My 23-year-old daughter recently graduated from college, receiving her bachelor’s degree in psychology. Many daughters and sons have done likewise, graduating from high school or college. As parents, we find ourselves obliged to attend commencement ceremonies where students are acknowledged and rewarded for their efforts. As we wait in line to be seated, wait for the ceremony to begin, and wait and wait . . . we have a bit of time to reflect and reminisce.

As I sat with my family, I was alone with my thoughts, remembering the other ceremonies I have attended on behalf of my oldest daughter. The recognition she received was well deserved and these moments always gave me a sense of pride, but this particular graduation was much more significant for me.

When she graduated from high school and later moved away to attend a college, she was still a very large part of our world. We would hear from her regularly, she would come home during academic breaks and holidays, and she seemed to be largely dependent on us for guidance and support. As she completes her undergraduate studies, I now wonder if we, as parents, are not somehow dependent on our children to continue giving us a sense of value.

For perhaps the first time, I now have a feeling that my oldest daughter is truly leaving home. She has excelled in her studies, and she has matured on a number of levels: personally, professionally, idealistically and spiritually. My pride for her is incalculable, and my emotion is strong enough that I am okay wearing this on my sleeve like a badge – just this once at least. Dads can do this (moms can to, but this is about dads getting real after all).

So as my daughter accepts her diploma, I beam, as does the rest of the family (the younger kids probably more so because they know that the ceremony will soon come to a close). However, I also must reconcile the fact that she is now on a voyage of which we will not always be a part. Commencement is not the end of her education as much as it is the beginning of the next stage in her journey. Yet our paths will continue to cross, albeit less often.

So what’s my point?

I don’t know if I have one. I don’t think I necessarily need to have one. Sometimes it’s okay for dads to gloat and to grieve at the same time. And it is okay to be simultaneously prideful and despondent when it comes to wishing our adult children bon voyage.

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Steve Schirripa, star of The Sopranos and The Secret Life of the American Teenager, is a father of two daughters. Somewhere and somewhen, someone must have asked Schirripa’s opinion about being a dad. In Big Daddy’s Rules, Schirripa gives his opinion, without reservation or apology, and he shatters the stereotype that suggests dads are gripless wonders when it comes to raising children. As a parent, he has relied on common-sense values and his gut instincts to teach his children right from wrong. He has not tried to adopt the parenting styles of Bill Cosby or Paul Reiser or anyone else; “If you’re gonna be a dad, you still gotta be yourself,” says Schirripa.

Big Daddy’s Rules doesn’t read like a reference book for dads. This book often comes across as Schirripa’s nostalgic reflections on raising his daughters, as well as a rant regarding the relationships that parents have with their children today. He is quick to apply old-school discipline when necessary – “‘Do it because I said so’ is the best tool in a dad’s toolbox” – and progressive in terms of the importance he sees in being “Enormously Present” in his kids’ lives.

Schirripa is brutally honest about his stance on sex, drugs and reality television (he left rock ‘n’ roll alone). He uses a common-sense approach in his disciplinary style and demands common courtesy from his children and those his family comes in contact with. When it comes to loving and raising his daughters, he can be loud, uncompromising and in your face. You can expect exactly that when you read his book, and you can’t imagine how refreshing that is.

Everyone has different ideas of what it means to be a dad. Some of us are hands-on, some of us are hands-off and some of us are somewhere in between. Your style is likely different from mine, and I am certain that your style and my style are both a far cry from Schirripa’s style of parenting. I suspect that there are some of us who wish that he could pinch hit for us in those situations where we can’t quite find the words (or the nerve) to speak our minds. There is little room to argue that regardless of how we might react to a given situation, Schirripa says what we secretly want to say and handles situations in a way that we only wish we could.

But we are not Steve Schirripa; we are who we are. And we don’t have to raise our children as Schirripa would, but we can follow at least one piece of advice. Regardless of how each of us chooses to raise our children, the one thing – and the best thing – we can do for our children is to just “Be There.” The best thing you can do for yourself is to read Big Daddy’s Rules. As a parent and a teacher, I can tell you that we need more Big Daddies today. And if nothing else, we need to sit back and laugh a bit more. Schirripa is good for the soul – way better than chicken soup.

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About the time children reach puberty, and for the next several years thereafter, they adopt the notion that their parents don’t know anything. They tell us that we, as parents, cannot possibly know what they are going through. We often insist that we’ve been there and that we understand what they are going through. But do we? As a full-time parent and a part-time teacher, I often notice those flabbergasted looks that suggest we are clueless.

Maybe they’re right.

I think parents and teachers, in their efforts to remain relevant and appear worldly, often forget much of their youth. We may recall people we knew and activities we enjoyed, but I do believe that we often forget where our heads were at and why. We are lost in today. And even if we do recall the world that we grew up in and have an understanding of the circumstances that shaped the people we turned out to be, we certainly do our children a disservice by trying to apply our cumulative wisdom to their world – a world that is so completely different that ours was.

While we may recall growing up in a world in which two super powers waged a cold war, I wonder: can we fairly compare that to what the next generation will recall growing up in a world where terrorism was a persistent threat? One generation understands the concept of pen pals; another generation cannot conceive of a world that they are not somehow connected virtually every moment of the day. One generation found yesterday’s news on their doorstep; another finds news instantaneously in the palm of their hand.

Wow.

I am living in today’s world and have witnessed the growth, and I am still stunned at how much has changed over the past couple of decades. What hasn’t changed is how children and young adults feel about growing up and finding their place in their world. And we can’t necessarily tell them how to navigate their world, because we don’t have the same frame of reference. How can we? Odds are that they wouldn’t listen anyway. So I can see why our children and students become exasperated with adults.

Our children do need our guidance and our insight from time to time, though. Many times, however, what our children need most is for us to just listen to them and try to understand their concerns about the world in which they must live, without trying to define their angst in terms of the world we remember. Our world is in the past and has been redefined in countless ways. We can’t always understand what our children are going through, but we can still learn and give them the benefit of our courage and our resolve. As parents, we can do our children and ourselves a greater service by admitting to them (and to ourselves) that we don’t know everything.

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My mom used to tell my brother and me to “fight nice,” when he and I were in the midst of one of our adolescent squabbles. This translated to mean that she was tired of hearing us bicker and that she didn’t care what we did as long as we didn’t kill one another. While I have not noticed myself using the same words to communicate to my children that their bickering has become monotonous, I do become frustrated at (while still appreciating) their regular bids for control and attention. Remarkably, we regularly demonstrate that the need to be in control (and in the right) is something that we never outgrow.

Our country admittedly is divided down ideological and theological lines. As a nation, we are currently at odds about who can marry, how we should care for the poor and the elderly, and what our founding fathers had in mind when they drafted the Bill of Rights. The side a person chooses largely depends on socio-economic status and whether that person considers himself or herself to be a Democrat or a Republican. There is virtually no middle ground. Many of us have become frustrated and angry. A hard line has been drawn in the sand, and generally speaking, no one on either side will listen to the argument of the other. Such is the stalemate that exists on Capitol Hill and across the United States.

A good friend of mine and I are on opposite sides of the gun control debate. He fears the methodical erosion of our rights; I fear a culture out of control in terms of how our rights are defined and how those rights have a negative impact on the welfare of innocent citizens. Yet despite our frustrations, we present our arguments in such a way that allows us to appreciate our each of us feels.

As children, we fail to understand the feelings of others, because we are growing and striving to understand and communicate our own feelings. As adults, it is paramount that we acknowledge how those around us feel about our actions. Then, perhaps, we can begin to find a common ground. My friend and I still disagree about gun control. He believes that regulation against one gun will open the door to regulation on all guns. From my point of view, no gun regulation at all is akin to having no speed limits. Our opinions differ, yet how we feel is very similar.

My friend and I both want to be heard and we want to do what we believe is best for our country. We also respect one another and love one another enough to listen and try to understand the opposing point of view. Perhaps in this way, we can find a balance that satisfies our fears and needs. In this way, we can also model for our children what it truly means to fight nice. Children need to see what it means to debate an issue without necessarily letting politics and ego (often one and the same) cloud our judgment and our vision.

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My son is on the autism spectrum, diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. Academically, he excels; socially, he struggles. At school, he struggles, not with math, languages or the sciences, but with understanding sarcasm, reading body language and picking up on social cues. His tendency is to dominate a conversation, and because he is often preoccupied with music, he talks of little else. Consequently, he finds it difficult to make friends and maintain friendships.

In contrast (and ironically), my son has a wealth of compassion. He is easily moved emotionally when someone is physically hurt or wronged. Even when such behavior is dramatized – in a movie, for instance – he feels sad. He spends a great deal of time trying to understand the human condition in the books, poems and song lyrics that he reads. When he reads aloud, his reading comprehension is exceptional. What he cannot express verbally, he can do so through the written word.

The realm of social media is a world that many of us do not understand and, in a sense, fear. Subsequently, the Internet functions somewhat as a rift, separating a generation that vividly remembers manual typewriters, carbon paper and rotary dial telephones from a generation born with split-second access to friends and information around the globe. Within this realm, my son has discovered the means to express himself.

Granted, the Internet is largely unregulated, and as such, parents are concerned that their children will introduce viruses or malware to their computer systems, will become prematurely sex educated, or will become the target of online predators. These are certainly valid concerns; however, with carefully-tuned firewalls and regular parental guidance, children can discover the benefits of connecting to others that share the Internet. The concept of “stranger danger” no longer applies to just walking home from school.

With regular monitoring of his computer use by me and my wife, our son engages with his friends and other peers on Facebook, sharing his ideas and his passions. And what we are discovering (as are his friends) is that his passions do not revolve exclusively around music. He is politically engaged, he loves puppies and he has a subtle, rapier wit. In general, and especially when he is frustrated, he finds it very difficult to verbally communicate how he feels; when he writes social media posts, he eloquently communicates his thoughts and emotions.

Our son is using the Internet and social media to bridge the communication gap that exists for him as a result of Asperger’s syndrome. And while there are many risks connected with being connected, our efforts to mitigate those risks help our son realize the benefits and share not only the latest news about or image of his favorite band, he shares a piece of him that his friends might be missing when they are truly face to face.

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I am somewhat ashamed of myself.

Without thinking, I almost discouraged my youngest son from playing hooky from school.

Worse yet, I began sending him the message that there was some shame in prioritizing play over school work, suggesting that the note releasing him from school should refer to an appointment as the reason for his absence. Given some time to ponder my paternal wisdom, I came to my senses.

Not only did I set up conflict within my son by suggesting to him that he should withhold information (or lie) about his reason for being away from school (dishonorable behavior contrary to that which he has been otherwise taught), but somehow gave the idea that school (and by extension, work) is more important than play (and by extension, a healthy lifestyle).

Our society demands that we discipline ourselves to get up early and prepare for the day, whether we attend school or go to work. Tardiness is prohibited; bad-hair days and poor attitudes are frowned upon; and woe to the person who does not show up at all for school or work. It is a given that the work place is no place for nonconformists and people who are simply not team players. Recognizing that not all companies fit into this stereotype, we can safely say that, in general, if you are hired by a given company, the expectations are that you will work when you are told you will work, and you will do as you are “asked” to do; likewise at school.

There is no play; there is only work.

Oh sure, team-building events are sometimes scheduled that are packaged as “fun,” but they are more often than not compulsory; i.e. work. Avoid attending such events only if you wish to be branded as mutinous. Our students are systematically indoctrinated into this routine and asked to adopt this mentality. Through sheer repetition over the years, most of us adapt to and comply with these standards, afraid to stray from these customs. We are even conditioned to feel guilty for wanting to take a break from our routines, whether we are at school or at work.

Yes, we need to work, if for no other reason than to contribute to a society that works best when we make ourselves a part of it. Still, we need to play too, and often we need to play on our terms. We forget this as we grow older and enter the workforce, and in large part, this doctrine is instilled in us by our schools, as we compel students to adopt a routine that slowly filters out play and prioritizes productiveness and discipline.

I don’t want my children to be so disciplined and productive that they forget how to play or have fun. My son is a good student; for the most part, he gives his best effort, and he has good (disciplined) study habits. I want to see him be disciplined enough to be able to know when he needs a break. As adults, we don’t do that. And even if we are aware that we need a break, we don’t have the courage to act on those needs. We need to remember what it was like to have fun; we need to learn how to bring balance back into our lives, and we need to teach that to our children.

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For the past several years, my goal has been to obtain a teaching certification and share my talents, education and experience with middle school and high school students. Two years ago I received my teaching certification just in time to watch our economy crumble and teaching jobs vanish. Much like the man without a country, I am a teacher without a school. I am a teacher, however; but I am also a father. Often I find that combining the strategies of the two is effective and beneficial, and I struggle internally with the current future of education in our country, wondering if and how I fit in.

Research-based or evidence-based classroom management and teaching strategies are emphasized for new teachers indoctrinated into the field, and in theory, the strategies are logical and often times rational. Performance feedback, planned ignoring, group reinforcement, behavior contracts and the like seem to be appropriate, common-sense approaches to collectively addressing a mass of students who have varied degrees of interest in school.

For those students who have varied socio-economic backgrounds, disabilities and aptitudes, evidence-based classroom management strategies are burdensome and time-consuming. I often wonder if the team of scholars who researched and merged these strategies took into account classrooms merging together gifted and talented students, students with disabilities on the autism spectrum, students with ADHD, students with could-care-less syndrome and a myriad other challenges associated with learning abilities and lack of support.

With the perceived deficiency in support of and appreciation for teachers (measured in terms of undue teacher assessments and lack of professional courtesy by academic and government administrations) combined with the increase in expectations of teachers given the variety of classroom challenges, the wisdom of employing evidence-based classroom management strategies seems impracticable.

With a curriculum richly packed full of material that must be delivered to students in a finite period of time, and with the pressure of knowing that virtually every student must meet the minimum standards (regardless of ability) or the teacher may face dismissal, classroom management becomes less of a strategy and more about survival.

Certainly, many of the common-sense approaches to classroom management should be employed regularly. In the classroom, I found myself relying on many of the concepts, for as a father, they served me well while raising my five children. Of my experiences that I bring to a classroom, I think those of a father are some of those that benefit students. Sometimes, the honest and direct approach is more effective than the contrived, coy approach. Students can tell the difference, and will certainly exploit attempts to “manage” them.

My sense is that we need to spend less time and money feeding this need to discover or manufacture the best way to teach students and simply engage them in the process of learning. This cannot happen if we are artificial and programmed. Students need to learn, but they also need to explore and grow into themselves. This can best be accomplished by showing tolerance, by acknowledging individuality and by guiding students.

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Many denominations of faith seek to be a part of the annual tradition that compels us to light candles, decorate our homes, and give gifts as tokens of our love. On the surface, these sentiments have merit, and I find myself attracted to the mood, music and memory that are a part of these trappings. What becomes reality, however, is often very different.

In general, businesses, public offices, and local citizens struggle with what and how to celebrate the season, for fear of appearing politically incorrect or racially insensitive. Some are concerned and even angered, as they argue that Christ is being taken out of Christmas. Others may feel marginalized because Hanukkah and Kwanzaa are not similarly accepted as Christmas. And for those people who do not fit into any particular faith but still believe that peace, love and understanding are pretty good ideas: What and how do they celebrate this season? Are these holidays for members only?

For all of the differences among these year-end holidays, Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa similarly highlight the importance of family, culture and community. Family, culture and community are still important for those of us raised outside of the influence of the faiths that endorse these holidays. For myself, I would like to find a way to celebrate these holidays concurrently, not as a means of defiling their meaning or any one faith, but instead as a means of reinforcing the importance of each of these faiths. While their cultures are different, their sentiments are much the same.

To coexist is to realize mutual tolerance regardless of varied ideologies. If I am not a Christian, yet I decorate a Christmas tree or sing a Christmas carol, am I a heathen? Am I likewise crude if I choose to light a menorah in honor of the Jewish tradition or to set aside a day for self-reflection as those who celebrate Kwanzaa do on the Day of Meditation? Or by so celebrating, do I honor these beliefs?

Much of what the holidays have become is largely in part due to the belief that we have to buy big and we have to buy for everyone. Gift giving has become big business, and companies begin their vigorous campaigns for the holiday season two and a half months in advance. If anything is tarnishing the aura of the Christmas season, it is commercialism.

We do not have to give gifts to celebrate the holidays. We can. A genuine gift of love – a symbol and a celebration of a bond that exists between two people – is a beautiful gesture. A gift given out of obligation is what truly takes the meaning out of Christmas or any holiday.

Life is a celebration, and regardless of your faith (or lack thereof), the holiday season is a time when we can celebrate life. We can celebrate our love for family, friends and those who may become friends. We can celebrate our cultures – our differences as well as our similarities. When we recognize and honor the celebrations and faiths of others in a fitting spirit, meaning is not lost. Instead, we discover our oneness and the importance of coexisting.

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Musician Chuck Panozzo (with Michele Skettino) wrote The Grand Illusion: Love, Lies, and My Life with Styx. His story was published five years ago, but the message Panozzo relays to his readers is especially essential today when you consider the varied beliefs that divide and splinter our society.

When I chose to read Panozzo’s biography, I was hoping to get a glimpse of the story behind the birth of the rock group, Styx. As this book was written by and about the bass player for Styx, this seemed to be a reasonable anticipation. While there is indeed some back-story that fleshes out the genesis and evolution of the Chicago-based band, I became most engrossed by the story of Chuck Panozzo.

Panozzo introduced his story as one that chronicles the “story about one gay man’s struggle to come to terms with himself.”  Throughout this book, Panozzo describes how he has wrestled with defining who he truly is spiritually and emotionally, measured against how society defines the essence of a person. He critically examines Chuck Panozzo: the brother, the son, the musician, and the man (who happens to be gay), evaluating these parts separately and also combined as one to help understand the whole individual.

I was initially taken aback by Panozzo’s candor and level of comfort as he discussed identifying and accepting his sexuality. The reader does not sense that this frankness and
self-acceptance came naturally to the author. On the contrary, as we read of Panozzo’s reclusiveness as a youngster, his passion for music as a young adult, the heartbreaking loss of his brother and close friend, and his daily battle with HIV and AIDS, we sense that he has grown to realize his individual self and embrace who he is, regardless of how he is perceived by others.

Until I read The Grand Illusion: Love, Lies, and My Life with Styx, I don’t think that I had but a fragment of understanding as to how the world must be for those people who – by fate or by design – live in a marginalized part of society. I take for granted certain human and constitutional rights that are often officially or illicitly denied to women, the elderly, people who have different religious convictions, people who are gay or lesbian, or people who are of a different culture.

What Chuck Panozzo has to say about individuality and being true to ones self is relevant today and will be relevant in the future as long as we find reasons to scorn another simply
because we are different. Until we as a society find a way to accept the uniqueness in everyone, ignoring the differences and embracing the diversity, at the same time finding the similarities that we all have as human beings, we will have a reason to review and reflect on Panozzo’s story.

I have a great deal of respect for Mr. Panozzo and what he is trying to accomplish with his memoir. His experiences and observations can be inspiring, regardless of your gender,
sexuality, profession, or faith.

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My niece, Shayla, trying to convince me to move to Utah.

When deciding to take a vacation, the goal is typically to explore new places, see sights that you have only seen on television or in a magazine. For our family, this goal was secondary to the most important mission: to visit extended family. While the adventure in itself was a major incentive for our month-long journey, the excitement of reconnecting with friends and family that we have been separated from by time (4 years) and distance (2,500 miles) prevailed over the anticipation of visiting new landscapes.

Indeed, seeing Devils Tower, Mount Rushmore and Old Faithful were breathtaking, somewhat surreal and visually stirring, and even though these sites are essentially permanent (until the elements and time have taken their toll), the memories of our visit to these places are fleeting. Memories of our time with friends and family, however, are more enduring.

Perhaps relationships are too enduring, because we often forget the importance of maintaining them. My wife and children have no doubt about my love for them, as I make the effort each day to demonstrate my feelings. Making that same degree of effort in enriching the relationships we have with close friends, parents and other extended family members isn’t as easy. I know that I care for my extended family, but I know that I let life and time get in the way of demonstrating these feelings to them. If we realized how truly brief our time is with friends and family, we might make the time to express our feelings.

The Terry Family Reunion held in Hermiston, Oregon was overwhelming for me, in that the feelings and emotions obviously ran deep among all the family who attended. Even the volatile emotions that sometimes surfaced were a result of genuine love. Shadra and I have been together for more than 15 years, and through that time, I have been introduced to a great many members of her family. Not until I spent several years away and reunited with them did I realize that I was indeed a part of their family.

Even as adults, we can grow and mature. Over the past several years, my experiences have helped me take a fresh look at myself and those around me. While I still have much to learn about building and maintaining relationships, I am reminded of the importance of endeavoring to show people how I feel. Intentions are rarely good enough, and while our close friends and family understand why we are often absent from their lives (for they, too, wrestle with life getting in the way), their lives and ours would be much richer if we could spend more time together, building our extended families as well as our careers. One of Shadra’s cousins made an appeal for such a development, suggesting that our immediate family would benefit by living closer and that regular reunions would benefit the entire family.

Memories fade away, until we scroll through pictures or videos. Relationships can endure forever, but we have to want it and we have to work at it. This is my personal challenge. I don’t always know how to approach my family or Shadra’s family. I want to, but I often don’t know how to conquer my fears and bridge the emotional distance that tends to separate people who care about one another. Our adventure across the country was a good place and a good time to being learning how.

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