A Turtle Story
by Mike Litrel, M.D.

that, but my boys cry and complain so much when we put them in there I suspect it must be working.

Even if it's not, it's very satisfying. As I closed the bathroom door on my battling boys, a warm feeling came over me. "Fight as much as you want - I'm not listening. You can come out when you're adults." An expert might have suggested I put them in separate bathrooms. But that particular nuance was not covered in the parenting tapes and I was too lazy to walk upstairs.

After a while they quieted down, and I let them rejoin me. But before long they had launched into another fight. Just at that moment I noticed that the pulleys on my Joe Weider weight set had been broken. Again. This weight-lifting contraption is really a hunk of junk, but when it's working you can sit in one spot and do four or five different exercises - right in front of the television. Indeed, it's my second favorite. Unfortunately, despite repeated discussions, my boys find it irresistible to play on. And to break.

That was it. I'd had it! I turned off the television. "Stand up!" I ordered my boys. My face was dripping with perspiration, my teeth clenched. "HOW MANY TIMES do I have to tell you not to play on my weight set?!?" I demanded rhetorically. Joseph, my four year old, took me literally. "A million times," he replied meekly. "You have to tell us a million times."

I smothered a smile and kicked them both out into the backyard. Despite their protests, my decision was final. I was going to spend this Father's Day as far away as possible from the two people who had made me a father. I told them in no uncertain terms not to interrupt my workout again - unless it was an emergency.

Twenty minutes later, Joseph came running back into the basement. "It's an emergency, it's an emergency!" He pulled me into the backyard, and there, at the bottom of the hill, were Tyler and his friend Sami Leonard, lying on the ground. They weren't moving.

But when I got closer, I saw the boys were not hurt. Their faces shone with wonder. They had found a turtle. This is not an emergency, I told them in no uncertain terms. They wholeheartedly disagreed.

So I studied the turtle. I think I was inspecting him for a family resemblance. And I watched the boys. Despite my bad mood, I was enjoying this moment with the children. Be the turtle - slow and steady. When I finally got up to leave, Sami turned and whispered conspiratorially to Tyler. They wanted something else but were hesitant to ask. Tyler mustered up his courage. "Can you write a story about this?" "What?" Sami was more enthusiastic. "Can you write a story about us finding the turtle? And put all our names in it - our last names, too?" asked Sami Leonard. That' L-E-O-N-A-R-D.

Their faces were so hopeful, I couldn't say no, and they cheered wildly when I acquiesced. So on the way back to the basement, I thought about fatherhood, its challenges and rewards, the boys finding a turtle - and my own father, shaped like a turtle.

It was eight years ago that we discovered Ann's unexpected first pregnancy. I brought her downtown to Grady Hospital for an ultrasound. There in her uterus was a fetus smaller than a fingernail, the beginnings of my son Tyler. I was stunned. Although I was a physician specializing in women's health, some part of me hadn't quite believed that the miracle of creation could come into our lives as well. For the past seven years, as I have watched my children grow, I must admit sometimes I forget about the miracle part. I just wasn't prepared for all the screaming and whining, and their apparent vendetta against my personal property - especially, my Joe Weider weight set.

But fatherhood has been a wonderful privilege, more important to me than anything I could have imagined. And as I undergo the challenges of fatherhood, I think I better understand my own Dad. He's not perfect. But he's been a good father - and a great friend. And just to set the record straight, he looks nothing like a turtle.

Dr. Litrel is in practice at Cherokee Women's OB/GYN in Woodstock and Canton and is a Clinical Assistant Professor at Emory University School of Medicine. He lives in Towne Lake with his wife Ann and their two sons Tyler and Joseph. (mikelitrel@attbi.com)

Despite its lifetime warranty my bathroom scale is broken. No matter how many times, or how gingerly, I step on it, the scale keeps telling me I weigh more than I do. Also, my clothes are all shrinking, despite labels which clearly state they are machine wash-and-wear. My problem is not weight gain. It's defective merchandise. The concept of weight loss is not difficult. Eat less. Exercise more. What's the big deal? I just want my weight to get back down to what I promised myself it would never get up to. So this past Father's Day, I made some changes. Despite Ann's assurances that it was "my day" and I could follow my heart's desire, I decided to end the "all the donuts I can eat" tradition passed down to me by my father.

My father is pretty out of shape. "He looks just like a turtle -" my mom complains. "Big round body and short stubby arms and legs!" I don't think my father enjoys this particular comparison, but that's my mom for you. I'm confident my wife Ann would never say anything so harsh about me. Still, I don't want her to think it, either.

My mom has waged a one-sided war to get my father on a diet. One time she went out and bought him Slim Fast Chocolate Shakes. He loved them. "These things go great with a nice meal!" He gained another 10 pounds. I realized I didn't want my own children inheriting a glutton for a role model. I resolved to start a new tradition - the invigorating Father's Day workout.

Some time ago I had the unfortunate realization about myself that I am less a natural athlete and more a natural couch potato. So I got rid of my basement couch, and surrounded the television set with exercise equipment - the best piece, by far, being my Schwinn Recumbent Cycle. The workout itself is not spectacular. But it's very comfortable to sit in and perfect for watching television - like a lounge chair with pedals. So on the morning of my seventh Father's Day, with my boys sprawled on the floor before me, I got on my recumbent cycle and began to pedal. I had grabbed the television remote before I sat down. The boys fussed, but I explained the situation in a way they could understand - "My house, my TV, my remote - be quiet." I chose something we would all enjoy - the CNN news update. Then the fussing really began. Eventually I capitulated and put on the Cartoon Network.

It was bad enough I had to watch silly cartoons, but the kids were soon arguing so loudly I was missing all the good jokes. Usually my children listen, somewhat. But when I work out they pretty much ignore me. Maybe because I'm short of breath and can't yell so loud. Anyway, their fighting escalated, and I had to halt my workout to get them in line.

George Bernard Shaw had some words of wisdom on parenting: "Never hit a child - except in anger." I was angry now - enough to threaten them with bodily harm. But I've never been a big fan of corporal punishment. My father, if not a big fan, was at least fairly enthusiastic. He didn't own any exercise equipment, and I think his major cardiovascular workouts came from spanking my bottom. As I write about this, I no longer feel guilty that this year I forgot to send him a Father's Day card.

Ann and I administer "Time Out." We learned from a parenting tape we listened to years ago that the bathroom is "the most boring room in the house and the ideal place for a child's quiet reflection." Now I don't know about