Too Bad and Very Sad for One Family

Knowing very well that my long time family-veterinarian will be disgusted that my blog today is once again about 'education,' I nevertheless make NO apologies. Word rolled into Decatur yesterday from the West with a 'smell' not unlike the stench on occasion rolling in from the Staley Plant to the South. It seems  that Jacksonville high school did not renew the 'coaching contract' of their veteran baseball mentor. Perhaps there are good reasons for this dismissal; I cannot argue against the decision because I am not familiar or aware of circumstances.

I do know that their was a previous attempt to dismiss this coach and I was very aware of the situation back a few years ago. I would suspect that won-loss record is not the driving reason nor winning or sharing conferences championships; the coach meets those criteria.

Let me speak to a frequent aspect of the issue of which I am well versed and can stand on certainty in my comments. Most high school coaching dismissals (firings) come as the result of one of two reasons; first, lack of winning games or secondly and the most frequent cause by a substantial margin, parents who are mad because they believe their kid (s) have not been treated fairly. Take this to the bank!

During my 39-year coaching tenure, I had a couple of parental vigilante groups, on a mission from hell, orchestrate schemes to get me fired but in both instances, I had strong administrative support that had my back. Personally, I believe that there are two kinds of high school coaches: (1) those who 'want' to coach and those who 'must' coach. I belonged to the latter fraternity. When I felt that my administration was weak, I packed my mule and moseyed on down the road...I was looking for a job when I took THAT one!

I recall vividly that my sophomore year at East St. Louis high school, I was complaining at the supper table about my high school coach. My Dad jumped my crap in a heart beat saying, "Listen, Boy, if you don't like the way things are with your team then YOU do something about it but don't bring your problems to the supper table; your Mom and I don't!"

Thanks Dad!!

Parting thought for the weekend: If you think there is some good in everybody, you obviously haven't met 'everybody.'

It's a Moral Responsibility

The American Red Cross, March of Dimes, United Way, UNICEF, Goodwill, Salvation Army, American Legion, Lions Club International, Military of Purple Heart, Vets of Foreign Wars, Ronald McDonald House, St. Jude Research Hospital, Make a  Wish Foundation, and on and on and on!

All the aforementioned charity organization, I am sure do wonderful work and much needed service to mankind attempting to improve the human condition...I commend all. My personal dilemma is this; which should I support, should I rotate my giving because it is obvious, I cannot contribute to all needs all the time while tithing at church and giving an occasional handout to the chap who sets up camp each day at the intersection opposite Wal Mart / Sam's and Radio Shack; even if he is the lazy- drunk and doper my neighbor claims. Bottom lime, I'll run out of money before our society runs out of 'causes.'

My wife has her own method of giving; she rotates $5 buck contributions to all those organization that send those unsolicited return address stickers. We are both turned off by the telephone solicitors and usually tell them 'not this time.' Hell, anymore you never know if that fella on the opposite end of the phone line claiming to be a policeman seeking monies for the police benevolence is a local cop or some body miles away in another community or state.

I was very involved during my coaching life with the Muscular Dystrophy Association and I was for two (2) primary reasons: First,  I liked the orchestration of the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon as it unfolded during the Labor Day Weekend, which seemed to galvanize our country around a worthy cause. Secondly, I insisted that all my high school basketball players at every grade level secure pledges for shooting free throws. Our teams, for over twenty years, raised an annual-average of $1,300.00 for the MDA. It was important to me to have 'healthy kids' capable of playing sport to be part of 'giving' to children unable to play. Let's agree that most teens today are spoiled and self-centered due to parental-pampering; this does not make them bad kids but they sure the need to step forward and be part of giving to those with less and those disadvantaged.

I suppose that I will continue some rotating my charity contributions but I gotta be honest the children being at St. Jude Research Hospital pull hard at my heart-strings.

I must keep alert to help those in need for it is that charge from my Savior's lips that haunts my mind: "That which you do for the least of my people you do also for Me.." Can I get an Amen out there?

It Has Merit

My neighbor is upset; seems recently his second cousins married each other and the neighbor told me that such a  marriage was against Biblical scriptures. I spent the better part of last evening searching the Bible for that passage...no luck. I am certain that Cain married his sister. Okay, I take back the 'certain' part; I'm a mostly uncertain about every thing... Nevertheless, we who believe in the Biblical 'creation story' must agree that Adam and Eve's kids married each other. This means that the world's 'family tree' is a trunk!

I came across another passage that got my interest. It is the verse speaking of wars and talk of wars always being in our lives. I cannot argue that premise; I am 74 years old and during my life time, we have either been fighting a war or 'talking' about fighting a war. I began thinking that if that is going to be mankind's 'deal' until Armageddon, I wish to have a inter-national conversation and agree to Rules of War.

I would like to see all nations agree that only men and women over 65 could actually comprise armies and  'fight' wars. Hear me out; this idea implemented could solve many social and economic problems!

All wars fought by 'seniors' would reduce casualties due to poor eye- sight and compromised 'aim.' We could save tax monies because we would pay the 'old-time' soldiers military pay and do away with social security and health care for these old farts. Another positive in this plan is the very fact that old retired people have the time and inclination to travel and 'see' new places. The military would be paying for these quasi vacation trips. Sign me up!

Now if you are still on the fence about endorsing this Old Folks War Plan let me offer two final items to consider: With old people off to other lands fighting our wars, doctors' offices would not be overcrowded and there would be more 'up-close' parking spaces at Wal Mart, not to mention waiting IN A CHECKOUT LINE for some elderly lady with 'blue hair' looking through her purse for EXACT CHANGE TO PAY HER BILL.

Oh, one other thing to 'rule' in my Old Geezers War Plan...Every nation on this planet must agree to put a 'MOTHER' in charge of it's country's military decisions. Wish to place odds on just how many wars would occur??

Play It Forward

Yesterday, May 27th was the nineteenth anniversary of my Father's death. Strange thing about the death of a family member, some times it seems as if  I shared a conversation with Dad just days ago but it mostly seems forever when we last talked. I seldom shed tears any longer but I sure do have a heart ache at times; usually in those mid-night hours when sleep is difficult. When I reflect about my Dad, I am satisfied that I maximized the father-son relationship; we were close and he knew of my love and respect. It is dangerous to share thoughts about deceased  love ones because one often makes the love one bigger in death than they were in life; I continue with that thought in mind.

My most precious memories of my Dad were those times, as a young nine/ten year old boy, I would eagerly await his coming home from Monsanto Chemical Company (East St. Louis) where he worked in the late 1940's. I hurried through my supper eager to play catch or shoot baskets in the backyard; Any time I could compete with my Dad was the greatest of times. I often had to wait until Dad helped Mom with dishes. She would wash and he would dry. He was always playful with Mom at those moments. There was no doubt about how much they loved each other; what a secure comforting feeling for a child.

I suppose that there were many kids my age (back then) that enjoyed competing in backyard games with Dad. As I grew older and overcame some physical awkwardness, I began making those contest with Dad closer and closer. One day when we raced each other to the telephone pole down the alley, I won...it was the first race of hundreds that I won against Dad; it was a feeling I did NOT relish as I thought I would. He was my hero, a giant of a man. The victory held no warmth.

"Hey boy, shape-up." "Any job worth doing is worth doing right." "If you are wrong, say your sorry; if the person does not accept sorry, then dig in for the fight." "I'm proud of you but don't be satisfied; you can reach deeper and DO BETTER." Those are just a few quotes from my father. I can close my eyes and hear those reminders and encouragements. Oh, how I appreciate his blueprint for life.

Last week, I watched a father and young son playing catch beyond my backyard fence at the nearby Catholic Grade School. I stopped my work for a moment and listened to their conversation. It brought back a flood of memories. I thought to myself,whether the lad ever plays the sport of baseball is not the important thing. I just hope their moments together become treasured...it will serve them well until the end of their days.

A footnote opinion: I believe that the automatic dishwasher should be outlawed; perhaps couples sharing the 'wash/dry' gig would be less likely to ever divorce.

What Will My Grandkids Watch/Hear on T.V.?

Yesterday as my television 'kicked-on' the first words I heard were: "Do you have an erection problem?" You got it...it was one of those Viagra-type product commercials. I immediately recalled the late George Carlin's famous comedy routine in which he enumerated the 'seven words' that cannot be said on television; 'erection' was not one of those words but you can bet my grandparents never heard the word 'erection' on their 1951, black & white PHILCO T.V. Lately, I have heard 'one' of Carlin's suggested forbidden words spoken on television...'piss.' It is most often used to explain someones anger, i.e., He was pissed.

Actually, today's television words, story themes and commercial content is a far cry from what I remember from televisions beginnings, circa 1949, until this present day. Red Skelton's characters, 'Freddy-the-free-Loader' and 'Clem Kadiddlehopper' would never be found in a 'Modern Family' episode or a  'Two and a Half Men' show; the scripts would be too 'shocking!'

More innocence is lost with story content and visual affects. It is no longer enough to 'suggest 'a romantic love; today's programs must depict and show some physical sensuous touching and gyrations so the imagination deficient viewer is certain of  understanding the nature of a relationship. Moreover, our 2013, television commercials were unheard of back-in-the-day. Those so-called 'professionals,' i.e., attorneys, doctors and insurance companies would never advertise services in the 1940's and 1950's. The same professionals, today encourage folks to 'Sue the Bastards!' Why not, advertising pays big dividends. A family-practice doctor recently told me that 60% of the prescriptions that he writes is requested by his patients after the patient 'sees' the drug advertised on television. Of course, we are now noticing many of those drugs tied to 'cancers' and other illnesses and the lawyers now must assist the public to become aware and prepare to sue those medical people and pharmaceutical companies responsible.

I cannot believe the 'shit' on T.V. these days; oops, there's one of Carlin's 'you can't say words.' Well, as Red Skelton said at the end of each of his shows, "If I have offended you with any thing said, I apologize; good night and GOD BLESS."

Of course, when I become dissatisfied and long for my youth, I 'think' of algebra.

He Was A Treasure---I Enjoyed Friendship

Each of us can quickly offer names of people we would champion as 'great story-tellers.' Personally, I could mention four or five names from my life's journey who could mesmerize others with tales or have listeners in belly laughing-stitches with stories. One such fable fella was the late, Elvin Tappe. El was a Chicago Cubs' baseball catcher from 1954-to-1961 and from 1961-through-1962 he was one of the five 'rotating' mangers employed by club owner  P. K. Wrigley. El retired from professional baseball and returned to his home-town, Quincy, Illinois to enter the sporting goods business with twin brother, Melvin. I became good friends with Elvin while I coached basketball at Jacksonville high school from 1977-to-1998. My wife Gerry and I dined with El and his wife, Donna on many occasions. Elvin died of pancreatic cancer in his early 70's, about four years after twin brother Mel succumb of the same disease.

When telling his many baseball stories, Elvin would take his time making special mention of intricate details. Once when elaborating on the pro baseball players' propensity for being superstitious, El told the following story on my WLDS Radio 'Sports Spotlight Show:' He was the starting catcher for the Cubs and Chicago pitcher, Glenn Hobbie was scheduled to pitch. Hobbie was on a win streak and during that win-streak, Elvin Tappe had been the guy behind the plate. On this particular day, Tappe was somewhat under the weather with a stomach flu, which had him running to the toilet instead of running the bases; Tap had a bad case of diarrhea. Hobbie, a most superstitious gent went 'nuts' when he learned that Tappe was not going the catch him this day. Hobbie pleaded his cause with the manager and with Tappe. Finally, Tappe reluctantly agreed to give it a try and be Hobbie's catcher.

Tappe's first at bat found him rounding first base and heading towards second stretching his clunker hit into a sliding double; problem was when Elvin slid into to second he said, "I 'messed' my pants." Elvin was convinced that the 'do-do' stains of the diarrhea would be noticeable in the 'home-white' uniforms. Perplexed, Tappe laid motionless at second base. His manager and team trainer rushed to his side anticipating that Elvin had injured his ankle. The manager quickly inquired, "Is it your bad ankle, Tap?" Tap relied, "No Skip, I 'pooped' my pants." Some 17,000 Cubbies' fans gave Tappe a standing ovation as he was carted from the field on a stretcher. The Chicago Tribune sports page captured the moment with a photo-caption: "X-rays of Tappe's ankle are negative."

When Elvin told me this story, I suggested that he was lucky the sports reporter did not interview the Cubs' equipment/laundry man. Tappe said, "Oh, he was a good friend of mine, he'd had 'no comment.'"

I Want 'do right' Kids

We are familiar with the saying, 'Spare the rod and spoil the child.' If you think that saying comes from the Holy Bible, you would be correct to a degree. In Proverbs 13:24 it says, "Those who spare the rod from their son hate the son...Those who give punishment to the son love him." After digesting and processing those words, I now think I understand my Dad's bogus rationalization when he said (while spanking my five year old butt), "This hurts me more than you."

I am convinced that many parents today, not only spare the rod but they attempt to shield their kids from any negative consequences. Why else do youth sport-organizers decide NOT to keep contest scores and declare winners? The key word here is 'negative.' It is normal for parents wishing not to witness their children suffering the slightest setback or disappointment. Nevertheless, we should wonder how can we possibly measure the good and enjoyable, if we do not feel the sting of near-miss and loss?

I believe that most parents wish essentially the same things for their children: health, love, success and happiness. Of the aforementioned four desires, a parent can only offer 'parental' unconditional love and I would bet the farm that our kids will be looking for another 'kind' of love, which is on them to FIND. If your kid is going to have good health it is going to be dictated by DNA, personal care and the Grace of God; not any thing parents can insure. Success is difficult to measure; material accumulation is highly pursued by many whom obviously equate 'things' with being successful. Happiness is that 'state' of contentment; inner satisfaction, if you please. Every individual is pretty-much on their own to find these life's anchors. I can give you strong advice in your pursuit of 'happiness;' work at some thing for which you have great passion and serve others during your journey...happiness follows this approach.

Finally, regarding marital success, I will speculate that the youngest child from one family marrying the youngest child from another family will be just a tad bit more successful than two 'only children' marrying! Lot's of 'rod-sparing.'

What Would Lucy Think?

Last night, my wife and I watched the final dance competition on 'ABC's' Dancing with the Stars.'

When we married nearly fifty-three years ago, I never imagined that my wife and I would one day sit in our living room watching half-naked women cavorting in sensuous dance moves.  Let's face it we are products of Dick Clark's 'American Bandstand' generation. Come to think of it, people our age never would imagine a show such as 'DWTS' could possibly be aired on prime time television. Here the case for making that assumption: 'I Love Lucy.'  The I Love Lucy Show was somewhat of a 'ground-breaking' series for television on two fronts. First, Lucille Ball was the first woman to 'carry' a comedy series being the 'lead' personality over a male co-star. Secondly, Lucille Ball's 'real life' pregnancy was written into the show series. The so-called pregnancy television series NEVER SHOWED Lucy's bulging-baby-belly;' for goodness sakes that was censored!

 People of my vintage will quickly remind the younger folks that the 1950's social norm was to keep pregnancies 'in-the-closet.'  During my high school days (1954-1957), a pregnant girl attending school was taboo.  As a society, we hid pregnancy as if it were the result of 'sin;' a leftover from the Puritans, I am SURE.

Of course, along with (DWTS) pole-dancing routines without the pole, we now have a sundry of more risque' television shows. It's okay, after all we Americans have an insatiable preoccupation with 'sex;' just ask Jerry Springer and Maury Povich.

Coach's Wife Reality Check!

If I shared this story with you before, please accept my apologizes for being seventy-four and forgetful; if you're hearing the story for the first time give me credit for remembering.

For the past 12 years, I have coordinated the annual Decatur Team Soy Capital Turkey Tournament; one of the State's premier boys invitational basketball tournament. A few years back, then Illinois coach, Bill Self was in the arena for the championship game of the 8-team classic between Peoria High School with highly recruited, Shaun Livingston playing rivals Bartonville- Limestone.

I was seated court side at the press table. Coach Self was seated between my wife, Gerry and I. The title match was everything it was promoted to be; a classic dual between two State rated squads. The fourth quarter showed only 1 minute and 40 seconds remaining in a see-saw contest that was knotted during this time-out.

My wife who had witnessed many nail biters during my 39-year high school coaching career leaned forward and shouted to me, "Mel, I'll see you at home, I'm GOING." A somewhat shocked Bill Self said, to her, "Are you kidding, don't your care how this thing ends?" My wife (calm collected and matter-of-fact) said, "Bill, I know how it ends! Tomorrow one coaches wife will have a good Sunday and the other will have a MISERABLE Sunday!" After a good belly laugh, Coach Self said, "Never heard a better and more accurate statement."

Today, Bill Self coaches the Kansas 'Jayhawks;' his wife's Sundays are problematic. I am retired from coaching; Gerry's Sundays are all GOOD!

A Story Telling Night

Perhaps I have told you, I have two younger brothers; Tom who is four years my junior and Marty who is 16 years younger. I am 'closer' to Tom than Marty for two reasons: nearness of age and proximity of residence. Tom lives 2 hours from me whereas Marty lives in Dallas, Texas. That said, I doted over brother Marty when he was very small.

Tom has dealt with some of the Roustio (DNA) heart issues for eighteen years. He had by-pass surgery back in 1995 and in the interim years he has had seven heart stints placed in his heart arteries. The most recent heart procedure performed on brother Tom was a few weeks ago.

My son Steve and I share some St. Louis Cardinals' season baseball tickets and Steve even has a ticket sharing plan with another. Well, Steve recently matched his ''other' tickets  with my tickets on May 15; just this Wednesday past. I mentioned to Steve that, 'if Tom was feeling heart-stronger, I'd invite him to join me for the Mets-Cards game May 15 but I feared he would be too taxed walking parking distance to our seats. Well, Steve's very loving heart kicked into gear. He telephoned my brother Tom (his Uncle No nee) and told Tom that he would drive Tom and I to the front of the stadium before the game, go park in the garage and then after the game get the auto and pick us up at the 'Musial Statue' directly in front of the main entrance of the park...limited walking for Tom and his elder brother.

I am proud to state that son, Steve was over-the-top with attentiveness to his father and uncle completing all promised tasked. Brothers Roustio enjoyed more than the baseball game that evening. We re-visited a myriad of growing up moments and swapped stories that lasted the entire 9-innings; three hour contest. While waiting for Steve to pick up the old boys, I said to my brother, "Tom, you DO realize that we are the last of the Roustios and when one of us leaves this earth those stories just shared will NEVER be told again...the characters are unknown by all others and of no interest." His acknowledgement was a smile.

Thank you, Steve. Your Dad and Uncle shared a very 'special' evening because of your caring-kindness.

The Greatest Love Lost

Well, I see where NBA star, Kobe Bryant is suing his parents and soon their 'family reunion' will convene in a New Jersey court room. Apparently, the issue is legal ownership of Kobe's 'things' as in extrinsic awards he amassed from high school basketball up to some undetermined time. Kobe states that the 'stuff' is HIS and Mother and Father have no 'selling' rights, which is their intention. Mom says Kobe 'gave' the stuff to her. The parents got a half million dollar advance from an auction house that Mommy already used to buy a Las Vargas house.

After I read that news report yesterday morning, I sat back in my chair, reached to a nearby table and picked up a photo of me and my recently deceased Mother. In the photo, which was taken perhaps six years ago, we are' cheek-to-cheek' smiling and Mom has her right-hand next to my right cheek holding my face in a caress. I'm thinking at that moment that I would not 'sell' that piece of personal memorabilia for a million dollars. Damn, I wish I could hear her voice at that moment!!

While looking at the photo, I thought of the old gospel hymn, Old Rugged Cross. The chorus of that song goes like this: ..."I will cherish the Old Rugged Cross till my trophies at last I lay down,..." Now, as a sport-kid growing up in the hymn-signing Methodist Church, I always got those lyrics; you can win awards and gain earthly fame but one day you die and the 'stuff'' you thought so valuable and important to GAIN goes to the trash or some musky-smelling trunk of one of the kids who clings to the 'stuff'' as I do a photo.

My office area is filled with those extrinsic awards and recognition gifts. I thank those who made the acknowledgements possible. However, I noted over my journey that many times when accomplishing a goal or reaching some perceived coveted plateau, I felt a void. It was at those moments that I remembered that saying, "Life is a journey, not a destination." My greatest rewards were 'sharing-the-journey.'

My first reaction to the article was sadness sprinkled with dismay for Kobe who would 'sue' his parents. Then I thought, what the hell kind of Mother wishes to turn her son's high school 'varsity award letter-jacket' into a dollar?? My heart aches for the Bryant family; how sad...

"...I will cling to the Old Rugged Cross and exchange it someday for a Crown."

See Ya At the Party

 My wife and I have three grandchildren graduations to attend plus three other family (relatives) graduations and four friends graduations. We will actually attend the graduation ceremonies of our grandchildren but simply make an appearances at the others' graduation parties; to leave a congratulatory card with money. Today's high school graduation parties are much different than those parties of yesteryear. I recall graduating from East St. Louis Senior High School and noticing my parents and a couple of aunts and uncles in the audience. They all hug me afterwards; I showed them the watch my parents bought me and a couple of those relatives handed me a card with perhaps a ten dollar bill inside. It was all good. The next day, I went to work at my summer job...I believe my parents thought the watch would help to be ON TIME the rest of my work life.

Here's how today's graduation parties play out: We will endure the readings of a couple hundred names at two ceremonies and about 600 names at the third ceremony; only to hear our grandkid's name read. Some post-grad parties will occur immediately after the ceremony but most will be conducted the next day or two days later. The reason for this delay is to do greater justice to the party- EVENT.

 Regardless, we will enter the home and speak warmly with parents and a few adults we may know. Then we will enter a room where the graduate and his/her friends are all huddled around together completely ignoring one another as they finger-poke their cell phones sending text messages to someone some place else who obviously does not give a rat's butt to be at this 'party.' I'll say some thing stupid as old farts commonly do and hand the graduate the congratulatory card and 'dough.' He will say thanks and stand before me dumbfounded not knowing the social protocol for that moment! I will excuse myself thus taking the pressure off the situation. Once upon a time, I would ask dumb questions such as, "What do you plan to 'study' in college?" The female would recite some thing goofy like, "fashion design," and the males would often shrug his shoulders and say, "I'm not sure." No graduate will be wearing a watch.

Actually, based upon recent findings, trends and personal observations, I would suggest these graduates  pursuing college degrees in careers that would address the needs of this generation graduating. Those careers might include the following:  Verbal Expression Therapist, Surgeon Specialist of the Wrist & Hand, Tattoo Removal Technician and finally, Family "Stories" Data & Information; this latter business would be an agency collecting families' stories and information for distribution at a later time to those young people too damn busy texting to talk with family members NOW!

Did We Not Learn Anything?

My wife and I finally found an open evening a couple nights ago and attended the movie, "42." I suspect most people, regardless of the extent of their baseball interest know the story about Jackie Robinson being the first Negro baseball player to play in the Major Leagues. That racial barrier was broken in 1947. More on the movie later but first this comment. Recently, a 'Black' National Basketball Association player named, Jason Collins disclosed to the sports' world that he is a homosexual. Many media people have stated outwardly or inferred some comparison of courage and bravery to be made between Robinson and Collins. Frankly, I don't buy it!

 I understand that Collins' admission to being 'Gay' is perhaps a bold and brave move but he could have chosen to keep the sexual  preference a private matter never disclosing his orientation. Jackie Robinson, on the other hand could hardly 'hide' or keep secret his skin color in a very racist 1947, America. Furthermore, a gay man playing in the NBA does not threaten the job security of white guys wishing to play the game at the Pro level as WAS the circumstance with Robinson in 1947. Robinson's introduction to Major League baseball sent a profound message that the talent pool was about to get very 'rich' and that was threatening to the 'White status quo.' Another differing aspect to the 1947  Robinson story versus the Collins story; the media was looking to 'stir' controversy in Robinson's 'color' barrier break whereas a 2013 more sympathetic liberal-media is inclined to be supportive of Collins' decision.

My wife and I agreed that the movie, "42" was well done and appears to be an accurate portrayal of the accounts. I overheard my wife tell another person that parts in the movie made her cry; I am certain it was the nasty comments endured by an obviously good man, Jackie Robinson. I understand my wife's sadness but what makes me more sad than what Jackie Robinson was subjected to in the year 194,7 is the crap I still observed played out by both Whites and Blacks in the year 2013. White prejudices still remains too prevalent in  our cultural fabric and far too many young Blacks behave as fools; I perceive both behavioral attitudes as being a slap in the courageous face of number "42."

Advice in Waiting for the Grandkids

I am a regular 'reader' of family psychologists, John Rosemond's syndicated column. In his most recent posting, he makes the claim that children of the 1950's were happier and more obedient than today's counterpart. Rosemond admits that he is often accused of being a 'Golden Age Thinker' who 'idealizes' the 1950's. To his critics dismay, Rosemond can and will statistically verify his position through research findings and conclusions.

Following is a overview account of Rosemond's comparatives between the '50's parented-family and the family structure noted today:

Back then, my parents paid the bills and purchased the family needs. They did not ask me if I thought it was time to come-in for the evening, put away play things and go to bed after my bath; I was told that was immediate objectives on the agenda...go do it. Today's parents still 'pay-the-way' but at most every turn they invite their children to endorse parent choices. How screwed up is THAT! My folks must have thought that I had a high IQ because they only told me to do things ONE TIME. We 1950's kids figured out damn quick that our school work was OUR work because mom and dad expected us to pay attention and behave at school while the teachers DID their job; teaching us. Today's parents assume the homework-pressure alongside their child as if it is the Eleventh Commandment.

Kids of the 1950 generation understood that their Mother and Father loved them, however they got strong indications that Mom and Dad loved one another even more than the kids. Fifties kids left home as soon as they could because, as Rosemond states, "They were likely to make a better life for themselves than their parents were willing to attempt." How healthy is that notion?!

Well, I cut the Rosemond article out of the paper with the intention of making copies and sending to my three married children...but then an epiphany: Ah Ha, hell, it's too late for my kids to parent in this fashion. Instead of making three copies, I made 15 copies of Rosemond's article and mailed a copy to each of my grandchildren with a note on the envelope: "Open this on your wedding day and read aloud to you intended and I promise you that your children (yet born) will be HAPPY and you will also!

 A guarantee from someone who loves you but does not worship you.

Anyone Inquired of the Goat's Opinion?

I read in the newspapers and hear on radio and television that the Chicago Cubs baseball ownership wishes to renovate Wrigley Field to the tune of $500 million dollars, which they claim is necessary for the team to become a 'winner.' Sounds simple enough for Cubs' fans to rally behind but whoa Nellie, the neighbors around the 99-year old ball park ain't all that excited about the plans. It appears that part of to the proposed project is the installment of a 6,000 square foot video board in left field and a 1,000 foot advertising sign in right field; these ownership money-makers will obstruct the game-view of the nearby property owners who have parlayed the 'view' into their own handsome business income. The agreement with the Cubbies and those 'rooftop' drinkers provides the money source-fight. Of course, the less-than-intelligent baseball fan on the North side can get hammered anywhere and continue the long standing tradition of the lovable-losers crying in their beer. The current Cubs' owners have recently threatened to 'move' the home field site to the 'suburbs;' an unlikely happening but one this Cardinals' fan would applaud because I am guessing 'burb ordinances would probably address the poor health conditions around Wrigley; more on this issue later.

As is the case most often, this rift is all about money. Please save me the bogus claim that a 'New look Wrigley Field will somehow turn the Cubs into winners! What Chicagoans never seem to grasp is the reality that it is a difficult for any sports team to consistently give its best and play at a championship level when the supporters enjoy more the opportunity to criticize and chastise the performers than truly 'back' the team; this IS Chicago's modus operandi! Understand my position. I believe Chicago is one of the finest cities in the world with endless cultural offerings, state of the art medical facilities and a mecca of entertainment-excitement. Chicago is just not a very educated baseball community!

As the Wrigley owners and neighborhood 'roof-toppers' continue their feuding and threats, I would simply ask that them to just remodel the men's restrooms at Wrigley Field. Those restroom facilities are disgustingly unhealthy. When I attend a baseball game at Wrigley and pay outlandish prices, I should not be subjected to the stench emitting from nearby men's rooms onto the concourse area as I stand in a food line to purchase my $9.00 Chicago-style hot dog! Moreover,  I find it repulsive and sickening to be expected to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with twenty other men and urinate into a 15- foot long communal-trough and watch thirty other gents' pisses float by for my viewing!!! Where the hell is Mrs. O'Leary's cow when you need her?

Man's Greatest Gift

This Sunday will mark the first time in seventy-four years that I have no earthly Mom with whom to celebrate Mother's Day. Please don't misinterpret my comment as complaining or suggesting 'poor-Mel.' This is not the intention. Actually, I feel overly blessed when measuring time and experiences spent with my parents. even though my Father died 19 years ago this May 27, I count infinite blessings around the precious times we shared. Moreover, my many years spent with my Mother was provided by her longevity, which comes from the Bennett Clan; she has been gone nearly five months and of course, I miss our conversations.

Given the fact that Mother's Day is the busiest day of the year for restaurants, I asked my wife if she'd like to join the masses and dine out as we celebrate the day. She declined my invitation and opted for me to cook and that's all good with me. I have been in the kitchen much this past winter/spring as I picked up a new hobby; gourmet dish making as in call me, Chef Mode.' My Mother's Day menu shall include the following: Cauliflower soup, spinach-mango salad, asparagus and grilled fillet-steak and scallops. About a year ago, I had no idea the number of spices one could buy from the grocery store; I now own sixty percent of those aromatic plant-products!

Before my wife and I indulge the Mother's Day meal, I will offer my prayer of 'Grace-Thanksgiving.' I shall be mindful of the special mother images in my life. Of course my birthing Mother is forever seared in my heart and mind. However, I will reflect on my maternal and paternal grandmothers who indeed had their unique impact on my early life and I will recall my wife's mother and think of the ways she sacrificed for her large family. Finally, I will give 'praise' for two daughters and a daughter in-law who embrace the hands  -on mother challenges today. I will give God praise and beseech His blessings on all the Mothers of this world.

I hope all who read these words will either share a conversation with their mother this weekend or close your eyes, as will I and embrace precious memories of Mother. I have spoken the following words hundreds of times over the years to thousands of people; some times at clinics where I was speaking and many times over the radio airways the many years I conducted my radio programs:

Man's greatest gift is his MOTHER.

Some of This Crap is Unbelievable

Once upon a time, we buried the dead six feet under ground. The reasons were plain and simple; the dead body decomposed and would emit a stench, and potentially posed a health hazard for the living thus, needed to be deposited deep enough under ground that animals would unlikely retrieve. Funeral directors today will tell you that the deceased body is infused with so much chemicals, sealed in a casket and entombed in a vault rendering very little cause for the aforementioned concerns.

Most societies have laws and ordinances governing the allowances caring for their dead. These rules and regulations no doubt are driven by the openness of that society and its prevailing religious influences. Only in America's 'freedom of speech' society do we see a Topeka, Kansas church (Westboro Baptist) openly demonstrate against gays, picket military funerals and do so in the 'name' of their God. In addition, we now observe our very divided (not so United) States become the fertile ground for debating the burying of the dead Boston Marathon bomber. Once the word 'got-out' that several funeral homes refused burial service for the Muslim Terrorist, we observe the 'ready' bickering between conservatives and liberals; Republicans and Democrats. Always, we Americans appear quick to embrace dissension for the sake of venting angry political viewpoints while ignoring common sense and suggesting that we have a broken moral compass.

Friends, there is no points to be made surrounding this tragedy. There is never any sense to be made regarding any murdering maniac. Close your eyes at this juncture and allow the names of the most vicious, sick minds of our times who have done evil deeds to appear. Some of those individuals are incarcerated, some were executed and those rendered dead are buried or cremated.

Can we all accept the fact that in death, we are all truly equal. The wealth/goods we amassed belong to others. The power/influence we had is impotent. Our love ones will mourn and miss as they perhaps embrace their religious beliefs regarding our eternity. Sound and prudent judgment is based on the simple perception of the situation or facts and the fact IS we have a dead-body; we need to dispose of it and the logical thing is to bury it or follow any know religious belief of internment. This is called 'doing the right thing' as we Americans so freely pontificate as a profound moral anchor in our Judea-Christian principles.

Please!

You Thought the Chicken Jumped Into the Frying Pan

As 'they' say, "What goes around comes around." I read in the newspaper yesterday that residents of Winnebago County (upstate Illinois) have a petition asking officials to allow residents to raise chickens in their backyard. As my grandpa would say, "Hells bells, when did folks stop raising chickens in the backyard?" Personally, I think 'backyard chicken-raising' is more an American 'right' than found in our Second Amendment.

I view this news of a possible resurgence of 'backyard chicken coops' as an opportunity for me to help and make a few coins on the side. Look, I shall write a book explaining the various chicken-killing techniques. This generation of American households has not been schooled in 'chicken killing methods.' Okay, don't grab a negative attitude nor be offended by my words; the majority of people love fried chicken and I am here to tell you that the first step in the fried-chicken process is executing the bird.

The 1940's, East St. Louis saw most homes with some kind of 'chicken-coop' in the backyard. Most folks had fryers and laying hens. As a young boy, I hated having the morning egg gathering chore. First, the coop stunk some thing awful, especially during summer months. (Fact: The chicken is a nasty creature and much dirty than any other. They scratch around in their own waste pecking for food and they are mean to weaker birds). Collecting eggs, I always felt a bit guilty when the mother hen would look at me. Somehow, I thought she might know that our kidnapping plan included 'scrambling' her offspring for breakfast.

Okay, my book will include both the Roustio (paternal) and Bennett (maternal) families chicken slaughtering ways. Grandma Roustio was a 'wringer.' She'd grab the bird by the neck and wind up like an Alabama University softball pitcher and then 'SNAP'...there goes the body detached from the head. My Father was what we called 'a step and pull' fella. Grandpa E.V. Bennett was perhaps the most humane executioner, he took the bird by the legs, held his hatchet in the other hand and found a nearby tree stump.

The health community experts tell us that a chicken eating_diet is a healthy choice...honestly, I struggle to consume the bird.

Thinking back to those chicken raising days of yesteryear, the only enjoyable moment in 'Slaughter-Saturday' was watching the family dogs chase headless chickens around the yard as the birds flopped their way to scalding vat of water for feathers' detachment and eventually Sunday's dinner plate.

Taking Easy Way; Not Always The Right Way

Friday past, I found myself seated in the Granite City high school gymnasium amongst, perhaps eight hundred others watching the event called, 'May Carousel.' This annual school-anchored-tradition dates back to 1923. The purpose of the event is to 'present' the graduating senior girls to the community. This time honored custom is the schools' attempt to show how these young girls have blossomed from children to young women.

There are several aspects to the 'May Carousel' evening's presentation. There is a crowing of the May Queen, the presentation of the Queen's court and the Maypole dance, however the most beautiful part of the May Carousel is undoubtedly the Processional of the Senior Girls; every graduating young lady hears her name announced by the master of ceremonies and is escorted the length of the floor...how pointedly effective.

The decorations and evening's ceremony orchestration was obviously time demanding and required extensive planning and energies of many people.

May the above sentence stand alone because I can assure you that many school traditions go by the wayside because these events are perceived by administrators and faculty as problematic, troublesome and difficult. At a time-period in society when the school  demands to address the 'needs' of children, i.e., learning disabilities and behavior problems, they tend to ignore the majority of students while 'dealing' often with the negative few. Just as it is acknowledged that the 'noisy wheel gets the grease' so it is with rules and regulations and decisions to 'avoid' the problems accompanying the problem-kids.

Let me elaborate. During my long tenure in high school athletics as coach/administrator, I noted that our school district was offering fewer school 'rallies and pep assemblies' celebrating the athletic individuals and teams 'wearing' our colors and representing our school and community. I approached the school's principal with my inquiry of why? He said, "Many teachers do not wish to have these assemblies due to the monitoring demands of the bad kids." This was at the same time the high school was giving out McDonald's coupons to truant kids who came to school for an entire week without an absence. I never inquired if the school was 'giving' any thing to the good kids who were never truant. Y'all chew on that philosophy a tad.

Congratulations to Granite City high school for serving its community as it celebrates the promise of tomorrow found in our youth.

PS. On a personal note, I extend thanks to Granite City high school for noting my granddaughter, Loren's accomplished past and hopeful future.

Precious Memories...how they linger

A few evenings past, I found sleep somewhat elusive so I went to my downstairs office where I rummaged through stuff. I came across an old Methodist Hymnal from my teen years when attending Grace Methodist Church, Washington Park (East St. Louis, Illinois). My thoughts took me back to a little basement church on Waverly Avenue a few blocks off Kingshighway; the early 1950's. That small congregation was a mix of elderly folks (mostly widow ladies) and several young couples raising children. It was in that basement church that Christian testimony was shared openly, hell-fire-and-damnation sermons often poured from the pulpit and alter calls were common place at each services' conclusion. The Trinity of God, the Father, son, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit was part of the 'deal.'

As I thumbed through the old hymnal, I could hear the often times 'off-key' but loudly praising voices from the passionate Jesus followers. It was in that up-start church that I gained my love of God and the songs of praise. All my life, I have enjoyed singing, especially the old-time gospel hymns. I have been called an incurable romantic and sentimentalist by many and I offer no denial to the notion nor make no apologies for the accurate description of my personality. I often sing aloud the song, "Precious Memories." The song means much to me.

I do indeed have many 'precious memories' of days gone by. I had a wonderful childhood with a loving-active family. I engaged youthful games and play with some great friends and later held terrific associations with junior high and high school athletic teammates. My dating years with my wife began at the tender age of 14, when we found ways to attend movies and 'sit-together' at the neighborhood theater. We soon expanded our date territory with a driver's license. My precious memories spill into the extended family get-together, family reunions and neighborhood picnics.

I only hope that my children and grandchildren are storing up good and fond memories. I trust that each of my adult-married children's families share their respective laughter and play times. In a blink of a eye roles change as times marches towards its endless journey. I hope that each reader this day will find their own precious memories in those sleepless mid-night hours.

One of a Kind Girl; One of Many Stories

An old acquaintance recently asked if I had any 'funny' stories regarding my wife during my thirty-nine year coaching career. I do and I  share with you as I did with him and others just yesterday.

My first varsity basketball coaching position was at  Mason City, Illinois, which is now a consolidated school district of the Mason City, Easton and San Jose communities, called Illini Central. I will always maintain that the three years spent in Mason City was the absolute best coaching break in my career; the kids were dedicated and the entire community of 2,500 people took their basketball seriously. The experience helped establish a fundamental 'coaching philosophy' anchor.

Please understand that I replaced a coach that was on that job for only one season but several years prior another successful, long time coach by the name of Martin Chilovich was at Mason City. Chill's teams were tenacious defensively and the locals became accustom to winning games with scores in the 40-to-50 point range. My coaching approach was more geared to wide-open style; 'get it and go' looking for fast, quick and easy scores; never debated the issue with folks but simply coached that style when I had quickness. On the other side of that 'tempo' issues, I occasionally had slow kids and entered them into half-court 'plowing-contests.'  Regarding (coach win) comparisons, I never got into that scene; suffice to say Chill had successful teams and our clubs were successful at Mason City winning 62 games, several invitational tournaments and two Regional Championships; this back in the day of only 'one-class' IHSA basketball class system.

Okay...the Coach's wife story. It was during my first season coaching at Mason City and we were playing at home, losing 39-32 at half time against Greenview high school. Now, remember that 39 points was often enough to 'win' a game under my predecessor. During half-time, the Mason City school board president walked up to the local doctor and said, "We need to call Chilovich and have him come back and teach our team some defense." The good doctor smiled and said to the board president, "Let me introduce you to Coach Roustio's wife, Gerry (who was standing nearby and heard the comment). Gerry fumbled around in her purse, pulled out a dime (remember it is 1964) and handed it to the board president saying, "You go call the old coach and I'll go home and pack, my husband was looking for a job when he took this one and he'll find another." As good fortune would have it, Mason City cam back in the second half and won. At the end of the game my wife walked across the floor and said to the school board president, "Give me my dime back, you people don't pay that well and I need every cent."

The Roustios spent three wonderful years at Mason City and to this day enjoy great friendships from that town. That story had legs for many years around town and Mason County because the good doctor, Jack Means enjoyed telling it up until the time of his death many years later.

Some Things Are Not Better Today

I suppose it is to be expected that when 'old grandpa' spends a week with  a half-dozen grandkids, he will naturally come away having those reflective comparisons of yesteryear versus today. I am aware that many unfortunate societal changes have America's youth(today) robbed of 'outdoor free-play' because parents are no longer 'free-of-fear' when a child is away from their sight.

I began playing my 'sandlot' youth games from morning until night every summer when I was perhaps eight years old. I honed athletic skills in baseball and basketball while knocking heads with neighborhood and even city wide competition. Don't get me wrong, my parents required me to 'check-in' at the noon hour and be home for supper at five o'clock; between times no questions asked and seemingly no great safety concerns. Today, for valid reasons and documented events, parents have every reasons to hold tight to the reigns of children movements and whereabouts. It is a sad commentary of our times.

Our three adult children and their spouses have provided handsomely for fifteen grandkids and one great-grandchild. There is no doubt that my grandkids have more material things than did their grandparents at those respective years. Certainly they went on vacations sooner and experienced sport skill tutoring which was foreign to my generation. 

My wife never 'took' a vacation as a child; her family did not even own an automobile...get the picture. She and I will agree that we never thought for a moment growing up that our families were poor; we knew some poor people in East St. Louis; we were NOT poor!

After pondering and comparing  youth, my youth to that of my grandchildren growing up times, I conclude that my grandchildren have been, for the most part, victimized and deprived. Oh, how I wish that I could 'give' them my youth experiences.