Pickles are the real harbingers of financial doom. My in-laws discovered this shocking fact as they attempted to have lunch at my house.

My son happened to walk into the kitchen as my mother-in-law was placing pickles on a sandwich.

“G-Mom,” he yelled. “Don’t eat all of those pickles. My dad will be so mad if you eat them all.

“Daddy won’t mind if they have some pickles,” my wife interjected.

The boy was frantic. “Oh yes he will,” he yelled. “He will be so mad.”

“Daddy will not be mad,” my wife said trying to reassure him. “Besides, if she eats all of the pickles, we can go to the store and buy some more.”

“No way, Mommy,” my daughter chimed in. “Daddy will not want to spend all of that money on pickles.”

She’s right. I’d better get my in-laws out of my house before they discover the olives. If that happens, they’ll send me to the poor house for sure.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: daughter, in-law, olive, pickle, sandwich, son

The dreaded “Man Cold” has been crippling the male species since time began. The Bible doesn’t go into detail, but I’m convinced that Adam agreed to eat the apple because his judgment was clouded by a “man cold.”

I read the following article on MSN that describes the man cold and gives women some tips on how to treat it.

This “debilitating disease” can be “near fatal,” says the Urban Dictionary. It’s specific to the male species and demands fast attention.

The symptoms are horrible: coughing, sneezing, sore throat, low energy and the telltale man-whine. What’s a girl to do? Yes, it’s up to the opposite sex to save their men from their colds. Let’s go through the drill:

Do not put him in bed. Instead, let him recoup here.

Turn on the TV - fast. Find some sports or cartoons and give him the remote control.

He’ll be too weak to call for you, so make sure to check in on him every three minutes. A little bell is also helpful.

He’ll need an endless supply of tissues, fast food, cookies and lots of tea.

Once he shows signs of improvement (by asking you what you’re doing every 10 minutes), he’s ready for movie therapy. Star Wars, James Bond, or sports related movies work well during this next step in the man cold treatment plan. Note: No matter how much he begs, do not let him watch “Brian’s Song.” In his weakened state, the emotional drain will be too much for him.

If a week has gone by and there’s no improvement, bring out the big guns: have a chick flick marathon consisting of Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, Steel Magnolias, and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and if he’s not in the shower after that, tell him you can’t remember if you feed a cold, starve a fever or the reverse, so you’d better ask your mother to come over.

He’ll be back on his feet before you can say, “Do these pants make my butt look big?”

My friend, Teendoc, who blogs at Welcome to the Dollhouse, first diagnosed my man cold a few weeks ago when I was pleading for sympathy on Twitter. My ailing fingers could barely type out the message, but I needed the world to know how miserable I was. Teendoc responded with a link to this video. After I watched it I thought, “Finally, a doctor who understands my misery.” I showed the video to my wife so she could have a better understanding of what I was going through. She went into a tirade about how mothers don’t have the luxury of having a “man cold” because they have to blah, blah, blah. I pulled my blanket over my head because I was way too sick to comprehend her rambling (BTW, this was a bad move).

A week later, I contracted a stomach virus. Instead of displaying sympathy, my daughter looked at my wife and said, “Oh, no. Looks like dad has another man cold. I guess he’ll be in bed all day, again.”

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Question: Who handles illnesses better, men or women?

Tags: brian's song, daughter, divine secrets of the ya ya sisterhood, doctor, health, james bond, man cold, msn, sick, sisterhood of the traveling pants, star wars, steel magnolias, twitter, wife

My wife and I always encourage our children to help others. We model the behavior by serving in our church, volunteering at the homeless shelter, or delivering meals to people who cannot leave their homes. We also like introduce them to other people who make service a priority.

One evening, we invited a missionary to our house to talk to the kids about her experiences in China. They were so excited because they had never met a real life missionary before. My five-year-old son, N, was beside himself with anticipation. 

The missionary’s name is Christine and she works for Campus Crusade for Christ. As she shared this information with us, N, interrupted.

“May I ask you a question,” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered.

“Did you vote for Barack Obama?”

“No,” she replied with a surprised look on her face. “I voted for John McCain. Did you vote for Obama?”

He looked at her as if she were crazy and said, “Of course not. I’m too young to vote.”

We took a seat in the living room and Christine proceeded to tell the kids about her work. A few minutes into her talk, she pulled out a book to share some photographs. N interjected again.

“Is this the part where we give you money?”

Christine chuckled and continued with her presentation. N kept interrupting her with questions. It really bothered him that some of the pages in the album did not have photographs on them. N told Christine that she needed to fix that. Meanwhile my daughter, Nee, sat as quietly as a church mouse and only opened her mouth to ask Christine what her favorite color was.

When it was time to actually give her money, N, said, “Wait. I’ve got to get my piggy bank.” He ran upstairs and quickly returned. My wife, K, asked him if he wanted to give her a dollar. He said no.

“Two dollars,” she asked. Again he said, “No.”

“Three dollars?” He thought for a moment then replied. “Yeah that sounds about right.”

Christine felt a bit awkward about taking N’s money, but we assured her that he would have been extremely hurt if she refused. N has a heart full of love and wants to share all he has with everyone.

A few days later, we received two cards from Christine. The smaller card was address to K and me. It was a standard “thank you for contribution” card. The bigger card was for the boy. Christine wrote a treatise on how N’s generosity and curiosity touched her spirit and filled her heart with joy. When I read the part about how his donation bought a Bible for a Chinese child, N’s face beamed with pride.

What started out as a lesson on giving for the children, turned into a lesson in love for the adults.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Question: How do you teach your children to help others?

Tags: barack obama, bible, campus crusade for christ, china, church, daughter, john mccain, missionary, piggy bank, son, volunteer, wife

When did it become acceptable for little girls to dress like hookers? I am outraged at our society’s attempts to sexualize our daughters. I don’t blame the advertisers or manufacturers who sell this stuff. I blame the parents - especially the fathers. As dad’s we must protect our daughters’ innocence. We cannot turn a blind eye or think it’s cute when our little girls dress provocatively. We have to teach them that sexy does not equal beautiful and that modesty is a virtue.

My wife and I have a hard time finding modest clothes for my 7-year-old daughter, Nee. It seems that everything is cut tight and short. Things have gotten so out of control that we even have to censor Nee’s Barbie Doll’s clothing because we don’t want Barbie giving her any ideas.

I really like what Michael Hyatt had to say in his blog post, “Whatever Happened to Modesty.” In the post, he outlined Four Guidelines for Modesty that I would like to share:

1. If you have trouble getting into it or out of it, it is probably not modest.
2. If you have to be careful when you sit down or bend over, it is probably not modest.
3. If people look at any part of your body before looking at your face, it is probably not modest.
4. If you can see your most private body parts or an outline of those parts under the fabric, it is probably not modest.

And don’t even get me started on this year’s Halloween costumes. Sexy Halloween costumes are inappropriate for young girls. Period! Here are a few of the costumes that I found online that are highly inappropriate: Army Brat, Leprechaun, Pink Maid, Sweetie Fairy Child, B. Witched, Goldee Locks. These are not the types of outfits that little girls should wear when they are walking up to strangers’ houses at night asking for candy.

As fathers, we have to be more aware of the way our daughter’s dress and guide them towards dressing appropriately. Males are visual creatures and can be aroused just as easily by a skimpily dressed 12-year-old as they can by a grown woman. Think about that the next time you allow your daughter to leave the house with a bare midriff and mini skirt.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: clothing, costume, dad, daughter, dress, father, halloween, michael hyatt, modesty, sexy, tipdad

Today my wife, K, and I went to our daughter’s Parent/Teacher conference. I’m embarrassed to say that this was the first conference that I have been to since she was in kindergarten (she’s in second grade now). Nee was ecstatic when she found out that I would be attending the conference. Actually, so was I.

K and I walked into the classroom and took a seat in those tiny elementary school chairs. I hoped that this conference wouldn’t last too long. My knees and back wouldn’t be able to withstand more than 15 minutes. The teacher opened the conference by telling us what a great student Nee was. She showed us reports from her other teachers who had similar comments. All in all, things went as expected. Nee is studious and respectful - traits that teachers adore.

I admired the fact that Nee was able to sit outside and play her Leapster confident that her teacher would say nice things about her. Her confidence made me think about some of the Parent/Teacher Conferences from my childhood. Let’s just say that my middle school years were not my shining moments. While the other kids were celebrating the day off, I dreaded the things my teachers would tell my mother.

She was understandably upset after my teachers told her how I had missed assignments, skipped class, and made several visits to the principal’s office. My mother, who earned barely above minimum wage, had to miss a day of work and ride the bus to my school only to hear that her son was not living up to her expectations.

“I’m not sending you to school to act a fool,” she would say before the spanking commenced. This cycle repeated throughout sixth and seventh grade. Until middle school, I was a model student, just like Nee. I guess I had some anger issues about my father’s not being there and needed to rebel.

Things turned around for me after my seventh grade English teacher gave us a writing assignment. Hers was one of the classes I often skipped to play basketball or wander the halls. I wish I could remember what the exact assignment was, but my feeble brain cannot recall it. I do remember that it excited me more than any middle school assignment ever had. The rest of the class was pretty excited, too. I was caught up in the wave of euphoria when one of my classmates, Helen, turned to me and said, “What are you excited about? You won’t turn in this paper, just like you haven’t turned in the others.” Her comment cut me to the core. What right did she have to call me out like that? I made up my mind to show her that I would turn it in and that mine would be better than anyone else’s.

Over the next few nights, I worked hard on that assignment to make sure that it was my best work ever. My teacher was shocked when I handed her the assignment on time. So was Helen. A few days later, my teacher returned the graded papers. However, I did not receive mine. Before I could protest, the teacher began praising my work to the entire class. She even gave me hug before handing me my paper. It had a big red “A” on it. I was happy because I hadn’t received an “A” on an assignment in a long time. At the end of class, Helen pulled me aside and said. “I’m proud of you.” I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t this the same girl who had mocked me a few days earlier?

That experience changed my attitude towards school. From that point on, I stopped skipping class and became serious about my education. No more was I the troublemaker - I quickly became the kid that others asked for help with their homework.

I never feared another Parent/Teacher Conference.

Stay Strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: basketball, classmate, classroom, conference, daughter, eduation, elementary, english, father, grade, leapster, mother, parent, school, teacher

I promised that I would not write about Barack Obama unless he won the election. My daughter made me break my promise. She is only seven, but she is obsessed with Obama. She constantly asks about him, former presidents, and the U.S. election process.

Her obsession began last year when my wife bought her the book, Barack Obama: An American Story. When she first received the book, she could hardly pronounce his name. Now she laments the fact that she cannot vote for Obama because she is too young.

A few days ago, I brought home the September 2008 issue of Essence Magazine for my wife, but my daughter intercepted it and began tearing through the pages until she reached the Obama article. She spends countless hours pouring over the pictures and words. Obama’s daughters, Malia and Sasha, are her role models. She especially loves Sasha because they are the same age, are missing the same teeth and likes the same activities.

“Look how fancy they are,” she said marveling at the girls’ dresses. “I wonder if they are always that fancy?

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Do you think Sasha goes to school?” she asked.

“Of course they do,” I replied.

“She’s probably in second grade just like me,” she said.

“Probably,” I said.

“If Obama wins, they will live in the White House,” she said. “I wonder what’s it’s like to live in a mansion?” Her eyes glazed over in starry-eyed amazement.

She goes on and on like this all the time. She is fascinated by the fact that these girls, who look like her, could possibly live in the White House, but more importantly that their daddy could be president.

Before I go any further, I must disclose that I am not a gung-ho Obama supporter. I have some fundamental problems with his policies and his tendency to flip-flop on issues. He started out as a ray of hope, but has turned into another politician. Regardless of how I feel about him personally, I cannot deny the impact that his presidency could have on the African American community.

It has often been said that, in America, the land of opportunity, any child could grow up to be president. But children of color had a hard time believing this statement when they saw the faces of previous U.S. presidents. Now, maybe for the first time, they have reason to believe it. Obama has inspired young African Americans to succeed and to become involved in the political process. I must admit that it is good to see an African American role model who is not a rapper or an athlete.

So on Thursday night (the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech), I watched Obama’s historic acceptance speech with my family. Eighty thousand people showed up to see a black man who was scoring a touchdown or dunking a basketball. They came to see a black man who could possibly be the leader of the free world. Wow!

Despite my political leaning, I was impressed and inspired by Obama’s speech. My children needed to see him deliver such a strong message. He has enhanced their pride and given them a new realm of possibilities.

He has also encouraged me by actively demonstrating black fatherhood on a national stage. Like me, Obama grew up without his father, and he made it, just like I did. Because of this experience, we have both chosen to be actively engaged in our children’s lives.

On Father’s Day, Obama told a church of God in Chicago that “we need fathers to realize that responsibility doesn’t just end at conception.” He went on, “That does not make you a father. What makes you a man is not the ability to have a child. Any fool can have a child. It’s the courage to raise a child that makes you a father.”

Obama has renewed my courage, and even if I chose to not vote for him in November, his candidacy has made a difference in my life. But more importantly, he has inspired hope in African American children and voters across the country. And isn’t that the mark of a true leader?

Stay strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: african american, barack obama, black man, children, daughter, democratic convention, election, essence magazine, father, i have a dream, leader, martin luther king, president, speech, white house

As I mentioned in the previous post, we celebrated X’s birthday with cupcakes. Well, the next day, we decided to have the rest of the cupcakes for desert. My daughter, Nee, got a cupcake out of the container, but dropped it on the floor on the way to the table. I told her to throw it away and get another (the 5-second rule is a myth according to Food Detectives).

When everyone was served and finished eating their cupcake, we proceeded into the living room where I placed X on the floor and myself on the couch. X loves to walk into the kitchen and push the trash can around the island. As expected, he latched on to the can and began his trek around the kitchen. Let me state for the record that I do not condone this activity, but sometimes it’s easier to allow him to do it than it is to get up off the couch.

After one loop, he usually makes his way into the living room, but this time he did not. In fact, he stopped pushing the can and got quiet. Parents know that bad things are happening when children are too quiet. As I prepared to investigate, I heard Nee yell, “No, X!” When I arrived in the kitchen, Nee was wrestling her discarded cupcake out of X’s hand. This task proved to be more difficult than Nee realized. X would not be denied and tightened his grip on the tasty treat. He was able to stuff a few more sweet morsels into his frosting covered mouth before his sister could overpower him and retrieve the cupcake.

X let out an ear-piercing cry and made one last attempt at the cupcake. I swooped in and carried him to the bathroom where I could clean his face, hands, hair, clothes and feet. It was important that I removed all evidence of “The Cupcake Incident” before my wife returned home from swimming lessons. I felt like Jules and Vincent from Pulp Fiction and really need The Wolf’s assistance.

The problem I had was Nee. I knew that she would not be a complicit accomplice. Telling her something is like pouring water in a sieve. But it was late and I figured that she would be too tired to tell her mommy about what happened.

Boy was I wrong!

K could hardly get inside the door before Nee gave me up. I tried to keep her quiet, but this time she was the one who would not be denied.

“X ate a cupcake out of the garbage,” she said with a smirk on her face.

“He did what?” K asked as she shot me a look.

“You know how he is about cupcakes,” I replied. “He didn’t want it to go to waste.” K just shook her head and smiled. Maybe I didn’t need The Wolf after all.

Stay strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: african american, black, children, cupcake, daughter, father, garbage, pulp fiction, son

Like many men, I am colorblind. Therefore, I’m always asking my wife and my daughter the color of things. Tonight, as I was separating the laundry, I asked my daughter if an item of clothing was white. “It’s pink, Daddy,” she replied with exasperation, “You should really learn your colors.” I guess it’s time to pull out my crayons.

Stay strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: african american, black, color, colorblind, dad, daughter, father, laundry, wife

Yesterday my wife and I took our daughter to her first day of second grade. She had been looking forward to this day for a long time and was very excited. After negotiating the first day of the car pool line, we managed to get into the school’s parking lot. As we searched for a parking space, my daughter asked, “What are you doing?” My wife responded, “We’re parking so we can take you to your classroom.”

A look of horror came across her face. “No,” she responded. “Just drop me off. I’ll go in by myself.” And with that proclamation, Nee let us know that she was independent. We stopped the van to let her out and watched as she ran to the gym to meet her new teacher and classmates. Of course you know that the story doesn’t end there. I took off work to take her to school, so I was determined to do so. We parked and sneaked to her classroom before the class arrived. When we got there, several other parents were already waiting to greet their little darlings. I was glad to see several other fathers. Our numbers did not come close to the number of mothers, but we made a respectable showing.

When Nia walked into the classroom, she was surprised to see us. I was surprised that there were two other African American girls in her class. As I mentioned before, Nee attends a private school, so I was glad to see that the school is becoming more diverse.

After meeting Nee’s teacher and visiting with a few of the other parents, I took a few pictures to document the day, and gave Nee a pep talk and a kiss good-bye. We walked away happy to see our little girl was settling into her first day of second grade.

Getting to this first day of school was not without drama. All summer, Nee and my wife fretted over which class Nee would be placed in and which of her friends would be in class with her. Each night, Nee prayed that her best friend would be in her class. My wife and I prayed that Nee would be placed with the best teacher for her. Of course, my wife had her own idea of who she thought was the best teacher, but we prayed nonetheless.

The class lists are sent out each year during the first week of August. As you can imagine, anticipation began to swell by the last week of July. My wife was at the mailbox everyday until that letter finally showed up. When she opened it, the look on her face told me that things didn’t work out the way she wanted them to. Nee was not placed in the preferred teacher’s class and to make things worse, Nee’s friend would not be in class with her either.

My wife was crushed and I knew that Nee would be even more devastated. The only thing I thought about was that Nee would believe that God doesn’t answer her prayers. The last time she prayed with such fervency was when my wife was pregnant with our third child. Nee already had a brother and she desperately wanted a little sister. When she found out that we were having a boy, she was inconsolable for at least 10 minutes. She has finally warmed up to her baby brother and loves him to death, but I knew that explaining God’s ways to her would be more difficult this time.

As expected, Nee burst into tears when she saw the list. She tried to throw the paper in the garbage as if that would make things better. The first thing out of her mouth was that God never answers her prayers. I hated to see my little princesses hurting like this and I didn’t know if I could say anything that would make her feel better and not lose her faith in God.

When she had calmed down, I explained to her that God doesn’t always answer her prayers the way the she expects Him to. I told her that there was a reason for God’s placing her and her friend in different classes. Perhaps, God wanted her to make friends with a new girl, or maybe He had a separate plan for her friend. I continued by letting her know that Daddy doesn’t understand why God arranged things the way that He did, but it is important that she has faith that God did the right thing. I could tell that she was still disappointed, but my talk seemed to help a little.

On the day before classes started, the school held an open house for parents and students to see their new classrooms and to meet the teacher. This is where Nee found out that God does indeed work in mysterious ways. This year, the school moved to a team teaching concept for the elementary grades. Therefore, Nee would be taught by the teacher that her mother desired. More importantly, she will be able to spend time with her best friend throughout the school day. Praise God!

Last night before bed, I read Hebrews 11:1 to Nee. It states: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Because of here experiences in the past couple of weeks, Nee finally understood the meaning of this simple, yet complex verse.

For me, the start of the school year turned out to be an exercise in faith and sort of an emotional roller coaster. With a start like this, I’m looking forward to the rest of the year.

Stay strong,
Mocha Dad

Tags: african american, bible, black, class, dad, daughter, education, faith, father, God, prayer, school