Movie Banter

The following is an actual conversation between me and Nico while dueling with lightsabers:

Nico: "I cut you!"

Me: "No! My name is Inigo Montoya. You kill my father, prepare to die."

Nico: "No! You killed my father!"

Me: "Nico, I am your father."

Nico: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

After stopping my laughter, I realized I wasn't sure if he was quoting Return of the Jedi, or Toy Story 2.

Everything I Know is Wrong

Sometimes I think I'm a knowledgeable person. It's at these times I'm often proven wrong and/or shown the errors of my ways.

For example, the other day Thurman and I were discussing the importance of drinking water. I wanted to emphasize that it was important for him to do so, especially since he was active at his basketball camp and sweating a lot. So, I told him that adults are supposed to drink eight 8-oz. glasses of water a day; so commonly referred to in my youth I thought it was the 12th commandment or something. Well, apparently, it's not.

The shock of this still reverberates through me. What else am I wrong about? I'm now in a constant state of self-doubt (thanks, Carma).

I mean, I am the guy that for awhile thought David Spade and Dana Carvey were the same person.

I'm also the person who didn't eat Mac & Cheese for 14 years because I thought it had onions in it.

Last week, my sister Hillary had a baby and named it Rowan. I was paralyzed with doubt, not remembering if the baby was a boy or a girl. (It's a girl!) Some uncle I am.

I'm not always wrong though. It would almost be easier if I were, then I would just assume that whatever I chose would be wrong. Very defeatist, I know, but at least it's predictable. But over the years I've usually been right about things, but wrong often enough to keep a bit of continual doubt. I just really hate it when I'm wrong about the big things, or the expensive things.

Other things I've been wrong about:

• Signing a two-year lease was a good idea
• Trying to sell a house FSBO saves money
• Cyndi Lauper sang "Voices Carry"
• A reservation guarantees you a moving truck
• Downhill skiing is fun
• The market research job sounds more exciting
• I can handle a Meta-Analysis (statistics) course
• The burrito's been frozen, it should still taste fine
• I can jump off this tower
• We should get a dog
• We should get a cat
• We should get two cats
• I'll finish (start?) my thesis
• No, honey. I don't think you need stitches
• The snooze button should never be used
• Accounting won't be that difficult
• Going to a chiropractor will help

So, yeah. I guess when I want to be humbled, I've got a nice list to help out with that. On the flip side, at least I know I've been right about a few things. The really important ones, anyway. Like loving my wife. My kids. Joining the Church. Oo! And getting an extended warranty on the Pontiac.

At least if I'm wrong again, I know my loving wife will be around to help correct me.

Loud child

A couple of Sundays ago both Carma and I gave talks during our church sacrament meeting. During the "handoff" of Nico after Carma spoke and it was my turn, Nico wanted to come up to the front too. After I was done, he was quite upset that he didn't get a turn to speak into the microphone. I mean, really, how fair is it that Mommy and Daddy got to, and Nico didn't?

Nico has had a desire to speak into that microphone for several weeks. He's seen a few other kids get up on fast and testimony meetings and speak. Last Sunday after church, we went into the chapel area to retreive my bag, and Nico saw a couple of his friends running around and talking into the microphone. His eyes lit up as he recongnized his opportunity. Thurman saw what he was about to do and tried to hold him back, which was futile. I decided to let Nico say something into the microphone, as I knew it had already been turned off.

He approached the podium and climbed the stairs with a look of triumph. However, I held the microphone up so he could not speak into it. He looked at me longingly, ready to cry if needed were I to say "No."

I asked him, "Do you want to talk into the microphone?"
He nodded.
"Ok, you can choose two words to say, ok?"
Another nod.
"Do you know what you want to say?"
A final nod.
"Ok."

Then I lowered the microphone, into which Nico said "I LOVE DADDY!"

I kind of wish it had been left on.

Minor redemptions

In all honesty, I've been putting off writing this particular entry. I wanted some time and distance in order to write it from a less emotional perspective.

In retrospect, I let myself get carried away too much by the whole audition thing. Doing the math, it's easy to see I set myself up for a failure. On the day of my audition, there were over 500 entrants. There were three days of auditions. They could realistically only "accept" 50 acts max from all three day's worth of auditions. So, just on random chance, I had only about a 3% chance of being selected anyway.

However, there's always that light of hope you carry around with you. That maybe you're special and it just takes one chance to get noticed.

So, I waited about 5 hours for my minute-and-a-half audition. Never did I think it would take that long. It was not my best performance ever, either. I wouldn't even say it was good. Unknown to the two judges, in my nervousness I forgot a punchline in my abbreviated routine. I don't recall them ever actually laughing either, which didn't bode well. In my 20-second critique (at which point I already knew I wasn't going anywhere) I was told that this year was going to be especially though for ventriloquists since one won the show last year. So, feeling a bit dejected, I left.

I probably wouldn't be so bitter about the experience if it hadn't made everyone else in my family miserable as well. I felt really bad about that, much more so than the rejection at the auditions. It was Nico's birthday, and we were planning to go to the ESPN Zone for dinner and games. Carma had gone ahead with the boys, but was having a very hard time. We had neglected to check the ESPN Zone schedule ahead of time, and failed to realize that the place would be ultra-crowded due to the two Final Four games that night. So I finally caught up with them, the boys were cranky and hungry, and so we left (it was a three-hour wait for seating).

Out of desperation, we ended up having Nico's birthday dinner at Pax- a little slice shop on 42nd that caters mostly to the tourists to Times Square. I felt horrible- nothing had gone well, everyone was unhappy, and it felt like it was all my fault. We took a taxi to the ferry terminal to wait for the 9:20 ferry to Hoboken. Which, at about 9:35, we found out that it no longer exists, despite being posted on the electronic schedule board when we arrived. So we had to take a different ferry to another place and then take yet another cab to our car in Hoboken so we could drive home. We finally arrived there after 10:15. Yeah, a great ending to a perfect day.

I guess the lesson here for me (there's always a lesson involved, isn't there?) is about priorities. What was really more important? Some against-all-odds chance of being on TV? Or spending my boy's birthday with him and the rest of my family? In hindsight this is much clearer to me, and I regret my decision. I felt I let down Nico (though he probably didn't even really notice, to be honest), but even more so my wife.

*****************************************************************************

On the morning of his birthday, Nico asked us "When are my friends coming?" Carma and I had decided that we weren't going to have a birthday party for him this year (involving his friends anyway), but after that we reconsidered. He'd been to so many of his friend's parties by now, we didn't realize that he had come to expect it.

So we decided to have a party with a few of his friends just at our house, which took place this past Saturday. We sent out invites, and Carma did a lot preparing the Super-Hero theme, complete with Super-Hero capes for all the (child) guests (which read "Super (kid's name)"), a Superman cake, and Spider-man gift bags. Ironically, all the guests who were able to come were girls.

As part of the "entertainment", I brought out my duck for the kids. Nico and the girls were all delighted. They laughed and giggled, and tried to pet him. The duck even got a "Super Duck" cape of his own. The duck lead them around and after a couple of minutes of fun, was put away. They were momentarily sad, but moved on to other fun activities.

Me, I had found an audience that made me feel special. One that fit what my true priorities are.

Name calling

Having the last name of "Lincoln" has been very interesting. I can't say I'm very fond of "Greg," though I am used to it by now. I have rather negative feelings about my middle name, "Alan," not necessarily because it is a bad name in an of itself (though it holds no meaning whatsoever for me either), but simply because it give me a rather poor set of initials.

I always have thought of my name as kind of uncommon, but commonly regarded and well-known. I mean, just try to find any town of over 15,000 people that doesn't have something named Lincoln in it. However, since the advent of Google, I've found way too many Greg Lincolns for my own taste. I feel much more common now.

As a kid growing up, probably the most common question I got about my name was (everyone chime in)..."Are you related to Abe?" The answer was always "no", but not always easy to explain. My father, Robert Lincoln, was adopted in his late teens by Ray Lincoln, automatically eliminating any pure-blood ties to the Lincoln name (though legally is another matter). I was able to later find out that all of Abraham Lincoln's descendants had passed away, which while tragic for that family line, made things much easier to explain without getting into a lengthy discussion involving my own genealogy.

Another childhood memory of my name (and probably a good warning for my children), is a rhyme that some other kids made up and decided was fun to sing in elementary school:

"Stinkin' Lincoln, I've been thinkin', what the heck have you been drinkin'?"

Yep, that sums up a good chunk of my childhood right there.

These days, I must say I get a lot less comments or questions (or songs) about my name, though it does occasionally pop up. Most often though, it seems my name gets noticed at church. For those of you who are not Mormon, our church has certain duties assigned to members of the congregation. These are purely acts of service, and some carry quite a bit of responsibility. My calling title is Elder's Quorum President, which means I'm supposedly in charge of the Elder's Quorum. What I never anticipated (until getting the calling), is that now a whole bunch of people commonly refer to me (in third person and to me directly) as "President Lincoln." I must admit it was quite unnerving at first. I kept hoping that no one named "Booth" would join our ward.

Looking forward, I'm interested to see what complaints/occurrences/cool things happen with my kids regarding their last name. I've already had some fun with it, stuff like telling Thurman (at age 4) that his mommy had dug the Lincoln Tunnel. At least I can take comfort in the fact that as a thoughtful parent, my children's initials are nothing to be ashamed of.


Some other "Lincoln" facts:

• Thurman was born in the Land of Lincoln (Illinois)
• I thoroughly enjoyed "Manhunt: The 12-day chase for Lincoln's killer" by James L. Swanson. I probably felt more avenged than most people do.
• I have a t-shirt that reads "Lincoln Shot First", I even wore it to Ford's Theater.
• They Might Be Giants (my all-time favorite band) had an album called Lincoln.
• I've been to Lincoln's tomb in Springfield, IL. That's the only nice thing that can be said about the town.
• Hoboken has a Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Monroe, Jackson, Harrison, Clinton, and even Sinatra streets, but no Lincoln.
• On my morning commute, I often ride the ferry "Abraham Lincoln."
• We have two turtles, one is named Abraham.

Cartoon Bonding

"Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.” -Plato

"One of the best things in the world to be is a boy; it requires no experience, but needs some practice to be a good one.” -Charles Dudley Warner


I love being a Dad who has sons. If nothing else, it sometimes lets me be a boy again. Seriously though, who else is better prepared to play cars, Legos, army men, video games, and watch cartoons? I have decades of experience at this. Also, it is one of the few areas that my wife struggles with. So, it is a role I do relish.

With the enormity of choice in the cartoon world, it is not always easy to choose what to watch. This is true if you are 2, 7, or 34. We do have a staple of favorites in our household, but I'm sure they will continue to change. When Thurman was young, he gravitated toward Bob the Builder and Blue's Clues, with a little Thomas the Tank Engine thrown in. Later, he started to like Arthur, Go Diego Go, and Oswald. Nico, however, will pretty much watch what Thurman watches, though his current favorites are Curious George and Blue's Clues.

Actually, before going further, I do want to comment a bit on Curious George. Honestly, this is a really good (and funny) cartoon. William H. Macy is the "narrator/commentator" voice (at least for the first season), which adds a whole new dimension to the show. Once in awhile, he'll make a comment that will put me (or my wife) in stitches. Taken out of context, the examples probably aren't going to be as funny, but I'll post a couple anyway (perhaps I'll come back and add a few later):

• "There are some things a dog just can't explain to a monkey."
• "Sometimes, monkeys and girls think alike."
• "It was just one of those days when nobody needed a monkey's help."

Anyway, George is a favorite in our home.

The rest of the favorites all fall into the superhero sub-category. Right now the boys are enjoying a steady diet of Superman: The Animated Series. Previously, Thurman and I (and occasionally Nico) watched the Justice League (Seasons 1 & 2) and enjoyed it a lot. We also dabble in Batman: The Animated Series (which I remember watching while in college), and occaisionally The Batman. Heck, Thurman's even watched quite a few Superfriends episodes from the 70's. So, there's clearly no shortage of superhero action at our home. I might have to look into getting some of the X-Men cartoons from the mid-90's as well, as we seem to be a bit heavy on DC and light on Marvel.

(Sidebar: When I was a kid, the major cartoons I remembered watching were G.I. Joe, Transformers, He-Man, Rocky & Bullwinkle, an obscure one called Galaxy Rangers, Inspector Gadget, Danger Mouse, and probably a few others I can't remember.)

Now, an issue I think my wife has with the superhero cartoons is that they are too violent. In some ways I agree, as really the only conflict that occurs for superheros involves someone doing something bad, and the superhero forcibly stopping them. My soon-to-be-three-year-old always likes to play "beat up the bad guy" or "shoot the daddy." Our older son never really showed that much interest in blowing things up or shooting things until he was older (which I ascribe as the natural course of boyhood, while my wife does not). I think Nico would be doing these things regardless of the cartoons, he just seems to be one of those kids that is attracted to physical (if sometimes violent) play. He loves to wrestle and grapple and tackle. He always wants to be held. He's always running and crashing into things or people. The kid seems to have two speeds: Hyper-Overdrive and Asleep.

Now, it is my hope that superhero cartoons can do more good than harm. In them, they see people in conflict, yes. But they also see people standing for what is right. Trying to do their best. Taking responsibility. And ultimately, achieving their goals and being successful after working hard to achieve them. Plus, as an added bonus, it gives us a common ground to discuss things and have reference points. That, and it lets me put off my own adulthood for 22 minutes or so.

"Some parents say it is toy guns that make boys warlike. But give a boy a rubber duck and he will seize its neck like the butt of a pistol and shout "Bang!"” -George F. Will

"There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life that he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure” -Mark Twain

On donuts, and my grandpa

In the heady days before the North Bridge Mall in Albert Lea (MN) was ever even conceived, the Skyline Mall was all we had (and it didn't have a Wal-Mart back then).

These were the days when Ben Franklin was still a store, when J.C. Penny's was alive and well, and there was also a grocery store named Piggly Wiggly's (or something similar).

Near one of the entrances to the mall (on the opposite side of Sibley and Southwest Junior High) there was a happy little donut shop. I remember going there with my grandpa as a kid, and one day he told me I could have ANY donut I wanted. So, I chose the "Texas Size" chocolate frosted donut. My grandpa told me I'd never eat it all. I told him I would.

I was right. I think it may have been the first time (and one of only a few times until age 20 or so) that my grandpa was wrong and I was right.

I've always had a special relationship with my grandparents, mostly because they were an integral part of our family (and support system) when I was growing up. But I really always had a close bond with my grandpa. With a lack of a father in my own immediate family, my grandpa was kind of the surrogate dad that taught me the "manly" stuff.

My grandpa's garage was essentially a workshop. Wood-working, metal-working, fixing things, creating things, everything I could imagine as a boy could be done in grandpa's garage. He had an old-fashioned drill, a compressor, a grinder, a welder, every tool you could ever imagine. And he always seemed to know everything, and just what to do, or how to fix something. It was a magic place, and he was the master.

Throughout my adult life, I've found that while I'm not one to putz around or even have a workshop of my own, I am able to fix things, reason out how to do it and what I need. I'll probably never change the oil in my own car, but knowing I could if I needed to is comforting. I can only hope that I can be for my sons what my grandpa was for me.

Thanks grandpa.