The Dad Star

I got my 6-year-old an X-Wing fighter toy for Christmas (which is nearly identical to the one I had at his age) and he absolutely loves it. He's been flying it around the house non-stop, shooting at things, including me, which he has dubbed "The Dad Star." I'm not accustomed to being a planet destroying space station, but as long as he doesn't try to fly his toy down my trench and fire lasers into my exhaust port, I'm okay with it.

The Studio Boss

Sometimes my kids make me feel like a studio boss. You see, two summers ago I got the crazy idea to make a short superhero themed movie with them just for fun and they’ve been relentlessly pitching me ideas for more ever since.

Back when I was an age somewhere between the current ages of my two kids, I had decided, without a doubt, that I wanted to make movies when I grew up; a desire that was, of course, fueled by two guys named Lucas and Spielberg. I remember my ambition and excitement to make movies of my own was out of control, but, being the days just before the arrival of personal video cameras, there was no way for a kid my age to do so … or so I thought. Imagine my unbridled joy the day when I learned my parents had bought themselves a Super 8 movie camera and were actually willing to let me use it. It was crude, it was kind of expensive and it had no sound capabilities, but it was something. And then imagine my excitement when I Iearned that using a Super 8 was exactly how Spielberg had gotten his start as a kid.

Unfortunately that excitement quickly reverted back to frustration when I was faced with the harsh reality that filmmaking is, for the most part, a collaborative art and, being the only child of two busy parents, I became quickly frustrated when most of the time I couldn’t find anyone to help me with my creative visions. And this is why, despite the fact that I end up doing 75% of the work and they instill insane, whine-infused deadlines to deliver the finished product to them within a day or two (though luckily they’re pretty easy to please), when my kids beg me to help them make a “movie,” I will always, eventually, find the time to do so. Oh, the irony of life that I went to film school and moved all the way to Los Angeles to end up only, to date anyway, making movies with my kids. Hopefully I'm giving them inspiration and maybe teaching them some skills. I guess at the very least it's fun quality time spent together that they'll remember as we all grow older.

The Harry Potter Ride vs. My Son

My son is bummed he's not tall enough yet to ride the Harry Potter ride at Universal Studios. I told him he should've worn his platform 9 3/4 shoes.

Toes

I noticed my 6-year-old looking very intently at his toes. After a moment he asked if I could stick my middle toe up by itself and I told him I didn't think I could. He then asked me if doing so was like saying a swear word like it is when you do it with your middle finger. Yes, son ... never, ever flip your middle toe at anyone. Except maybe if someone cuts you off in traffic.

Feeling Loved

It always makes me feel so loved when I come home from a long day at work, walk in the front door and both my kids come running out, all smiling and yell, "Yay! Food's here!" and then grab the take-out I brought home for dinner out of my hands and run off. Yes, these are the precious moments.

Business Venture

My 6-year-old came to me yesterday with a small stack of construction paper and asked me to make some paper airplanes with him. I wasn't sure why until I watched him gather them up, put them into his trick or treat pumpkin bucket, walk out to the sidewalk in front of our house and start yelling, "Paper airplanes for sale!" After his new business venture ended in failure, we all got in the car to go get some lunch and he brought his bucket of planes with him. Once at the restaurant, while standing in line at the counter, he broke away from us and I assumed he was going to start trying to sell them again. To my surprise, he just started handing them out to all the ladies in the place, all of whom were obviously charmed by him, laughing and smiling as he demonstrated their use. This kid.

List

In other news, our 6-year-old just presented us with his official Christmas "list" which consists of a nearly 6-foot-long chain of photos of toys cut out from catalogs and taped together, end-to-end.

And The Rest

I remember getting mad as a kid whenever I heard the original version of the Gilligan's Island theme refer to the Professor and Mary Ann as "and the rest" and now so do my kids. Ah, the circle of life.

The Dark Side

By request, we recently purchased the 6-year-old a new set of Star Wars themed bedsheets. I have to confess that when he picked out ones that were emblazoned with Darth Vader and Storm Troopers, this caused me some concern that he may be aligning himself with the dark side, but all those worries were laid to rest last night when, while being all tucked into bed, he started to giggle maniacally and said, "I just farted on Darth Vader." I mean, really ... that's cold. The dude already has breathing problems.

Fashion Sense

My daughter's fashion sense can be summed up in two words: Punky and Brewster.

If you love something, let it go?

After a long respite, my daughter has suddenly, without any warning, rediscovered the song "Let It Go" and is now, as I type this, singing it with as much off-key, wrong-worded fervor as she had when it first gained popularity not so long ago. Please send help. Please send help now.

The Forest

Ever since we saw The Force Awakens this past Christmas, my 5-year-old has been constantly trying to use "the forest" on me. I can't tell if he's trying to be a Jedi or a Lumberjack.

Hockum

My 10-year-old's favorite word is "hockum." As in: hockum the moon looks like it's following us? Or: hockum you have hair in your armpits? Or: hockum girl parts are on the inside and boy parts are on the outside? Every day is chock full of a never-ending, rapid-fire barrage of hockums.

STOP!

My kids were being uncharacteristically (ha) loud and crazy today which caused my wife to finally yell "STOP!" at the top of her lungs and the 10-year-old, without missing a beat, followed it up with "Collaborate and listen!" Yeah, in retrospect, I don't think my wife appreciated my involuntary chuckle, but what do you expect when your child unexpectedly quotes Vanilla Ice?

Sunblock

My wife discovered my 10-year-old taking the initiative to protect her skin this weekend by liberally applying sunblock to herself. I say liberally because I overheard my wife say to her, "Hey ... um, no ... I don't think you don't need to put sunblock on in your armpits."

The Countdown

It always amazes me how the act of counting down is such an effective parenting tool. It happens so often in our house you'd think we live at Cape Canaveral and have had successfully launched about two and a half million satellites into orbit by this point.

The Hard Rock Cafe Sweatshirt and the Irony of Life

Every workday, on my walk to and from the parking garage where I park my car for work, I walk past a Hard Rock Cafe. It may seem ridiculous and/or really hard to believe now, but for a brief moment in time when I attended middle school in a small town in southeast Wisconsin, the Hard Rock Cafe logo sweatshirt was the epitome of coolness. It was a status symbol that was only rivaled by the Lacoste polo shirt (collar up, of course). If you were really cool, you’d pair the two in an epic display of tween superiority. And the further away your Hard Rock sweatshirt’s city of origin (which was displayed directly below the logo) was from your own hometown the better. That meant you were that much cooler, because that showed everyone else in school that your family was well off and had the money to splurge on lavish vacations.

For whatever reason, be it for lack of finances or interest (or both?), my parents were never into going on family vacations … anywhere. Actually, we did go camping a few times, but to the best of my knowledge there were never any Hard Rock Cafes located anywhere near the campgrounds we went to. So, that said, for that brief window in time, I coveted one of those damn Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirts. Back then I was a chunky kid in thick glasses with buck teeth who wore J.C. Penny’s Lacoste knockoff polo shirts with a fox instead of an alligator. I was the furthest from cool as you could get. I know, shocking right? For these reasons, I’m pretty sure I professed my desire for said sweatshirt to my Mom on multiple occasions, as if one would magically make me one of the cool kids at last.

A few years later, long after it’s coolness had faded away (because we all know how fickle fashion is), my Mom finally got me one as a surprise. It was from Chicago, the closest Hard Rock Cafe to us and it was purchased by a relative who had visited there. I still remember my mom excitedly giving it to me. I can only imagine how disappointed she must have been upon seeing my incredibly unappreciative, typical teenaged reaction to receiving it. Over the next couple of years, I think I wore the sweatshirt two, maybe three times. It mostly it hung neglected, deep within the recesses of my closet until it no doubt became garage sale fodder only a few short years later.

Flash forward to 2013. The very day I was to start a new job at a building located on Hollywood Boulevard, the one I’m at now and the one with the Hard Rock Cafe that I walk by every day, my Dad had called me early in the morning to tell me that my Mom was rapidly losing her battle with cancer and that I needed to fly home immediately. She passed away within the week that followed.

So now, as I walk by that Hard Rock Cafe every single workday, I’m reminded of that sweatshirt … that stupid sweatshirt that seemed so incredibly important to me at the time. Of course, it never occurred to me to apologize to my Mom about it before then and now, obviously, its too late. The irony of life stings sometimes.