We do our best to be very sensitive and careful in how we handle and discuss race, class and gender in our family. We work on our use of language, our interactions, our alterations of existing materials, our own internal, built-in biases. We work on them, attempt to work them out, and be in a place of natural equilibrium and equality in our daily life. We are not by any means perfect, or even always good, but we are always working to be better.
Braydon
While Heather is most definitely the chef in our house, I have liked to bake from time to time. And recently it’s taken a whole new turn…I received a sourdough starter from a friend at the River Valley Waldorf school. In truth I begged for it, and here I am now with it.
I have always been a mediocre cook. And a terrible meal planner. Maybe this is due to my upbringing as a man, or maybe it’s due to my experiences around food as a child, or maybe I am not that creative, or maybe food is not how I sustain my family. I am not sure, and maybe it does not matter. I am just not a cook – and definitely not a chef.
It’s no secret that Kyle and Owen have a long and loving history with Marching Bands. If there is any doubt, just look: here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here or, here. And, last night we had the best of all possible worlds for our pleasure….

This morning we had a two hour snow delay for school. We got about 4 inches of wet snow. In New England this would be a joke, but here it’s not. And honestly, I was slipping all over the road. Of course, the boys had insisted we take the back way, so maybe that was it. Or maybe it was that we were playing “On the road again” at full volume and singing along. Who knows.
Be sure to click the “full screen button” (next to the word vimeo) to see it large!
The Johnson-McCormick celebration of Barack’s inauguration from Braydon Johnson-McCormick on Vimeo.
Dropping the boys off, being with Meera in the morning (especially since she wouldn’t nap – poor baby – my guess is that she was worried about where mama was), picking the boys up, hanging out in the afternoon (we made cookies today, not much yesterday and made “Curious George Rides a Bike” boats on Monday) and getting ready for mommy’s return at 4:30. It has been really good bonding and has given me a deep appreciation for the importance of spending a lot of time with our kids.
Now, to be perfectly honest, for all the good it has been, and how short it is in reality, it’s been quite a bit for me. Call me wimpy or whatever, it’s tough. And when I picked up the boys at school today, I was pretty exasperated, particularly with Owen.
He is a handful. A big personalitied, kinetic, charismatic, million miles an hour, not-minding-his-papi, laughing louder than necessary, not putting his shoes on, handful. And when I was holding Meera, trying to get Kyle into his boots, coat, hat, sled (they each brought to school for sledding) and get his things ready to go, I was clearly showing the signs of a papi at the end of his rope.
Seeing this, his wonderful teacher then told me this story:
“Yesterday, when we were all outside sledding, I fell down and hurt myself. I was climbing up the hill and it was so icy, and every time I started back up, I fell down on my face. It happened over and over. Then I looked up and saw this hand outstretched to me. It was Owen. I took it, and he is so strong, and he helped me right up.
He was the only one who noticed. It meant so much to me.”
That is Owen.
We are 5 billion spinning tops careening into each other around the world.
We all feel it, we all know it; the horizon is moving perceptibly and more quickly everyday. The oceans are wild. We point to the things indicating that it is: global economic meltdown, decline of American prominence in the world, rise “of the rest”, a brand new Black president who is heralding in an era of hope for redemption and global recovery.
Deaths of loved ones, weddings of friends and holidays connect us in good and bad ways. Jobs lost, jobs started, the daily drop off at school and the car needing to be repaired remind of us stability and instability at all levels of our lives. The bounty of food on our table in winter, and the knowledge of our profound privilege just to eat is awakened by peering into eyes of our loved children.
Right now, at this time in this historic moment, our boat feels small; pummeled by the forces around us, afraid and powered only by our own will at the oars. We are impossibly charted to cross the sea-changes in a sea of small boats. All of us captains searching for lit beacons in the storm; looking for direction to a safe harbor. For a seamark buoy in the fog.
But revealed in the storm is the good work in the world to be done. Some are called to do it, some avoid it. Some are called simply to work, some by necessity, some by understanding the deep need of the world around them. Everyone knows that humanity is not perfect, yet some are compelled to make a difference. The work will never be done, but there are those who persevere.
Shortly now, after 7 months on-leave, Heather goes back to work. The good work she is compelled to do. But even in being compelled, being someone who works, and excels at making a difference, she faces fears.
The racing, the frantic paddling to keep ahead of the current. Not being able to do it all and do it all effortlessly perfect. Not being enough at any one thing. And now more than even that, the fear of leaving her baby and boys. The fear of loss, that some how she is abandoning them, the deep fear that she will miss out.
But as I sit across from her after dinner, and listen to her fears, I am unafraid. Unafraid for our family, for her or for our children.
I feel the rocking of our boat. I hear the storm howling outside and the fog closing in. I feel our sleeping children on the floors above us; we are spinning tops on the face of the earth.
Yet, at the quiet center there is the peaceful intimacy of our family. The imperfections, the confident love. The loss of innocence, the waking consciousness, the squeal of delight of a four-year-old making a 7-month old belly laugh. Macaroni and cheese after a long day, a warm bottle at 2 AM.
And in the intimacy of our family, there is the bittersweet realization that while things always, and inevitably change, our foundation is strong. And our connection, which we work so hard to nurture and maintain, is real. That while we will certainly miss things, and we will mourn what we miss, we are all richer when we grow with change then when we resist it.
That by embracing change, reveling in it, we are giving our children a tremendous gift; the gift of how to locate a buoy in the storm and how to get home.
Christmas “Carols” from Braydon Johnson-McCormick on Vimeo.
If you have not seen last year’s Christmas Carols, they all seem to eventually end up the same…
Happy Holidays!
Every school in the history of education has had bullies. I remember for me there was one in the 7th grade – it was a kid named Cody. At the time he was just big, a bit scary and did mean, stuff. But now that I’m an adult, I recognize that bullies are most often children who are facing some kind of difficulty and are coping with it (wrongly) through dominating others. Maybe it’s a question of the powerless making others more powerless to make them selves better off. Maybe it’s an inability to express the problem in an effective way and the problem manifests as aggressive tenancies. Whatever the (understandable) cause, bulling is never acceptable.
Even in a loving environment like the River Valley Waldorf school, there are bullies. There is one in Kyle’s class. He’s a normal sized child (smaller and lighter than K & O), but very aggressive, pushing, shoving, hitting, biting and attempting to incite other kids into doing the same. Heather often reports to me of his malfeasance on the front playground, but during morning drop off (which I do), I rarely see it. Today I saw it.
Now, it wasn’t too dramatic, and in lots of places it’s far far worse, but in principle, it’s the same where ever you are. Unprovoked, this boy raised his fist against Kyle. He held Kyle by the shirt in his left hand, and raised his right hand behind his ear to slam his fist into Kyle’s face.
Whether or not he would have done it, I don’t know. And honestly, I am not sure that the boy even knows what he was doing. My gut told me that he’d seen it as a threat, but didn’t know what the next step was. I could be wrong, but I hope not.
But here is the thing: Kyle didn’t blink, budge or attempt to fight back. In effect he turned the other cheek. I suspect he knows he would hurt this kid if he went after him). Passive strength is how both boys handle this kid on a daily basis. I am so proud of that.
Before the kid could hit Kyle, Owen came over and they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of this child, locked together without aggression, without threat, but with a clear signal that said "I wouldn’t try it if I were you."
While I was telling the kid that "we don’t hit other people", K&O went over to the window, sat on the sill, shoulder to shoulder, an immovable 100 pounds of strength.
The boys are extremely interested in the Christmas Story. Kyle is particularly obsessed in his usual theological way; he wants to understand everything. The most difficult question I’ve fielded so far is: "What happened before Jesus was born?"
But there is something just so sweet about both their excitement about the Christmas Story. I don’t mean Christmas the fun and exciting Santa holiday, I mean the Christmas story itself. They seem to get it, they seem to revel in it, it feels like it has meaning for them.
And that is beautiful.
I found Heather narrating the birth of Jesus to our boys to the other day. The images tell it better than any words.
Be sure to click the full screen button to get the full effect!
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