father – Page 2 – They call me Betty

Can you? Could you?

March 13, 2013 theycallmebetty5 Comments

Today, if you will indulge me; I feel as though I need to take a little break from writing about the trials and tribulations that befall a family of six living on a farm.

There have been no postings from me for a few days now because; well to be honest I have been in a bit of a funk. Then last night it hit me, after a long conversation with a dear friend, my brain flooded into neural overload and like riding a DeLorean back through time, images once again began to appear. I don’t like it when they arrive as they do so without cause or care, but it was at that moment I realized it was time to write about them.

These images are like none anyone would ever want to see. They haunt me from time to time and ruin just about every moment of my life in some strange way or another. They come and go as they choose, sometimes in the middle of the day, other times late at night. When I am asleep they wreak havoc upon my subconscious awakening me to sweat, cold and fear. Some nights they are so real I have to walk our house, stepping into every room while telling myself; “it is just a dream.” There are other times when nighttime dreams become so bizarre it seems they should be uses as the basis for writing a novel. As though notes should be created, characters molded and then reap the rewards of a story well crafted. But even as bizarre as they can become I am still able to recognize the truth within their core.

As many of you who follow my blog know I am a firefighter. As a firefighter there are certain things we just don’t talk about amongst ourselves or our family. Or when we do we try our best to find the humor in a sad or sick situation. Laughter has always been the best medicine and if we can find just one thing humorous about any incident we then take a moment to laugh at ourselves eventually feeling better about the outcome. We (firefighters) also refuse to discuss these “things” outside of our close-knit circles. Leaving the general public in the blind, it is done out of fear for the reaction it may evoke. But truth be told we are our own worst enemies, therefore I am about to break that rule and hopefully you will understand why in the end.

Death, dismemberment, murder, burned and injured people, the stupidity of human nature, sickness, physical abuse (spousal, child, partner etc), drug dependency, alcoholism, and the myriad of sick and twisted things human beings can do to each other and themselves. Not just once in a while, not just what is perceived as truth in the news, but on a daily basis.

We see it all, and no matter how much we try, what we see never goes away and there is nothing anyone can do about that. Oh sure we have Critical Stress Debriefings (CSD) to help us deal with our emotions. Everyone sits through them and nods their heads like sheep (me included), each one stating we are “OK”. We have councilors at our disposal, both through our agencies and as part of our health care package, and they do a fine job of once again helping you to understand the basis for your concern, the pattern behind your thoughts and a mental picture of how to evaluate then project the positive image you desire hoping to remedy a current mental hindrance. But the fact still remains the same. These “things” we see never go away, burned in our skulls for eternity.

When starting in the fire service 18 years ago us probationary firefighters lined up for a presentation from our Chief. He proceeded to tell us there were incidents we would never forget and mental pictures that would stay with us for life. Our job was not for the weak of heart and over the length of our careers would weigh on us heavily. As young cocky cadets we laughed that nervous laugh that so many young people do when puffing out their chests to show manly superiority. Then afterwards we all joked around with comments like; “that will never happen to me” and “what kind of wuss would ever be sickened by blood and guts”. Then off we went into our careers to face the unknown secretly praying we WOULD see it all! Just to prove him wrong.

And over the years I have seen plenty and it hasn’t been pretty.

Now I am not complaining by any means! I LOVE my job! It really does define who I am as a person. This career has become everything I ever dreamed it would be and there a thousands of people we have helped during the very worst day of their lives. But over the last couple of years with all the budget constraints, people losing their jobs, and money becoming tight, we (firefighters) have consistently come under attack from the general public, politicians and just about anyone who has an axe to grind. I don’t mind, what I have done, what my fellow brothers and sisters have done over the years far outweighs any mealy mouthing some politician can do. But when its the public, the very people we care about, or when its people you actually know who live within your response area and have protected for many years with pride. Well I don’t care who you are it just hurts.

So let me move forward by saying, this job has never, ever been about money, (although I found it interesting today that a sheet rockers income per hour is double mine)it has never been about the reported “days off” even though we work almost double the reported “easy 10 day schedule” we supposedly keep. This job has never been about the retirement. Although, never will I cower and lower my head as so many do when the topic of our supposed “Golden ticket” retirement comes up. Like we as firefighters should be ashamed of the retirement system we fought so hard for and “hold onto your hats people”; paid for out of our own pockets! Not 100% funded by the people’s money as continually reported by those willing to throw our futures away! Yes we can retire at 50! So what! Statistics show time and again the majority of us will be dead from carcinogenic cancers, blood borne pathogens, and heart attacks within 10 years of retirement! And the majority of us won’t get the luxury of retiring at 50 anyways! It’s just an option there for the lucky few who have 30 years in by 50! The vast majority of us will work until we are 60-65!

But even after all that, even after we have been bashed for being recliner sitting, engine polishing, self-proclaimed heroes who live off the tax payers dime! I wonder if any of them understand the little mental gift we have all been given from minutes, hours, days and years of seeing the things we see? Is there a dollar amount for that? Is there? Then I wonder while their mouths are engaged and their self-absorbed brains are frozen could they do it? I don’t mean the job, but live through the after effects? Could you? Can you? Seriously, I am not trying to be malicious or indignant or even belittling, but could you?

Can you stand in your driveway watching your son drive away knowing the number one cause of teen deaths their first year behind the wheel is vehicle accidents? Then have your mind flooded with horrible images from every accident involving teenagers you have responded to over the last 18 years resulting in death, dismemberment and sorrow, transposing your sons face upon those that perished and their ghastly outcome! Can you sleep when he isn’t home yet? Will you stay calm when you can’t get a hold of him on his cell phone, while more images pound at your brain? Could you?

Can you board a plane without starting to sweat and sit quietly during engine throttle up without a care in the world while secretly you are observing every exit, profiling people’s personalities so you will know if this plane goes down who you will have to be very direct too while helping get survivors off the plane. Or are you able to make the flight without multiple panic attacks about it plummeting into the ground killing all aboard. Can you sit there and not picture a fire churning its way down the center aisle, burning people while you stay low, trying to figure out how to help? Can you?

Can you hold an infant enjoying its very innocence without wondering when it will die? Seeing in its eyes the very infant you tried to save gasp its last breath of air, taking it off its dead mothers chest. Holding it, trying not to cry because you know the end is near for this precious being. Handing the infant off to a transporting agency after doing all you can then shrugging off a feeling of helplessness and proceeding to the next victim during triage and perform your job flawlessly? Could you, would you?

Can you crawl through blazing hot temperatures in 50 pounds of gear without being able to see your hand in front of your face? Feeling your way through a burning home, counting your time inside, monitoring how far you have gone, trusting your training and your partners skills. Hopefully finding the seat of the fire rapidly, stopping the beast from growing. You sweat, curse and pray, sometimes it’s so hot it drives you to the floor, on your belly, but you are close so you press on. Then when it’s over you sit looking at the degraded building and its cheaply made materials that fail in half the time from a mere 20 years ago and picture the roof collapsing on you and your crew. The Chief coming to your house, sitting your wife down and patting her hand while she cries because you are gone. Your children are fatherless, your wife is a widow and you are no more. Can you think about that? Can you?

Can you watch your family time and again go on trips without you because you don’t work an 8-5, Mon-Fri schedule? As they turn out the driveway you are reminding them to please call if there is any trouble, to call when they arrive, to call whenever they go somewhere, anywhere. Why? It’s not because you don’t trust them it’s because where ever they go you need to know if trouble lurks around the corner. You hate feeling this way but you do! Whether hiking, bike rides horse back or even plays dates in the park. The moment they are gone, can you let them go without seeing disaster strike at every turn? Can you?

Can you ever go to a barbecue and not smell burned flesh? Can you?

Can you perform CPR in front of an entire family sometimes successfully, sometimes to no avail and not feel moved by the crying, children sobbing, wives praying, husbands asking why, while holding the newest member of the family? Can you sit with a husband who just lost his wife of 45 years and hold his hand? Tell him you are so sorry while only having an inkling of the pain he is about to go through all while knowing it wont be too much longer now until you respond to him passing away as well? Can you hold a daughter whose mother just died in front of her from a diabetic reaction. Can you do that until the father gets home then go through it all over again? Can you turn and tell a family grandpa has gone and how sorry you are but there was nothing you could do to save him? Can you?

Can you give medical treatment to an abuser without prejudice? Could you?

Can you look a little girl, dying of cancer in the eyes time and again telling her it’s going to be ok? She knows you are lying, you know you are lying, but strangely it makes you both feel a little better. Then watch over time as she fades away, eventually succumbing to her disease and feel some remorse, somehow attached or remotely responsible? Can you do it?

Can you pull up to a random medical aid just in time to watch a man pull a hand gun out and shoot himself in the head? Then rush to his side without worrying if he is still alive and may shoot you! Then calmly do your best and try to save his life?

Can you bury a friend and honestly say he is in a better place when all your training couldn’t save his life and you know the suffering he went through before perishing?

Can you drive down the freeway without wondering what car is going to crash, what bridge is going to collapse, what semi truck is going to jackknife. Whose car is going to survive the crash, how many people are going to die? Where are you going to swerve to avoid the problem? Do you do this?

Can you lay your head down at night and not fear the sleep that comes?

Our job is one we love; we do it because believe in the power of helping those who cannot help themselves! We are a myriad of Type A personalities, we are born to be helpers, genetically it is who we are. Yes we knew what we were getting into. But what we didn’t know or possibly could have fathomed was the lifelong effects it would have on us, our marriages, our children and our ability to look at the world through innocent eyes. Something every one of you possess whether you realize it or not. Something (my innocence) I would give anything to have back. But in the long run I can’t have it back! I gave it away when I took my oath and there is no getting it back.

The other night I received an honorary coin during our annual awards night dinner for saving a life. I have been a part of a crew who has saved a life (on record) every year since 2007. Does that one coin make up for the countless others lost? Are we supposed to live by the mantra “people die every day what are you going to do”? I just don’t know anymore.

People tout us as heroes. We aren’t, we are like any other trained profession looking to use the skills we have acquired. Everyone needs a hero and I am ok with the title if it eases someones mind, but when I think of true heroes I think of our military! Men and women who wake up everyday, put on their boots and stand up for our country at all costs. Some people bag on our job, put us down, disrespecting our failures and our accomplishments. Yes everyone does have the right to their opinion it is a cornerstone to our countries foundation. But before they run their mouths giving a public perception that is both false and unjust, I wish once they could see life through my eyes or the eyes of the millions of brothers and sisters walking this earth everyday feeling the very same way I do, carrying the same burden, shouldering the same load and doing it with a smile on their faces.

Could they carry this burden? Even for a little while would be nice. Can you? Could you? Would you?

Thanks everyone for letting me vent. I am no greater than the person beside me, God created me that way for a reason. Maybe someday I will be by your side as well, giving you comfort and helping you in a time of need.

To those who walked this path before me I have and always will be in awe of the leather boots I fill…

“I have no ambition in this world but one, and that is to be a fireman. The position may, in the eyes of some, appear to be a lowly one; but we who know the work which the fireman has to do believe that his is a noble calling. Our proudest moment is to save lives. Under the impulse of such thoughts, the nobility of the occupation thrills us and stimulates us to deeds of daring, even of supreme sacrifice.”

Chief Edward F Croker FDNY (1899-1911)

FTM*PTB* EGH* RFB

343

A letter to my son…

February 26, 2013 theycallmebetty2 Comments

Dear son,

Life at twelve can seem incredibly hard, your day is long and filled with all the trappings of an almost adult life.

You wake up early 6am

Get dressed while simultaneously trying to gather your belongings for the day ahead.

Study last-minute materials for the big presentation at work- whoops, I mean study last-minute for the large exam you have at the end of class.

Have a cup of coffee to get going- whoops, I mean drink some OJ or maybe a glass of milk to help get the day started.

Shovel down breakfast while looking over the paper- gosh mixed em up again, shovel down breakfast while playing a game on your i-pod.

Run out the door screaming you are now late because no one let the dog out!- whoops again, you run out the door late because you forgot some homework and mom is backing out of the driveway as you run like heck to catch her!

Son believe it or not your day is filled with the very same social interactions that surround your parents. Here let me help you out a little.

School Work

Bully———————-Boss, co-worker looking to get ahead, Bosses boss

Girl you like————-Co-worker, girl at the cafe down the street, etc..

Best friend—————Best friend

Friends——————-Friends, co-workers

Nerds———————I.T guys, maybe even your boss

Jocks———————Corporate, Boss, Bosses boss also can be interchanged with “bully”

Stoners——————-Stoners, mail room, janitors, window washers

Rockers——————-To many items to list

Country kids————-Country folks/adults

Principal——————CEO of the company

Vice Principal————COO of the company

Teachers——————In house training experts

Parents——————-Security

So as you can see you are dealing with the same social problems we are as adults on a daily basis. The problem is your brain is just now learning how to handle all these various personalities. No minor task mind you and I for one do not wish to trade places with you in any way shape or form. But there is something you must understand, and learn this one thing you must, because whether you realize it or not this very moment in time is truly one of the most important of your life. The person you are becoming right now will dictate the person you will remain for most of high school! Yes you can change if it’s not working out, but for some reason if change is not made prior to high school it then becomes a long tedious four-year road of interpersonal struggle.

Why am I telling you all of this in a blog?

Because I have tried my hardest to tell you in person. Your head is hard and thick, your fortitude is deep and strong. You have been mired in a very grey area for the last month, one where heading towards the dark side means meeting the expectations of your peers while heading towards the light means your family comes first and your friends will think you a loser. Social problems and decisions within that social sphere can impact how you feel about yourself and others. I understand that, your mom understands it, but we cant help you if you wont let us!

But the real reason I am writing you this letter is so some day when this emotional roller coaster you are on has come to an abrupt end and you step away from it woosey and unsure of what just happened you will be able to read this and know exactly how I felt.

I miss you son, I miss your laugh, your smile, the accepting way you were always willing to lend a hand. I miss doing things with you that was just about us. I miss being a family with you son. Your brothers and sisters miss you! They are exhausted from fighting over every little tidbit of social interaction with you! I am not sure where you have gone, but your personality needs to come home. The tension created by just you is unbearable!

Today was the last straw, the rolling of the eyes when asked to participate in this family, the disrespectful comments made towards you mother and I, the anger you have shown towards you siblings, it all ends today.

The punk flat billed hat you wanted so badly, gone! If it looks like a punk, dresses like a punk and acts like punk guess what? It’s probably a punk! Next to go is your phone, after that baseball and if we have too, I will bring you home and tutor you myself right through high school for you see son, as much as I love being like a friend to you when the times are good there is one thing I am above all else. YOUR FATHER!

And with that comes the never-ending responsibility to ensure you grow up to become all you can possibly become! You will have manners towards your parents and teachers! Why? Because we raised you that way! You will become a productive member of society! Why? Because we raised you that way! You will give back to your community and strive to be a better person every chance you get! Why? Pretty sure you know the answer to this right about now.

Those “friends” you are emulating will come and go! One minute you will be their best buddy and the next you will be thrown to the curb for the next best greatest thing! But your family, we are here forever. We love you, we think the world of you and we will do everything in our power to help you. Mess with one you get us all!

So in closing.

Tonight definitely sucked. You say things are gonna change. I hope so, not just because your mom and I miss you, not just because we love you, but because as your father its my job to ensure that a change gonna come…

Dad….

A letter from the past…

February 15, 2013February 15, 2013 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

1,486 days until 50 years of age.

Recently while rummaging through some old keepsakes I came across a letter. Now while most of us at some time or another have kept letters from old boyfriends or girlfriends, or from our parents while we were away at camp, even notes from friends, this letter was a little different.

Wrapped in a dingy standard, business envelope it was thin, wrinkled and worn. The writing on its face was faded and simple, addressed to me from me. You see it was dated 1984. Mailed from the office of my old high school, a project straight from the bowels of a creative writing class. Premise;write a letter to yourself to be opened when you reach 25. Address it to your parents home to ensure you receive it and be “creative”.

Well being the pretentious Teaching Assistant that I had become, the whole thing seemed stupid and as such the writing was poignant to say the least. The letter was all of a 1/2 page written on wrinkled binder paper and said: Well asshole if you are reading this then good job! You made it to 25, now give yourself a pat on the back for still being alive. Never thought you would make it past 21! You are still a loser. Hope you still have some friends to pester. Loser!

So what does this all have to do with the price of tea in China and most of all my count down towards turning 50?

The letter drew a sad emotional response. Sad that I wasted a perfectly good opportunity to write something pertinent, honest, heartfelt, whimsical or even just plain factual. Yet I threw away that time being a punk to myself. Shorting myself with an alloof flippant attitude towards something that could have captured the feelings of being a teenager in the 80’s. A paragraph, a page, a note, a quotation, anything to show myself and the world development, growth and the ability to change, adapt and overcome life’s challenges and obstacles. To be able to map a path taken between the age of 17 and 25, from 25 to 46 and into the future.

Then I read it again and you know what, strangely that may be exactly what I accomplished. Not eloquently mind you but looking beyond that moronic statement to who I was at 25 its there, you just need to read between the lines. When I was young, I was a know it all, selfish, moody little bitch. To be quite honest if my 46-year-old persona met my 17-year-old moronic self, I do not think we would like each other very much. I would probably kick my own ass! You see back then if we were friends, I was a loud joke cracking fool, if we didn’t know each other I hung back in the corners like a wall flower scared of his own shadow. I was a contradiction of introvert and extrovert all rolled into one. Some days you just never knew who you where going to get. In some ways I am still that way today, with the exception that as an adult hanging back in the corner of the room allows me a few moments to figure out who all the “players” are and how to approach people.

Getting closer to 50 has given me the chance to reflect on my life, where it has been and where it is headed. I see a lot of the same attributes in my oldest teenage son and I am worried for him. He is at a stage where emotions, testosterone and the inability to become outwardly friendly towards new people have paralyzed his ability to cope with strange situations. He is moody and if you are his friend he is the dry witted life of the party, but if he doesn’t know you he clams up and can’t even muster the strength to say a word while he stares at the ground.

Part of me wishes my 17-year-old self could come back to life so he sees there is hope. As his father I want to protect him, but I know he needs to fall on his face to learn how to handle the rough edge of life. Learning from every encounter, mistake, misfortune and success are the building blocks to a foundation that forms our adult existence. I don’t know how to bring out the best in him, I don’t know how to tell him I went through all the same feelings as a kid without him tuning me out as his father telling the tale of walking both ways uphill in the snow barefoot to school.

But most of all I don’t want him someday to become mired in the fact he is closing in on 50 years of age while reading a letter from some 17-year-old asshole known as himself….

My friend Cooper

January 28, 2013 theycallmebetty6 Comments

We met on a warm spring day in 2001, you had just finished running and were full of energy and enthusiasm. The type of excitement held solely for those coming down from a runners high! After introductions it appeared immediately as though we would become friends. I couldn’t help but admire your self-confidence, exuberance and ability to charm those you encountered!

Over time we became closer, long walks in the evening, daily runs, outings with the family. When our eldest son was little and sad, you never balked at an opportunity to cheer him up. Good friends will do that and indeed a good friend you had become. A look, a smile, some funny movement or action and our son would laugh, all at your expense. You never minded, when your work was done you always left with that sly smile upon your face. A look that showed you always knew something we didn’t.

And knew something you certainly did, for you have been alongside our children for the last 12 years. Watching them grow, helping with their life changes, attitudes and emotions. I really don’t know what I would have done without your friendship! Like a rock, steadfast and solid your loyalty never wavered. There are times in life when no matter what you do as a father you just cant seem to get through, but you always could. With a calm demeanor, a listening ear, and a warm embrace it was always you bringing things into perspective for their little minds.

So what am I to do now? How do I fill this void you left behind? You have gone and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. You left us all with broken hearts and endless tears. Not for the way you left, or even the fact you had to go, but for our own selfishness. Our own emotional fulfilment. The need to feel your love and to give that love in return. Did I show you enough affection, did I tell you I loved you enough times? I will have to assume yes, as I will never know the true answer.

Yesterday at 7:30pm you took your last breath, heaved your very last sigh, relieving yourself of all the pain you had been carrying inside. You body could no longer handle an enlarged liver, your kidneys ached under the strain and your legs had finally given to the pressure. We couldn’t bear watching you suffer anymore as one step meant seeing you buckle under the strain. You were my wifes dear friend and companion, you were a wonderful friend to our children, and you were my friend. You stood proudly by my side through thick and thin, in the sun and even the rain. Camping trips, fishing, daily outings, hikes, bike rides, you participated in them all. Always a smile on your face! You were amazing!

The day we met, my then girlfriend (future wife) had been running with you, you were her young, handsome little pup. Over the years you became one of the most important parts of our growing family, no longer the sole dog, loved by one, but the much-loved, valued member of 4, then 5, and eventually 6 of us. You have slept upon beds of the frieghtened, laid on feet of the cold, awakened us when something just didn’t seem right outside, and even chased off a coyote looking to enter our backyard. Every Sunday we just knew you were going to catch one of the many Balloons filled with wine country tourists traveling over our house. If you couldn’t catch a balloon, you dang sure were going to chase it away! You took credit for every one that passed over head and out of view. There was a time when your speed matched that of the Jack rabbit, catching one only to let it go! Their wasnt a tire on our property that didn’t bear a marking from your superb aim. When we moved to the ranch you took other dogs under your wing and showed them the way. Blitz misses you now, proof as he laid in your spot last night and would not get up for me this morning.

There are those that say “he was just a dog” but not to us, you were family. It started the day my wife took you in, trained you and made you her very own. Smothering you in the very same love so easily given back to those you accepted into your life. As her family grew, your family grew and it never ended as day after day we always found a way to love you more.

We all miss you Cooper. You are a symbol of our family. I wish I could bring you back for one last hug but I can’t, it was hard seeing you go, it was even harder burying you under the old tree by the pond last night. I wrapped you neatly in one of your favorite comforters and placed you gently upon your pillow. A prayer was said and I cried laying the first bucket of dirt upon you. I hope you like the place we picked, it has a full view of the valley, all the jack rabbits and coyotes but most of all those damn balloons as they pass by every Sunday morning.

May you rest in peace, you were a GREAT dog, the fields of heaven are open just for you. Your work here is done, and for that we love you and thank you….

Cooper

1999-2013

Father of the year?

January 23, 2013January 23, 2013 theycallmebetty2 Comments

As parents we all make mistakes, its inevitable. Many times over the years I have reiterated the painful fact that parenting doesn’t come with a manual specific to you. It is one of the hardest most demanding jobs we as a adults will ever work. (my prevalent graying hair loss is proof) Yet despite our best intentions along with all the ups and downs, we cross our fingers and pray at the end of the day everything will work out just fine.

Over the years, through thousands of snap judgements, arguments and skull scratching moments there have been times my decisions havent been the most sound. Be it exhaustion from the endless bombardment our children’s attention requires, or just the sheer fact I really wasnt listening. It remains a fact. Times when I said or did something I wished I could have taken back. Worried I may have scarred a little ego or trampled even the best of efforts through my obvious ignorance. It has been said; “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger”. But when you consistently strive to be the best parent you can be the odds are stacked against you.

So my question is this: What did you say or do while parenting that you wish you could either take back or change?

My example:

One day my 7-year-old daughter dragged all my baseball coaching gear out onto the backyard lawn. Now this had been an ongoing problem as repeatedly there had been gear spread across our property. Being the ever vigilant, penny-pinching father every one of those items equated to a dollar sign and over the years we had accumulated quite a bit of high quality instructional aids for little league baseball. Having coached ball for 4 years while my oldest played, the sanctity of these items was paramount to the future success of our younger boys as they too aspired to play baseball. Up until that moment I had assumed the boys were responsible for dragging this gear out and leaving it spread across our little forty acre parcel. But now it was obvious my daughter was to blame.

The backyard was laid out perfectly with a throwing station, batting station and bases which formed up a miniature diamond. As she pulled a baseball from the bucket and wound up to throw towards one of two targets I leaned out the backdoor bellowing; PUT THAT STUFF AWAY!

She tried to say something to me but all I could do was point towards the garage and sternly say: I don’t want to hear it honey put the baseball stuff away!!!

Lip quivering and a dumbfounded look upon her face she began mumbling about throwing, catching, hitting, what ever, I didn’t care she was a girl, girls don’t play baseball they play softball and their was no way she was going to play with MY baseball equipment!

I proclaimed in my sternest voice: PUT IT AWAY NOW OR RISK SPENDING THE AFTERNOON IN YOUR ROOM!

Turning on my heels, door closing behind me I headed for a cup of coffee. After brewing up a pot and pouring myself a cup I gazed towards the backyard once again only to notice nothing had been cleaned up! To make matters worse she was getting ready to toss a ball straight up in the air with bat in hand! Before my temper could rise or my body could clear the back door she tossed it up and actually hit the ball! That’s right she hit the ball! My seven-year old little girl not only defied my direct order to put all the gear away but actually hit the damn ball!

And it was sailing out of the backyard!

Standing slack-jawed in astonishment the “coach” in me held back as she did it time and again! She kept reaching into the bucket pulling out another ball and crushing it! Then just as I was about to walk out and see if she could throw (scouting report and all) she did the unthinkable! She switched sides! Yep, not only had she crushed the ball hitting right-handed she was now sailing them out into the field hitting left-handed! Stop the god damn presses! Could it be we have a self-taught switch hitter living in this household?

Walking into the backyard, she turned and looked at me as if a prison sentence was in her future, but instead with a sheepish look upon my face I softly asked her to do it again! She nodded yes, hit the ball and with a smile on her face asked me if I thought she was any good? I laughed and said; yes honey I think you are pretty good. She asked me if I would play catch with her, so off I scurried to grab my mit with the exuberance of someone who just found out they were playing catch with Nolan Ryan!

We threw the ball back and forth a few times and amazingly she threw quite well! But what made it even better was her ability to throw both left and right-handed! Now don’t let me paint you a picture of a baseball/softball prodigy in the making, she definitely needed lots of work, but just to be able to do those things on her own without anyone showing her how was pretty cool. We ended up finishing the afternoon laughing and joking about her becoming the best baseball player around.

Her mother signed her up for softball later that year. She had a good season and was an average player, (no hero-worship yet) but she still practices every chance she gets and can’t wait for the new season to begin!

What do I wish I could change?

By not recognizing my daughter as a person who loves baseball I inadvertently created a gender bias. As a father that is a giant FAIL! “It wasnt about the gear it was about some notion that “girls don’t play baseball” not even recognizing the softball cross over or the pure fact none of that even mattered if she was just having fun. What made it worse for me personally is the fact as a firefighter working in a male driven profession I am one of those guys who believe anyone can do this job, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, race, etc..! Shining moment of double standards! Father of the year? It was a humbling experience and as a parent a learning moment!

So the question remains: What did you say or do while parenting that you wish you could either take back or change?

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What horses taught me..

December 23, 2012December 23, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

What horses taught me about myself and raising children?

Horses have always at one time or another been a part of my life. During a very long period I did my best to refuse any knowledge of their existence. Carefully placing walls up around my feelings, hoping to keep them hidden for eternity. When people would broach the subject, my lips were sealed, if someone in the room asked: have you ever owned horses? My moral character would never allow me to lie in regards to the subject, but my explanation was usually short and sweet;

My parents owned horses; I was raised on a working horse ranch complete with 15 stall barn, paddocks, hot walker, roping arena and cattle chutes. We had a trainer for a while and the business always seemed to be the root of my parents quarreling. Dad was the president of a local horseman’s association and although at the time horses were not my favorite animals, some of my fondest memories were hanging out at horse shows, eating hamburgers and playing under the grandstands. The monthly meetings were also on my fond memories list. The people my parents associated with were all wonderful and cared about everyone’s kids! We sat at the bar, drank 7-up with cherries in them and overlooked the valley below. Can I ride a horse? Yes. Do I want horses? No! End of discussion.

What I never realized until just recently was raising horses as a child set me up for success as an adult. Learning to care for these creatures on a daily basis was actually the first step in learning to care for myself and others. I know it sounds crazy but it also allowed me the opportunity to fail miserably without actually harming anyone, as my parents were right there to chastise, redirect and place me back on the proper course with each and every animal regardless of how much I bucked the system. Horses are very forgiving animals, if you are late feeding them they won’t complain, missed cleaning their stall that afternoon, not a word said, didn’t get to riding them, they will let you know the first couple of minutes in the arena but it’s nothing a little re-direction won’t fix and after a pet or two on the head all is right with the world.

So how did horses re-enter my life and what does it have to do with raising children?

Married with children; horses re-entered my life under the guise of being for the children. I was pulled back into the equine world kicking and screaming by a wife wise beyond her years when it came to dealing with my absolute stubbornness. As I ranted and raved about reliving my parents quarreling over money and animals, as I clenched my fists and retorted with barbs about horses being the devil and all who possess them are crazy! My wife calmly reminded me it wasn’t about me, it wasn’t about the anger I harbored towards an existence that was a lifetime ago brought about by a mind not fully developed but mired in the process of youth. I regaled the horror of taking care of animals and how I didn’t want my children hurt, trampled, kicked, bit or thrown from these four legged beasts. My wife would remind me our children were already taking care of animal projects for 4-H and this was just an extension of those duties. Before long my grip on the past loosened, the mental walls were knocked down and we became horse owners. My children began riding, my wife began riding, I returned to the saddle and our future in the horse world was set on a collision course with my past.

Today; all of my children ride horses, one not as much as the other three but he enjoys cleaning stalls and helping out when he can. Our children are not left to sit on the sidelines as we were all those years ago.

They ride and they ride fairly well; they make mistakes, learn from those mistakes and look forward to every chance they get to “show” their horses. Do I expect them to win? No! Am I proud of them whether they do well or not? Yes! It will be some of the very best memories ever retained and upon my death bed, as my eyes begin to close and darkness overtakes me I hope to picture these children of mine smiling having fun, still small able to fit in my arms, full of love for their animals and their father.

I ride a cutting horse; as my parents rode in shows, I too am in the ring doing my best. We belong to an association and I became a board member. Cutting is always on my mind! How to become better, how to make my horse better, how to just relax and get the hell out of my horses way because she actually knows what she’s doing and on several occasions really just doesn’t need my help. Either way I am obsessed and cannot wait until the show season starts again.

My wife rides any horse she can get her hands on. The challenge of a new horse along with the exhilaration that comes from an unknown is always on her mind. Her personal horse is a gigantic Belgian draft who is sweet and believes to be a puppy dog. She follows you around everywhere, wanting to do everything to make you proud of her. She loves being pet, brushed and ridden, we couldn’t have asked for a better animal for our family. We have made friends with some very wonderful people through this process, friends I believe we will have for life. These fantastic people are of the very same character surrounding me as a child. My children are reaping the benefits.

We have many horses; we board a few horses, and have built up a very nice place for our children to be raised and their friends to come play. Nothing brings a greater joy to my wife and I then introducing a child to the joys of riding horses!

With time/age comes wisdom and with that wisdom comes the uncontrollable urge to share. So here are ten things horses have taught me about myself and raising children.

Frustration manifests into anger and there is no place for either when training a horse or raising a child.
Forgiveness is felt and received by both children and horses. If you show forgiveness, you teach forgiveness. Then forgiveness is shown in return.
Trust is earned. You may not think you need to earn trust with your children but you would be dead wrong. The same goes for a horse. If a horse doesn’t trust you, your relationship is dead in the water.
Having the ability to express love is one of the most important attributes human beings hold. Show that love in every aspect of what you do.
Discipline must be fair, just and repeated the same each and every time. Then it should be followed by number 4, thus reaffirming your commitment.
Talking will always calm their nerves. A nervous animal can be dangerous, so can quite a few children I have known over the years. Talking with them, showing interest and care usually will bring nervousness to an end allowing them both to build a confidence that will expand with age.
What you put in their bodies will equate to what you receive in performance. If you expect your horses to perform, feed them well. If you expect your children to perform well, both educationally and athletically, make sure they have nutritious food at their disposal.
Give them a warm safe place to call home. Everyone, even animals need a safe place to call home. It builds security and confidence, and grounds both animals and humans alike.
When children or horses make a mistake. Forgive them, correct them and allow them the opportunity to get it right. We all make mistakes; treating either one as though you are perfect all the time will eventually lead you down a path of failure.
Keep them clean and groomed. It sounds silly but as your child feels good about a new outfit for school, so does your horse feel about being clean, brushed and prepared for a day of being worked or ridden on the trail. It’s in our make up to always want to look good. You always notice that gorgeous stallion with the long flowing mane and tail, so does a mare. You also always notice the kid you took the time and effort to dress appropriately. Make that your kid and your horse.

As you can see my life has come full circle. My children take care of animals, feeding, watering, riding, and showing them love. It’s not always done right, but they try, we redirect and success is always on the horizon. The lessons of my childhood, expanded upon and being re-taught to my unsuspecting little sponges! Hopefully when they are grown adults our children will continue to expand upon these lessons and not place them in a closet of emotion wasting years on anger that could have been used to further enjoy a platform we have provided them for life.

A snowball effect….

December 23, 2012December 23, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

The other night after a long day of he said, she said, don’t touch me, and leave me alone along with all the other phrases (both appropriate and inappropriate) reverberating through an active family household. I found myself stressed beyond belief. My chest hurt, the lungs yearned for air, a mildly cold sweat lay across my brow and my stomach hurt. The only thing I could ponder was how much longer until they all were grown.

Of course I have no room to complain because there are the 48 hours straight I am at work, holed up in my firehouse the last bastion of supposed sanity from the trials and tribulations of being a full-time parent! My poor wife does not enjoy such luxury. But then again aren’t all us firefighters really just kids with badges and super cool toys we use to help the public? Anyways that night had taken quite the toll on both my wife and I. All we could think about was the peace and quiet that came with bedtime. Then something wonderful happened that brought me back to reality.

We baked cookies…

Yep that’s right its Christmas time and nothing says “I care about you” more than fresh-baked cookies! It really is the best Christmas present ever! I would personally take 20 tins of delicious cookies from loved ones over someone spending money on something they hope I will like! Cookies, chocolate, brownies, mince pies they all say “hey buddy its Christmas and I was baked just for you” enjoy! But these cookies, oh these cookies are super special! Every year we bake these little doughy droplets of gold and place them in specially purchased Christmas tins then set out across town “ to snowball”.

Definition: To Snowball; During Christmas time only, place a tin of cookies with an anonymous uplifting note on the front porch of an unsuspecting family. Ring doorbell, knock loudly on door and run!!!

Snowball has become a very special part of our Christmas traditions! The children look forward to it every year almost as much as Christmas morning itself! Snowball is treated like a covert mission, complete with blacked out car, dark clothing and squealing tires. Giggling is inevitable as mishaps are also a part of the fun. Falling over hedges, tripping before reaching the car, only to be grabbed by an older brother and pulled in as the car rips away from the scene! No man left behind is our motto! On one occasion one of the boys had to hide under a hedge just feet from the front door as it was opened by the homeowner before a full retreat was completed! It’s just plain, good old-fashioned Christmas fun! We hand out yummy goodies; hopefully make someone’s night with no expectation of reciprocation. Then hope it leaves a snowball effect on its recipients, passing good cheer forward for the holidays. This is the way we enjoy observing Christmas, it truly feels better to give than receive!!

As we are preparing for our night of Christmas ninja stealth, the children all do something unheard of lately. They begin to get along, working together as one to complete this monumental task. My wife and I step back out of the kitchen and even though the urge to take over and correct small mistakes is astronomical we don’t. She moves into the family room to watch TV, and I hover around the front room tending the fire and staring in awe. My oldest works like a baker, carefully tossing out flour, and rolling the dough out to perfection while the others take turns cutting out cookies made of angels, snowmen, stars and mistletoe. The middle boy handles placing them carefully on cookie sheets and transfers them back and forth from the oven only asking that I place them inside while removing the cooked ones. It was seriously the happiest, stress less, most magical moment I’ve had around our children in a while. It truly made our night. My wife iced them with green and white frosting then placed them carefully into round Christmas covered containers. She wrote another fantastic letter and we all called it a night with smiles upon our egg-nog covered faces.

One simple act of doing for others as a family can erase hours of selfish bickering. I am often reminded of a very simple saying; you only have one childhood with your children. Enjoy it!

When things get stressful, bake some cookies together and let them be children. All will look better in the end and your stress will subside. I promise…..

Merry Christmas!

A Horse of Gold……

December 18, 2012December 19, 2012 theycallmebetty2 Comments

This is the story of a horse. A very special horse..

Now if you follow my blog then you know here at Betty’s house we ride horses competitively (cutting horses, gymkhana) and for fun (trail riding, etc.). Nothing brings our family greater satisfaction than introducing a child to the joys of riding horses. The feeling of freedom so many never experience in a lifetime that comes from loping in an arena aboard a 1500 pound animal.

But it wasn’t always that way here at our ranch. There was a time when if I never saw another horse again it would be too soon. Growing up on a horse ranch as a child, I had my fill of horses and the chores that went along with raising these four-legged beasts. I never understood why they came before us children? My self-centered life revolved around much more important things than feeding and watering them twice a day. It was always an inconvenience for me and I was a sniveling pain in the ass to my parents.

Why?

Simply put, I was too young and self-absorbed to realize these chores equated to valuable life lessons instilled by my parents. Lessons that would form who I became, as life away from home molded me into the man I am today. Animals have a way of inadvertently teaching, by forcing you to learn responsibility, punctuality, empathy, kindness, courage and patience. I learned all these important traits from begrudgingly taking care of horses and sheep on our ranch.

So what does this have to do with a story about a horse?

When I left home, animals had left a bad taste in my mouth. I swore to the heavens above I would never, ever own a horse again. As a young adult I worked with a few horses on a dairy and would ride them any chance I could while hanging out with friends. My skills were average but I could hold my own using lessons taught by my mother. The reality? I never was looking to head down the old equine trail ever again. You see all those years of watching my parents struggle to make ends meet while raising, training, showing and riding horses combined with the responsibility of feeding, watering and caring for these creatures left me feeling very strongly in regards to never owning a horse.

When I was a teenager my parents dissolved the horse business, selling off all their animals, taking jobs in town and soon purchasing and raising ostriches for meat. No more horses! Hurray! Life seemed pretty good.

Then one day my dad purchased a horse named Gold Piece. He was—–Gold—– I know hard to believe huh? He was a Tennessee walker.

The Tennessee Walker or Tennessee Walking Horse is a breed of riding horse. Originally bred in the Southern United States to carry the owners of plantations around their lands,^[1] this breed is known for their unique four-beat “running walk.” The breed is rarely seen in any of the sport horse disciplines; however, they are popular in trail riding because of their smooth gait, stamina and easy temper. They are also seen in Western riding disciplines and in harness. –Wikipedia—

Gold Piece was a tall horse with a wonderful gate, he was friendly enough and my father adored him. My parents built him a fine paddock at their home and Gold Piece quickly became my father’s four legged friend. There doesn’t seem to be a recollection of my father ever riding Gold Piece although my mother claims she has been atop this steed. For years Gold Piece just roamed his little 3 acre patch coming in to eat in the morning and talk with my dad (as dad puts it) repeating the same schedule of events in the evening.

I never understood why someone would own a horse without riding it. Horses to me at the time werent pets, but livestock and should have been used as such. It’s in the animals best interest to be worked and exercised everyday, used to their potential. So needless to say it bothered me that this horse just walked around, eating his way through my parents finances. (Complete self-absorption huh?)

My parents eventually sold their home and moved onto our ranch, Gold Piece in tow, allowing them to ease their financial burdens while growing older. We made a home for the horse and before long seeing him out there ignited a passion inside our children. We acquired a few horses (against my better judgment) and all my children began to ride. My wife took the lead as her love for all animals carried over into caring for these creatures as well. All the while Gold Piece just stared blankly from his paddock while watching us do our thing. I would go pet him and tell him I was sorry he wasnt being ridden then remind him he was dads and I really didn’t want to cross that line. During the winter my wife found an affordable arena for us to board our horses so the children could ride out of the rain as our place would turn into a bit of a mud pit. After a few weeks and some favorable reviews to my parents, Gold Piece soon joined us at my father’s request. It made dad feel good to know his buddy was out of the weather, and socializing with other horses. My father had developed some health issues that year which slowed him down a bit; so he dropped by the barn everyday when he felt good, every couple of days when he didn’t, but his horse was always there, head hanging out of the stall, happy to see him. In fact it used to make me chuckle, because I could never figure out how the horse knew my father had arrived on the premises. But sure enough, trucks would come and go, then when dads truck arrived Gold Pieces head would pop right out and he would start licking his lips in anticipation of the apple/oat cookies my dad always carried in his pocket.

One day while watching the kids ride, I tired of sitting on the sidelines, if my dad wasn’t going to ride this horse well gosh darn it I was! I grabbed a saddle, pulled down his bit, tacked him up and moved off into the arena. Within fifteen minutes my head was abuzz with all the memories of riding horses at my parents ranch as a kid, with friends while growing up, and on trail rides as a young adult. Gold Piece had reignited a passion I had suppressed for far too long.

This horse, single-handedly or Hoofed as the case may be erased my ignorance, awakened the realization my parents hadn’t been punishing me with all those chores as a kid; he helped me understand what I needed to do as a father with my own children and brought back my need to ride, enjoy the thrill of riding, along with competing against other trained animals working as team towards a common goal. During his tenure at the barn Gold Piece gave many of our young friends their first rides in the arena and he gave my oldest a reason to ride with his father. Always willing and full of steam Gold Piece would go until the verge of collapse if you asked him too. (Pretty cool horse.) My younger children seeing their parents ride this big Gold trotting machine wanted to ride every chance they could. If it wasn’t for Gold Piece my wife and I wouldn’t have met and made friends with a wonderful group of people that we ride horses with to this very day! He and his stubbornness also introduced me to my “sister from another mister”. For that I am very thankful.

Gold Piece wasn’t always perfect, he challenged me every chance he could, made me earn my way around the arena on more than one occasion and taught me through sheer will to ride again, for that I am very appreciative. But what he lacked in patience under saddle he more than made up for in personality outside the arena. He never kicked, bit or pushed his weight around. If you were small he side-stepped out of your way while carefully keeping an eye on you. He always let you pet him and was happy to do so. The little ones had no problem grooming him and he eased under pressure from the brush, much like a cat would purr at a belly rub. He was just a good old horse.

Gold Piece passed away today. My daughter found him down in his stall this morning when she went out to feed. He was close to 30, fighting cancer and we all knew the day was coming. But it didn’t make it any easier. My father is devastated. As I sit here writing this I believe this horse was probably my father’s last true friend; always there when he needed him, never argued or disagreed with him and listened with nothing but the best of intentions. Nothing is harder than watching your dad cry. My mother is doing her best stiff upper lip imitation as always, but I know deep inside she is hurting as well, not just for herself but for the loss of my father’s dear friend.

A funny thing, for all he taught us he never asked for very much in return. He ate his hay, talked to my dad and went about his daily business like that of a proud Tennessee walker. Upon hearing of his passing, a friend of ours dropped us a note on Facebook that read; I think he (Gold Piece) heard there was a little girl from CT that needed him…..It may sound a little crazy but I looked it up on Yahoo news and it’s true. Little 6-year-old spitfire, Jessica Rekos, one of the 20 children that perished at Sandy Hook Elementary School had desperately wished for a horse and was going to get cowboy boots for Christmas.

Because I believe there is a God, because I believe that everything happens for a reason and because I know that horse would never have left my dad for anything in the world, maybe just maybe it’s possible to believe there was a higher calling and he (Gold Piece) answered that call, meeting up in heaven with a little girl who wanted nothing more than a horse of her own. I could think of no greater comfort for such a little soul, and maybe, just maybe her parents can now rest a little easier. The lord will take wonderful care of her as she rides the heavens above upon her beautiful horse of gold.

Rest In Peace both of you, the fields are endless, you are both safe now, god speed…

Gold Piece-

12/17/2012

Santa Claus or am I really baby Jesus?

December 17, 2012December 17, 2012 theycallmebettyLeave a comment

Ah the tinsel, the lights, Christmas music flowing from every car, coffee shop and grocery store around; People buzzing about trying to find the perfect gift for that special someone. The season is here, like it or not, we are enveloped in the Christmas season, may joy and laughter fill the air.

Sooooo on the topic of gifts let’s just take a moment to recognize the main man by saying thank you baby Jesus, cute little baby Jesus all cuddly and snuggly in his precious little wool wrap, perfect in his Jesus like way. For if wasn’t for your birth on that magical manger morning sire, three wise men/kings wouldn’t have traveled from afar (really afar?) to bestow three (Super Lotto of the period) wonderful gifts of Gold, Muir and Frankincense! Whew, HELLLLOOOOO; can you say JACKPOT!!!! Cha-Ching!!

What’s that my little snow angels? Santa is the sole reason we receive gifts on Christmas you say? Not the baby Jesus you say! Well my misguided little peppermint elves how wrong you are! The jolly red man wasn’t always jolly and he certainly wasn’t always fat! He was a man like any other, only he did what any good christian would do, stole the concept from religions much cherished three wise men! Seeing a definite need (oh yes his heart was in the right place) he practiced giving (gifts, shoes, dowry’s, food etc..) for a while selling the image of nobility to the masses. Eventually he was sainted and became forever known as St. Nicholas! Flash forward 1,669 years, St. Nicholas’ image has passed from generation to generation evolving into the much celebrated fat man in a red costume, driving a sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer! No really they are tiny! You would think they were huge with all those gifts and all but really they are tiny!

Upon seeing positive results within multiple test markets (Poland, Turkey, the Netherlands) the idea of a St. Nick or Santa Claus was marketed to the right folks, obtaining copy writes to his likeness and catchphrases then sold, sold, sold and sold again slowly evolving into the much celebrated fat man in a red costume, atop a shiny red sleigh! Happy picture huh?

Wrong sleigh… or not?

There we go that’s better….

Not being the greatest of mathematicians, I took it upon myself using the internet, ABC NEWS, and a few simple formulas to help me determine the sleigh was obviously developed by aliens or possibly held in captivity at Area 51 until our government could extract the compounds used to make this bitch fly! You see, Santa’s sleigh needs to travel 175 million miles in just under 31 hours (time/Dateline, staying under the cover of darkness and all), Santa himself needs to visit 1,178 homes per second-every second of those 31 hours. That means when the “big” man arrives he has just 8/100,000ths of a second to park the sleigh, shimmy down the chimney, stuff the stockings, eat (what is hopefully delicious) cookies, drink milk, shimmy back up the chimney, get his parking slip validated, tip the valet and go! Husain Bolt I think you have a second career waiting for you when this whole world’s fastest Olympian runner thing doesn’t quite pan out anymore!

How about the gross weight of the sleigh? I mean a rig like that needs to be agile and light! Made from the finest carbon fiber money can buy right? Someone must know the overall gross weight of this vehicle at the very least possibly California does since knowing means billing for registration and new registration leads to another source of revenue. Well don’t let the snowflakes melt from your cap just yet! Yes there is a calculation for this as well! Let’s say every child receives one two-pound toy,(hahahahahahaha one toy, that’s a joke) multiply that by 330 million children under the ripe old age of 18. That’s 660 million pounds of toys! No wonder Rudolph’s nose is red! The lad needs to drink like a union dock worker after moving that much weight in one night! Wonder if Rudolph receives kickbacks to pad his stable when bags of toys mysteriously fall off the sleigh while flying over New Jersey? Aye yo Vinnie that damn reindeer dropped us another load! Youz better have is cut ready or your kids won’t be seeing any evidence of the Fatman on Christmas morning!

So there, the baby Jesus is the reason we have Christmas! The Santa story is absolutely charming and I truly don’t mind playing the big guy every Christmas morning! The straight up fact is it brings endless joy to all the little boys and girls across this wondrous globe of ours. With or without the help of Macy’s, Target and Wal-Mart. But doesn’t someone think maybe lying to our children about a fictitious person, from a make-believe place, who brings toys and gifts to all the “good” little boys and girls after making a list (segregation) and checking it twice might really be sending a bad message? Plus how do you explain the whole “he sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake” bit? Sound like someone needs to be registered on the Meagan’s law web-site! Creeper!

I have decided since I receive gifts on Christmas morning I need to work on tricking my children into believing I am the baby Jesus instead! Pretty sure I can pull of the three wise men part with a little help from my friends. Someone know where I can get some Frankincense? Maybe three camels????

Somewhere in the Halls of Justice…..

November 30, 2012November 30, 2012 theycallmebetty1 Comment

A tub of chocolate chip cookie dough has been discovered open. Now this is no giant revelation in the grand scheme of things around Betty’s house, but this time is a bit different. You see lately there has been a sudden rash of midnight food thefts. Of course one might wonder if it’s the result of us starving our children to the point of emaciation? After all they are always screaming about how they are starving, there is nothing to eat, they are dying! Hypochondriacs! Maybe it’s because our food stamps ran out this month after I traded them for cash to a local street entrepreneur so I could score some vodka and cigarettes? Don’t judge me a guys got to do what a guys got to do right?

But sadly no, Betty and spouse have stocked the home quite well with food for all. Three squares a day and all the snacks one could handle. Not even the prison commissary has more crap than Betty’s Basement for snacking and munching. But what makes this crime of chocolate chip passion so incredulous is the fact we have been mired in a swamp of lying lately. Several attempts have been made through modern-day practices to arrive at the truth, trick questioning, good parent bad parent role play, single chair in the room hot spot light grilling, even a little military action has been used, but alas the waterboarding failed miserably. Thank God for AFLAC! Yet no matter what we tried the famed culprit “Mr. I don’t know” is usually to blame! What to do, what to do??

On this particular occasion while staring at the evidence a moment of brilliance overcame me! Sheer genius really as too many nights of late night crime TV took over, guiding me through a fair and just investigation.

Calmly calling the main accused subject to the front of the room I leaned down and gave the suspect every opportunity to answer me truthfully the first time. Each time I asked, the suspect stood their ground claiming no knowledge of a crime committed. Finally I held the subjects hand, slowly pulling the forefinger out straight.

Once the hand was firmly in my grasp over the bucket of sugary goodness with the forefinger pointed out straight I said; (Law and Order moment here) My dear, this bucket of chocolate chip cookie dough has been picked out by a single solitary finger. The great thing about fingers is no two are the same. Therefore if I place this finger inside this bucket will it match the marks made by the thief? She calmly stated no, stood her ground while beginning to look very confused.

Slowly lowering her hand I said; this is your last chance. Her brow furrowed, her resolve was set. Down went the hand and behold the finger mark was a perfect fit!

Now one could point the opposed bony finger of justice at the accused and scream GUILTY! But that’s not how Betty rolls. In a smooth almost sweet voice I asked the accused to step back, explained it was a perfect fit but in the interest of justice we would call in the other accused suspect to appear before our Kangaroo court. The call was made and suspect number two was brought downstairs and placed in front of suspect number one. Now suspect number two doesn’t have quite the moxy suspect number one carries. So there was an instant look of guilt upon his reddening cheeks. He tried his best poker face with a loud; whats up dad? (insert nervous laughter here)

The same investigative speech was provided for suspect number two and when he recognized the significance of important scientific data such as “no two fingers leaving the same mark in cookie dough” the confession spewed forth like that of man carrying heavy guilt for some time! No splayed out finger, no hand-held over the tub, no look of shame needed! Just the fear of scientific data, fact, serious CSI shit, to break his silence and expose a true culprit. The crime had been solved or so it seemed, but as with any criminal facing significant prison time this young lad was no different from any other! He started singing and he sang like a freaking canary, throwing suspect number one under the bus in the process. Hearing the overwhelming load of evidence thrown her way she lowered her shoulders and confessed to it all. The facts of the case had been revealed, two culprits one definitive finger match and all with a little knowledge learned from watching to many Law and Order episodes late at night.

The investigating officers report read as such:

On the night of 25 November 2012, One 8-year-old female suspect made her way into the family’s basement, avoiding detection from the parental units through stealth measures developed over an unspecified period of time. The female suspect finding the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough tub in the main downstairs refrigerator carefull removed a tool from the adjoining refrigerator intentionally piercing the cellophane cover, exposing the dough goodness held inside. Using her fingers many samples were had/stolen until the sounds of people moving her direction stopped her from enjoying more of the holiday treat. She retreated through the shadows into her room retiring for the night. Sometime later in the evening suspect number two seeing the lid had in fact been opened and fully knowing who the main culprit may have been felt as though the perfect crime would be committed by helping himself to the same sugary goodness then leave suspect number one taking the fall for the crime. A thorough investigation was held, both suspects were apprehended and suitable punishments were doled out through the use of plea bargaining.

Case closed.

Now if only I can use this late night psychological shit to figure out who is stealing my underwear and socks….

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