Tag: daughters

Running out of time

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In June of 2011 after successfully completing the length of a marathon while walking in support of cancer awareness at the Relay for Life event held in our town.  I decided that I was going to get back to exercising everyday! I felt I needed to lose some weight (ok my doctor told me too but it always sounds better if it was my idea) and getting back into shape just might help my job performance as well.  I was already participating in a half ass workout at our firehouse but I felt it was time to kick it up a notch and take full advantage of all our department had to offer! 

I decided that I would start by running everyday, If I was going to lose weight, that was the first logical step! At 205 pounds I was lugging around an extra 25 pounds according to my B.M.I. chart.  Now running is an art as any of you out there who run on a regular basis already know!  If you just plunk along you are not really working in an aerobic state and you are destined to achieve shin splints! If sprint right off  the bat like superman you are destined to become injured and receive shin splints.  But if you start out slowly, walking for five minutes then working into a nice smooth rhythm while allowing your body to sink into the natural upright running position. Well you are destined to get shin splints! I guess what I am trying to say here, or the moral of this story might be, inevitably when you are 44 and havent run in ten years you are going to get bloody shin splints!!!

So off to the famous unnamed footwear store I go.  All my problems will be solved by actually knocking the cob webs off my thrifty little purse,spending more than $29.99 at COSTCO for sale item shoes! Oh and spend I did! The sales associate was good! Telling me all about the dynamics of my feet and how the proper support will solve all my shin splint miseries, I will be running marathons in no time! She went on for 15 minutes about the benefits of the shoes I was purchasing, but in my mind I was already running the Boston Marathon, leading the Bay to Breakers! Wind in my hair, sweat pouring through my Nike sponsored running clothes! Women and children cheering at the mere spectacle of a man my age bolting past 20 somethings struggling on the sidewalks! Oh yes I was going to fly! 

I went home, placed Thunder and Lightning (yeah I named my shoes) on my feet and instantly felt the electricity flowing through them all the way into my calves! These shoes had super powers, I just knew it! I went from an average everyday Joe to “super runner” just by donning these illustrious over priced, glitzy, shimmering blue, sweat wicking, pieces of running superiority! I trembled thinking about taking that very first step! Will they bolt me to speeds unheard of, or will they be gentle and allow me to break them in slowly! The anticipation had me sweating nervously just thinking about what was about to happen.  I kept telling myself: the salesperson said these shoes were custom fitted just for me!  No one has a pair just like them, and I will reap the benefits from my understanding of running technology! Oh I so bought it, hook line and sinker!

I walked in them for 5 minutes to warm up, allowing the wonder shoes to break in a little! My oldest who runs cross-country came out and looked me up one side and down the other, letting out a “Humph” when he saw the “chosen ones” upon my feet! I asked him if he liked them? (like he really needed to answer, I know jealousy when I see it) and wondered if he would like to join me in my little excursion! He mumbled something about the shoes being Ok then finished with a chuckle and: you know they wont make you run any faster. What does he know? I asked him if he wanted to join me but he said he didn’t want too. I’m thinking he didn’t want to be in the shadow of Thunder and Lightnings greatness! In reality he didn’t want to leave me behind within the first mile!

We made it to the road and Thunder and Lightning were plenty warm and ready to go! I leaned into them a little we started to pick up speed.  The first mile is always the hardest! Everything hurts, you start complaining in your head, then before you know it you are arguing with yourself over whether or not you should just quit! You start saying things like “I’m getting to old for this shit” and “whose dumbass idea was this anyways”! You start telling yourself its ok to be a quitter, no one will know, heck when you get home just splash some water on yourself and everyone will praise you for your effort! Then just about the time it all is about to come apart, the endorphins are released into your system! Oh yeah, so good! No more pain, breathing is easier, you feel stoned, (not that I know what that is, just a guess) higher than a kite. Nothing is going to stop you now, oh no! You are running faster and stronger! Your knees are coming up higher and your strides are increasing.  You are a runner sir! A bonafide runner! Thats right these shoes were worth every penny! No longer will I bargain shop for running shoes, oh no! My feet are on cloud nine and my brain is floating freely as I take in each deep refreshing cold breath. The countryside is flying by, the views are breathtaking! I feel as though I am Forrest Gump, I will not stop until I hit an ocean, then I will turn around and keep running until I hit the next ocean!  Go Thunder and Lightning go!

We make the loop around my house and I am soaked in sweat.  I feel like a true athlete, a runner of the highest caliber.  My legs are throbbing, my knees are shaky, and my heart is beating so hard my eyeballs are wiggling! It’s the best feeling ever! I walk around to cool down taking part in all the proper stretches. I am sure I have just run 10 miles, I mean come on, who runs like I just did, no ordinary man I can tell you that! I pull my I-phone from my pocket to turn off Pandora and check my jogging app for distance and time.  As I am waiting for it to load I exuberantly hum a rendition of Eye of the Tiger. The screen loads and my time/distance is revealed.

2.5 miles. What! that can’t be right! I know I ran more than 2.5 miles! Stupid program, who can trust military satellite technology anyways! Not me that’s for sure! Disgusted with the obvious blatant lie my I-phone has just delivered to me. I turn to walk back to the house, dejected by my effort, disappointed in my expectations of the wonder twins Thunder and Lightning. Thats when it hits me. Oh it hits me hard, nearly taking my feet right out from under me.

You see, it doesnt matter what shoes you wear.  It doesn’t matter what clothes you are in, it doesn’t matter how many miles you have run.  The only thing that matters after you have given it your all in an effort to turn back the hands of time and not declare yourself a overwieght 44-year-old man is; What the Hell I am going to do with these damn shin splints!!  OOOOWWWWWWWW!!

I could barely walk for three days after that run.  Today I run 4-5 miles a day at work and 4 miles at home on my days off.  Thunder and Lightning are doing just fine. They are not the superheros I made them out to be. But in the end they have become my heroes. My feet are thankful for their existence and my shins don’t hurt as much anymore.

TV & The Dying Brain

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When I think about it now as an adult it makes perfect sense. I see the reasoning behind the decision and understand the consequences.  Refusing to adhere to the policies set forth would bring swift and irrefutable repercussions. My mind failed to grasp the concept and I argued to a mind numbing end, my point of right.  As In “I have a right” to enjoy this time you are so heinously keeping from me! I was mocked, shunned and put into place by becoming nothing more that a slave to the dial.

It will rot your mind;I heard time and again.  Your sitting to close, it will damage your eyes, was heard bellowing through my house.  Oh my it seems you received a C on your report card, you are banned, and not to be found within watching distance!  Unless father needs you to turn the dial again. Your grades have slipped and the box of entertainment must surely be the cause!

As I am sure you have figured out by now I am referring to the “all mighty” power held over the human race by television! Our parents fully understood the potential for harm such a dreaded form of entertainment could bring upon a population of young underdeveloped minds! We (my sister and I) were held to 30 minutes at night and a couple of hours on the weekends! Weekend time was divided between Saturday morning cartoons and Saturday evening family shows.  Yet my parents retained the right to watch endless hours of television. Sometimes into the wee hours of the morning! Oh it held a spell over me! I would stand for hours with my bedroom door cracked and one lone eyeball straining to watch my fathers shows until the late hours of the evening! It amazes me to this day that it mesmerized us with three channels! Held our attention, took us away from reality, became our excuse for missing chores and slacking on homework.  Eventually becoming a trinket, or shiny bobble dangled in front of us to be given or taken away at a moments notice!  We were hooked and our parents knew it!

Today, we can’t escape the power of television! It is everywhere in our lives.  Playing at the bus and train stations, in the airport, behind the bar at your favorite watering hole.  Blaring away in elevators, behind lobby desks, or in the check out line at Wal-Mart. You can also find it playing on our computers, displayed on cell phones, playing endlessly in every room of every house in America! It’s there like an old friend, comforting us when we are having a rough go, or helping us get through a sleepless night! It is there, it’s always there…. 

In my day at 1 am the picture turned to the American Flag waving with the Star Spangled Banner playing until 6 in the morning.  Now, programs are shown 24 hours a day 7 days a week.  You can’t escape it, you can’t hide from it, it has become an addiction.  Between reality T.V. (an oxymoron I might add), news, sports, game shows, dramas, comedies, infomercials, movie channels, women’s channels, the gay/lesbian channels, music channels, cooking shows, car shows, shows about midget, parents with 65 kids, (deeeeeep breath) and the lives of Prairie Dogs in the wild! It’s really amazing what Americans will watch! 

Which leads me to my point…

I think our parents had it right!  Shut the damn thing off and go outside! Turn on your brain by reading a book or your Kindle! Let your brain enjoy all the powers it has locked up inside without interference from Snookie or Drake and Josh! Seriously we are ruining our kids ability to process information by having it force-fed to them through the lazy eye of television!  

I tried an experiment at home to prove what I call the “Butterfly Chaser”effect.   The Butterfly Chaser is where your kid is asked to perform a task. As your child is performing that task something else catches their eye, subsequently diverting their attention, leaving the original task unfinished.  Some children are easily diverted, others are focused and stay on task with little effort. 

Now introduce the almighty television!  I am not kidding when I say the morning will be progressing smoothly, like a fine wine. No interference, everyone is gathering their personal effect, brushing their teeth, putting dishes in the sink, and then just for fun, I will through on the T.V.!  They stop dead in their tracks! mesmerized, stupefied, mummified, frozen! It is absolutely amazing! Call out their names; they wont answer! Grab them, shake them, look them in the eyes, nothing!  It could be Good Morning America or Sponge Bob, it doesn’t matter!  The brain is frozen like your computer screen due to an invading virus! The T.V. is the virus and you don’t have the proper software to handle the eventual meltdown of the system! 

There is only one cure for this outbreak of stupification! Turn it off!  Stand where you can see their little faces when the T.V. is shut down.  Focus on them, and very slowly depress the off button.  POW! Blinking eyes, turning heads, bodies starting to move again, they look as though they were waking from a long coma. Focusing on what is around them, locating familiar objects, grasping at the time space continuum.  Then, they just go right back to what they were originally doing. Like nothing ever happened. Oh you may get the occasional child who is a little more astute than the others.  His reaction usually begins with a loud; HHEEEEEYYYYYYY who turned it off!  But the second he makes eye contact with you, the head goes down and the morning continues…

So what do we do? It invades every single moment of our lives! How do we go back thirty years to re-engage our children in the land of reality? I am not sure, but we have tried a few methods. 

My wife and I have reduced our house to one family T.V. with satellite. The other is connected to Net-Flix only, this way we pick a movie for them, which is played at our onvienance and ultimately diverts them from the main T.V.  Our kids have mandatory reading time and if all their homework and chores are finished; If showers and rooms are prepared for the next day before their appointed bed times, they can watch some television.  Holding to appropriate bed times I think helps immensely.  It limits your childs exposure and allows them time to decompress everything their minds have processed during the day.  My wife and I also go to bed at the same time as our last child. This sets agood example by showing them we feel sleep is just as important for us as it is for them.  “Lead by example” a statement that says it all.. 

They still hover over the T.V. like vultures every chance they get.  Their little minds crave the damn thing like sugar or crack cocaine!  But in the long run I think they will appreciate all the effort we have put into keeping them away from the entertainment box of hysteria, false lives and lies. 

 

 

Now that I have all that off my chest, I am off to watch another episode of “Family Guy”! Hey don’t judge me, it’s not my bed time!! 

The Missing Link…

theycallmebetty3 Comments

Laying on my back, staring up at the dogfight eternally raging in the sky’s above my bed. I am pondering a feeling that I have in the pit of my stomach. It’s not a sickness or pain, but rather that of loneliness associated with feeling out-of-place. I turn to my phonograph and lay down some heavy vinyl to sooth myself to sleep. RUSH usually does the trick. Placing my hands behind my head and crossing my legs, my body slowly sinks into the preformed shape that is my mattress. “Fly by night” is playing in the background and I am lip syncing the song.

Fly by night, away from here
Change my life again
Fly by night, goodbye my dear
My ship isn’t coming and I just can’t pretend

You see my parents told me very young that I was adopted at birth. A lot for a young boy to understand, but when the question comes up time and again as to why I don’t look like anybody in my family what is a parent to do? It’s not that I am miserable where I live, it’s not that I dislike my adopted parents, because I don’t. It’s not even that I want to be anywhere else. But what bothers me most nights as I lay in a rhythmic trance while music pounds the center of my soul. Is, I know. I know there are more of us out there! Dont ask me how I know, but I know! I wonder if I have brothers or maybe sisters out there somewhere. I wonder what my biological mother and father look like. I wonder if they gave me up because they hated me? Or if I was just too much to handle, I have seen friends of my parents with crying infants and it always left me wondering why someone would want to put themselves through that kind of torture. I lay awake at night wondering if any of them are looking up towards the sky thinking the same thing? Are they lonely too? Do they feel the emptiness inside that I feel? Like a part of you is missing? I live in a house with three other people and I am lonely. And I feel empty.

When you are a 10-year-old kid you don’t know how to identify with emotions that are mentally challenging. You know something isn’t right but you don’t know how to verbally express what you are feeling. So you listen to really great rock and roll, stare up at the model planes hanging from your ceiling, pretending they are dog fighting and pray you can fall asleep before the record player needle hits the label.

Present Day…

I am laying in bed staring at another episode of Law and Order. My tablet and keyboard in my lap. I no longer have model planes to stare at and unless I am looking to start a fight over which band is better “Led Zeppelin or RUSH” to fall asleep too I had better not wake my wife with any loud music! I lean back and place my hands behind my head and smile. I don’t have to worry about whether or not I have any brothers or sisters out there somewhere in the world. I know! Just like I knew then I know now! Because now, I have proof!

Through an emotional, exhausting search I located my brothers in 2006! I reached out to them and they answered my call. They too had a feeling there was someone out there and they had been passively looking for me as well! Man were those boys surprised when they received the call! I met my grandmother not long after! I have been welcomed with open arms into their lives! I am always excited when they call, and I look forward to the times we are able to speak. I have brothers, real flesh and blood brothers! They look like me, I act like them, we feel as though we have known each other our whole lives! It’s what I have always wanted. except for one thing….

Theres one more…

My brother calls to tell me he has information that our mother gave one more child up for adoption. The child was a girl, 18 months older than me. (woo hoo! I am still the youngest!) I am floored! Because just as I knew when I was young there were others, I had a feeling after meeting “the boys”, we weren’t done yet. I love it when I am right! Well everyone, I met her today! We had brunch at one of my favorite little “hole in the wall” restaurants. We met at 10:30 and departed at 2:15. I thought we needed to go before they started charging us rent. She is sweet and funny, well-traveled, opinionated, and has little ways about her that make her one of us! She even laughs like Betty himself! I cant wait to see her again! 15 minutes into the conversation and I felt like I had known her for our entire lives.

Summation

I don’t feel like something is missing anymore, I don’t feel alone in the world, I don’t feel the need to find someone or something. My sadness is gone. I am grateful for all my parents sacrificed to ensure I would have a good home growing up. I am grateful we have all been found. It would be easy to discount my feelings and recount me a fool. Nay say if you will, poo poo if you must, rain on my parade if you feel the need. But in the end a little 10-year-old boy who once felt all alone, in a home surrounded by family, is now all grown up and for the first time in his life he can honestly say;

I no longer feel empty….

Glitter

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Glitter is an awesome party favor.  Glitter is used to make things shimmer.  Glitter is the staple of any New years Eve party! Glitter is worn by young girls, older women and any male subject who has recently visited a strip club (so I am told).  But what I recently discovered about glitter has me befuddled, perplexed and strangely mortified.  You see I was recently informed that glitter, actually comes from the female anatomy?

I know, crazy huh? Yet I was informed very directly by a nice young lady that glitter comes from girls.  Now as a father of reason and fair judgment I decided to delve deeper into this subject.  Also being a firefighter/EMT I have a reasonable amount of knowledge in regards to both the male and female anatomy.  Yet no where in the volumes of medical jargon I was forced to endure, do I remember the female anatomy having one gland, one organ that produces glitter?

Deciding more in-depth questions needed to be asked I sought out the little starlet in question and found her conversing happily with my boys.  What was her angle? Who was the direct source of her knowledge base.  (Plain lingo; what fool told this little girl she can produce glitter?) How can she create glitter and why?  She was very assured of her position and when I asked her to explain to me in detail the gist of this modern-day side-show miracle she simply motioned me over to her side.  As I knelt down she whispered to me to please be very quiet.  You see her cheeks were turning red as she quietly stated: I want to whisper this to you because it’s not the type of thing a girl should be talking about, but just so you know I told your boys the very same thing I am about to tell you.

I was all abuzz, I couldn’t wait to hear the little secret that surely would unlock some mystery to the female anatomy.  I leaned in closer and whispered’ go ahead honey I am all ears.  

Girls dont fart they glitter!

WHAT!!!!!  No wait uh WHAT!!!!  HUH!  UH! Duh! HMMMM??  Ok??? AAHHH??

Yep that’s what she said, girls don’t fart, they glitter! Seriously you can’t make this shit up!  I held my composure as to not laugh in front of the young lass as she was being so very serious in her response.  I excused myself for a moment to take a breath of fresh air outside and let out a hearty chuckle solely at the expense of  little princess with the glitter producing bum!  After composing myself, I returned and before I could rejoin the conversation my middle child approached me to let me know it was true! He had seen it with his own eyes!  Now for a split second I was mortified, terrified, and panicked!  I had visions of an irate father accosting me in response to my son seeing a whole lot more of his precious angel than should be witnessed prior to marriage! But before the panick attack could set in he followed up his statement with;  Yeah dad she let out a big old fart in the car!  We all started laughing because well you know; farting is funny!  But she just smiled and told us she didn’t fart she glittered!  We all heard it dad really!  But whats strange is when she got up from her chair there was glitter! it was everywhere in the seat; she told us that her mom says its ok, because girls don’t fart they glitter.

Clearly someone had pulled the wool over these boys eyes!  Yet they had bought the production lock, stock and barrel.  They now believed when a girl farts she glitters.  Now I was ready willing and able to dispel this new-found myth right away! Nip it in the bud or butt as it where, yet something just couldn’t bring me to do it.  Something just hammered at my conscience about ruining the illusion this young lady had created for herself.  I actually envied the creative process that allowed her or her mother to come up with this little charade and the best part is they pulled it off!  I know the truth, you know the truth and all you women out there definitely know the truth!  I have heard stories, I have seen a few of you girls in action, all innocent and lady like them BAM! Your nose is on fire, tears streaming from your eyes and all you get is a coy little “oops, sorry was that me?” Well of course it was you, there are only two of us here and that tuba sound didn’t come from my posterior!  Truth be told, I have known women that could make the 49ers defensive line cry!

Yet what purpose would it have served to call her out?  None.  My boys believed for the longest time she had the power to fart glitter.  My boys also believed that all women farted glitter.  That it was what a true lady of refinement, class and culture does;  ultimately is that really such a bad thing to believe?

Now someone show me the man who belches Hershey’s kisses.  If the two of them meet we might have ourselves a New Years eve party…

 

Shots fired

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There appears to be something amiss in my household. Something just isn’t adding up by my calculations. You see with all the time spent going over this particular subject it makes no sense to me why we are having a problem! Now most young men of age naturally figure this out, it is genetic after all. But yet here we are, confused, scratching our heads and wondering, why? Why has this happened to me God? Why? Is it something I said? Is it something I may have done? Please, please let me know! I mean you did bless me with three sons, not three daughters! (Nobody get your hackles up, this is obnoxious satire)

I am not sure the cause, but it appears none of my boys have very good aim.

I know! Strange huh? You would think just because they are boys “good aim” would come naturally to a young lad. Seriously, having good aim must be in our genetic makeup as “men” don’t you think? The hunter, the provider, the sole servant to the family. How hard can it be? Just point and shoot! How much skill can that possibly take? Point and shoot! Point and shoot! For the love of god, just point the damn thing and shoot!!! Yet time after time all three of them miss! No skills what so ever! Its frustrating! I was shooting at little targets when I was three. Sure I probably missed a time or two, but every single time! Come on! Point and shoot! I even tried getting them to breathe while doing it. You know, take the proper stance, legs spread apart, shoulders square, point, breath in , slowly exhale then shoot! It’s that simple, yet none of my boys seem to be able to grasp the concept!

Oh my lord its like they have Parkinson’s, body shaking, and jerking around uncontrollably. Nervous stance, weak grip, and absolutely zero accuracy! They shoot everywhere but the intended target. Experts refer to “painting” the target. Zeroing in on your intended point of contact then hitting it with everything you have using controlled precision! I can tell you one thing for certain, they know how to “paint”alright. “Paint” everything but the intended target! Oh yeah these boys couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn standing three feet away! Hell, I would even spot them the other two feet!

It finally came to a head this morning. Man it was ugly. One at a time they lined up at the door, and one at a time they sprayed patterns on everything except where they were aiming! My wife finally had enough of this fiasco and opened fire! (pun fully intended) She really let them have it with both barrels. Those boys never knew what hit them. You see the boys lack of aiming ability had finally become their undoing. The wife had identified all three as the scurgiest of hombres in our house. The lowest of low lives, the bottom of a snails belly! No more patience, no more cleaning up after them, no more second chances. From here on out there was a new sheriff in charge! It was mom, and no matter how much “practicing” I swore to on their behalfs, the end had come for the Blackcloud Ranch sprinkler boys!

Oh yeah, my boys are toilet violators. The worst kind too, they stroll in and out in seconds! Sometimes the toilet seat is left up. Sometimes the toilet seat is left down. Either way the boys are known for leaving behind the kind of unsanitary conditions that would make a truck driver blush! Oh yeah it’s that bad! It happened this morning, it went down something like this….

Three boys walked into the bathroom and without hesitation, without remorse, without so much as an ounce of decency they covered the walls, the seat, the lid, heck even the floor! Like a shaky teenager holding his first Colt 45, they were trembling and swinging it around uncontrollably! (of course that might be some of the aiming problem) Or a firefighter trying to contain an out of control firehose! It was everywhere! Amazingly the Three stooges would have gotten away with it too if weren’t for mom walking in minutes later to relieve herself upon the sturdy porcelain throne. Carefully lowering her britches she was met with the horrific indecency of a wet barrier forming between her skin and the seat below. Jumping up and slipping in the yellow ring that laid at her feet she was last heard in a shrill voice swearing to the deaths of who ever left this unsanitary trap for her to stumble upon. She vowed from that moment on, no person of female persuasion, in our house or visiting our house should suffer such wrong doings ever again! The boys were promptly tracked down and when cornered they begged for mercy..

Mercy was not found this day my friends! Oh quite the contrary, the boys have been banished to our bathroom downstairs for an undetermined amount of time. Cleaning the toilets with bleach they have accepted their fate, understanding the consequences of irresponsible toilet tinkling. They also know, should they shower the downstairs bathroom with the same zeal as the upstairs bathroom the only place of bodily relief available for the three of them will be a bush or tree on the backside of the property. Just like in the old west. When you gotta go, you gotta go but for them it will be outside rain or shine…

Moral of the story; Simple

If you sprinkle when you tinkle please be neat wipe the seat……..

When a doughnut is no longer just a doughnut…

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Hello, my name is Betty and I have a weakness for sugar.  (everyone now) Hello Betty!

It all started when I was a child and my father would hoard the ice cream on any given evening after dinner.  Ice cream was a coveted item in our house and it was a well-known fact that dad always got the first scoop out of any carton about to be opened.  We all respected this little rule because well lets face it he was dad!  But I can remember watching him slowly scoop out what he wanted, taking his time to increase our anticipation levels to the point of cracking!  Oh yes, he would fill his bowl with scoop after gigantic scoop, staring at us, taunting us, making sure we knew just how good the ice cream was by licking his fingers in between!  Then as he finished and we gazed upon the Mount Vesuvius of ice cream that flowed from the banks of his porcelain container, he would close the lid and direct our mother to “let us have some”.  It was pure torture!  To make matters worse mother would remind us as we received our customary two table spoons of ice cream ( yeah no joke, two exact sized tablespoons) that we were in training for swim team and ice cream wasnt good for bodies.  Are you freaking kidding me I am 10 and I want as much as he had!  Why isn’t he in training he weighs like 300lbs!!!!  Sorry Dad, I was angry….

We would walk back to the living room with our shoulders slumped low and sit on the floor to watch television while we slowly picked at our melting little dollops of sugary goodness that laid before us.  I was very crafty in the way I ate my ice cream.  I would smear it around the bowl until it was soft, (yeah that’s right Cold Stone I thought of it first, if you have received my letters you know where to send the royalties) leaving me with the ability to take even smaller portions and enjoy it that much longer..

My mom hated sugar and felt it was the sole reason for our erratic behavior so we ate a lot of granola, carob covered raisins, and yogurt.  I liked all of these things and still do to this day, but nothing , and I mean nothing tasted like anything with pure sugar in it!  I craved it I need it I had to have it, I would go out of my way to hide allowance money so that I could hit the snack bar at our swim meets when mom wasnt looking!

Hang out with my friends in town at the park, no problem! Mom left after dropping me off, straight to the ice cream shop we went! Devouring M&M’s, ice cream sundaes, Laffy Taffy, dippin sticks and snickers bars!  Oh it was sooo goood!  

So about now you are asking yourself, self; what does this have to do with doughnuts?

When I found doughnuts, I mean truly found doughnuts. Nothing compared! Nothing came close, I forgot what ice cream and candy bars were all about.  It was the difference between a foot rub and a message!  Driving a Corvette or driving a Corvair, drinking a Samuel Adams or knocking back a Pabst Blue Ribbon!  Oh well you get the point.

I was an adult! Doughnuts were no longer just a sugar covered, maple bar or an old-fashioned.  Nope the doughnut had evolved into the fritter, whip cream filled, jelly filled, apple turnover, sprinkled in candy, chocolate, icing, and; oh goodness my mouth is watering as I type!  Doughnuts had become so much more than when I was a child.  I liked them as a child but I didn’t love them!  I love them now, I can’t get enough, God help the person that shows up with the customary “how ya doing” box of those little doughy morsels at the firehouse!

I start out strong, you know how it goes; I am only going to have one.  I slowly let the sinful taste over take my body, leaving me with chills as I slide it down with a hot cup of joe.  Then as I realize I still have half a cup left and I find myself circling the box like a shark. Circling around to check out the floating object on the surface after a shipwreck, that to the shark vaguely resembles a seal.  Hmmm, round and around I go, the guys can see it coming too.  They slowly  move out-of-the-way for fear of losing a finger  while possibly reaching for the one that I desire.  Then just as I have myself talked out of having number two, I strike!  And before I know it its all over, It’s a horrible sight really, doughnut shrapnel everywhere, icing on my face, and me laying in a recliner trying to focus on what just happened.  Not knowing exactly  where I am…

Its awful, I feel guilty and pleased all at the same time.  I can never seem to over ride the voice in my head that tells me; Hey Betty, just one more it will be fine, sure you don’t need it, but do you want it? Do you? Then it ok just go for it, soon they will all be gone and you wont have to worry about it anymore..

Shameful really..

I have been known by fellow co-workers for two things when it comes to food.

  1. If doughnuts show up, you had better get yours before I find out.  And then it becomes a spectator sport watching me go through the phases of greed, grief and denial.
  2. I can smell chocolate before it clears the parking lot.

Yep that’s the doughnut for me, the perfect sugar fix! The perfect little treat no matter what time of day.  I crave them, I long for them, they have control over me. It is sad really, I am weak….

I see the same behavior in my kids when the doughnut arrives to the party.  They lose their minds, eating with no inhibition whats so ever!  If I come home with a dozen for a special occasion, they are annihilated before the first pot of coffee has even been brewed! My wife and I teaching them good eating habits through the use of moderation.  Something I was never taught as a child.  It was always one extreme to the next in my house. I don’t want that for my children.  Let them experiment and then maybe they wont crave what they never were allowed to have.

Yep I’d blame my parents for holding out on me for all those years.  For constantly teasing me with the good stuff while they devoured extreme amounts in front of my sister and I.  But really I blame myself.  I have the will power to stop… Oh shit who am I kidding?  I am never going to stop, I will just keep adding another 15 minutes to my cardio routine.  See justified!  Yep I am that good!!!

Oh yeah! And as for the smelling chocolate from a mile away issue.  Well that’s a whole different story..

Youth of Today

theycallmebetty4 Comments

Today I was posed an interesting question. Are the youth of today the same as the youth of my generation?

My inner grumpy old man was the first to wiegh in on the subject with a resounding “Hell no”! I then broke into a 5 minute tiraid about the disrespectful, lazy, self entitled, occupying, video gaming, dope smoking, waste of space for a brain youth that are inhabiting our planet at this very moment. I followed that up with the grumblings of hypocricy as I recounted how ( get ready here comes the 5 miles up hill in the snow speach) our generation had manners, we said please and thank you. We were respectful to our elders, including teachers and the police. We opened doors for women and never treated them with anything but the utmost respect! We definetly knew the difference between right and wrong and hold those same values today!

As the class went on there were multiple theories thrown back and forth but none of any substance. During discussion I found myself having flashbacks to my teen years up into my early twenties. The new generation in class were busy exaulting themselves as texting, computer program writing, tweeting, skypeing, blogging, I-Phone app devoloping brainiacs of the future. Suddently I started to realize I may have been wrong in my “Mr.Furley” snap to judgement. Hmmmmmm…..

Now lets clarify something, I will not tell you my exact age, but I will drop you a hint, as I sit and listen to the Flock of Seaguls recounting the first day M-TV aired. My graduating year from high school was the same year Andy Kaufman, and Marvin Gaye perished. It was the same year Desmond Tutu won the Nobel Peace Prize and Ronald Reagan won a landslide re-election. Run-DMC are the first rap group to achieve gold record status and APPLE releases the Macintosh personal computer.

We were a youth filled with multiple sterotypes and avenues to follow with our unbridled enthusiasm. Early in the decade country western was being replaced with the wild side of disco. Drugs, mainly cocaine and pot were our choice, Miami Vice was a hit, long hair (everywhere), bell bottom pants and platform shoes were all the rage. Punk Rock also had a strong foothold. The british youth were a huge hit and their fight against the mainstream way of life was easy to recognize and associate. Our generation felt “you gotta fight for your right to party”! (Thank you Beastie Boys) And party we did! Every chance we could get and no adult was going to tell us how to act or what to do! We were in the process of discovering sex without peramiters, mutiple partners and Aids. In school little things like “black beuties and mushrooms” were being passed around like Pez and experimented with amoungst friends. It was not uncommon to cut school after lunch and not return. All you needed was a friend on the inside who would write your name on the attendance slips then hand them into the office. We drove cars that expressed who we were and what we were about, or so we thought. On any given day you could drive into our parking lot and 1/4 of it looked like a car show. 50-60-70’s era muscle cars and trucks parked side by side gleaming in the sunlight.

I look back at those years, and I realize the youth of today really arent much different from the youth of my generation. (Easy, EAAASSSSYYYY, hear me out) They have a very strong sense of what they feel is right and wrong. The “Occupy” youth remind me very much of my friends that embaced “Punk”. Punk was brought forth as a rebellion in Britain against the political climate, loss of jobs, and economic uncertaintity. It was their way to rebell against the system. Hmmmm sound familiar?

Where we had gas guzzling hot rods to show off, todays youth have flashy Iphones and computer systems that are personalized through blogs and web pages to help express themselves. We were running with the shadows of the night (Thanks Pat Benetar) We were loud and obnoxious, we wanted to be heard, we dressed in our own style, we had a message and a story to tell and so do these kids. We were fighting for an identity, a place in society, we wanted to make a difference in the world without restriction from our government. So does this generation. We had it all, everything our parents didnt and more. We were called self entitled, brash, careless and dangerous. Our parents worried about our futures with the invention of home computers and other technology that was streamlining the American workforce. We were against war and wanted to “just give peace a chance”. We created Hands Across America and cheered as President Ronald Reagan told Mr. Gorbachev to “tear down that wall”! This generations parents have also given our youth everything they didnt have, which if you think about it is just an extension of the “entitlement” issue we all see today. It has just been compounded over multiple generations. These kids are also fighting for some of the very same world views! The story might be a little different but the battle is still the same.

So as I sit here rocking out to one of my youth punk/rock hero’s Billy Idol, I cant help but change my point of veiw. So what has changed? What has people from my generation constantly yelling at our youth as we see them protesting in the streets, placing tents in the park, riding skateboards on the sidewalk, (like we didnt do that) swearing and behaving with disrespect. What has brought us to the point we are behaving like our mentors and leaders of the past?

Simple: We grew up! We embraced the machine that feeds us and provides for our children and families. We have responsibilites and a future to protect. We see things as our parents did, not with blinders on but quite the contrary. We can see far into the future, seperating what will and wont work. We have done this through trial and error, through learning from painful mistakes. Bettering ourselves and our position in society through calculated moves that cant possibly be understood from someone who has not walked in those shoes. As you become older your views change along with some of your ideals.

So are todays youth the same as the youth from our generation?

Todays youth are exactly the same as we were with one exeption. Todays youth are smarter. That doesnt make them any better or any worse than we were, they are just smarter. They have more tools in their tool boxes than we ever had at the time. They feel as though what they are doing is right, regardless of whether or not we approve! We felt the same way! Hopefully they learn from their experiences, so as they grow older they will have created a better life for the next generation they bring into the world. As I look at my children and ponder their futures its the very best I can hope for….

If life was like Law & Order

theycallmebetty2 Comments

Every night my wife and I , shower away the day, brush our teeth, I go downstairs and lock up the house, she checks in on the kids then we shut the door turn out the lights, climb into bed, turn to each other and (get your mind out of the gutter) ask who has the remote? Yep, you see neither one of can sleep until we have watched a full episode of Law and Order. Thank goodness for our DVR, we have at least 10 episodes recorded for any sleeping emergency! My night just isn’t complete until I hear one of Dennis Farina’s smug little quips! Or Jerry Orbachs opening one liners as Det. Lenny Briscoe;

Sample: Mike (discussing infidelity as a motive for murder): Don’t wives always know?
Lennie: Mine did.
Mike: Yours didn’t hire a hit man.
Lennie: Not yet.

That is TV gold man!!! So as I am watching this little gem of a show it dawns on me, why can’t life be like Law & Order? You know everything tidied up in a neat little 40 minute (minus commercials) segment.

Opening scene; Dad comes down the stairs to find the kids fighting over who murdered/broke dads favorite coffee mug. After asking several questions and examining the crime scene it is determined that someone was obviously using the cup for ill intended purposes. (used to hold milk instead of coffee). Several people of interest at this point but no one is copping to the murder. As dad directs his partner (mom) to bag it for evidence, mom asks what are you going to do now that the mug is broken and dad quips back; well It appears there’s no crying over spilt milk! (Thanks Lennie)

Next scene; two of the kids are around the dining room table (interrogation room) with their heads down. The other two are upstairs with mom, they have already been identified as witnesses thus excluding them as suspects. Of course the two seated at table with dad don’t know this yet! Dad is circling the table trying to draw out a confession. Trick questioning, lies to deceive the suspects! I saw you two I know it was you two, I just don’t know which one for certain! Slapping his hands down on the table, focusing one suspect in particular he is heard proclaiming; there were plenty of other cups to be used yet you chose that one why, why did you choose that particular cup? I think you had a score to settle, angry that old dad wouldn’t let you have chocolate milk before bed last night you decided to get even didn’t you, (louder shout) DIDNT YOU! Oh yeah one of you better start talking cause we only make deals with the first bird to sing and I guarantee you those other two are singing like canaries right now!! The frightened look on the kids faces show they are about to crack when mom busts in the door and asks; are you done now? What do you mean am I done now, they are about to talk! Mom has now changed roles from detective to counselor! She proclaims to be working in the best interest of her clients and tells me since I have no conclusive evidence that she will be taking her clients now! What! As she exits the room she reminds me to follow the evidence trail correctly and the answers will become obvious!

I find myself back at the scene of the crime, looking for anything that will help my case, when the call comes in that one of my suspects has been beaten! I rush back to the back of the house to find the two recently released suspects sitting on the back porch crying while there counselor reprimands them for their improper behavior. I can see one of them is about to break. I lean forward and proclaim quietly to the aggressor in the situation; I know it was you, it’s just a matter of time.

That night after dinner, they are cleaning the table when I am dropped a note inside my napkin. It indicates that the mug was broken accidentally and my main suspect is ready to talk, but not here, away from his counsel. As I walk out back to get some wood for the stove, I turn around to find one child has followed me, he is upset and ready to cry. I place my around him and tell him to let it out, purge his guilt, I am ready for his statement.

He recounts the morning going along smoothly until he decided he wanted to drink a cup of coffee just like dad! So he climbed up on the counter, retrieved my special mug out of the cabinet, poured himself a glass of milk and as he was sipping, it slipped from his hand shattering on the ground. He then breaks down from the guilt and starts crying. I comfort him and tell him thank you for telling the truth! He asks: what happens now? I tell him because he came forward and told the truth I am sure by pleading guilty in front of the family court the judge will be lenient. He looks in disbelief and asks; How much time will I get? I let him know he is looking at 1-3 for the crime he committed. He squeals 1-3! Are you kidding me it was just a glass! It wasnt just a glass son, it was my special mug and we had to go through all of this to find out the truth. You also broke the rules by climbing on the counters to retrieve the mug that adds a little time to your sentence. I then remind him to count his blessings had he not come forward, and through discovery we had found him guilty he would have received the maximum of 5-10 days of restriction! I then remind him to be thankful milk wasnt the only thing he spilled, he spilled his guts, which in the end saved him. (corny ending one liner) He sighs, slumps his shoulders, I put my arm around him and he walks off to bed. Case closed, day done.

See! If life was like Law & Order it would be great! Everyday a new plot, everyday life tidied up in a neat little sell it the public on TV format! Yeah that’s the ticket! I wonder if you could make life-like “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills”? Oh wait, that IS supposed to be real life isn’t it?

God help us all!!!!!

Old School Lessons

theycallmebetty2 Comments

Today I went old school. Thats right I traveled back into the deepest reaches of my brain, drawing upon lessons learned the hard way. Lessons that at the time I felt were bunk, hooey, or just plain old bull! Never understanding or seeing the bigger picture in the situation, I would kick the dirt and thumb my nose at “the man”! Surely one day I would never ever repeat this kind of behavior, it was humiliating and unjust. I swore upon my grandfathers life these lessons would never be repeated. But I was wrong….

The year; 1975 I was nine years old, President Gerald Ford was in office. The average income per year was $14,100.00, a home would set you back a staggering $39,300.00! The cost of gas was 44 cents per gallon. 1975 was the year I saw Jaws and never wanted to go into the ocean again. I also found country music wasnt all there was to listen too and to my parents dismay I started soothing myself to sleep with the classic sounds of Queen, ZZ top, and Led Zeppelin! 1975 was a very good year or at least it started out that way.

1975 was also the year I learned one of the most valuable lessons a young lad needs to learn. Because regardless of who you think you are at 9 years old there are two people you will always have to answer too! Mom and Dad! Now dad was gone a lot on the road as a salesman so mom is the key to my little reflection on life lessons. When dad was gone I built it up into my head that I was the man of the house. Yep that’s right, 9 and in charge, why? AAAA Duh! I was the man! Anyway this constantly led to butting heads with my mother over doing chores over and above my obvious talents and pay grade as head of the household! Oh I did what was expected of me, although it was hard with all my other “head of household” duties! But I managed to accomplish most chores thoroughly and on time. Notice, I stated “most of them”. You see there was two things I was always slacking at, always shirking my responsibility of completion. It drove my mom nuts that I could never seem to accomplish these two simple tasks. Are you ready? Here it is….. Cleaning my room and changing my sheets.

I know! No big deal right? Or so I thought, as have hundreds of thousands of children over generations across this great nation and possibly the world! I’d always throw down some snide little “yeah ill get to it” then brush mom off as I headed off to school. Walking down our half mile road to the bus stop I would be giggling that I had pulled one over on her again! I aint changing no sheets no how, if she wants them changed so bad she can change them herself! Pick up my clothes off the floor, hah! If she wants them picked up she can do that herself too! Yep that’s right, man of the house and in charge! All should kneel before my greatness!

Until one day….

Mom picked me up from swim practice one day and was in an exceptional mood. That should have been a clue right from the start. But heck I was nine and dumb as a box of rocks. Mom was always grumpy in the afternoon, but to her defense, dad was never around and she was basically a single parent frustrated with the situation. She laughed and joked with us all the way home. My guard was down and I had been sucked into the joyous vortex. We got home and snacks were made, the table was cleared and ready for homework. That should have been the second clue! But hey, ole box of rocks is digging the love! Home work was done and snacks devoured, mom leans over and asks if there is anything else she could do for us. Anything else she can do for us, I thought? WARNING, WARNING, WARNING DANGER WILL ROBINSON DANGER!!!! She never says that, and the way she said it, holy crap what did we do! I studied the furthest reaches of my brain to see if there was any pressing bit of trouble someone may have squealed on me for doing or participating in. Nope! Oh this is going to be bad!!!

Thats when she took me by the hand and stated “good, for I have something to show you”! She has something to show me? Oh god this is bad, it’s really freaking bad!! As she turned the corner of the hallway her grip tightened on my hand just enough to leave no room for doubt about trying to escape her clutches. She stood me in front of my bedroom door and slowly opened it. There I stood in shock, sweat pouring from my tear filled face as I looked upon the remnants of my room. I had never been to war or seen its gory ramifications, but I was sure this is what a Viet-cong bunker looked like after our boys were done with it! Like a hand grenade had detonated in the corner of the room! Every belonging, every cherished piece of my room was piled up in the middle of the floor! My model cars, hand painted and dusted everyday lay strewn upon a pile of clothes that were a combination of dirty and clean. You see in her eyes it wasnt enough to make a statement with just the sloppy scraps I had strewn about. NOOOOO she went and emptied all my drawers, tore off my bed sheets and just for effect, the “piece de resistance” if you will. She tied all my clothes into knots. Thats right, square knots, half knots, overhand bends, she had them all well represented! She should have earned her Boy Scout merit badge for such effort! Sock shrapnel was strewn all around the blast site and it appeared my G.I. Joes had been lost in the battle. No survivors…..

As I stared into the depth of this nightmare, my mother leaned over and said very clearly; son, your room will be cleaned before you leave for school everyday, your dirty clothes will be in the laundry room and your clean clothes will be put away. Your sheets will be changed every Saturday and there will be no exceptions! Everyday that you fail to follow these directions you will come home to a room that looks just like this, and everyday you will clean it all back up to my liking until you get it right! I am your mother, I am not your maid! Am I clear?

Yes ma’am……

I hated her for doing that back then, I cursed her when I thought the job was good enough, only to come home to a destroyed room once again. After a long period where my room was aces, I think she destroyed it just to keep my ego in check! And yes, even though I hated it then, it is the sole reason I am clean, neat and organized today.

Speaking of today, here is why I have shared this story with all of you. As I stated earlier, today I went old school! You see my children apparently have decided that cleaning their rooms just isn’t in the cards on a daily basis! When my oldest refused to change his sheets knowing full well I had warned him of dire consequences, well there was only thing left that had to be done! Yep that’s right, you guessed it, my mothers sadistic evil form of cleaning revenge spewed forth like a genetic tumor. I walked into each room individually, took a deep breath, rolled my eyes into my head and let the demon have my soul. When it was over the carnage was spread far and wide! The piles were large and filled with every portion of their little lives. It was a thing of beauty..

I picked them up from school with a smile on my face, I told them we were headed straight home! No barn, no horses, no barn chores. I even-handed out a piece of candy or two. They laughed and giggled and talked about their new-found freedom for the afternoon! We entered the house and I motioned to my wife giving her the sign to please keep quiet. She grinned and walked outside leaving their destinies in my hands. I lined them up on the couch, quieted them down, then very calmly I leaned in close and said: children, your room will be cleaned before you leave for school everyday, your dirty clothes will be in the laundry room and your clean clothes will be put away. Your sheets will be changed every Saturday and there will be no exceptions! Everyday that you fail to follow these directions you will come home to a room that looks just like this, and everyday you will clean it all back up to my liking until you get it right! Your mother and I are your parents, we are not your maid! Am I clear?

Something to be said about “old school child raising” we will see what tomorrow brings. But judging from the work done today, things are looking up!

Just be there….Ok?

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They run and play not a care in the world.  Yelling, whooping and hollering.  Minds racing, arms flailing, lips flapping, they can’t help themselves, as exuberance and joy streams from every pore in their bodies!  A skateboard, a bike, a scooter or two, helmets and kneepads, gloves and the look of fear as they round a corner way to fast! I give them a warning, gentle at first.  The noise grows louder, the speed increases and I just know an injury is imminent.  A second warning is given; it really is time to slow down; I am shrugged off like a snow flake on a cold winters day.  Lap number four the youngest is leading, he looks for approval as he passes by at mach 3.  I smile, give him a thumbs up asking one last time for the speed to decrease.  It must have been my eyes for like a yellow caution flag at Daytona International speedway, they come to snails pace crawl.  Still happy, still squealing, still giggling and arguing over who was the very fastest.

Its times like these I feel so very blessed for my family.  I watch them both with amusement and jealously.  Their honesty in play brings a heavy sigh and a large smile all at the same time.  I am jealous that as an adult I no longer have a sense of innocence that leads to such care free play.  Dont get me wrong I am a huge child for my age when it comes to play time.  But I  feel as though I can never obtain the no worries, cut loose freedom that a child has when its time to go hog-wild.

Why?  I see other dads do it, or so it seems.  Why cant I be as care free as my kids are sometimes?  Is it the stresses of life?  I reflect upon the times some adult in my life reminded me to “enjoy things now while you’re still young”.  I use to wonder what that meant.  Is it so awful being an adult that other adults are commissioned to warn all prospective youth to stay young forever?  That adulthood is really hell and we have no choice in the matter.  What is it that makes being carefree so difficult?

Maybe its the knowledge of all the children I have seen over the years neglected and mentally abused.  Parents who have brought their own adult pain down hard upon the innocence of the very children they are supposed to love and cherish.  Some of them I believe still do love their kids but the demons that control them are far stronger than the willpower they have left to do battle.  Is it the damage done to my psyche by the countless souls I have witnessed who passed on, still there floating in my brain.  They leave behind every little moment of what brought their demise.  Leaving me with the need to be the safety police in my household.  Feeling like Dr. Killjoy if you will.  The dad of dud..

Or have all those things combined molded me into the dad I have become? One with a higher understanding of the world and how it works.  A father with a heightened sense of emotional balance. That all life should be cherished for every moment that we are given on this earth.  Maybe I wasnt supposed to be “that dad”, the care free dad with no worries?  The dad that looks as though he is making up for lost time.  Seriously though, for all intensive purposes I really like who I have become as a father.  My kids love me, they think I am funny, they respect me, and show me respect in return when things are not singing along like a Disney movie.  My children truly miss me when I am gone and herald the moment I walk back through the door.  I love them all, I really, really love them all.

I wonder about all the dads that never get to spend quality time with their children because of work.  That never see the funniest of moments (and believe me if you have kids you know the funny moments never seem to end) because they are never home.  The only quality time spent with their kids is sitting on the sidelines of a (insert sport of choice here) game and still some are on the phone doing business or playing games and e-mailing.  Doing everything but paying attention to what matters most.  What will these dads have to look back upon when their kids are grown and gone from the house?

Yeah, I am proud of the father I have become.  I don’t need to be the carefree, lunatic with no worries what so ever.  I can sit by proudly as the safety police when my kids are going way to fast.  I will cut loose to the highest of my abilities, all while doing my best to amuse my children.  I will constantly strive to make them laugh, comfort them when they cry and make sure I am there for every possible moment.  Fore the day will come soon enough that I am left with an empty house.  No more giggling, no more screaming, no more high fives, wedgie’s and belching.  No more kid fun.  It’s then and only then, I will be able to look back with a smile and say I was there, I may not have been the best or the funniest but I was there when they needed me, I was there to show them love, I was there.

My heart will be full!