Life

Leaf Swishing Memories

It was rather a cold day yesterday for yet another one of “our” walks together.  The construction along the normal path forced us to take our “old” normal walk, but we were both fine with that.  It gave us the chance to walk side-by-side and get caught up on the “House of the Month” and the day. (Spouses are supposed to do that.)

The cold weekend had made most of the trees decide the leaves were optional attire.  Many of the oaks were still maintaining some modesty.  As winter progressed they would also shed their old clothing in anticipation of the new clothes awaiting them in the spring.  And, it was these old clothes covering many of the sidewalks that gave my wife and I much pleasure.

One of the earliest dates I can remember was a walk through my wife’s neighborhood.  It was just after a brief rain.  Because I was still more boy than man (I likely still fit that description in most categories), I found humor in grabbing the trees lower branches and shaking them as we passed under the low hanging limbs.  Granted, I may have gotten a little wet as well, but my future wife did take the brunt of the trees premature shedding of the accumulated rain.

Today’s walking date had leaves that were not going to be holding any rain for young lovers to shake onto each other’s heads.  The leaves were mostly all spread out on the sidewalk.  They were content to sit idly by awaiting any slight breeze.  Or, they were content to lay their all snug with their kindred who had enjoyed a season together enjoying the blue Texas sky.  As we walked through the older congregants of St Oak, the leaves swished together to remind us they were there.  In our wake, they whispered their concerns until the motion of our footsteps  was a memory.

As we walked through more seasoned piles of leaves, we enjoyed the special earthy smell reserved for dampened leaves. Some of the leaves decided to rustle together, appearing to have slightly more disagreement about the their present roles. If they were to far gone to rustle or less trusting of the pedestrians determined to disrupt their retirement, the leaves may have yielded an occasional crunch as a secret stash of acorns was revealed.

As we neared the end of the walking route, we knew it was not the leaves or the breeze or the mistletoe (Yes, we are not too old to notice) growing in many of the trees that took us out on this post-dinner walk.  It was time to enjoy each others company without having to share each other with those we had left at home to clean up the dishes.  It was time to realize and remember the commitments made and the life shared.  And, it was time to burn a few of the extra carbs eaten during dinner….

 

 

Walking Disaster

Both my wife and I were working from home today.  Her day is usually filled with meetings, but sometimes, as in today, she gets an hour or so gap.  Today, she had a 1 1/2 hour gap between meetings, so we knew we could take on virtually anything our construction-laden walk might throw at us.  Our confusion with a solar powered sign announcing “Expect Delays” over the past week led to our downfall…..

Our normal (this is normal since about 3 -4 weeks ago) walk takes us on the new paths completed by our city, through a couple of neighborhood, beside a couple of softball fields as we wind through a park, along a well-shaded train track and down a non-sidewalked road with fairly low traffic.  We were aware the beginning part of our path might have an obstacle, so we were not surprised when within the first 10 minutes we had to backtrack.  As we navigated some unfamiliar streets to get to the main road, we chose to go toward a possible rendezvous point with our “normal walk” at a point south of the construction zone.

Me:  You certainly do appreciate sidewalks when you don’t have them.
Wife:  I knew there was no sidewalks here.  The traffic is much louder off of the main road.
Me:  All of the noise saves you from engaging in frivolous conversations with your husband. (I have to say this while turning my head because of the extreme noise coming off of the cars speeding by.)
Wife:  You are not frivolous.  You are the most serious walker I know.

After enduring the noise and near conversation vacuum, we made a right to pick up our “normal trail”.  We cursed our luck as we could nearly see the northern point of the path closure. (Throwing gravel at the southern point seemed juvenile.  It was only this fact that prevented me from acting on my whim.)  As we rejoined our path, we checked our time.  We both felt confident my wife could still make her conference call.  Due to familiarity, our legs went into auto-pilot.  Our conversation was sparse but consistent until we came to the point where we left the railroad tracks behind and headed north.  I suppose we were grateful the “Road Closed” sign and related paraphernalia was visible from the tracks.  However, the “returning home in time for the conference call” issue was now seriously in question.  My wife chose to continue west rather than bungying back home.

Knowing we needed to push ourselves, I became the pace mule.  Conversation was more scant than before as we seldom walked side by side.  I continued to try and maintain a good pace whether we were within talking-range or a few yards apart.  As the sidewalk ended and we began heading north again, we rapidly passed businesses and woods while sidewalk were available, but mostly optional. (The recently expired fox was a slight distraction.) Eventually, we were able to go briefly east and catch a side road that also went north. The sidewalk were consistent and we were close enough together to comment on some of the “over the top” Christmas light displays.  As we neared a “branch” that would allow us to reattach to our “normal path”, the clock became an even bigger enemy.

My wife cut all corners possible.  The neighborhood did not allow for much “corner-cutting”.  She saved all of the cutting for the park.  She hopped guard rails and ignored barriers that would have previously limited our path on normal days.  (We had to go cross country at the park because of another construction zone.  Our desired path was right on the other side of equipment and a large pile of broken concrete, dirt, and recently sacrificed flora.) As we rounded a corner and came upon the playground area, a young couple who were walking their dog parted after apparently having their innocent kiss now classifed as “PDA” due to our appearaance.

As we again were able to place our feet on our elusive “normal” path, we noted how my wife would be about 10 minutes late for her meeting.  Her 10 minute delay was not wasted.  All of our winding and pushing and navigating resulted in a walk totaling 5 – 6 miles.  It was not the first time we had taken a walk of this length.  Fortunately, it was a rather cool day, or the walking disaster would also have been a dehydration nightmare!

Maturity Regression

After my youngest son graduated from high school in the spring, he had a great summer of semi-transitioning into adulthood.  He worked many hours at Chick-Fil-A, and he was a responsible social creature. He did stay up too late more nights than not, but he did seem to be on a declining video game schedule.

When he started at college in the fall (really not even late summer), he seemed to find his college stride.  He only visited home a couple of times.  He complained about the food in the cafeteria almost every chance he could. He had a couple of missteps with his assignments and with the colleges curfew policy, but despite his frustration, he worked to resolve the problems in a mature way with only enough pain to remind him not to do it the next time.  He got involved in extracurricular activities which limited his opportunity to make bad decisions. In summary, he spared us the challenge of helping him solve problems from 3 1/2 hours away.

Unfortunately, while he was home for Thanksgiving, I realized there was still quite a bit of boy in there.  Two days before he was coming home, he called me asking if I would transfer money from his saving to his checking account.  He wanted to pull money out of an ATM to buy someone’s lightly used Nintendo DS (newest model I think).  Since he had been good this quarter, I agreed.  After he got home, he seemed to spend a good bit of his time with his computer.  He was playing RuneScape.  (He did do other social things, but I rapidly was becoming convinced he was not letting the influence of the other students in the honor dorm break him of all of his habits.) Lastly, him and his brother went out and did some “Black Thanksgiving” shopping Thursday night.  He did buy some Christmas gifts for others, but he also purchased himself a new game.   And, he went to GameStop on Black Friday and bought even more stuff.

As I look back, I can’t help but believe this bit of regression is rather normal.  After taking almost exclusive responsibility for himself AND his laundry for a few months,  it is so easy to fall into your old behaviors.  Although we would likely still recognize his more mature self, it is comforting to see him regress just a little bit.  And, as much as I would like to see the mature young man who calls us about once a week from school, all regressing is acceptable….as long as the report card confirms he is as mature as we think!

Interviewing New Neighbors

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Once you live in a neighborhood long enough, the “For Sale” signs are bound to go up.  The person across the street sold over a year ago.  And, this weekend we have another neighbor moving out.  We are jockeying for parking space in front of our house while trying to discourage parking in front of our mailbox until after the little white truck w/ the nice Jamaican postal worker deposits our letters and catalogs.

Fortunately, we are not completely concerned about our new neighbors.  You see, we have interviewed them already.  It was not completely intentional.  When things are very deliberate, they are often not as insightful.  As my son and I came back from a walk (I believe it was a Sunday afternoon), there were 2 or 3 cars in front of the neighbors house.  At the time, I thought I met the husband, wife, grandmother and  the 3 kids that were a part of the family we would soon call neighbors.  The most notable fact I collected was they had a daughter who was an 8th grader.  (My daughters are 8th and 9th)  I went home and spread this fact to my daughters.  They replied with, “I hope she likes playing outdoors and crafts.”

Later that week, we were standing in a line to deal with a small issue in court.  As the line moved slowly and lawyers were able to cut to the front of the line to hasten their passage through the metal detector, the line had a couple of curls in it.  While one of the curls brushed against our part of the line, this conversation followed…

Linewoman:  Haven’t we met you before?
Me:  If you are going to be our new neighbors on Cattle Prod (not its real name) street, we have!
Linewoman:  We are excited to move into the neighborhood!  We like the location, and it was just time to get a larger house!  (the line started to move again)  We can talk more inside.

Once inside, we both had our separate issues to get resolved.  Our attorney quickly worked through our issue.  As we were walking out, I tapped our would-be new neighbor, and said, “We will have something to talk about at our first cookout.”

This morning, the neighbor who is moving out dropped by and dropped off the key we let him have just “in case”.  Our conversation went something like this…..

Neighbor:  Well, today is the day.  I hope the trucks don’t get in your way, but tonight will be our last night in the house.  I hope we have been a good neighbor!
Me:  You sure have!  We have had issues with the neighbor on the other side and the one across the street before they moved out.  You have been nothing but a help whether it was the pool pump or any other issue.  I thank you for that!  Have you met the person who is moving in?
Neighbor:  My wife has.  She thought it was a mother and a couple of kids.  She thought they seemed nice.
Me:  One Sunday afternoon, I met them.  I thought the mother had a husband.  I guess we will find out soon.
Neighbor:  Yes, the close date has been pushed back.  We have sold to the relocation company, but I think the house will sit empty a week or so before they move in.
Me:  Better go supervise their packing.  If things are going into storage before you find a house, you don’t want any problems when you open the cartons in Connecticut.  (He told me the headhunter was so surprised someone would want to leave Texas and move to New England.)  You have been a good neighbor, and I thank you for it!  Best of luck to you and your wife!
Neighbor:  Thanks, Andy!  Have a great Christmas.

As our best neighbor leaves, we are very hopeful the new neighbor does not disappoint the expectations developed through the interviewing process.  As little influence as we had on the final decision of who would move in next door, we are truly hopeful the minimum expectations are met.  We have had enough car dings and bipolar mood swings out of our neighbors.  Just give us a family (any of the definitions of family apply even if somewhere on the LGBT spectrum) with a couple of kids (preferable one within a couple of years of my daughters) who have minimum distinguishing features (this includes tattoos, piercings, and/or clothes or hair styles) but with a desire to try and be a good neighbor, and we will be fine.

Kind Of Parallel Lives

As I was entertaining a toddler today with hand gestures at Panera while his mother and grandmother were chatting , I got an chance to strike up a  conversation with his grandmother.  Even though the conversation with “Granny” was brief  while mom was in the bathroom changing juniors diaper, we found out we had quite a few things in common.

Me:  How many grandchildren do you have? (asked while she was clearing off the table and depositing everything in the trash can just to the left of my table.)
Granny:  I have 3.  Two in Florida and one here with one more on the way.  We had two kids of our own..
Me:  We have 4 kids.  Two of each.  Fourteen months between the boys and 16 months between the girls.  (Her daughter who was in the bathroom was pregnant with #2-18 months between her kids.)  Right now, we also have 2 exchange kids.
Granny:  When the kids were younger, we had 7 exchange students.  Four from Germany; 1 from Switzerland; 1 from Finland, and 1 from Chile.
Me:  I am sure there was quite a contrast between the European and South American exchange students!  In the past we also did foster care. (I don’t know if I was trying to “top” her accomplishments or not, but I did seem to want to find an area where I had exceeded their families desire to “do good”.)
Granny:  We adopted a sibling group of 3.  The oldest two moved out when they turned 18.  The youngest is still at the house.  When he turns 18 in two years, he is probably going to leave too.  I told him I would get him back to Pennsylvania, and then I guess I will be done with him like I am with his brother and sister.
Me.:  When you told me before, you said you only had 2 kids….
Granny:  Yes, I know.  They just never felt the same.  I adopted them at 11, 10, & 8.  They just never felt the same.  Jenny (who is now done with changing diapers has joined us) was 23 when we adopted them.  I kept our adopted daughter from getting pregnant, and I kept our adopted son out of prison.  I had higher goals, but those are the only things I really think I accomplished with them. (she pauses)  When the last one leaves, we will be done.
Me:  Wow, well God bless you for doing that!  I know it must have been hard!  My wife and I had a sibling group of 3 for awhile.  We didn’t adopt them, but the family that did, watched them leave their families as soon as they graduated from high school.  They packed up their things and moved to Florida with their older siblings.  I hope it is something you are glad you did even though it wasn’t what you hoped for.
Daughter:  (She was noticeable irritated.  The adopted siblings didn’t seem like a favorite family discussion.)  Okay, mom.  Time to go.  (Looking at her mother.)  After the baby is born, I am hoping to take some hot yoga classes, will you be able to come and watch the kids while I go.  Since they are 5:30 in the morning, I wanted to……

I felt sorry for the mother and daughter.  I am sorry their family didn’t get the support and counseling they needed. (okay, it is hard to know everything in a brief conversation. ) And, of course, I feel sorry for the kids who were adopted and either never felt loved OR would never let themselves be loved.  Also, I feel very grateful my family never went forward with any adoptions.  We could have, but chose not to jump so far into the unknown.  However, I am slightly jealous in a way.  With all of the blessings my family has, it would seem like we have a responsibility to share them in a larger way then we presently do.  Maybe the “idea” for doing sharing our blessings is just a conversation and a Panera visit away….

 

 

Bleeders Can Be Choosers

As I prepared to punch the nearly quarterly clock at “Vampires R Us”, I was soon to find out my blood letting of choice was not available!  A compromise was reached, and this is how it went….

The same pleasant lady greeted me at the front desk at Carter Blood Care.  (I have periods of blood giving frequency. Presently, I am trying hard to give at every opportunity. My favorite giving of choice is “double red”.  They pump blood out and then pump it back in after the red blood cells are removed)  My goal is to only submit myself to a needle every 16 weeks. This gives me the satisfaction of doing good and only having to deal with the annoying screening process as infrequently as possible.  Less annoying means I don’t make excuses for doing something good.  Our encounter went like this:

As the greeter got me to sign in and gathered the necessary IDs, she asked me,"What    blood type are you?"
Without hesitation, I said, "O+". (I didn't say "plus sign", it was just easier to
type.)
"And, what type of donation did you want to do today?", she inquired.
"Double red.", I said without hesitation.
With a slight pause she stated, "We are not taking double red for O+ today, but we can use your platelets or whole blood. Can I go ahead and get you going on a platelet      donation?"
Now, my turn to hesitate. "How long does it take?"
"It may take up to 2 hours.", she informed me.
"Since I haven't done platelets before, I guess I can do it once.", I replied with     additional hesitation.
"Great! With platelets you can come back and give again in 2 weeks. (Note my previous  comments about quarterly time clock punching.) Have you taken aspirin in the past 48   hours?"
"Unfortunately, I have.", I mumbled.(Aspirin thins the blood & frustrates the platelet gatherers.)
"Then, lets go ahead and get you in for whole blood today!"
"Okay. At least I will get out quickly.", I said as I acquiesced.

The rest of the donation went pretty uneventfully.  My “screener” had to spend some extra time making sure our cruise in the Caribbean did not give me a “fail” for today’s donation.  One woman I met in the reception area was there for “mommy time” while doing platelets.  She was trying to sell me on how great it is doing platelets.  She brings her own movies and just enjoys herself for 2 hours.  Unfortunately, while I was giving, I saw her walk out after leaving the screener’s door. For some reason, she didn’t make it past the screening process. Maybe an aspirin or a tattoo or a fail on any of those other crazy questions regarding where you have been, who you have been with, or what you have done to your body lately.

After meeting my “blood collection technician”, I couldn’t help but ask if she was pregnant.  (I guess it takes guts to ask this of the woman poking you with a needle, but sometimes I just need to know.  The same question at a garage sale we hosted did not turn out as well…)  She answered “yes”, and we had a brief discussion on, “If you are going to have a toddler boy with long hair you should at least dress them in something not gender-neutral to save  ‘friendly’ people from any embarrassment when asking what you call your daughter.”  Since it only took 8 minutes to fill the bag, it did not allow for much additional conversation.  Once the bag was full, she gave a tug on the needle and asked me to put a little pressure on the “entry point”.  The blue, stretchy wrap she used to circumnavigate my arm had a duel purpose.  Besides holding the gauze in place over the wound, the “blue, stretchy wrap” roll doubled as my squeezy toy I was instructed to squeeze every few seconds while my blood was filling the bag.

It ruined my day to be told I would need to limit my tobacco and alcohol usage, but some how I found the strength to rise off the gurney to engage in the final part of the ritual – the snack. Once the snack and liquid were consumed (They asked I sit 10-15 minutes before leaving. Really, more of a guideline then a rule.), I had a brief dialogue with the nurses closest to the snack area.

"You feeling okay?, she asked.
"Considering it is my first time giving, I guess I am okay.", I said while taking a    step with a slight deliberate stutter in it...almost a tripping motion.
"Could almost give in your sleep, huh?", she replied in a non-concerned manner.
"Pretty much", I said as I tripped the rest of the way out the door. (not really)

The greeter/good-byer couldn’t help but ask if I would schedule my next appointment.  I don’t blame her persistence.  However, I am the kind of guy who digs in his heels if he has to continue saying, “No” to the same question.  Since they didn’t want my blood in its desired form today, I did have some concern whether they would even want my old, boring O+ on January 15th. As good as it feels to give blood to help others, bleeders can be choosers.

 

 

My Son, The Network Marketer

My son gave me a call yesterday afternoon.  He let me know he would be late coming home.  He was going with his friend to an “opportunity meeting” of a particular network marketing company.  He assured me he would not “get in”, and we left it at that.

A few hours later, right before the meeting was going to start (I can only guess his friend was really talking up this opportunity before the meeting), we had a text conversation that went something like this:

Son: I think I am going to sign up. I can make my money back quick.
Me: Please don’t!
Son: Why not?
Me: It is your money, but I will not support you unless we talk about it first. Your
friend makes money when you get in. I discourage this highly!

He then went “dark” for a couple of hours.  He had signed up for this “great” opportunity.  Unfortunately, he seemed to be following in my footsteps:

  • In my early 20s, I did join Amway. (My brother joined first.  I just followed him along to the meetings and the events.) It was a social outlet.  I didn’t have the conviction to sell the product.  I bought a few items, but always seemed to be buying things I didn’t need to keep up my “points”.  I used the excuse I was too young when it came to contacting “successful” people. I did sponsor a few, but either I was not very good at it, OR they were not really that interested.  If I had the chance to talk to my son first, I would have told him about this.  Maybe it would have changed his actions.
  • In my 30s, a friend joined Shaklee.  He was really sold on a couple products they had available.  (I believe they were for air filtration.)  I made no effort to build a Shaklee business by getting my friends in.  I advertised in the local “suburban” newspapers and tried to sell the product.  I forgot how long I did this, but I don’t believe I got one phone call.  If my son wanted some of my thoughts on network marketing, I would let him know that despite any claims he may have heard or who endorses the company, the product does NOT sell itself.
  • In my 40s, I signed up with Ignite.  They sell energy and gas in a few southern and north eastern states.  They started in Texas (where I live now).  So, although Texas is a big state, there are many companies that resell electricity in Texas.  Although I believe Ignite/Stream has a quality product, there are other choices.  If you are shopping price only, they are probably not your cheapest choice.  But, they will be there tomorrow.  Within the next couple of months, Ignite will also offer cellular services.  They are not the only company or the first company to provide wireless service through a network marketing organization.  If someone buys a service “product” from me, it is either because I was first to ask OR they are related to me.  Selling a utility is more than just the product-you are also depending on their customer service and support.  Many people are hesitant to switch providers for services/utilities they rely on.  Some will, but some will refuse.  Since my sons new network marketing company sells services, I would have been happy to explain this to him before he paid his substantial membership fee.

Will his money be wasted?  I doubt it.  I hope he can develop a business and be successful at it.  (I am NOT negative network marketing, but I am aware of the statistics and facts.)  If he does not have the success he thought he signed up for, then losing a little money in pursuit of a dream-no matter how sincere-is not such a bad thing.  We can hope our kids will come to us and seek our feedback on many thing ESPECIALLY things we have already gone through.  We can also hope they attend college for 4 years with straight A’s and get the perfect degree before marrying their perfect spouse and before having their perfect little house full of kids.

If raising kids had a formula that guaranteed each kid would clear life hurdles perfectly when the equation was completed, the government would legislate it.  (Of course, this would guarantee the perfect formula would still fail.) Despite my excessive blabberings/encouragements/rants/stale-jokes and sermonettes,  I continue to have a number of experiences my kids haven’t brushed up against yet.  When I am not volunteering “guidance”, I am listening for a dad’s favorite question, “What do you think, dad?”

 

 

 

The Scale Really Is Broken

My wife has been saying it for a number of weeks as she went on a very successful diet.  I kept refusing to admit her critique of our scale had any merit.  I tried to blame it on high humidity, low temperature or the scale just having a bad day.  However, the facts can no longer be ignored, the scale is really broken.

After dreading the visit to the doctor where my physical would take place, I arrived and was quickly admitted to my own private room.  Before making me aware of my accommodations, I did hop on the scale.  Although my shoes were off, the weight did come in more than I expected – approximately the 6 pounds my wife had been telling me our home scale was off. While enjoying my excellent room and bed, I was prodded, pressured (as in blood), pulsed, and poked (in one of my most unfavorite ways).  Considering my age, the quick evaluation made me look like a healthy old man.  (This physical was far better than the Valentine’s Day physical of 2008.  One particular “poking” seemed especially wrong on that day.)  I did have an one odd finding…one ear was hoarding the ear wax and the other one was clean…???

Since there was nothing else serious to talk about, the doctor did have to mention the news provided by “their” broken scale.  While my weight is less than 10% more than what it was when I graduated from High School, I still was sensitive about his comments.  So, despite my near daily walking, almost daily vitamins, and attempts to get 7-8 hours of sleep every night, I can do better. (The fruits of Halloween do deserve some blame for the excessive weight spiking.  Just because something whispers my name and won’t stop until I eat it is no excuse.  I am an adult and should be immune to such childish contrivances.)

Going forward, a couple of possibilities exist:

  1. I can crank the scale back so it “zeroes” below zero but still gives me the weight I want to see.
  2. I can heed the advise of the doctor’s lying scale.  I can add 6 lbs to my scales delivered weight until I am within the doctor’s recommendations.
  3. I can move to a planet with a lesser gravity and greater accuracy in its weight providing equipment
  4. I can cut off appendages until the necessary weight is achieved.

So, as tempting as these options are, I really am just going to have to make some goals.  Whether it is “no noodle” November or “no sandwich” Sundays, I will have to have a plan and stick to it.  Assuming all of the test come back within range and I don’t have to see the doctor again soon, I have a year to lose my weight or…move to Venus.

 

An Anti-Cheerleader

As my kids continue to grow and show a fair amount of success, I have found my role as “anti-cheerleader” is not a solitary one.  Of course, I will be there to support them and attempt to out yell my wife as we cheer them to the finish line.  I will ask them how they did on a test.  If they reply they got the extra credit and got over 100%, I will still tell them great job.  However, I do have a darker side…

I truly want them to do their best in whatever they do.  I want the cross country medals to accumulate, and I want the report cards to reflect how bright my children are in EVERY subject.  As much cheer as I may push up through my aging pours and out of my receding gum lined mouth, I secretly rejoice when the reply to my questions is not stated with a smile and absolute beamingness!  I do want my children to fail or at least disappoint themselves sometimes.  And, it is this warped and un-American view that makes me an anti-cheerleader.

The anti-cheering can present itself in a variety of ways.  These are only a few examples:

  • At a recent cross country meet, a male runner (a sophomore) at my girl’s school finished second in the state meet.  He was beaten by a senior, so it all seemed to be as it should be.  When I spoke to the boy’s father, the father also told me he was secretly cheering for the other boy.  He did not want his son to have success too early.  He wanted his son to struggle and have to strive for being the best in state for at least another year.  After his admission, we did the secret “anti-cheer” handshake.  It is pretty secret, but did involve handshakes used on “Mork & Mindy” and “Star Trek” while giving a Bronx cheer. (i.e. raspberry)
  • My daughter worked very hard on a paper the night before it was due.  She had known about it for a week, but chose to wait until the very last minute to try and get it done.  If she would have gotten it done earlier, the teacher could have provided feedback on her rough draft.  Since she chose to begin and complete her paper in one evening, I secretly hoped she didn’t get an “A” on her paper.  She probably did fine, but not all of my “anti-cheering” cheers have equal success!
  • Anti-cheering can have some darker moments.  My exchange daughters are not the most athletic, but they tried out for basketball.  Their skills have plenty of room for improvement, but since so few girls tried out for the team, they could easily make the team by default.  There is not cutting of players when you don’t have enough to cut.  If they choose to play, we will have to work around a very ugly practice schedule (one gym shared by 4 teams [junior high and high school of both genders] ,means before school, after school, and at other school are all options.)  The true darkness on this type of anti-cheering comes from my laziness-or, as I prefer to refer to it-my busyness.
  • A friend of mine’s son has made a few bad decisions lately.  As his son’s court date nears, he wants his son to escape with minimal pain from the legal process.  (The lawyer fees have prevented the lesson from being absolutely painless.)  But, he wants the judge to assess his son’s situation, and make the penalty harsh enough that making future bad decisions will not pass the “it is so worth it” test!  (I believe this is the true high end of anti-cheering.)

Please don’t be offended or call Children’s Services on me.  I think many children today have lost the ability to “fail with dignity”.  They believe they are required to meet all of their parents goals for them.  Even if children don’t understand their parents are living vicariously through them, they feel the pressure to achieve to their parents expectations–whatever the cost!  They see failure as something to absolutely avoid rather than something that sometimes happens.

Life’s hiccups keep us humble.  And, if we can learn at a young age hiccups are too be expected rather than always holding our breath to avoid a series of hiccups, we might not be so hard on ourselves when lives plan forks off from the plan we are “sure” is the right one.  Life has been a good teacher for a few thousand years.  It has not always been a fair teacher, but it hasn’t killed off our race yet.  I am grateful when I am allowed to watch the consequences of life teach my kids great life lessons….it is why us “anti-cheerleaders” work so hard to be good parents.

Politically Incorrect Voting

Although some may think early voting is unpatriotic, I find it a great way to thumb my nose at all of the ads that will continue to air for almost another 2 weeks.  It is my way of taking back some of my TV time from those who think they can buy my vote–my mind has been made up for quite a few weeks now!

To vote, I wore a t-shirt featuring “Noah’s Ark”.  Our church has used this as its “Summer Spectacular” theme a few years ago.  So, the church and ark were both pretty prominent on the shirt.  As I walked up to get myself identified, I presented my ID.  (I am in Texas so an ID is required)  The following conversation followed:

“I like your t-shirt.”, said the 60ish male with a few tattoos on his arms.  His arms were not covered, just a couple.

“Thanks.  I wasn’t sure if it would be allowed in the voting area.”, I replied.

“You still live in America, don’t you?”, he countered.

“Sometimes I am not sure.”, I reflected.

“I divorced my wife a few years ago.”, he attempted to change the subject.

“Well, at least that’s not politically incorrect.”, I said with a smile.

After getting my 4-digit code to punch into the machine, I voted on the two issues and then chose the “straight ticket” option.  I was done voting prior to the 2 people who started ahead of me.  As I walked out, I gave a thumbs up to one of the people representing the school issue.

As it turned out, my attire was far more politically correct than my mouth.  I was worried about my shirt while forgetting to attach a “muzzle” to my mouth. I am not saying the voting booth is the place to give some clues to your political colors, but there are many places where we need to stop being fearful.  If everyone buys into being “PC”, then the course is laid out for our country.  If our conscience is allowed to be trumped by a culture, then we might as well enter a sealed chamber prior to voting (or any other activity citizens of our country are supposed to engage in) and have our conscience sucked out of us.  If we are afraid to use our personal moral barometers to direct our daily decisions, we should say our daily prayers as we face Washington DC.