Tag: Fathering

The Perfect Life?

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This morning I woke up asking myself, do I have the perfect life? How many times have we asked ourselves this very question? A solid question on the outset but as I delve into these six well placed words I find it may be much deeper than anticipated.

Do I have the perfect life? To even begin working on dissecting this question, leaves me befuddled as where to start. Leaning back in my chair, gazing out our second story window, I find peace and tranquility in the landscape laid before my eyes. Is this the perfect life? I strain to find an answer. Why? Shouldn’t the answer come easily? Why do I feel guilty that it doesn’t? Am I cold inside because joy and exuberance doesn’t flow from my pores at the mere mention of the question? Hmmmm?

When I think about people proclaiming the perfect life as their existence I find myself envisioning the self proclaimed “elite”. The primarily white, well to do male or female with dual residences, fancy cars, vacations abroad and an endless stream of disposable income. Their children are the products of a lifestyle filled with excess and privilege. Attending the very best schools, wearing the fanciest of clothes and having what they want when they want it regardless their true needs. Why do I envision the so called “perfect life” portrayed this way?

I have come to realization I was immersed in a society begging to make up for the short falls of their own childhoods. As a teenager in the eighties we were surrounded by wealth and privilege. It was in the movies we watched, (Wall Street, the Breakfast Club, Ferris Beulers Day off, Beverly Hills Cop, Big, Secret to my Success, Trading Places) the stores where we were expected to shop for our clothes (Neiman Marcus, Macy’s,Barneys, Bloomingdales, Dillards, Saks) and the nighttime television shows where we longed to be the characters we idolized. (Magnum P.I., Dynasty, Falcon Crest, Dallas) along with the cars they drove. (BMW, Mercedes, Rolls Royce, Ferrari, Lamborghini) We couldn’t help but yearn for that lifestyle and we were brainwashed into thinking we needed all those material things to have or live the perfect life! How many of you remember that one kid who got a brand new BMW, or the latest Toyota 4×4 that none of us could afford? I do! I remember thinking when I grow up Im going to have so much money I will buy an new car every year! My kids will have new cars when they turn sixteen! Brainwashing 101, make them want it and leave them no ability to achieve it, then they will spend the rest of their lives chasing the next best thing, driving retail sales for eternity.

I have spent the better part of my life trying to erase the materialistic damage the 80’s mentality has done to my pocketbook. Some people I know haven’t recognized the problem and are still chasing the elusive “Perfect Life” status associated with those times. I hope they find peace before its too late. I blame no one but myself for this by the way. It takes an open mind and an educated thought to process peer pressure and put in its proper place. I freely made the financial decisions of my past, they did not lead me to the so called “perfect life” I had envisioned, but instead led me to enlightenment about what is being force fed to the public by television and movie producers, news reporters and societies supposed elite. We are sheep, they know we are sheep and as long as we remain sheep (just following the flock) we as a society will continue down this destructive path. (just my opinion)

So what is the “perfect life”?

Here is my take. I believe the “Perfect Life” for me is being a dad, a husband, a provider and a friend. If I can be good at all of those things I will have led the perfect life. Notice I did not say “great” or “perfect” I only want to be “good”. No one is truly “great” I can be a great dad, but only a good friend, I could be a great husband but only a good provider. So using the law of averages, I think it is better to be good any day than believe I am great everyday. Don’t even get me started on “perfect”. I have known or currently know a few people who believe they are “perfect” in every way. Everything they touch turns to gold. They never make a mistake and are the first to point out all of your flaws. And heaven forbid something doesn’t work out as they had planned, it will be everyone else’s fault they were placed into that predicament. Leaving no doubt as to their superiority and your inability to come close to perfection.

I like being a DAD! I believe it is one of the most challenging, frustrating, heartbreaking, mind bending, emotionally draining and yet wonderfully rewarding jobs I will ever have! I am pretty “good” at it too. I never thought I would be, considering the life I led as a teenager and young adult, but it seems to fit me pretty well. Like a comfortable pair of shoes.

I love being a husband! It is also one of the most challenging, frustrating, mind bending and emotionally draining things I have ever participated in! Yet my marriage is filled with love and devotion. My wife has taken a pretty rough stone and help polish me into a pretty decent human being. She has helped me to grow as a friend, father and just created an all around better man. It didnt come easy. I wasn’t always nice, I didn’t always care about the other guy, I usually had a pretty bad temper and I almost always thought of myself before anyone else. It is definitely true in the saying; behind every good man is a better (tired) woman!

My place in life is pretty secure! I accept new challenges and love meeting them head on! My son and I are traveling to Haiti in the spring! We cant wait to tackle this new chapter in our lives. I beleive it will help him to gain some perspective on life I never had as a teenager. I look forward to what every new day will bring. Somedays I feel like I won the lottery others I feel like hiding in a hole! I am lucky to live in a beautiful location with plenty around us to keep us busy as a family. Our friends are genuine and true. I feel as though I am surrounded by an additional family comprised of our very closest friends and allies! Do we have all the money I dreamed of as a kid. Nope. Do I have the marriage and children I dreamed about as a young adult? Nope, I have so much more! I am thankful and feel blessed everyday! Do I have more than most? Yes. Do I have less than others? Yes! That leaves me perfectly inside the law of averages! Its good, its all good!

So after reading over this musing I am left to ask myself once again. Do I have the perfect life?

Answer: YES, I do, it is a perfectly orchastrated combination of ever changing emotions, perspectives, situations and feelings. I thank God for my life everyday, because I wouldn’t change a thing.

Disclaimer: Betty’s definition of a “perfect life” may be different from your personal definition of a “perfect life”. No references have been made to anyone else’s “perfect life” in this story and any perceived similarity is purely a coincidence. And with any written diatribe and or musing created by Betty, the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

The Dance..

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Nervousness is in the air.

Does my shirt look right? Is my hair combed to  perfection? What time is it? Holy cow we are supposed to leave in a few minutes! Should I wear my boots dad or my tennis shoes? Oh my goodness I got water on my shirt while fixing my hair, what do I do? Mom quit messing with my hair! Can we go now dad, can we go?

My eleven year old went to his very first school dance last night. I was prepared to enjoy this moment; him running around like a train wreck waiting to happen.  Me teasing him constantly about everything from his hair to his clothes.  Making childish smooching noises as he spoke with his mom about the girl he asked to the dance! Oh yeah this moment was mine! 34 years in the making! The embarrassing verbal assault from father to son.  A time-honored tradition passed down from generation to generation. Yep the night was finally mine! Until something hit me, and hit me hard.  It was my conscience..

The year 1979;

Jimmy Carter is President of the United States. Margret Thatcher is elected as the first female Prime Minister of England. Gas is 0.86 cents a gallon and rent will run you an average of $200.00! My favorite television shows of the time were M.A.S.H., Mork and Mindy, Happy Days and the Walton’s.  Disco was in full swing, (Thank you John Travolta) and we loved listening to the Bee Gee’s, Blondie, Donna Summer, Rod Stewart and The Village People. The Walkman was introduced to America, at $200.00 it was a sign your parents had money.  It was also the year of Three Mile Island. The nuclear disaster that changed the way we thought about nuclear energy.

It was also the year I went to my first school dance. I was a girl crazy seventh grader, who felt awkward and ugly.  I overcame a lot of those emotions with a dry, somewhat misunderstood sense of humor.  I was also quite the story-teller (hmmm imagine that). If I could get you to like me and see through my awkwardness with a joke or a good story my confidence would rise from the shadows.  I never really fit in with one group or the other.  I never had the newest nicest clothes.  I was raised on a horse ranch and my parents owned a western store.  Money was always tight and my sister and I wore a lot of store returns.  I was picked on quite a lot by the “popular” kids for my western attire all through elementary school. Little did they know when our hormones were to hit their height from 1980-82 Urban Cowboy (Thank you again John Travolta) would change that forever! Oh yeah who is the cool one now bitches!!!  Yet I digress.

The first dance was near and I was terrified. I almost didn’t go that night, I made such a big production about the event my parents were ready to kill me.  My biggest hurdle to get over was the fact I had nothing to wear.  I wanted so badly to dress like the popular kids and yet I had nothing but used hand me down western store clothes.  WESTERN CLOTHES to a disco dance are kidding me!  My frail little ego was having none of that!  My parents didn’t understand the importance of this dance.  I wanted so bad to be there, looking my best just so I could have the opportunity in a dark room with lights flashing to ask the one girl I really liked to dance.  Then when she said no I wouldn’t be able to see her face in the darkness and I could walk away with some sort of dignity.  (being well dressed that is).  I fretted and worried, tried on every combination and finally found something I felt would work.  It was something I was all too comfortable with, I didn’t feel stupid wearing it, and everyone would notice me.  My parents didn’t approve, but were so frustrated with my emotional state they finally let it go.  I loaded up into the car and way we went.  

My father teased me non stop all the way to the dance.   Now for most kids this would be a 3-5 minute bit of secluded verbal abuse, easy to brush off and let go.  For me it was 20 minutes of non stop torture. You see we lived 10 miles out-of-town and another 5 miles to the Junior High.  Between the “how many girlfriends you got waiting for you” banter along with “kiss as many as you can” and ” boy they are gonna see you coming in that get up” I couldn’t wait to get out of the car!  My dad had no sympathy.  I am sure in his mind he was trying to be funny, to lighten the mood, but I was having nothing to do with it.  I arrived at the dance, was given the “you better not leave the campus” speech and away he went.  On my own at last.  The music was pumping out of every corner and crevice of the gymnasium! I could feel it in my bones, I had never been anywhere the music was this loud! Man it sounded it good.  I took a deep breath, put a smile on my face, pushed the scared awkwardness deep down inside and headed for the door. The night was mine.

I remember entering the gym, it was dark, the disco ball spinning, boys on one side and girls on the other.  A handful of kids dancing (eighth graders) and everyone staring at you.  It was then and only then I realized what a dreadful choice in clothes I had made in regards to this occasion.  Like I previously stated, I wore what came naturally to me, what left me feeling the most comfortable, little did I know I would end up making half ass excuses for wearing this combination the rest of the evening. You see I had chosen to wear my 4-H whites.  Oh yeah I had figured out if all white was good enough for the king of Disco himself; John Travolta, then it was good enough for this kid! One problem; remember that part about me wanting to “slip in and slip out” with my rejection after asking the popular girl of my dreams to dance.  That is kind of hard to do in a room filled with black lights and disco balls, especially when you are decked out in white!  I was Casper the freaking ghost! An apparition to some a human light bulb to others. I was laughed at, pointed too and left in the corner wondering just what the Hell I had done.  Oh I played it off well, or so I thought.  Sweat from my collar as I lied and recounted how I had come from a 4-H meeting, leaving me no time to change for the occasion.  It was bull, they knew it was bull, I knew it was bull, yet I stuck with the story.  It was a nightmare..

Eventually the pressure subsided, I came out of the shadows, my true friends stuck behind me and my little charade.  I asked the popular girl to dance and she said yes. I was never sure whether she said yes out of pity for all the teasing her friends were giving me or because she really wanted to dance with me.  Either way it didn’t matter, she was nice, we danced and after that night we remained acquaintance/friends through our senior year of high school. I had accomplished my goal, it was the highlight of my night! I went to the dance a frightened boy and came home a disco dancing, swaggering man! Oh yeah, Not only had I headed to “Funkytown” and survived, but I came home with my full-fledged Y.M.C.A. members card!

So my conscience is ruling the night. This is his moment, his time to overcome his own fears and worries, I have chosen taking the path of support.  I have given him honest answers to his choice in clothing, helped him with his hair and even allowed him the use of my cologne! Hey if the kid wants to smell good, who am I to argue!  I ask if he has asked anyone to the dance, expecting an embarrassed reply of no, only to find he has! And she said yes! The best part is we know the girl and she is an awesome young lady.  I can see his confidence level rising as we near the school.  We arrive and as I am walking him to the door to be checked in I decide to drop back just a little.  Just enough to allow him room to walk in without “dad” by his side.  Before he can turn around I am gone.  Smile on my face, warmth in my heart.  For I know he is going to have a great time. He is dressed sharp, he has tons of confidence, his “date” (what ever that is at eleven) is a very nice girl and his father kept his big trap shut. Severing the “all in good fun” verbal assault that has transcended one generation to another.

The First…

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The day came and I was surprised at the sight of your pink skin, little fingers, tiny nose, and gleaming eyes. It’s not that I didn’t know what a baby looked like, it was just you were everything I had always wanted and more! Your mother cried exquisite tears of joy.  I held her tight and cried alongside her at the sight of our first born child. The emotions overwhelmed and surprised me. 

You are the first to crawl, the first to walk, the first to get hurt and cry! The first to capture you mothers heart and leave me filled with emotions I didn’t understand! The first to keep us up all night worrying about your sleep patterns. Your mother and I are the first to run to your aid and hold you.  You are my first experiment in parenting, the first to have me realize I am a grown up with responsibilities.  You were the first to become a big brother. A job you have handled quite well.  The first to go to school and make first friends. The first time you stood upon a stage in elementary school it was all I could do to contain my feelings of pride. We were never first when I coached all your baseball teams, from coach pitch on up, but I tried very hard!   Your team mates voted me best coach every year, which made me first place in your eyes! You are the first in our family to master not one but two instruments. Amazing!  The music you create has inspired me, I am now listening to classical music for the first time in my life. 

The first time you received bad grades we worked through them and though your mother and I thought we may just have to kill you so the others could thrive.  We didn’t, you survived, we survived and you became the first to consistently carry a 4.0.  I remember the first time I received a phone call from your athletic director advising your mother and I that you had been voted male student athlete of the year.  I actually cried a little after that phone call.  My face was beaming and I couldn’t have been more proud!  The first time you showed an animal at the fair you did quite well. The second year you were first in showmanship! You became the first to sell an “average” show chicken for more money than the reserve grand champion.  That was a first in itself.  The first to ride a dirt bike and the first to ride a horse.  The first to go fishing with me, the first to learn to swim and the first to climb Half Dome. You were the first to go to state with your team, and the first to support me in remembering 9/11.   

Over the years son you have had many firsts.  You will always be the first.  For as you can plainly see being the oldest affords you that luxury.  But there is something I must tell you, something that is gnawing at my heart. An emotion that makes it hard for me to breathe. Squeezes my chest, leaving me with a feeling of helplessness.  Something I know you wont understand until you are grown with children of your own. 

Being first also means you will be the first to drive, the first to go to college and the first to leave home.  The day you leave home and head out into this crazy world is coming rapidly, and to me you are still that pink little boy with tiny fingers and sweet little eyes.  To me you are still everything I always wanted and hoped you would become.  To me you still need and will always want my help and protection. But I know you wont need it, you are incredibly smart and self-reliant. You will be just fine on your own without me..  Oh that “something” I was describing;

Sometimes I wish you weren’t first at everything….

You will be the first one I am going to miss. 

I love you…..

I’m having one of those days…..

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I’m having one of those days…

We have all heard this statement proclaimed at one time or another. Yet what does it mean? We automatically assume it refers to an absolute uncontrollable outcome.  A moment during a 24 hour period that spirals out of control, leaving the complainer in a state of irreversible turmoil.  I on the other hand would like to believe it may define a fantastic day! (hyper ecstatic) IM HAVING ONE OF THOSE DAYS! 🙂 Woo Hoo!

Yet the more I ponder that emotional direction , my theory falls flat on its face.  Heres why.

You see today I am having one of those days.  And no matter how much I try to save it, I keep falling short.  It’s like finding a hole in a dyke. You place one finger in the whole hoping to slow the flow of water, only to find another hole within arms reach.  You take your free hand and plug the new hole only to find another pop up around your feet.  Before to long you are spread eagle upon a dyke that you just can’t control!  (I’ll just let that image resonate for a while).

Today started out great! I made lunches the night before, set the coffee pot to start at precisely 0545 and I woke up on time.  The kids awoke without any problems, and breakfast went off without a hitch.  Most of the time I would have been very pleased with myself over the smooth flow of the morning.  Borderline patting myself upon the back as I watched the clock slowly ticking away towards departure time. Yet its then and only then, while at our highest confidence level things deteriorate rapidly.  This is where the (excuse the term) men are separated from the boys.

The youngest can’t find his lunch box! This is a perpetual problem we just can’t seem to get a handle on.  Heaven forbid you try to hurry him into locateing the damn thing! It is then and only then he finds the need to move slower. He says moving slowly helps him think, but I see the smirk on his face as he takes control my oldest childs morning!  The oldest is furious because now he will be late for zero period! He hates being late (got that from dad) and will do or say anything to create a reaction that gets people moving! (got that from dad too).  My daughter on the other hand is dressed, packed and ready to go. She is always the first one ready to head out the door. She reminds me very much of Lucy from the peanuts in her smugness.  All of my sons have been at the wrong end of “Lucy’s” controlling moods!  Ultimately resulting the proverbial “football” being pulled out at the last-minute resulting in someone staring at the sky in pain.  This morning she decides to remind every one of her status as “perfect” by making snide comments to the little on in passing.  She is not helping! The middle child, or as I like to refer to him “the puppet master” is slowly putting his shoes on listening intently.  He is not listening to see how he can help, mind you, oh no! This little future Jerry Springer, knows where and when to make the perfect inappropriate comment, sending all four of them into turmoil at once! Then as they all argue and fight he stands back, rubbing his hands together, interrupting just long enough to deliver little one liners, furthering the chaos! Step in, step out, laugh and manipulate. Throw in a couple of bouncers, some cameras, a studio audience, and this kid has a show! Dance puppets, dance!!

After getting the little heathens out the door, I kissed the wife told her good luck, and set to enjoying a hot cup of jo all alone.  Oh yeah, time to recoup!  Sure, like that is going to happen.

No sooner do I get the laundry started, the kitchen cleaned and dinner prepared, then my phone starts chirping at me! Guess who has a 9am meeting in town at the bank? Oh yeah its Betty!  So in thirty minutes time, I turned everything off, found the  dogs (oh by the way its raining and they are soaked), stoked the fire, changed the laundry and managed to get myself dressed and into town.  Walking into the bank with one minute to spare!  Deep breath! Finished my business at the bank, drove to the store, went to the feed store, and rushed back home!  Now I only have two hours to finish the laundry and complete the Banana bread I promised I would deliver before I head over to the barn so I may take care of our horses.  Once finished there, its off to pick up 4 kids on two different time schedules then back home in time to serve dinner before I head off to a club meeting in the next town.  Phew!

Now I am thinking I got this! Oh yeah, nothing old Betty can’t handle on a daily basis! But before I am able to gather my knickers I realize the laundry I washed earlier had no soap in the dispenser!   The dogs I brought inside, well after being so nice as to let them into the house, one of them decided to make my carpet his personal toilet! If that weren’t enough to send you over the edge I decided to take a gander at the kids rooms! And the kids rooms have an appearance that suggests hurricane “ass beating” is going to come on shore very soon. I finally get a moment to continue my Banana bread making only to discover that when I was at the store, even though I was holding my grocery list as if my life depended on it, I forgot eggs and butter!  Seriously EGGS and FREAKING BUTTER! How the hell am I supposed to bake without two of the three key ingredients!  I feel the day spiraling out of control! Oh and don’t get me started on our bathrooms! Yeah that was supposed to be squeezed into my day today as well!  Thinking that maybe, just maybe my kids have a heart and have thought of dear old Betty, I pop into the bathrooms hoping to see them clean and organized! AAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! I think I have passed out drunk in cleaner public restrooms!  GGGRRRRRRRRRR! I quit!!!!

So there you have it, I am having one of those days. No positive connotations, no hope what so ever of recovery, spiraling out of control, all I can do is take a deep breath and wonder, what pub nearby has the cleanest restroom……

Why?

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Why?

A question that we ask on a daily basis. Why? A question that children ask, usually to learn, absorb knowledge and at times to drive us crazy.  Why? A quest that can become repetitive in answering. Example: Can I have a brownie dad? No. Why? Because it’s not good for you. Why? because it has sugar in it. Why? because its made with sugar. Why? Because th…. oh hell you get the point!

The thing about this adverb is it sticks in your brain and you can’t let it go! You as an adult constantly ask why without saying “why”.  Thats how we operate! Education and years of experience have taught us how to formulate a question to receive the maximum answer. Yet as children we only know one way to obtain information, that is to ask “why”? But what is bothering me, the reason I am into this little diatribe is that I also think as adults we may be to smart for our own good.

As adults, life has us running on empty constantly, we run to work to meet the expectations of our superiors.  We run to school dropping off and retrieving our children. We run back to the park or gymnasium for our children’s sports leagues.  Then there is the store, the dry cleaner, the gas station and so on. But that’s OK we are smart intelligent human beings, we can multi-task , operating on many levels. We need our information quickly, we don’t have time to mess around. Just look at all the parents at the soccer game paying not attention to their little Beckhams’s! No they are entrenched into the information first, life leash that is the modern-day cell phone! Life is short and getting shorter all the time! Just ask any frazzled parent, they will tell you! One of the first comments out of most parents partaking in small talk is; I can’t believe its: insert month here already. or Holy cow little Johnny is getting huge! The last time I saw him he was just a little guy! Where does the time go? A sure sign life is traveling fast and passing us by.   So at the end of the day, after answering the “educated” why questions multiple times over, we as adults have no more patience in regards to our own children. Especially to the myriad of “why” questions rolling around in their little brains.

Think about it, how many times in the afternoon while trying to focus on making dinner, providing lunches for the next day, getting the laundry going and having a glass of wine for your own personal sanity have you become frustrated with your childs constant “why” questioning? Inevitably at some point you are going to lose composure and bark at them: because I told you so!  My personal favorite by the way.  And WWHHYYY are you barking at them? Because you have forgotten about the inner workings of a child’s mind. Your brain is still entrenched in a please the boss, I am dealing with only frustrating, idiotic adults mentality.  You have forgotten how to turn that off and bring your thought process down to your child level of understanding.  A level of understanding that requires the use of the word “why”  when asking a question.

We as parents (myself heavily included) need to remember that every time a child asks “why” it is not to get under our skin. (Although I am sure there are a few of you who will disagree with me on that one. Just remember that child is not the norm, that child is possessed by Satan.) It’s because that’s the only way children know how to ask the question. They want a really good answer too. Because I said so; is not a qualified answer. Yet time and again we treat these questions as frustrating and annoying.  We as adults are doing damage to our kids by squelching the ability to ask why? Asking why is one of the fundamentals of being a human being. If we continue to suppress the urge to ask why as a child, the child will never understand how to ask why in a well formulated, information gathering fashion as an adult. That same adult will certainly never understand how to process any answer given.  It is all in our hands people! Our children’s futures are in our hands and we as impatient, self-absorbed adults are doing our best to destroy it by not allowing our children to ask the simple question of “why”? We are also destroying their futures by not taking the time to get down upon their level and answer the “why” question with an age appropriate knowledge provoking answer! Something they are so desperately seeking!

Anyways, that is my irrelevant thought for the day. A rant based probably on my own guilt as a short-tempered worn out father of four. Now go out today and do something positive for your kids!  Why?

Because I said so…..

 

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!! 

Behind those eyes

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The other day while driving our children around to various weekend activities.  We stumbled into In and Out burger for a quick bite to eat.   While waiting for our order I happened to notice one of my sons had disappeared.  Being the middle boy I naturally assumed he had gone off to the bathroom to wash his hands before lunch.  The others had already done so, but being loyal as an old hound dog he proceeded to stay by my side until ordering was complete. (he didn’t want to leave me alone).  A few minutes passed and still he had not returned.  Concerned about his absence I arose from my seat to take a look around.  The restaurant had filled to capacity and I was feeling very lucky we arrived in such a timely fashion.  Still not making eye contact with my lost compadre, I started noticing that not only was the restaurant filled to capacity, it was filled with the elderly!  Holy cow I mean filled! Had the Indian casino closed?  Was this “field trip” day at the local convalescent hospital?  Where busses outside unloading geriatric by the hundreds? They were everywhere? Walker toting, cane using, foot shuffling, hunch backed waddling, smelling of a fine mix of talcum powder, perfume and depends. 

Being astute at observation; I found myself studying them one by one.  I couldn’t help myself, something inside me wanted to take my people watching skills to the next level.  Was that guy a WWII vet, had that one served in Korea? Was that lady over there a WAC (Women’s Army Corp), a school teacher or a stay at home mom.  Some where together, some were single, some were in a group and some stood alone, seemingly disoriented from noise and calamity of the high intensity setting like a busy fast food chain.  How many of them were still stuck mentally in their “heyday”?  How many of them had assimilated into the fast paced lifestyle of today?  How many had kids, grandkids, and great grandkids?  How many of them had no one left due to tragedy or demise?

Some made eye contact with me as I studied them, some looked away immediately and some smiled back instantly.  Some never looked at all, just blankly staring ahead at the menu and the line laid out before them. I wished for a moment I could be like the great “Mr. Spock” from Star Trek and place my hands upon their temples to form a mind meld so my curiosity could be satisfied!  Who are they? What were they? Who have they become? What are they doing with their lives now?  Who are they on the inside?

I sat there befuddled by all the questions swirling around inside my head, trying to grasp some form of understanding to what lies ahead for myself in thirty to forty years. Then as if God was listening to the quandary rolling around effortlessly in my brain, my questions were answered.

A group of 40 somethings from the local office building across the way strolled in for lunch and as the group of 4-5 well dressed women walked by; not one, not two, but dang near every elderly man in line leaned out, or shuffled their position to get a look at these ladies passing through the line.  A few of the older ladies let loose a chuckle or two and a loving hand slap was placed upon a few of the elderly gawkers. But all took it with a smile and a giggle!  It was at this moment that I realized I had the answer to who these people really were or had become. With that I coined this phrase, a phrase I have used many times before, but until this moment had not known the exact depth of its meaning.

“Behind the eyes of every old man is a young man wondering what the hell happened”

You see I had been looking at it all wrong.  They were not elderly people, oh yes they were by societies definition. But in reality they were the same young, sexy, brash go getter’s from their youth, the same socialites that ruled their era, the same moms, dads, uncles, aunt’s that got up every morning and did their best to survive!  The only difference was, their bodies were failing them horribly!  Their minds are still young, their ideas are still young, their thought processes still provide invaluable education and knowledge.  Yet no one listens, they are all thought of as old, over the hill, washed up, out of touch.  But when you look into those yes, it’s still there, the light is on and shining brightly!  Behind those eyes lies the young person that got them where they are today. Wishing longing for another chance to prosper and provide!  When you look at them they look old, when they look in the mirror they only see the younger version of themselves.

My grandmother used to tell me; you are only as old as you feel! She followed that with; my mind feels 21!  You see she understood that eventually your body gives out, but if you still have your mind, well that’s the key to eternal youth.

Lunch was enlightening and fun, I enjoyed watching them all eat and share stories, laugh, tell jokes and behave as young as their bodies would let them.  It warmed my heart and I made a promise myself to keep my mind as sharp as I can for as long as I can.

As for my lost child? I found him, holding the door open for all the elderly people walking into the restaurant.  Grinning, dimples showing, elderly ladies telling him how cute he was, elderly men remarking; “with a smile like that he must do well with the ladies.” He told me over lunch that he held the door for one gentlemen with a walker and afterwards, he just didn’t feel right not holding it open for them all….

Pretty sure I know which child wont allow me to be placed in a convalescent home….

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……..