My son, like virtually every other nine-year-old these days, enjoys playing Angry Birds on the iPad — except when he doesn't. Except when he gets too frustrated by a difficult challenge in the game, and his inability to find a way past it. That's when he comes to me for help. I told him I'd try my best, but that I hadn't spent the hours (or days, or weeks) playing the game that he had, so I couldn't promise I'd succeed. But I'd try.
The first thing he told my wife, when he woke up the next morning, was that I had succeeded in beating this level for him.
These are the expectations set for me. Whenever there's a problem to be solved, Daddy will solve it. A question? Daddy will have the answer. Last minute Halloween costume? Daddy will create it. A broken toy? Daddy will be able to fix it (even when the pieces are strewn all over the kitchen table, and little tiny screws are rolling away in every direction). And he won't give up.
This is all my fault, of course. I haven't set up any expectations I haven't already lived up to. Miracles have (mostly) been worked. In the thinking of a nine-year-old, there is just about nothing I cannot do.
(I never did beat that level for him — not for a lack of trying — but I did explain a strategy for how I thought he might do it. And he succeeded, on his own, within about thirty seconds of trying.)
18 January 2012
17 January 2012
13 January 2012
Relative Dimensions
I built a TARDIS door for my son's bedroom last Summer — I don't think I ever wrote about it (though it might explain the gap in posts just before August). This was my wife's idea for a Birthday present.
Long ago, when my son was still an infant, we had put up a sort of wooden porch door (you know, with a screen) to be able to keep the door closed without completely closing off the room. It stayed in place long after we had any real need for it, and it was her idea that we take this door, make some minor modifications, and paint it. How difficult (or expensive) could it be?
It was my idea, however, to completely remove everything but the outer door frame, and build back in the details. And I did. (See the photo below.) If it was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. It might have been easier if I had something better and more precise to cut wood with than a jigsaw, but with good fortune and some strategically-applied wood putty (and a few visits to the local Home Depot), it turned out reasonably well.
From here, it was mostly a matter of working out the details — matching the paint color to the toy TARDIS, finding a good-sized decorative door handle, small mailbox lock and key, picture frame for the door sign, prismatic plastic lighting diffuser for the windows, et cetera, et cetera. And painting. Lots and lots of painting. Painting was the point where I felt as though all my hard work might be completely ruined, because it never looked as good as I thought it should. Somehow, though, it turned out well in the end — that, or I learned to overlook any shortcomings. (I wish I had taken a better photo of the finished door in better light, before it was hung in place.)
What made everything much more complicated, though, was that I had about three days to work on this while my son was away, and then another three days to finish it, in secret, after he returned. I was touching up the paint and installing the door sign the morning of his birthday, and I had just enough time to quickly (very quickly!) hang the door before picking him up from summer camp that afternoon. His reaction upon seeing it was completely wonderful.
Someone has just asked me to build another. I'm not entirely anxious to go through all that all over again, but I still have all my notes and sketches and measurements, and a few ideas that might help speed the process along — or at least eliminate a bit of the frustration I experienced along the way. (Priming the wood, for example, might allow me to avoid an additional coat of paint for coverage.) Who wouldn't want the chance to go back in time and do something all over again, but better?
Long ago, when my son was still an infant, we had put up a sort of wooden porch door (you know, with a screen) to be able to keep the door closed without completely closing off the room. It stayed in place long after we had any real need for it, and it was her idea that we take this door, make some minor modifications, and paint it. How difficult (or expensive) could it be?
It was my idea, however, to completely remove everything but the outer door frame, and build back in the details. And I did. (See the photo below.) If it was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. It might have been easier if I had something better and more precise to cut wood with than a jigsaw, but with good fortune and some strategically-applied wood putty (and a few visits to the local Home Depot), it turned out reasonably well.
From here, it was mostly a matter of working out the details — matching the paint color to the toy TARDIS, finding a good-sized decorative door handle, small mailbox lock and key, picture frame for the door sign, prismatic plastic lighting diffuser for the windows, et cetera, et cetera. And painting. Lots and lots of painting. Painting was the point where I felt as though all my hard work might be completely ruined, because it never looked as good as I thought it should. Somehow, though, it turned out well in the end — that, or I learned to overlook any shortcomings. (I wish I had taken a better photo of the finished door in better light, before it was hung in place.)
What made everything much more complicated, though, was that I had about three days to work on this while my son was away, and then another three days to finish it, in secret, after he returned. I was touching up the paint and installing the door sign the morning of his birthday, and I had just enough time to quickly (very quickly!) hang the door before picking him up from summer camp that afternoon. His reaction upon seeing it was completely wonderful.
Someone has just asked me to build another. I'm not entirely anxious to go through all that all over again, but I still have all my notes and sketches and measurements, and a few ideas that might help speed the process along — or at least eliminate a bit of the frustration I experienced along the way. (Priming the wood, for example, might allow me to avoid an additional coat of paint for coverage.) Who wouldn't want the chance to go back in time and do something all over again, but better?
06 January 2012
Tiny
I had the good fortune to be able to take advantage of Apple's iPod nano (1st generation) Replacement Program (yes, that's how they spell it, with a lower case "n"), despite the fact that my old iPod Nano — I'm sorry, I cannot bring myself not to use an uppercase "N" — is about a zillion years old, had demonstrated no battery problems, and only half the LCD screen still worked. And it was a gift. And I stopped using it two or three years ago.
They've long since run out of that particular model (and apparently, the models that followed), so my replacement was a refurbished version of the current iPod Nano. It's a tiny little thing, just under an inch-and-a-half square. (In fact, I officially named it "Ridiculously Tiny iPod Nano." in iTunes.) I think if I tried to use this regularly in place of the one I currently use (from two or three iterations ago, three-and-a-half-inches tall, with a clickwheel) — primarily in the car, listening to podcasts while driving — I'd either lose it, or be driven to frustration, and intentionally lose it. (The plastic insert I use in my FM Transmitter Mount to acomodate my iPod is almost as big as this new iPod.)
But still, it's nice to have another. This one even has an FM radio, which is sort of impressive when you think about how small the device is. I wonder if it could have been smaller, but since the entire interface is driven by a touch screen, there's a point past which it would probably become difficult to use.
They've long since run out of that particular model (and apparently, the models that followed), so my replacement was a refurbished version of the current iPod Nano. It's a tiny little thing, just under an inch-and-a-half square. (In fact, I officially named it "Ridiculously Tiny iPod Nano." in iTunes.) I think if I tried to use this regularly in place of the one I currently use (from two or three iterations ago, three-and-a-half-inches tall, with a clickwheel) — primarily in the car, listening to podcasts while driving — I'd either lose it, or be driven to frustration, and intentionally lose it. (The plastic insert I use in my FM Transmitter Mount to acomodate my iPod is almost as big as this new iPod.)
But still, it's nice to have another. This one even has an FM radio, which is sort of impressive when you think about how small the device is. I wonder if it could have been smaller, but since the entire interface is driven by a touch screen, there's a point past which it would probably become difficult to use.