Where have all the doodle-bugs gone?
There was a time when I would receive jars full of dirt and grass and leaves and a few sticks. My job was to hold and protect the jar from unseen and mysterious dangers. After I had the jar in hand and I assured my youngest daughter, Sophia, that I did indeed understand her instructions, she and big sister, India would go out into the wilderness jungles of our yard and bring back captives. Thankfully most of the captives were doodle-bugs. Slow and easy to catch, they put up no fight at all except perhaps to roll into a tiny little ball.
Most of the time they were doodle-bugs, not all the time. I knew there was something they considered extra special when they both entered the house together yelling, "Daddy, Daddy!" and one set of tiny hands beneath the hands of the proud hunter who was brave enough to capture perhaps a cricket or grasshopper. The girls, working together as they will never work together as adults would hurry over to the jar, which had better be in my hand or very, very close, step in step with amazing speed. No tripping and very little communication they could move as one single unit not unlike conjoined twins. The concentration on each face was always comically intense as if they were on the bomb squad and they were transporting something nuclear.
"Open the jar Daddy! Quick, before it bites me!" one or the other would squeal. Then as always, I would explain that if the scared, little-girl-sweat covered inch-worm could bite her, it would have already. That did little to lessen the worry of an unannounced sting, that never happened. I would then, again, assure my children that crickets, grasshoppers, dragonflies and doodle-bugs and lady-bugs did not bite or sting.
"We know doodle-bugs and lady-bugs don't bite Daddy!"
"And?" I would ask, because obviously my list of what won't bite is a little longer.
"Well, just because a dragon fly never bit you doesn't mean it can't bite. Right Daddy?"
"Right." Defeated.
But, where have all the doodle-bugs gone?
Several hours after the safari began the children, by now Ethan, my son and their older brother, would be involved and it would be time to survey the day's captives. The jar would be scrutinized carefully by all angles and in varying light. Then, as if I had not seen the jar myself all day, it was brought to Daddy for approval. Approval they got as I enthusiastically and slowly searched the jar for every little inhabitant. I also got to hear the stories, the stories of the days hunt, like a guide on the savanna.
After the post-hunt festivities I would then have to remind Sophia that, though she placed some of the necessary items in the jar and though Ethan punched several holes in the lid and she thoughtfully placed a tiny bottle cap of water in the small zoo for the comfort of those captured, we would still need to release them after a spell.
This invariably lead to questions I had trouble answering, followed by tears because she quickly decided these creatures were her pets and it was her job, calling, vocation, to care for them. I would point out that even though it would appear she had thought of everything, we really didn't know what most of our guest ate, she said, "Um...Daddy, I think they all eat grass, and there is grass in the jar. See?"
"Yes, I see the grass but I don't KNOW they eat grass and you don't either really. Now do you?" In which the reply would be a pouty "No...but I'm pretty sure." I would then be forced to use the old stand-by. The stand-by is a double edged sword and it goes like this,"But Honey, what if the doodle-bugs that you caught are children and their mommies and daddies are looking for them right now? Wouldn't you feel bad?"
"What if they're not children Daddy? What if they're all grown ups?"
"Well then, baby, perhaps their children are waiting for mommy and daddy doodle-bugs to get home from work and they're probably getting pretty worried!" This worked. All the time, every time. The downside is that they could use the very same logic back at you when you least expect it. Like when a squirrel decides to end its life under my tires and the kids know it. It can be a fight not to bury the darned thing and mark the grave so its family would at least know there had been a horrible accident.
However they learned that we could borrow the creatures that made our yard their home but we could never keep them, after all we don't own them. They are not pets.
But...where have the all the doodle-bugs gone?
These hunting trips could sometimes grow quite sporting. Rarely, but sometimes, they would find larger and more formidable prey, lizards, frogs and on occasion the dreaded snake. For the lizards and frogs Ethan was a fine hunt captain and his orders were followed to the word. I was and still am amazed at the sway that boy held during the hunt for "big game". He was expected, however to get results. You could hear him out there confidently commanding the hunt and I was proud him. As the target was stalked close the tension rose and Ethan kept a constant sharp eye on the target even as his sisters, who were following orders but were, in fact, in charge, especially the youngest. She picked the object. Always. She would also let her bother know if he allowed one to get away all the while India would just smile, happy to be outside on a nice day.
The most exciting moments and the very pinnacle of of the hunt, I mean..it doesn't get better than a snake. That's right a snake. Now let me first say that they never, ever actually caught one. Nor, did they hunt one unwatched, they couldn't because the very moment one was sighted or thought one was sighted I was instantly informed.
"Daddy! Bubba found a SNAKE!"
"Well tell him not to touch it till I get a look!"
"We know!" And he didn't, and they didn't. A snake that found himself stalked by my children was a very safe snake indeed though the snake may not know it and the children liked to think they were actually going to catch it, this time. They would track it and wait, wait for the go-ahead by me. I would investigate and make sure they were not in danger. Then watch and give them space to learn.
Where have all the doodle-bugs gone?
India was an important team member though she was never really a hunter. He job was a scout and extra hand, she would hunt for hours but didn't really care too much if anything was ever caught. Don't misunderstand, she liked the hunt, and like to catch things and had wonder in her eyes as much as most other children. She would look at the captives also, but never as long as the other kids. She began to find other activities first. She is independent and though she is a part of the team it is fine if the team doesn't always need her. She does not need the team. She likes the team.
Sophia now catches frogs herself. Its no-big-deal Dad. And lizards. She will still get her brother for a snake and sometimes I'm still told but they mostly just chase it under the fence.
Ethan doesn't hunt at all anymore unless he's summoned back to duty by his little sister and only to chase a snake.
I haven't seen a jar full of doodle-bugs in what must be several years now.
Where have they gone?
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Veterans education
Today is the "eleventh day of the eleventh month" and in 1918 it was the end of World War one and then became Veteran's Day. We are supposed to thank a Vet for our freedom and I did. I am also a Vet and spent some time at my fifth-graders school today lunching and answering questions that had more to do with "Call of Duty" than anything historical. Not that I'm complaining about that, history comes alive only if one can relate to it. If the children can relate to a historical , though violent, video game then so be it. They had some pretty good questions.
There were many veterans at the school today and though I was probably not the youngest, I was certainly closer to the students age then I was to the oldest veterans present. Those guys, the old ones, they are a proud bunch. They have stories, most do, of warfare and survival and heroics. I felt a little embarrassed when asked when did I serve, '86 to '91. Desert Storm? nope, Ft. Hood. Oh.
I did a little better when asked what I did and the kids found out I was a medic. They wanted to know if I ever shot anybody protecting my casualties. I then got points when one child asked the group of us if anyone ever shot an RPG. I had and said so, then I became a serious contender. The old guys were a little miffed then. They wanted to teach the children about duty, honor, the importance of education. Of course they were talking about their duty, honor, and education not the kid's. The kids wanted to talk about cool shit like guns and jets and those things.
By the end of the day the only real competition I had was with a dude who drove tanks during the Vietnam thing, though he drove them in Germany. That's pretty cool and he even said a couple of things about education, but he didn't beat it in the ground though. I mean, we were at a school. A good school full of kids who, for the most part, want to be there. I had even him beat though because by then the little boys were going down the list of weapons they knew of and asked me what I shot. I shot a lot of different things, one of the perks of being a medic. Medics have to be on the firing range at all times. The AK47 put me over the top. Education, I educated the kids when I pointed out that the AK was,is our enemy's weapon. More questions followed. The long winded, ancient Naval fellow who served though the ENTIRE Vietnam conflict had nothing for that, all he did was watch missiles shoot off the destroyer.
This is what I learned today. Kids have no concept of many things, the simpler the better. I know that Vietnam guys and WWII guys were there and I was training National Guard Medics to go to war. I was in no danger, they lived it. However, they didn't shoot an AK47 or wear a cool red cross on their arm. I did.
So today...I won.
There were many veterans at the school today and though I was probably not the youngest, I was certainly closer to the students age then I was to the oldest veterans present. Those guys, the old ones, they are a proud bunch. They have stories, most do, of warfare and survival and heroics. I felt a little embarrassed when asked when did I serve, '86 to '91. Desert Storm? nope, Ft. Hood. Oh.
I did a little better when asked what I did and the kids found out I was a medic. They wanted to know if I ever shot anybody protecting my casualties. I then got points when one child asked the group of us if anyone ever shot an RPG. I had and said so, then I became a serious contender. The old guys were a little miffed then. They wanted to teach the children about duty, honor, the importance of education. Of course they were talking about their duty, honor, and education not the kid's. The kids wanted to talk about cool shit like guns and jets and those things.
By the end of the day the only real competition I had was with a dude who drove tanks during the Vietnam thing, though he drove them in Germany. That's pretty cool and he even said a couple of things about education, but he didn't beat it in the ground though. I mean, we were at a school. A good school full of kids who, for the most part, want to be there. I had even him beat though because by then the little boys were going down the list of weapons they knew of and asked me what I shot. I shot a lot of different things, one of the perks of being a medic. Medics have to be on the firing range at all times. The AK47 put me over the top. Education, I educated the kids when I pointed out that the AK was,is our enemy's weapon. More questions followed. The long winded, ancient Naval fellow who served though the ENTIRE Vietnam conflict had nothing for that, all he did was watch missiles shoot off the destroyer.
This is what I learned today. Kids have no concept of many things, the simpler the better. I know that Vietnam guys and WWII guys were there and I was training National Guard Medics to go to war. I was in no danger, they lived it. However, they didn't shoot an AK47 or wear a cool red cross on their arm. I did.
So today...I won.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Visually challenged crosswalks.
In my home town, Mount Dora, FL. there is a crosswalk downtown. The crosswalk downtown is the intersection of the two main streets. The crosswalk has an auditory device that allows visually impaired pedestrians to apparently cross either of the two streets. The device makes two different piercing sounds, one for each street, I think. I find it interesting because, as far as I can tell, that is the only intersection in town that is equipped with this device. It is not the only intersection though. How does a visually impaired individual find their way to that intersection in the first place?
I bring this up only because I have found a second such intersection in Florida. My wife and I are at a crappy hotel at Florida State University in Tallahassee. Outside, right outside, is a device just like the one back home. The thing sounds like a laser in a science-fiction movie. A very loud laser. I don't know if the intersection one block over has one or if the blind are secluded to this four block area like Mount Dora. I do know that this thing is loud. Perhaps it is for blind folks who are hard of hearing also. It sounds like a space war out there.The space war, however, is not a problem in the least because we also happen to be across the street from what is obviously Tallahassee's dominant Thursday evening nightspot. This is not what my story is about though. This is just an observation.
I could not wait to pull my laptop and share with you our adventures in getting here. I wanted to tell you about Jack Riley in Ocala who helped us by loading up my blown tire, driving back to work, mounting and balancing a new tire on my rim, returning and installing the tire on his own time. He did not screw us. He is a very nice man. He is a small hero who helped a couple. I also wanted to share with you about how my wife who was very upset and freaking out a little then said I had to be the luckiest man EVER because the random man I asked at the gas station happened to be an honest man who worked at a tire joint.
That's not all. As far as being the luckiest man EVER is concerned, there are some things you just can't say out loud, like, "You are the luckiest man EVER!".
About a half an hour farther into our three hour drive we stopped again for a "potty" break. It was shortly after that, as the sun set that I noticed a variety of problems with my vehicle. The wire connecting the alternator to the battery had burned up because apparently the positive battery cable was loose. I then asked another random guy at a gas station if he knew where I could get a cable. He did and we left to follow him to a shop that was still open. We didn't make it. He, Kenny, called his buddy, Marty who then towed us to his shop, fixed the cables and charged us almost nothing for it. These guys, Kenny, Marty, and Marty's brother are also kind hearted heroes.
Two for two. Am I lucky? I don't know. I have a decent vehicle, two serious problems having nothing to do with one another is not good luck. That's bad luck, maybe, I mean no one got hurt. Then meeting several good folks gave me faith in people. I am a fortunate man though, it would seem I broke even today. We made it here and we will make it home and we learned that the trip, with the right attitude and the right point of view, the trip is everything, the trip is the destination or should be.
Then we arrived, met with our son and his teammates who were in their hotel room, shaving...each other. To be fair they were shaving each others arms in preparation for tomorrow's competition and an opportunity to advance to the state meet. I can only hope they shaved their own legs. Perhaps I should explain that they are swimmers.
I was in a rush in the crappy hotel to get my laptop and share with you all of this and then I opened my computer and connected and found out about the shootings at Fort Hood Texas.
I know now that if my truck breaks down everyday for the rest of my life I am lucky. I hope it goes without saying that our hearts are here a thousand miles from there reaching out to everyone, anyone, there. I hope that all the friends I met last year are safe and everyone they know is safe also.
The trip is worth the journey.
I bring this up only because I have found a second such intersection in Florida. My wife and I are at a crappy hotel at Florida State University in Tallahassee. Outside, right outside, is a device just like the one back home. The thing sounds like a laser in a science-fiction movie. A very loud laser. I don't know if the intersection one block over has one or if the blind are secluded to this four block area like Mount Dora. I do know that this thing is loud. Perhaps it is for blind folks who are hard of hearing also. It sounds like a space war out there.The space war, however, is not a problem in the least because we also happen to be across the street from what is obviously Tallahassee's dominant Thursday evening nightspot. This is not what my story is about though. This is just an observation.
I could not wait to pull my laptop and share with you our adventures in getting here. I wanted to tell you about Jack Riley in Ocala who helped us by loading up my blown tire, driving back to work, mounting and balancing a new tire on my rim, returning and installing the tire on his own time. He did not screw us. He is a very nice man. He is a small hero who helped a couple. I also wanted to share with you about how my wife who was very upset and freaking out a little then said I had to be the luckiest man EVER because the random man I asked at the gas station happened to be an honest man who worked at a tire joint.
That's not all. As far as being the luckiest man EVER is concerned, there are some things you just can't say out loud, like, "You are the luckiest man EVER!".
About a half an hour farther into our three hour drive we stopped again for a "potty" break. It was shortly after that, as the sun set that I noticed a variety of problems with my vehicle. The wire connecting the alternator to the battery had burned up because apparently the positive battery cable was loose. I then asked another random guy at a gas station if he knew where I could get a cable. He did and we left to follow him to a shop that was still open. We didn't make it. He, Kenny, called his buddy, Marty who then towed us to his shop, fixed the cables and charged us almost nothing for it. These guys, Kenny, Marty, and Marty's brother are also kind hearted heroes.
Two for two. Am I lucky? I don't know. I have a decent vehicle, two serious problems having nothing to do with one another is not good luck. That's bad luck, maybe, I mean no one got hurt. Then meeting several good folks gave me faith in people. I am a fortunate man though, it would seem I broke even today. We made it here and we will make it home and we learned that the trip, with the right attitude and the right point of view, the trip is everything, the trip is the destination or should be.
Then we arrived, met with our son and his teammates who were in their hotel room, shaving...each other. To be fair they were shaving each others arms in preparation for tomorrow's competition and an opportunity to advance to the state meet. I can only hope they shaved their own legs. Perhaps I should explain that they are swimmers.
I was in a rush in the crappy hotel to get my laptop and share with you all of this and then I opened my computer and connected and found out about the shootings at Fort Hood Texas.
I know now that if my truck breaks down everyday for the rest of my life I am lucky. I hope it goes without saying that our hearts are here a thousand miles from there reaching out to everyone, anyone, there. I hope that all the friends I met last year are safe and everyone they know is safe also.
The trip is worth the journey.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Shrimp's good
Blinking. Blink, blink, blinky, blink.
Keyboard. Screen. Full battery. Empty mind.
Can't think, wait... what time do I have to be at my appointment tomorrow? What about after that? Is there gas in my vehicle?
Can't think. Full Battery. Full mind, too full.
Rollie-pollies, hotels, schedules, wife, wife, wife, kids, food. Am I still hungry? No, groceries, bills, bills, what time is it? Politics, news, personal issues, world series, world cup soccer (yeah, I know but true...I'm thinking about it), can or should I reuse a previous blog? Yes! NO!! Well, perhaps if I rewrite it. What time was it?
My daughter and I saw a man choke tonight at dinner. Then we saw another man become a lifesaver. Really. It was interesting. It used to mean something to save a life. Hey! You!! The man who saved another man today!! GOOD FOR YOU!! I saw you! And so did my daughter! You are a hero! We haven't forgotten, yet.
I wonder what's going through the mind of the man who was choking, not while he was choking but now. Right now. What are you thinking right now? What about your wife, what's she thinking? The shrimp was pretty good.
Forty-one this month, aging but not old, yet. Does that give me instant credibility? Respectability? It shouldn't. But I hope so. You can't go back. Don't want to. I would like to turn off the fast-forward though. The Button is broke. Can't slow down. More gray hair. The old men were wrong. It does not suck to get old. Not yet, but then I don't need glasses, yet.
I look forward to meeting my grandchildren. From me a nation can grow and that is the only immortality and reincarnation that I know of. Isn't it good enough?
What time is it? Does writing this kind of thing make me feel better? Does reading it make you feel better? I hope yes to both but if it makes you feel better then that will do it for me. I hope, but then I am not a lifesaver.
Movie's on. When I was a boy you had to go to the movies or wait for Saturday. They were on all day and night Saturday but you had seen them already. Not anymore. It's a little distracting, makes it hard to write about writing being hard with a movie on.
Money? Not right now. That's alright, been poorer than I am right now. Been richer too. Can't really tell which one I'm meant to be. Time will tell.
Time will tell all. Time. Time is distance did you know that? Think about it. If you don't know you can ask, I'll tell you what I think about that. How far have you, we, I come?
Time. One man has a little farther to go tonight. What time is it?
Blink, blink, blinky, blink. Blinking.
Battery's full still. The cord's been plugged in the whole time. Time.
Keyboard. Screen. Full battery. Empty mind.
Can't think, wait... what time do I have to be at my appointment tomorrow? What about after that? Is there gas in my vehicle?
Can't think. Full Battery. Full mind, too full.
Rollie-pollies, hotels, schedules, wife, wife, wife, kids, food. Am I still hungry? No, groceries, bills, bills, what time is it? Politics, news, personal issues, world series, world cup soccer (yeah, I know but true...I'm thinking about it), can or should I reuse a previous blog? Yes! NO!! Well, perhaps if I rewrite it. What time was it?
My daughter and I saw a man choke tonight at dinner. Then we saw another man become a lifesaver. Really. It was interesting. It used to mean something to save a life. Hey! You!! The man who saved another man today!! GOOD FOR YOU!! I saw you! And so did my daughter! You are a hero! We haven't forgotten, yet.
I wonder what's going through the mind of the man who was choking, not while he was choking but now. Right now. What are you thinking right now? What about your wife, what's she thinking? The shrimp was pretty good.
Forty-one this month, aging but not old, yet. Does that give me instant credibility? Respectability? It shouldn't. But I hope so. You can't go back. Don't want to. I would like to turn off the fast-forward though. The Button is broke. Can't slow down. More gray hair. The old men were wrong. It does not suck to get old. Not yet, but then I don't need glasses, yet.
I look forward to meeting my grandchildren. From me a nation can grow and that is the only immortality and reincarnation that I know of. Isn't it good enough?
What time is it? Does writing this kind of thing make me feel better? Does reading it make you feel better? I hope yes to both but if it makes you feel better then that will do it for me. I hope, but then I am not a lifesaver.
Movie's on. When I was a boy you had to go to the movies or wait for Saturday. They were on all day and night Saturday but you had seen them already. Not anymore. It's a little distracting, makes it hard to write about writing being hard with a movie on.
Money? Not right now. That's alright, been poorer than I am right now. Been richer too. Can't really tell which one I'm meant to be. Time will tell.
Time will tell all. Time. Time is distance did you know that? Think about it. If you don't know you can ask, I'll tell you what I think about that. How far have you, we, I come?
Time. One man has a little farther to go tonight. What time is it?
Blink, blink, blinky, blink. Blinking.
Battery's full still. The cord's been plugged in the whole time. Time.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Seniors!!
For anyone who doesn't know, My family and I live right next door to one of the largest retirement communities in the nation, The Villages. We have made our lives among them, the retirees. Life is a little different here and flows at a different pace. This story is not about them! This story is about another type of senior.
The High School Senior.
My son has finally reached that pinnacle in high school life and is graduating at the end of the school year.
Just a quick side note. I know you don't want to read about my kids anymore than I want to read about yours. So this is not about MY KID this is about high school kids and related topics. Like High School Senior's mothers.
As I ponder the next paragraph it occurs to me that I could write a rather large book on this subject so instead I'll try to hit the highlights.
If your son is a senior, your wife's only son, then you as a father begin to lose your former status. Her baby is "gettin there" and he may not be around for ten more years. When I get after my son now for anything Mother informs me that he is a good boy and perhaps I'm being a "bit too hard on the kid". Forgetting I guess, for awhile, that being a "bit too hard on the kid" may be a large part of why he is such a good boy. The young man, who is not an idiot, barely even bothers to talk to me now, and why should he?
I often wondered what happened along the way between a father and son so that a man's little boy could barely tolerate being around his father when he became an adult. I now have the answer fellas, Mothers. That's what happens. My father and I had and still maintain a pretty close relationship, but Mom isn't here to wrench it all up.
It seems to me that as my son grows slowly, ever so slowly, I mean very, very, slowly into manhood I am usually all the more proud. The boy screws up but that's why we the parents are here, but even these are small and really all he usually needs is just a little guidance to help him make his own decisions. Which he does and my chest swells with pride because, yes he has done well in several school activities I am also proud of, but when that young man uses his own mind it means that we have succeeded. Pride.
Now Mom sees things a tad little bit different. At least it seems that way to me. The more he uses his own mind the less he needs her's. Now don't get me wrong, when that boy comes up with something clever she's very proud. What I mean is he and several of his friends were talking about a coast to coast road trip after graduating. Well now, that kind of free thinking is just trouble. Mom said, in her defense, that she thought that would be fun, but her eyes said otherwise. She then spoke to some of the other mothers who pointed out that they all wanted to take a road trip and no one actually ever really did at least no one they knew. So the silent crisis is for now averted.
Graduation means moving on. There is the rub for Moms. They don't want any damn moving on when it comes to there children or rather, their little boys. The gap. They are apparently afraid of the gap. What gap?? The gap between grown up children and grandchildren. That gap is important, vitally so, without it no Mom would ever want to be Grand Mom.
Grandma, Granny, Grammy etc. are very scary words around our house right now but with a properly applied gap then those subjects will soften up. By the time our boy is ready to marry and perhaps have a family then maybe, hopefully Mom will be ready as well.
Until then we continue the inevitable march that every parent has made, ever. You kids will grow up, if you are lucky. If you are not then you may end up with a thirty year old nerd in the basement and a really pissed off Dad no one gives a damn about at all.
For men a sign of accomplishment, for many of us, the only thing we may ever do right or rather, mostly right.
For women a simple sign of age.
It won't be long, after all. The old folks next door look younger and younger every year.
The High School Senior.
My son has finally reached that pinnacle in high school life and is graduating at the end of the school year.
Just a quick side note. I know you don't want to read about my kids anymore than I want to read about yours. So this is not about MY KID this is about high school kids and related topics. Like High School Senior's mothers.
As I ponder the next paragraph it occurs to me that I could write a rather large book on this subject so instead I'll try to hit the highlights.
If your son is a senior, your wife's only son, then you as a father begin to lose your former status. Her baby is "gettin there" and he may not be around for ten more years. When I get after my son now for anything Mother informs me that he is a good boy and perhaps I'm being a "bit too hard on the kid". Forgetting I guess, for awhile, that being a "bit too hard on the kid" may be a large part of why he is such a good boy. The young man, who is not an idiot, barely even bothers to talk to me now, and why should he?
I often wondered what happened along the way between a father and son so that a man's little boy could barely tolerate being around his father when he became an adult. I now have the answer fellas, Mothers. That's what happens. My father and I had and still maintain a pretty close relationship, but Mom isn't here to wrench it all up.
It seems to me that as my son grows slowly, ever so slowly, I mean very, very, slowly into manhood I am usually all the more proud. The boy screws up but that's why we the parents are here, but even these are small and really all he usually needs is just a little guidance to help him make his own decisions. Which he does and my chest swells with pride because, yes he has done well in several school activities I am also proud of, but when that young man uses his own mind it means that we have succeeded. Pride.
Now Mom sees things a tad little bit different. At least it seems that way to me. The more he uses his own mind the less he needs her's. Now don't get me wrong, when that boy comes up with something clever she's very proud. What I mean is he and several of his friends were talking about a coast to coast road trip after graduating. Well now, that kind of free thinking is just trouble. Mom said, in her defense, that she thought that would be fun, but her eyes said otherwise. She then spoke to some of the other mothers who pointed out that they all wanted to take a road trip and no one actually ever really did at least no one they knew. So the silent crisis is for now averted.
Graduation means moving on. There is the rub for Moms. They don't want any damn moving on when it comes to there children or rather, their little boys. The gap. They are apparently afraid of the gap. What gap?? The gap between grown up children and grandchildren. That gap is important, vitally so, without it no Mom would ever want to be Grand Mom.
Grandma, Granny, Grammy etc. are very scary words around our house right now but with a properly applied gap then those subjects will soften up. By the time our boy is ready to marry and perhaps have a family then maybe, hopefully Mom will be ready as well.
Until then we continue the inevitable march that every parent has made, ever. You kids will grow up, if you are lucky. If you are not then you may end up with a thirty year old nerd in the basement and a really pissed off Dad no one gives a damn about at all.
For men a sign of accomplishment, for many of us, the only thing we may ever do right or rather, mostly right.
For women a simple sign of age.
It won't be long, after all. The old folks next door look younger and younger every year.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Not my first Rodeo!
I had a virtual conversation with a friend from my now distant past who had read some of the things I had written in the not quite as distant past and she wondered if I had a blog. She also invited me to read hers and so here I am.
There are some very basic things to get out front so that any readers will be able to refer to. These are not rules exactly but, guidelines? Well what ever anyone wants to call them. I am an opinionated, loud mouthed, egotistical know-it-all... usually. That being said, I can form an opinion on most subjects quickly and without all the facts. That's why it is an opinion. My mind, however can be changed, that is why I usually enjoy a back and forth relationship with comments and encourage you to use them.
I am not a professional writer so it won't help any to have typos or style issues pointed out. You can point them out if you wish to practice your typing skills, in fact, anyone can write anything they want here, I just won't care.
Now finally, what I think is the best part! I like a lively relationship with those who have found circumstances in their life so bad that they will actually read anything I write, or in some really bad cases, everything I write. That being said please feel free, really please do, to comment and challenge me!! I actually mean topics. If you have a topic then I will have an opinion, I promise!
It has been awhile since I did any writing and I am looking forward to what comes out of this mind of mine, in my experience it is usually fun. One more thing!! I almost forgot. If you decide to participate and I really hope many people will you have to be tough. I don't want any wussies getting their feelings hurt! This is rarely an emotional blog, if you want that read poetry!!!
Welcome and enjoy!!
There are some very basic things to get out front so that any readers will be able to refer to. These are not rules exactly but, guidelines? Well what ever anyone wants to call them. I am an opinionated, loud mouthed, egotistical know-it-all... usually. That being said, I can form an opinion on most subjects quickly and without all the facts. That's why it is an opinion. My mind, however can be changed, that is why I usually enjoy a back and forth relationship with comments and encourage you to use them.
I am not a professional writer so it won't help any to have typos or style issues pointed out. You can point them out if you wish to practice your typing skills, in fact, anyone can write anything they want here, I just won't care.
Now finally, what I think is the best part! I like a lively relationship with those who have found circumstances in their life so bad that they will actually read anything I write, or in some really bad cases, everything I write. That being said please feel free, really please do, to comment and challenge me!! I actually mean topics. If you have a topic then I will have an opinion, I promise!
It has been awhile since I did any writing and I am looking forward to what comes out of this mind of mine, in my experience it is usually fun. One more thing!! I almost forgot. If you decide to participate and I really hope many people will you have to be tough. I don't want any wussies getting their feelings hurt! This is rarely an emotional blog, if you want that read poetry!!!
Welcome and enjoy!!
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