One of the biggest challenges that parents have is to find the quality time to spend with their children. Well, here's a letter I recieved from a dear friend who's addressing a major concern for dads as well as mums:
This is an invitation to participate in an international task force conference call for all participants in Center for SCREEN-TIME Awareness regional task forces, current and future. We invite you to invite others from your region, or nation, to join us and expand the list for this international call. As most of you know, research shows that obesity, illiteracy, violence and the breakdown of family and community are in part tied to our "addiction" to the myriad screens in our lives.
Many of you know that in September we will introduce Universal Screen-Time Reduction: A lifestyle for the 21st Century (USTR), a comprehensive program that addresses the Screen-Time issue and ways to master technology without becoming a prisoner of it.
This first national conference call will be an introduction to USTR, preparing those who are interested for the official announcements coming up in just a couple of months. We will have people from across the United States and around the world on this call, some from established task forces and others not yet established.
The conference takes place on Wednesday, August 1, 2007 at 11 AM EST. The call in number and code are as follows:
Call in number (USA) (712) 775-7100
Participant Access Code: 761547#
For more information on CSTA, please visit our website at www.screentime.org or feel free to contact me directly at rkesten@screentime.org or 202-333-9220.
If we are going to even the playing field in our efforts to challenge obesity, violence, illiteracy and pollution, while building functional families in vibrant communities, we must take on the electronic media that bombards us with mind numbing sensationalism, leaving us only more sedentary and solitary than at anytime in human history.
We are NOT opposed to technology or electronic media, games or the like. We are for balance and mastery of these tools, not dependence on them.
I thank you for your consideration and hope to hear from you on or before August 1st on the first official call of this task force.
Sincerely,
Robert Kesten
Executive Director
Center for SCREEN-TIME Awareness
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Saturday, 14 July 2007
Daughters need their Dads too...
This is a story of an amazing dad, Don Barlow, who's been bringing up his daughter alone.
"In January 1987, my wife of 12 years died from pancreatic cancer. This left me with the responsibility of raising my 8-year-old daughter alone. After the shock of my wife’s death, I became aware that I knew nothing about raising a daughter by myself. We had raised my wife’s two children and my two sons, and they were all living outside of the home.
During the grieving process, I sometimes wondered if the wrong parent had died. Mothers raise daughters. Fathers are supposed to financially support the family. Mothers are the nurturers; it had been that way in my family. Now, I had to learn a new role, one I hadn’t anticipated. I never knew what being a parent was about until I had to do it all myself.
I believe my daughter’s greatest fear initially was being left alone. She had already lost her mother. Would she lose me as well? Who would take care of her then? On one occasion she announced, “Dad, I know what you can get me for Christmas, and it won’t cost a cent. You can find me a new mom.”
It was too soon for me to consider taking such a step, but her question helped me to understand the depth of her need. She was hurting and she was scared. After the initial shock, denial and bargaining phases had run their courses, we worked through the lingering anger and depression and started to put our lives back together. When she was in elementary school, I became a “Room Father.” (When it was my turn to bring cookies, I could buy the dough in rolls, cut it into individual cookies and bake them.) I helped coach her softball team. I encouraged her involvement in church activities so she would be spiritually grounded. I enrolled her in charm school and we joined ballroom dancing classes together.
For cultural exposure, I involved her in our American Indian heritage. We attended and danced at Indian powwows. I signed her up for summer basketball camps and attended the awards ceremony at the end. I tried to be involved by balancing work and family. I passed up a job at a local university because of the position’s frequent out-of-state travel.
So many memories: the first date, graduations, basketball games at the arena, the first formal dance, her first prom dress, learning how to ride a bike, her Indian dancing. These things I will always treasure. The hard times: the day she broke her arm playing basketball. The death of her older sister five years ago.
My daughter is 23 years old now. Like any parent, I didn’t know it would turn out OK, until it did. It boiled down to this: Ultimately, the best gift I could give my daughter was my time, my love and my encouragement. Daughters need their fathers no matter what their age, and it’s never too late to start."
Harun Rabbani
"In January 1987, my wife of 12 years died from pancreatic cancer. This left me with the responsibility of raising my 8-year-old daughter alone. After the shock of my wife’s death, I became aware that I knew nothing about raising a daughter by myself. We had raised my wife’s two children and my two sons, and they were all living outside of the home.
During the grieving process, I sometimes wondered if the wrong parent had died. Mothers raise daughters. Fathers are supposed to financially support the family. Mothers are the nurturers; it had been that way in my family. Now, I had to learn a new role, one I hadn’t anticipated. I never knew what being a parent was about until I had to do it all myself.
I believe my daughter’s greatest fear initially was being left alone. She had already lost her mother. Would she lose me as well? Who would take care of her then? On one occasion she announced, “Dad, I know what you can get me for Christmas, and it won’t cost a cent. You can find me a new mom.”
It was too soon for me to consider taking such a step, but her question helped me to understand the depth of her need. She was hurting and she was scared. After the initial shock, denial and bargaining phases had run their courses, we worked through the lingering anger and depression and started to put our lives back together. When she was in elementary school, I became a “Room Father.” (When it was my turn to bring cookies, I could buy the dough in rolls, cut it into individual cookies and bake them.) I helped coach her softball team. I encouraged her involvement in church activities so she would be spiritually grounded. I enrolled her in charm school and we joined ballroom dancing classes together.
For cultural exposure, I involved her in our American Indian heritage. We attended and danced at Indian powwows. I signed her up for summer basketball camps and attended the awards ceremony at the end. I tried to be involved by balancing work and family. I passed up a job at a local university because of the position’s frequent out-of-state travel.
So many memories: the first date, graduations, basketball games at the arena, the first formal dance, her first prom dress, learning how to ride a bike, her Indian dancing. These things I will always treasure. The hard times: the day she broke her arm playing basketball. The death of her older sister five years ago.
My daughter is 23 years old now. Like any parent, I didn’t know it would turn out OK, until it did. It boiled down to this: Ultimately, the best gift I could give my daughter was my time, my love and my encouragement. Daughters need their fathers no matter what their age, and it’s never too late to start."
Harun Rabbani
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
The Story of the World's Strongest Dad
Here's a story of one of the most amazing dads I've heard of. When I first learnt about the story of Dick and Rick Hoyt I was humbled beyond belief. Trust me. That is something that doesn't happen so easily!
At Rick’s birth in 1962 the umbilical cord coiled around his neck and cut off oxygen to his brain. Dick and his wife, Judy, were told that there would be no hope for their child’s development.
"It’s been a story of exclusion ever since he was born," said the father, Dick. "When he was eight months old the doctors told us we should just put him away — he’d be a vegetable all his life, that sort of thing. Well those doctors are not alive any more, but I would like them to be able to see Rick now."
The couple brought their son home determined to raise him as "normally" as possible. Within five years, Rick had two younger brothers, and the Hoyts were convinced Rick was just as intelligent as his siblings. Dick remembers the struggle to get the local school authorities to agree: "Because he couldn’t talk they thought he wouldn’t be able to understand, but that wasn’t true." The dedicated parents taught Rick the alphabet. "We always wanted Rick included in everything," Dick said. "That’s why we wanted to get him into public school."
A group of Tufts University engineers came to the rescue, once they had seen some clear, empirical evidence of Rick’s comprehension skills. "They told him a joke," said Dick. "Rick just cracked up. They knew then that he could communicate!" The engineers went on to build — using $5,000 the family managed to raise in 1972 - an interactive computer that would allow Rick to write out his thoughts using the slight head-movements that he could manage. Rick came to call it "my communicator." A cursor would move across a screen filled with rows of letters, and when the cursor highlighted a letter that Rick wanted, he would click a switch with the side of his head.
When the computer was originally brought home, Rick surprised his family with his first "spoken" words. They had expected perhaps "Hi, Mom" or "Hi, Dad." But on the screen Rick wrote "Go Bruins." The Boston Bruins were in the Stanley Cup finals that season, and his family realized he had been following the hockey games along with everyone else. "So we learned then that Rick loved sports," said Dick.
In 1975, Rick was finally admitted into a public school. Two years later, he told his father he wanted to participate in a five-mile charity run for a local lacrosse player who had been paralyzed in an accident. Dick, far from being a long-distance runner, agreed to push Rick in his wheelchair. They finished next to last, but they felt they had achieved a triumph. That night, Dick remembers, "Rick told us he just didn’t feel handicapped when we were competing."
Now click here to see the more of this story. Enjoy!
Keep shining!
Harun Rabbani
At Rick’s birth in 1962 the umbilical cord coiled around his neck and cut off oxygen to his brain. Dick and his wife, Judy, were told that there would be no hope for their child’s development.
"It’s been a story of exclusion ever since he was born," said the father, Dick. "When he was eight months old the doctors told us we should just put him away — he’d be a vegetable all his life, that sort of thing. Well those doctors are not alive any more, but I would like them to be able to see Rick now."
The couple brought their son home determined to raise him as "normally" as possible. Within five years, Rick had two younger brothers, and the Hoyts were convinced Rick was just as intelligent as his siblings. Dick remembers the struggle to get the local school authorities to agree: "Because he couldn’t talk they thought he wouldn’t be able to understand, but that wasn’t true." The dedicated parents taught Rick the alphabet. "We always wanted Rick included in everything," Dick said. "That’s why we wanted to get him into public school."
A group of Tufts University engineers came to the rescue, once they had seen some clear, empirical evidence of Rick’s comprehension skills. "They told him a joke," said Dick. "Rick just cracked up. They knew then that he could communicate!" The engineers went on to build — using $5,000 the family managed to raise in 1972 - an interactive computer that would allow Rick to write out his thoughts using the slight head-movements that he could manage. Rick came to call it "my communicator." A cursor would move across a screen filled with rows of letters, and when the cursor highlighted a letter that Rick wanted, he would click a switch with the side of his head.
When the computer was originally brought home, Rick surprised his family with his first "spoken" words. They had expected perhaps "Hi, Mom" or "Hi, Dad." But on the screen Rick wrote "Go Bruins." The Boston Bruins were in the Stanley Cup finals that season, and his family realized he had been following the hockey games along with everyone else. "So we learned then that Rick loved sports," said Dick.
In 1975, Rick was finally admitted into a public school. Two years later, he told his father he wanted to participate in a five-mile charity run for a local lacrosse player who had been paralyzed in an accident. Dick, far from being a long-distance runner, agreed to push Rick in his wheelchair. They finished next to last, but they felt they had achieved a triumph. That night, Dick remembers, "Rick told us he just didn’t feel handicapped when we were competing."
Now click here to see the more of this story. Enjoy!
Keep shining!
Harun Rabbani
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