Week 29: Bentley Continental GT

What a fine day to take the Bentley out for a drive.

Bentley - the sound of the word generates an image of wealth and luxury, even if you had previously never heard of the car.

Kid words often have that same effect -- even more, probably -- certain words a child says can create an entire background way beyond the word itself.

Four-year-old Racer A will often mispronounce horrible as horlible -- as in: "This dinner is horlible," or "My stomach huwts so much -- it's horlible!" Like a word from ancient Hebrew or Latin, no single word in English can truly capture all the meanings that horlible holds when I hear it, but I get. I speak his language.

Sometimes it feels like kid words are richer in meaning.

They feel more poetic.

Baby G, who turns two next month, loves joining in pretend games with his brothers. He will sometimes approach me, calling me Dadarobot. With that moniker, an entire world of play and imagination opens up for me -- it's the Bentley of imagination.

As adults, words such as scared, important, amazing, spooky, funny, and frustrated (fwust-er-rated) are so trite they hold onto their meanings like a fast-food counter employee holds onto job enthusiasm, but when a kid says them, they pop with life.

Kids polish old words simply by saying them until they shine, reflect, and make you want to hold onto them forever, which of course you can't. Words will always lose their luster with age.

But there is nothing like hearing old words from a new child to remind you of all the meanings those precious assembled groups of letters can really hold.

It's more of a rush than taking a Bentley out for a drive.


Poetic painting of a picture courtesy of Phil Pekarcik.


The Bentley Continental GT is part of the Matchbox 2010 VIP Rides collection.

Week 28: 1964 Shelby Cobra "Daytona" Coupe (Treasure Hunt)

The above diecast car was my first Hot Wheels Treasure Hunt, which I found in the middle of a rack of cars  at a store.

If you don't know about Treasure Hunts, Hot Wheels puts out a limited number of Treasure Hunts each year, models of popular previous releases  in new stylings, and these little cars get scooped up quickly, often before ever even hitting the shelves.

But I found one. Truth in fact: that makes me cool.

Today's blog, then, is dedicated to treasure hunts, the everyday treasure hunts in which we participate, particularly if kids are involved.

To begin our story of intrigue and treasure, let's begin in the basement, my basement, where I was assembling the tools I would need to change the oil in my non-tiny car.

"Can I help?" asked four-year-old Racer A, who had followed me down the stairs.

"Of course, I would love to have your help." I gathered up my ratchet and set of sockets.

"Oh, can I carry them?" 

I remembered another time one of the kids helped me carry my sockets. It's very difficult to read those little numbers on the sides of the sockets as you're trying to put them back in order after they spill all over the floor. One socket will always roll under something. Something always just large enough to accommodate a socket.

"How about you carry the ratchet."

"Okay," he said, beginning to ratchet imaginary broken things all over the place.

We headed upstairs, where I first reminded him to hold the railing as he ratcheted the air, and where I then reminded him to put on his coat. 

Outside, I got down on the ground and asked Racer A for the ratchet.

"Hmmm," he said. "I guess I don't have it."

"Where is it?" I asked. No more worthless string of words have ever existed in talking to a kid than, "Where is it?" except, perhaps, "Did you put the milk back in the refrigerator?"

"I don't know. I wonder where it went?"

He seemed truly baffled. Happy. But baffled.

"Well, let's go look. You just had it a minute ago."

Part Two: The Search

The ratchet was gone. Not near where he put on his coat. Not near the door. Not anywhere logical. Hey Diddle Diddle, the Cat and the Fiddle, My Ratchet for Changing My Oil Ran Off With the Spoon.

Stupid spoon.

"Well, let's look for it later." Luckily I had a second ratchet in my tool box.

I finished with the oil change, and we looked for the ratchet again, but by that time the thrill of the ratchet had largely left my son. At the time of this writing, the ratchet has officially become a Treasure Hunt item, one of a lengthy assemblage of items that have been buried in the house to one day surprise me.

Such items have disappeared to be found in shoes, vents, toy boxes, and inside winter hats. I once found a tape measure in a mixing bowl. 

Why do they do it? We can't know, and we don't have the capacity to understand their little pirate logic. All we can do is ask them, over and over again, where they saw it last.

So here is to our household Treasure Hunt finds (and unfounds) and the little treasure hiders (and loot misplacers) of the world who make them possible. Here is to the car keys in the shower, the can of pinto beans behind the couch, the one missing dress shoe in the teddy bear bin, may they always surprise, delight and astound us.

I know I will be surprised, delighted and astounded when I find that ratchet.

The above car was Hot Wheels Treasure Hunts series #5 out of 12 for 2010

Photo courtesy of Phil Pekarcik.

Week 27: Dodge Magnum

Today's diecast is from Matchbox, a model of a vehicle I don't recall: a big ole' roomy Dodge Magnum. I'm told this beast offered a 5.7-liter HEMI V8.

What could I possibly be hauling in such a roomy, powerful wagon?

Repetition.

I'm hauling a load of repetition, the salt, pepper AND ketchup of father/child bonding. Repetition goes on everything when talking with kids.

Particularly, I'm hauling the running gags that have spontaneously developed, the type of gags that probably have developed between kids and caretakers everywhere, gags that repeat day after day, hour after hour, week after week and that hold no meaning outside of the immediate family circle.

That is a big cargo, my friend.

I'll focus on three running gags in rotation, and while there are others, I've selected these because all four of us - ages almost two, four, almost 11, and 48 - all participate. Mom doesn't play, but trust me, I've heard her running kid jokes, and they're just as painful, if not quite as stupid.

Repetition One:
Anytime a Barbie or Barbie related products shows up on television or in a catalog, we all try to be the first one to yell BARBIE QUE! Even Baby G, who doesn't know a Barbie from a Bratz, shouts, "Baabie Cooo [tiny pause] ooo." There was never a formal agreement to do this -- this sophisticated humor developed organically.

Repetition Two:
Only on cold days (began when being silly while changing a diaper).

Knock knock.

Who's there?

COLD HANDS!!!!! (place freezing hands on person's back).

Baby G can't fully pull this one off, but he does say "Knaa Knaaaa" and laugh, and he giggles like a fool in anticipation of cold hands.

Nonetheless, I've cursed this one catching on -- it took off after one time. One time! Sob.

Repetition Three:
From a Lego commercial where a Lego fireman yells "HEY!"

In the beginning we would all yell "HEY!" every time the commercial ran, much to the disapproval of four-year-old Racer A, who claims that is his line and we needed to find our own commercials. Within days the gag expanded to random outbursts, each of us trying to better mimic the voice on the commercial. You can easily run this gag upwards of 800 times a day. We do.

I had a running gag when my oldest son, now 21, was young that since jumped the age gap to follow not only Racer Z when he was tiny, but also Racer A. Every time somebody would say, "Dad, put on my sweatpants (or socks, gloves)", I  would reply, "I can't - they don't fit me!"  Part One of running gag. Gag only works if they word it correctly.

Part Two is I would immediately follow with, "I love that joke!" The gag didn't work without that second part.

After a while, I would say "They don't fit me!" and somebody, either the kid who originally asked for the snowpants or a brother in the room, would say, "You love that joke, don't you?"

See, the repetition of mentioned loving the joke was every bit as important to the gag. It is just the law.


So I need a big HEMI to haul my cargo load of repetitive kid humor.

HEY!!!!



Have some ridiculous kid repetitions/running gags to share? Bring 'em on over to the DaddysTinyCars Facebook page at ww.facebook.com/DaddysTinyCars - the more painful, the better.



Photo courtesy of Phil Pekarcik, with map representing my neck of the woods.


Matchbox 9 of 15 of the 2010 Sports Cars series.

Week 26: 1974 VW SP2

One of the most important gifts we can give our children is solid boundaries, and understanding and respecting boundaries will serve us well into adulthood.

Boundaries, however, are not the same as limitations any more than respect is the same as fear or communication is the same as talking and talking and talking.             And talking.

These musings figure into my diecast car selection for this week, a wonderful Hot Wheels based on the actual VW SP2 from beyond the United States, a sporty little number made between 1972 and 1976 by Volkswagen do Brasil.

While a truly excellent looking car, don't expect to see one while getting your kicks on Route 66. Of 10,205 cars made, only 670 shipped to outside of Brazil, and, of those, 155 went to Nigeria. Combine those numbers with the fact that the last SP2 was born during the U.S. bicentennial, and you have a true rarity. If you want one, I suggest the Hot Wheels solution.

Because this cool little diecast is based on a sports car previously unfamiliar to me that sported in a geography far from areas of which I was familiar, I selected it as a symbol of my week, one marked by my moving beyond self-imposed limitations into areas of relative unfamiliarity. This car is also a symbol of the excitement I feel as I have solidly committed to pursuing my beliefs in regards to making a living.

Enough vagaries: for years, I've had a calling to work toward social change, yet pursuing careers in line with these ideals seemed impractical or unrealistic and there was always a reason for why I could not. Even as I created the groundwork, gained experience, pursued training and slowly began building a network of people in related fields, even as I subtly began readying myself for a change, even as I worked toward this vague goal, I'm not sure I believed I would achieve, or even actually attempt, such a move.

And then I lost my job.

But there was no immediate epiphany, however - I still stubbornly clung to old ideas of what was practical or attainable for me. I held tight to these ideas even as they began to lose credibility in my soul, even as the direction I needed to go began howling in my head like a riled up dachshund desperate to be acknowledged, until one day recently I took a look at the precious limitations I was clutching and saw they were no more than a metaphoric armload of parachute pants and terry cloth wrist bands, an armload of concepts that I think we all can agree need to be left behind.

I have accepted a contract project for an education-based organization involved in global clean-water initiatives and am talking to another organization regarding potential contract work. I've begun volunteering with causes in which I believe. I've even begun writing a short fiction piece as part of a writer collaborative project. I am ecstatic.

See, it isn't that suddenly everything has fallen into place, that I've arrived at some imagined destination, or even that I feel confident about what happens next.

Why I am ecstatic is that I finally understand I don't need any of those elements. I just need to be true and to finally listen to the noisy dachshund inside of me, because that metaphoric dog really had no intention of quieting down anyway, and it was only a matter of time before it started tearing up the furniture. I suspect it may have already taken a few bites out of at least one love seat.

So here I am, age 48, and for the first time ever I feel a sense of true direction.

But seriously, look at that little car.

Nothing has ever looked so good to me.

Note on daddy blogging: I loosely consider Daddy's Tiny Cars a part of the larger daddy blogging community, and yet this entry is noticeably missing in any mention of children. I am okay with this, however, as a daddy's journey for meaning and direction regarding work and life choices connects to the daddydom, and trust me, the kids have been present all week in all their noisy glory!

Photo of my lil' symbolic Hot Wheels #8 (from the 2010 All Stars Collection), courtesy of Phil Pekarcik. Man, I really, really like the way that car looks.


Photo of the howling dachshund by Patricia van Casteren, downloaded from her Flickr stream March 3, 2011 and used under the Creative Commons license.


Check out the Facebook fanpage of Daddy's Tiny Cars for additional links to websites with photos of the actual SP2. I'm not kidding -- that is an awesome looking car.

Week 25: GMC Wrecker

As a blog diary, I could easily connect today's diecast pick, a GMC tow truck, to my morning.

I've been weak, weak, weak for two days from a cold and have barely been out of bed -- my hands so cold I can chill beverages like one of those swirly water wine chillers in stores -- hand me your can or bottle and within minutes my zombietouch will remove all warmth. Trust me you don't want my hands on your back.

Feverish and asleep for 12 hours, I was only vaguely aware of goings on this morning -- my ten year old was keeping an eye on his two younger brothers while my wife went to an appointment. I was of course foreman to this operation. I fell back into my fevered sleep...

...to hear my wife angrily announcing that Baby G's diaper had fallen off and was around his ankle, kept somewhat in place by the pajama leg. Other substances, however, were not so contained.

With credit to his clever baby wisdom, Baby G did figure since the diaper was no longer functional he would need to find an absorbent replacement. He settled on his little cloth chair (a funny little scale model of an adult easy chair), where he was found seated when my wife arrived.

I of course was completely unaware, and I thought the commotion was part of a fever dream. Best to just go back to sleep.

When I later pushed my son as to why he did not come wake me, he said he had previously got in trouble with mom for lying about one of his chores and was not allowed to watch television.

I didn't see a connection. Was this more fever dream?

My son had decided to plop his brothers down in front of cartoons to keep them out of trouble, but did not himself want to get in trouble for watching TV when mom returned, so went in his room to read. How was he to know the diaper fell off?

So I could tie a tow truck, a symbol of help in fixing emergencies and mishaps, to this morning.

Trust me, I've thematically connected cars to previous blogs with much shakier premises.

I could connect it, but I won't.

For one, the picture was taken before any of this saga was revealed, although that still wouldn't be enough to stop me from using it.

No, for two, this truck was selected for Daddy's Tiny Cars because of the detail.

One of the elements that makes diecast cars so fun is unexpected detail -- a hood that opens, a detailed dashboard visible through the window, a spare tire under the car.

This truck is so great because of how the decals are so meticulous and readable. Check that picture out -- that is actually a picture of my Matchbox truck, and while Photoshop has made it look life size, the detail is sufficient that it looks like a real tow truck.

This really is a beauty of a Matchbox.

See, that's why I like these little toys. You can be fevered, weak and have zombie hands and your baby son can be using a chair as a diaper while you sleep, but everything seems a little better when you look at a toy car.

Or this is the fever talking. Either way, everything seems a little better now.

I think I'm going to sneak up on my on Racer Z and put my hands on his back.



This incredible photo, complete with ominous crow and apocalyptic sky, courtesy of Phil Pekarcik, who indeed has electricity again thanks for asking. This Matchbox is number 73 of the Matchbox 2010 collection and is part of the City Action group.