My Flat Stanley is Better than Yours

The 2nd graders at Elmwood Village Charter School study and learn the 50 states each year. The first time they were quizzed on the states, they were required to fill in the states on a map given the first letter of each state. The average was 3-4 states. Sam filled in all 50. Here is part of the reason why.

One of the projects that accompanies their study of the states is the Flat Stanley project. For the uninitiated amongst you, Flat Stanley is a children's story character who gets sent around the world because, well, he's flat. The second graders each send out a Flat Stanley to someone who, they hope, will write about Stanley's adventure.

Being the ultra-competitive father that I am, I immediately looked at the map and tried to see just how far away Stanley could go. Well, that would be Alaska. And who did I know in Alaska? No one. But another glance at my friend list showed me the light. Let me tell you right now: Facebook is the single best invention to come along since white bread in my book now.

So after a few emails, Stanley jetted off to spend some time with my childhood friend Joel and his family. And today, Sam and his class showed off each of their Stanleys. Sam did not stop smiling the entire time. Nobody else in his class had a Stanley who went on such a wonderful adventure.

Stanley went up to Eagle River, Alaska. He hung out at Elmendorf Air Force Base and spent some time with the new F-22 Raptor. He inspected some of the new construction on the base. Stanley had emergency surgery because Joel's kids each wanted to bring him on their outings - at the same time. He braved the Alaskan wilderness and met moose and bald eagles. He posed with a stuffed polar bear. And, but for a few pesky clouds, a volcano. And he's got the pictures to prove it (see my FB page for pics).

So to Joel and your wonderful family, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for making Sam's day today.

P.S. Guard your daughter closely. He very clearly has a crush on her.

The Trials and Tribulations of a Choirboy

Most everyone that reads this little piece of the internet knows that I am and always have been an avid singer. My fondest wish was that my children would be able to experience the magic that I did growing up singing in a choir. When we moved to Buffalo last year, my hopes were greatly diminished. There just isn't a group that comes close to the unique experience that is the Chorus of Westerly.

Just when I gave up on the idea, St. Paul's Cathedral announced that they had hired a new organist and choirmaster. On a wing and a prayer I emailed him and asked if he had time to speak with me. We had a wonderful lunch together and quickly discovered that we came from the same background - a wonderful choir. He had continued on with musical studies. I had not. But he was anxious to rebuild the choirs, and readily agreed to bring in Sam to see if it was a good fit. Thanks to my three sons, hot prospects all, I was also able to join the Men's Choir.

I am so out of my league it is amusing. Every person in that choir is a professional musician or student of music. Perfect pitch abounds,as does a level of musicality that I have never experienced before. I was usually ahead of the curve in the groups I sang with. Not the case anymore. These guys were the hardcore music geeks of your childhood memories. And I'm sure they took their share of ribbing over it. Even I dealt with the occasional teasing about singing in a choir while growing up. Hint: it's worth every harsh word thrown at you.

Sam fell instantly in love with it. He was hooked after one open rehearsal. He's been singing for just about two months now. And he is paid. Yes, you read that correctly. My seven year old is a professional singer. I believe his wage is $1 per month. Oh, and he's going on tour to London in two years, as will be his brothers if my evil plan comes together.

However, we all know that the likelihood of all three of my strong willed little men loving singing is about as likely as all three of them becoming professional baseball players. To wit:

Driving home from Sunday services two weeks ago, Noah was clearly enthralled with the fact that Sam was actually singing. Aidan? Not so much.

"Sammy," Noah gleamed, "how do you sing like that?"

Sammy, who was basking in the adulation of his younger sibling, replied, "Like what, Noah?", clearly waiting for a chest puffing compliment.

But before Noah could answer, from the seat next to him a lilting voice carried beautifully through the car, "Liiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkkkkeeeeeeeeeeee aaaaaaaa Giiiiiiiiirrrrrrrlllllllllll."