Chuck Bowen

I don’t have a lot of highways in my life. There are literal ones (I-71), but figurative ones, too. I have a daughter and a wife, so I’m part of the parenting universe. But I’m also in my mid-20s, so I’m over there, too. I enjoy gardening and chopping firewood, but also going to the museum and live shows of the Prairie Home Companion.

It’s hard sometimes to know what you want and who you are. Do you really get to define yourself, or do other people do that for you? Can you change that definition, or are you inexorably the same person, no matter what?

Who’s really in charge of you?

– Chuck Bowen, on Feathers.

My wife is a speech pathologist, and so thanks to her, I have more exposure to the Deaf community than I think I otherwise would have. That’s Deaf with a capital D, which is different from someone who is deaf.

That capital D brings with it a world of meaning. The Deaf community can be insular, and believes that there’s nothing wrong with being deaf, and its members shouldn’t try to learn to speak or have hearing aids. They don’t want to be “fixed” by the medical and speech communities.

Sean and his family struggle with this in Feathers. How do you celebrate something that sets you apart so obviously from society and that can cause such feelings of isolation, especially as a tween? Sean was very lucky his family all learned sign language; many families elect to get hearing aids and push their deaf children to learn to speak.

Perhaps we should all try and celebrate who we are, even if it does make things harder sometimes.

— Chuck Bowen, on Feathers.

One of the best parts about writing is the ability to create entire families, cities and even worlds with the tap of a keyboard or stroke of a pen. Jacqueline Woodson (CLICK HERE) talks about getting in trouble for telling lies in school. Her teacher said if she wrote the lies down, they become fiction.

What power.

And what makes it such a powerful medium of expression is that it is so accessible. You don’t need a set of paints or brushes; you don’t need an instrument. Like Benjamin Disraeli, if you don’t have anything that you like to read, you can just write something you do.

It’s hard sometimes as a journalist to keep the fiction and the nonfiction separate. It’s not that I want to fabricate things in the articles I write, but part of my job is to meet interesting people who have had great adventures. They’re ready-made characters for a book, and sometimes I just want to rearrange their stories for more punch and drama, to add a little more detail and dialogue. But I guess that’s what they call a jumping off point; art imitates life, right?

– Chuck Bown, on Feathers

When I think about the things I do every day — feeding myself, getting dressed, driving a stick shift — I wonder how I ever learned to do then. I mean, these things are fairly complicated when you think about them, as evidenced by the fact that when I think about them while doing them, I’m unable to do them anymore.
My motor difficulties aside, I’m glad I can’t remember potty training. (I’m sure my mom can, though. You can ask her for details.) I mean, you take a baby, who’s trying so hard to learn a host of other things, and make them switch from an arguably better system. Diapers, while a bit sticky in the summer, are a huge timesaver. My daughter doesn’t have to stop playing with her trucks or reading about the five little monkeys to climb the stairs and use the potty. She just keeps right on going, which, as a toddler, is the main objective. You’re either sleeping or moving at 150 mph.
Now, I’m not advocating we all start wearing Depends (http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/02/06/astronaut.arrested/index.html). But, this whole potty training exercise makes me appreciate steep learning curves all over again. And Resolve.

During my wife’s training to become a speech therapist, one of her professors gave her this adage to deal with uncooperative (usually young) clients: “Water the flowers, not the weeds.” Meaning, heap praise on them when they do something that’s good, and ignore bad behavior.

Well, professor, that’s certainly easier said than done.

We bought the Elmo- and Zoe-themed big-girl underpants at Target and we’ve experimented with them at home. My daughter really likes wearing them, but hasn’t yet mastered the ability to let my wife and me know that something is coming, if you catch my meaning.

So, one weekend, after a couple of hours visiting with my in-laws, my daughter had been wearing the underpants sans diaper quite successfully. As soon as they left — they hadn’t even left the parking lot at our apartment — we hear a quiet “Uh-oh.” My daughter, looking kind of confused, had peed all over the carpet.

I won’t begrudge her that, and the trusty Resolve (thank you, Reckitt Benckiser) took care of the mess. But what’s hard is not laughing when it happens. Or when I hear my wife upstairs exclaiming, “You did such a good job pooping!”

I – We – have a potty chair
My wife and I are ramping up our efforts to potty train our daughter, who is almost 2 years old. The potty chair we have is a hand-me-down from my in-laws, and it has a purple and teal seat with a bright yellow lid. The, ahem, business end slides out for “easy” disposal.
It has yet to see any real action. My daughter just uses it as a place to sit down when she’s brushing her teeth. More often than not, it just sits there next to the big-person potty and the sink.
I say we’re ramping up our efforts because my daughter isn’t really keen on the whole idea of not using diapers and, truth be told, neither am I. I mean, they’re so easy. I thought parenting an almost-2-year-old was tiring enough, what with the constant food throwing and burgeoning independent streak. Now toss on an entirely new enterprise that involves peeing (and quite possibly, pooping) on the floor. Excellent.