was in which European city would you find the Piccadilly Circus? Miguel thought it was an actual circus and he did not know the answer.

"I guessed the first city that came to me, London," he said. "The other kid, a 6th grader, said Rome."

Miguel was right and was crowned school champion. Next he competes in a regional tournament to decide who goes to the state bee in April in Sacramento. Each state winner will be flown to Washington, DC, all expenses paid, for the chance to win the National Bee and a $25,000 scholarship. Miguel said he plans to study, study, study.

He showed up at work wearing his winner's medal and proudly flashing his winner's certificate. He also got a gift card to Jamba Juice, a specially engraved pen, and a earth globe keychain, which he gave to Maya.

I beamed with pride as he walked into the retirement facility where I work and shouted to two of my colleagues, who were probably discussing work, "Miguel just won his school's geography bee." My voice had jumped at least three or four octaves.

"Miguel, I am so, so proud of you," I said, stunned and amazed and ecstatic.

"I was so nervous in the final round," he said, "I was shaking."

When we left the house a little while later, after retrieving Maya and one of Verna's closest friends, Joan, on our way to a celebratory meal at BJ's, a lone star twinkled just below the moon. We all looked up and greeted Verna.

"Miguel, Mommy would be so proud of you, too," I said, a rush of sadness mixing with the sweetness of his accomplishment.

F-f-f-fifty?!?

I took a book out of the library yesterday by Stieg Larsson. He died when he was 50. I am turning 50 tomorrow, therefore...

OK, I am not knocking on heaven or hell's door, but the half-century mark is regarded as an important stage in life. And I have realized yet again that probably more than half my life is behind me.

I am not doing anything out of the ordinary tomorrow--by design. I will go to work, come home, and then all of us will share a Passover seder with two other families. I asked Verna not to let them know it was my birthday. We will celebrate as a family Thursday evening. Verna's father will join us at a local pizza joint, chosen mostly because Miguel wants to play video games, something we don't allow at home.

I am not averse to celebrating, nor am I modest or shy about calling attention to myself and my birthday[s]. Anyone who knows me well will testify that I like being in the limelight (at times) and enjoy a healthy modicum of attention. But for the past few years I have seen my birthday as just another day. Miguel and Maya get excited about their birthdays, as they should, and we honor them with gifts and--I hope--intense feelings of being special.

I lived in Israel when I turned 21, another important age marker across the spectrum of life, but I decided to spend the day without telling anyone it was my birthday. I treated myself to lunch at a favorite Jersualem restaurant, and that evening went with a friend to see Hamlet performed by a funky repertory theater troupe from London. The play was excellent. There were no props other than the actors and actresses. They made their own sounds for everything, including knock-knocking on doors and the whiny screech when they opened.

I guess the more psychologically inclined among us might read more deeply into my motives and say my actions then and now reveal either anxiety or possibly denial about growing older and facing my mortality. Or maybe not. Maybe I just said that because I really feel that way. Or maybe it is time to visit a therapist.

Or not.

My father began therapy when he was 60. He will soon be 78. He was unhappy when he looked back on his first six decades. He wondered if he had accomplished enough and the answers he came up with saddened him. So he sought professional help.

Nothing wrong with that at all.

I sense there might be a connection between my 21st and my 50th birthdays that explains my abnormal celebratory reticence. At 21, with the ribbon of life stretched in front of me, endless and full of possibilities, I was still adrift, unsure of where I was headed or what I truly wanted to do.

Fifty is somewhat similar. After leaving a sales job last August, being unemployed for more than two months, and then muddling through a luxury car sales job as the economy continued to tank, I am working part time in the non-profit world. My wife, who has a permanent retirement disability, makes more money than I do. And she's not working outside the home!

So, as I look back on my first fifty years, I am dealing with a fair amount of stress and sadness over my life. Like so many people, including family and friends, we are struggling financially, and I am very unhappy that I can't completely support my family.

Why party hard now when I really need to focus on securing full time work? Why celebrate when my heart isn't into it and I am bummed out about my status and inability to be a provider?

On the other hand, I am extremely blessed. Verna is very healthy right now, Miguel and Maya are sublime joys, and I feel great about my family, friends, and passions. Maybe that is why we are celebrating my birthday with family at Pinky's, a sports bar. Maybe turning 50 is about honoring those around me, for they are the blessings that make each day brighter. And that is why we are going to eat pizza on the first full day of Passover while Miguel enhances his hand-eye coordination (and lightens our wallets) with video games and Maya drinks apple juice and all of us share food and laughter on what is a momentous occasion.

There I said it.

Stieg Larsson dropped dead of a sudden heart attack in 2004, shortly after he submitted three manuscripts for what has become a wildly successful series of books about a young and unusual Swedish investigator. He never lived to see the fruits of his literary labors. I will soldier on through the muck and mist and the vessels of light struggling to burst forth beyond the horizon.

It is a happy, happy birthday!

Celebrate The Whole Boy

"Miguel, what are you doing?" I asked nonchalantly after I bounded into his room last night.

"I just wrote a poem."

"Really? What made you do that?"

It was his bedtime and he'd been waiting for either Verna or me to stay with him for a few minutes while he fell asleep. I expected and hoped he was going to say he scribbled a few lines of verse down after being inspired by watching Obama's inauguration at school.

"I was bored."

Oh well. So much for MY parental hopes. Seriously, though, I was still mightily impressed with Miguel. He created something with his mind and heart. He does well in school, but Miguel would trade in a heartbeat a day of being in the classroom for sport and play outdoors in almost any kind of weather. I did put a poster up in his room showing a small group of boys, all clad in football gear, clustered around one who is playing the violin. It reads: Celebrate the Whole Boy.

Yes, I want to nurture Miguel's dream to become a professional athlete, but I am also as glad that he wears a t-shirt with the following quote from John Steinbeck, "I guess there are never enough books", that he picked out at the Steinbeck Museum gift shop.

So I was even more impressed that he jotted down the following in a matter of minutes. I also think it was influenced by all that he saw and heard as his 5th grade class watched history being made when President Obama recited the oath of office.

Miguel's poem:

Wonders

As I sit on my front step looking out into space, I see the wonders of life,
The wonders of painting a picture with words,
The wonders of America,
And the wonders of everything beyond that.

Yes, we do celebrate the whole boy. Our boy, Miguel, blossoming, almost, into a young man.