Attack of the Crab Monsters!

We like classic horror movies in my family, and while the following story isn't about this particular gem, the movie did come to mind as I sat down to write this post.  See, from a very young age, my kids have been fascinated with stories like Attack of the Crab Monsters, or the Creature From the Black Lagoon.  I think this is partly because I like these stories, and much to my wife's chagrin, my kids have grown to like them as well.

But their love of the fantastical doesn't stop with classic movie monsters--their imaginations are pretty impressive. They come up with all sorts of stories and imaginary scenarios.  From intergalactic unicorns to goblin fairies.  It's really fun, watching them play and and create art from their imaginations.

Just this last week, my son wrote a book for which he is now seeking publication:

This morning, my oldest daughter gave me some character sketches this morning for a story that she wants to write:

And while my youngest daughter's ambitions are not quite as evolved as those of her older siblings, she can tell a story that packs a wallop.  In fact, her entire reality seems to blend with the imaginary world around her.  (The unicorn in the backyard is really there, and her name is Charlie--which is short for Charlotte.  Charlie keeps away the evil Toad Monster that lurks under the bushes.)  My wife and I have gotten so used to her stories about imaginary creatures and events, that it sometimes becomes difficult for us to realize when she is actually telling the truth.

For instance, when our oldest daughter began school, she and her classmates took care of a hermit crab as a class pet. Our youngest daughter was so enamored with the hermit crab, that she would often talk about the crab that she would have as a class pet when she was in preschool.

Well, she started school this last week, and has been telling us about their class pet, which happened to be a hermit crab named Herman.  We smiled and nodded, thinking that this was just another one of her reality-bending stories.  We even had a sit down conversation with her about telling the truth.  She insisted that Herman was real (as real as Charlie).

My wife accompanied her to school yesterday and found that her class does indeed take care of a hermit crab named Herman.  We were surprised, and a little sad that we hadn't taken her more seriously.  But even then, I guess it's possible that the crab was actually just a projection of her imagination.

Hence the crab monsters.  And we have come full circle...

On another note, Chapter Seven of Monarch is now up on over at the Campfire.  Read on and enjoy!

Play That Game of Checkers

I went on a date last night with my wife.  We went to this fantastic little restaurant in Coconut Grove called Jaguar—famous for its ceviche, and rightfully so.  After dinner, we went to see The Avengers (like everyone else in the world, it seems J).  The evening was very pleasant—a much needed respite from daily stresses and challenges.

We got home late, said goodbye to the babysitter, and we checked in on the kids.  As soon as their walked through their bedroom door, my son opened his eyes and smiled at me.  He sat up sleepily and whispered, “Dad, is it time to play our game?”

My heart sunk.  He’d been asking to play a game of checkers for several days, and with everything going on (those confounded daily stresses and challenges) I’d delayed the game that he was so looking forward to.  Even worse, because of my work schedule, it had been nearly two days since I’d seen my kids awake. 

After tucking him in bed and watching him fall almost instantly asleep (he really was too tired for the game, despite his excitement), I fell asleep thinking about those little moments that we lose with our kids, our loved ones, our friends.  I thought about all the times that we get so caught up in everything going on in life, that we forget to actually live—to enjoy the world around us and the relationships we have.  I thought about that precious little girl, Avery, who was diagnosed with a terminaldisease at such a young age, and her parents who made a bucket list of all the things they wanted to do with her before she passed on from her short life.  Needless to say, I promised myself that I would play that game of checkers with my son.

A few days ago, I was invited to speak and do a reading at an art club.  I read the first chapter from my newest novel, IMPISH, which also involved a father’s game of checkers with his daughter that will never be played.  (This was purely a coincidence, as I wrote that scene more than a year ago—and have only been thinking about it recently as I’m gearing up for the release of IMPISH on May 17, 2012).  I realized that for all of the outrageousness of Impish, the dark humor, offbeat characters, and crazy plot twists, an underlying theme that I kept returning to, is this idea to make every moment of life count—before it’s too late.  Now, I don’t think that we’re all going to hell as the father in this book inadvertently did (I promise that IMPISH is more lighthearted and fun than it sounds ), but life marches on and will inevitably end one day.

So today, put aside the stress and challenge of your everyday endeavors and play that game of checkers.  That’s what I’m going to do.

Ah, life in these digital times...

Do you remember compiling mix tapes?  You know, when you’d record songs onto a cassette tape for playback on your walkman, or to blast in your car stereo?  Do you remember when the process to make a mix tape became a whole lot easier with the advent of the dual cd/tape recorder?  For that matter, do you remember when CDs came out?  And then personal computers, CD burners, and the inevitable death of said mix tapes?

I don’t consider myself to be of an advanced age by any means—although the big 3-0 keeps ticking a bit closer, and I feel more and more like an old fogy—but I have seen technology change at an incredible pace. 

I remember that the first DVD I watched was the James Bond flick: Tomorrow Never Dies.  I was blown away by the clear picture, but I quickly became wary of how easily the DVDs scratched.  I grew convinced that the whole DVD movement was a clever marketing scheme to compel consumers to re-buy DVDs that’d become unwatchable due to scratches.  I just knew that DVDs were a fad that would fade almost as quickly as it had risen up.  To prepare for what I saw as an inevitable decline in DVD popularity, I started stocking up on VHS movies.

Yeah, I haven’t seen a VCR in about ten years now, maybe even longer.  All those VHS tapes that I so lovingly collected have gone the way of so many technological advancements, now defunct.  It constantly amazes me how the times and technology change.

I was again reminded of those changes when my kids ran aground with one of their toys.  Now, as a bit of background: my kids are no strangers to technological advancements, and although they haven’t tried the ‘ipad’ swipe on books and magazines to turn pages, they’ve been thoroughly flummoxed when the television or computer screen didn’t respond to their touch. 

On this particular occasion, I realized just how far things had changed from when I was a kid.  My son and daughter were playing outside when they spotted a some interesting bugs.  After a several minutes of inspection with their naked eyes, they decided to pull out their magnifying glasses to get a closer look.  For a few minutes, they seemed confused with the circular glass encased in plastic.  They turned the magnifying glasses over in their hands a couple of times and finally held them up to my wife.

            “How do you turn this on?” My daughter asked.  She gave it a shake and suddenly noticed the distorted image through the glass.  (I’m not entirely sure why she didn’t notice it before, but alas…)

            “Oh never mind, I got it,” she said.  My daughter showed her younger brother how to turn his magnifying glass “on” with a quick shake of the wrist, and they ran outside to inspect the bugs.

            Ah, yes, life in these digital times.  It’s a constant reminder to get my kids out of the house to experience things that don’t have power switches.  And all the while, you can’t help but chuckle at the effect of all those changes on our lives.

--Derrick Hibbard

(Be sure to check out my latest novel: IMPISH on May 17, 2012!)

My [disastrous] Saturday Morning with the Kids

On a beautiful Saturday morning a few months ago, my wife was out for a run and I was left at home with our three kids.  My son was the first out of bed and I got him dressed.  I left him in his room to read some books while I started making breakfast.  It wasn’t long before the Saturday morning smell of pancakes on the griddle filled our home.  With breakfast almost ready, one kid dressed for the day, and the other two peacefully sleeping, I humbly patted myself on the back for handling a morning without my wife so well.

And from there, it all went to hell in a hand basket…

            I’d finished my first batch of pancakes, and had just poured the batter onto the sizzling griddle for the second batch when I heard some soft splashing of water coming from the bathroom in the master bedroom.

            That’s weird, I thought, wondering who was in bathroom, and why there was splashing.  I glanced at the pancakes and saw that they still had a minute or two before needing to be flipped.  I hurried into the bathroom, and there was my son, sitting serenely in the bathtub that my wife had apparently forgotten to drain.  (It could have been me, too, but I plead the fifth.)  He was fully clothed, thanks to my ambitious parenting that morning, was sitting in water up to his chest, and playing with a plastic killer whale.  He seemed to be having the time of his life.

            “Liam!” I said, exasperated.  I reached into the water to unplug the tub, realizing that in my panic, I had forgotten to roll up my shirt sleeve.  I paused, elbow deep in the water, and rolled my eyes.  I unplugged the tub, got a towel and lifted my son out of the tub.  

“You need to take your clothes off when you take a bath.” I said as I wrapped him in the towel and carried him to the room.  I passed the other bathroom—the kid’s bathroom—and noticed that my daughter had attempted to use the potty.  All would have gone well, but she had failed to pull her pants down far enough, and the urine went right into the seat of her pants and drained onto the floor.  She obviously felt bad about the mess and had tried to clean it up, gathering an armful of toilet paper and setting it in the puddle of yellow liquid on the floor. 

"Ah!" I screamed and set my son on the floor.  I rushed into the bathroom to clean up the mess, right about the same time that I smelled smoke coming from the kitchen, only a few seconds before the fire alarm started blaring.

The screech of the alarm woke the baby, who started to cry.

In less than two minutes, I’d gone from admiring my amazing parenting skills to wishing I’d never woken up.  It was a humbling experience.  And when my wife got back from her run, the kids were polishing off the first batch of pancakes beneath a cloud of blue smoke, my son still wet, and my daughter strapped into a diaper two sizes too small.  I handed off the baby and told her that my boss needed me in the office.  She was startled by the mess, but she took the baby and immediately started getting things in order.

When I came back a few hours later to apologize for taking off like that, the house was clean and tidy, and the kids were taking a nap.  My wife was sitting on the couch and reading, as if everything was just hunky-dory.

But that’s just how she is, taking care of the stuff at home like its nothing at all, while I would be going bonkers.  She faces each day with an insane amount of optimism and shrewd skill, excelling at pretty much everything she does.  I swear that she has super powers—and is probably a maniacal genius in her off hours, developing a plan to take over the world.  I think a lot of moms are like my wife (and I’m sure that some dads are like that too, but there is something special about moms), having the innate ability to deal with kids and the complexities of life in a way that most cannot.  It’s certainly something that I admire about my wife.

This experience, mixed with a bit of my wife’s general awesomeness, led to the ideas that formed the basis of my book, The Double Stroller Hand Grenade.  It’s a fun, escapism-style book about a stay-at-home dad who simply does not have it together.  Oh yeah, and his wife is not only a great mom, but is a super-cool-femme-fatale of an assassin for the mafia.  The book is packed with action, thrills, and plenty of laughs—perfect for a short escape from the daily routine of life.

Which brings me to why I’m telling you all this: I want you to download The Double Stroller Hand Grenade for only $2.99.  I promise that you’ll like this book.  Check it out before life’s distractions come along and make you forget, and then let me know what you think.  Here’s the link: The Double Stroller Hand Grenade.  (And if you don't want to read it on your ereader device, you can get it in paperback for $14.99)

Superhero Parents

The other day I caught my three-year-old son playing with a few of his toys.  It was one of the moments that you live for as a dad.  In one hand, he had a Spiderman action figure, as sleek and muscular as a plastic toy could be, and in the other hand was a slightly pudgy stuffed bear.  The toys were engaged in an epic battle, as only a three-year-old can imagine, most likely spiced with the best digital effects his little mind could muster. 

I started to walk away, intending to leave him to his game, when I heard him say “dad.”  I stopped, realizing that the fight between Spiderman and the teddy bear involved his old man.  I puffed out my chest a little, very proud to have been part of my son’s imagination in such a macho way—and apparently I was a super-hero in my kid’s mind.

I watched carefully to see if my character was winning.  My son banged his characters together; they flew through the air, defying gravity and logic, much like Neo and Agent Smith in the Matrix.  The teddy bear dodged several precarious obstacles, with the Spiderman-Dad character chasing close behind.  Suddenly the bear swung around and clocked the Spiderman action figure, sending the little guy flying through the air and skittering under the bed.  The bear was triumphant.  I was devastated with this turn of events, and I couldn’t believe that my son had so aptly removed me from battle.

My son went on playing with the victorious stuffed bear, plopping it on a small wooden train, to ride off in the sunset, no doubt.  I just couldn’t help myself.  I went into the room and sat down beside my boy.

            “Hey bud.” I said.

            “Hi daddy.” He said, pushing the little bear around atop the train.

            I pointed under the bed and asked, “So, uh, what happened to your Spiderman guy?”

            My son beamed, holding up his bear.  “My daddy beat him up.”

            I studied the bear, and realized that my son was right on the money.  I certainly had more in common with that stuffed bear, a little soft around the midsection, than I did with the muscular action figure.

            “Daddy always wins.” He said, in his most serious tone, “ ’cause he’s a suprrho.”

Which is Liam-speak for superhero. 

And with that, the conversation was over and my son was back in his blissful never-never land with his toys.

I got to my feet, thinking about the diet I would start the next morning (and lose that soft-midsection), and about how my son viewed me as a suprrho.  Now I certainly don’t think of myself as a hero.  For the most part, I get up in the morning, go to work, come home, play with the kids for a while, go to sleep, rinse and repeat.  I think, for the most part, I’m a lot like other parents out there with young kids.

It was interesting to me, that for all the normalcy that my life exudes, somehow my son got it into his mind that I’m a hero—and not just any hero—but one who can kick Spiderman’s butt, pudge and all.

It’s been something that I’ve been thinking about since then: how we come up with our heroes, and why.  I have a few people that I could name as my hero: my wife being one (who has the supernatural ability to keep the house clean, feed three kids, be constantly learning, stay in amazing shape, and still be happy about it all at the end of the day.)  Batman is another hero.  Danny Boyle seems like a pretty cool guy, and has that creative touch that I really admire.

But when it comes down to it, my dad has got to be at the top of the list.  The guy is tireless—and has always seemed to be that way.  When I was growing up, he was always the first one out of bed, and the last to turn out the lights.  He worked constantly, but always had time to play with one of his seven kids.  That’s right.  I said seven kids—and he did it.  When I was younger, my brothers and I used to call him Superman—and rightfully so.  If anyone could be faster than a speeding bullet, it was my dad.  If anyone could save the day, it was him.  And right now, he’s not just my hero—but is one of those heroes that we all rely on.  Right now, he’s actively serving our country in the Army—doing what he’s always done—tirelessly pushing forward and helping those he can.  When he comes back from active duty, he’ll continue doing just that.  And for that reason, my old man is my hero and could kick Spiderman’s butt any day of the week.

--Derrick Hibbard, author of The Double Stroller Hand Grenade and This Side of Eden