'Don't put that in your mouth.' 'Don't run with those scissors.' 'Look both ways before crossing the street.' Those were some of the early cautionary warnings given by parents and adults. As activities and geographical boundaries changed so did the parental warnings. Then one day the child leaves the nest and those parental warnings must be stifled somewhat even though that caring love is unaltered.
It is fair to state that to warn is to express a 'concerning love.' Regardless where we are in life's journey, we continue to love and care for others. That said, I will always wish to protect my children and grandchildren. There are so many things that I wish to forewarn my children and grandchildren.
Yesterday, I experienced a new concern for the youngsters who follow. Let me explain. My wife and I wished to capture the wonderful beauty of a clear-blue sky and the pleasant 77 degree temperatures so we packed a picnic lunch, grabbed a bottle of wine and scooped up the poodle as we headed to Lake Decatur. The Decatur lakeside offers picnic areas, pavilions, miniature golf walking trails, boating, fishing, baseball batting cages and lakefront eateries. Our lakefront is good with even greater potential. Now, this is the same stomping grounds most familiar to our grandchildren. In the early 2000's, my wife and I held a five (5) day Naboo Camp. The name 'Naboo' is derived from my wife's grandparent 'handle', Nana and my grandfather name, 'Boompa...thus NABOO. The purpose for the nearly week long grandparents-grandchildren engagement were simple fun, cousin-bonding without the intrusion of 'helicoptering' parents.
My wife orchestrated 'theme-dinners' and we took kids on field trips to the zoo, museums, golfing picnics and motor home camping. Naboo Camp lasted six consecutive summers in actuality and the rest of my life in precious memories. Without question the greatest result from the Naboo Camps will always remain the cousin-connection and love for one another.
Well, Nana and Boompa both had that strange lump in our throats and a heartache as we walked by familiar sites where we laughed and played with those grandkids. One grandchild is now married, another a second year elementary teacher, five others are in college, one in middle school and one in high school.
All said, I therefore feel the need to send out yet another warning. Don't miss the opportunities to create and build those precious family memories and be prepared to process its recall.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Souvenir of the Heart
A few weeks ago, I was watching a Chicago Cubs' baseball game on television. Chicago's Wrigley Field is historic and the men's' restrooms equally reek of uniqueness. A batter on the opposing team hit a home run and I watched this perhaps 12-year old kid throw the souvenir home run ball back on to the field much to the delight of the Cubs' fans. At that very moment I thought of what Forest Gump's mommy told him, "Stupid is what stupid does." Then upon second thought, 'Fluent is what fluent discards.'
I concluded two things: First, parents today are far better off financially than the 1947 'Bud' & Lou Roustio of East St. Louis, Illinois and secondly, there is less of a nostalgic connection between fan and Major League baseball players. Let me elaborate about the money/value aspect: My first pair of baseball spikes (shoes) were NOT the baseball spike shoes we envision. In 1947, I bought some steel cleats at the hardware store and screwed them onto the sole-bottoms of some old dress shoes. I never owned a 'new' baseball bat but instead, we kids hung around the adult summer Sunday Municipal league games and waited for a broken bat that we could take home and reinforce with a screw and some electrician's tape. The hot summer sweating hands gripping the sticky tapped bat created a tacky grip which was a forerunner to today's 'pine-tar.'
Back in those days, there were two Major League baseball teams in St. Louis and both the Cardinals and Browns used old Sportsman Park, located at Grand and Dodier Avenues. The Browns had difficulty drawing fans. To compensate for poor attendance, the Browns offered 'Knot Hole' membership tickets for youngsters. I remember that you only paid the tax on the ticket upon presentation. Of course, you had to sit in a section down the left field line beyond the bull pen and if a foul ball came into that area, the Browns' management gave to souvenir ball holding kid a choice: Give the ball back or keep the ball and leave the stadium. It was dumb-ass thinking like that which caused the St. Louis Browns to become the Baltimore Orioles; we were outta that stadium faster than Satchel Paige could get from the mound to the dugout after striking out Ted Williams with his renown 'hesitation-pitch.'
I was perhaps 10 years old and attending a Cardinals game at Sportsman Park. My dad liked to take me early back then so I could watch both teams batting practice; something fans pass on a lot these days and also many batting practices are concluded before stadium gates open. This particular night, while locating our seats, I looked up to see my dad running across aisles of chairs in a mission to retrieve a foul ball during the batting practice. WOW! A Major League baseball. I did not keep the ball as a souvenir but, you guessed it; I played sandlot ball with it. Makes no difference. The important thing remains; my memory of the smile on my dad's face when he handed that ball to me...it warms my heart all over again.
I concluded two things: First, parents today are far better off financially than the 1947 'Bud' & Lou Roustio of East St. Louis, Illinois and secondly, there is less of a nostalgic connection between fan and Major League baseball players. Let me elaborate about the money/value aspect: My first pair of baseball spikes (shoes) were NOT the baseball spike shoes we envision. In 1947, I bought some steel cleats at the hardware store and screwed them onto the sole-bottoms of some old dress shoes. I never owned a 'new' baseball bat but instead, we kids hung around the adult summer Sunday Municipal league games and waited for a broken bat that we could take home and reinforce with a screw and some electrician's tape. The hot summer sweating hands gripping the sticky tapped bat created a tacky grip which was a forerunner to today's 'pine-tar.'
Back in those days, there were two Major League baseball teams in St. Louis and both the Cardinals and Browns used old Sportsman Park, located at Grand and Dodier Avenues. The Browns had difficulty drawing fans. To compensate for poor attendance, the Browns offered 'Knot Hole' membership tickets for youngsters. I remember that you only paid the tax on the ticket upon presentation. Of course, you had to sit in a section down the left field line beyond the bull pen and if a foul ball came into that area, the Browns' management gave to souvenir ball holding kid a choice: Give the ball back or keep the ball and leave the stadium. It was dumb-ass thinking like that which caused the St. Louis Browns to become the Baltimore Orioles; we were outta that stadium faster than Satchel Paige could get from the mound to the dugout after striking out Ted Williams with his renown 'hesitation-pitch.'
I was perhaps 10 years old and attending a Cardinals game at Sportsman Park. My dad liked to take me early back then so I could watch both teams batting practice; something fans pass on a lot these days and also many batting practices are concluded before stadium gates open. This particular night, while locating our seats, I looked up to see my dad running across aisles of chairs in a mission to retrieve a foul ball during the batting practice. WOW! A Major League baseball. I did not keep the ball as a souvenir but, you guessed it; I played sandlot ball with it. Makes no difference. The important thing remains; my memory of the smile on my dad's face when he handed that ball to me...it warms my heart all over again.
Ode' to Snuffy
I never knew his name; everybody in East St. Louis just called him 'Snuffy." My first recollection of Snuffy was back in the summer of 1946. Snuffy drove a horse-drawn wagon through the neighborhood alleys collecting garbage and trash. Okay, clarification; an alley was that easement passage way between the backyards of homes...everybody had alleys. Today, people erect fences on property lines so we are not tempted to visit with neighbors. Consequently, you don't find many alleys and besides folks became more sophisticated over time and began placing the garbage and trash 'in front' of their homes for pick-up.
First time I saw Snuffy he looked to be perhaps in his late seventies. When I left home for college in 1957 he still appeared to be in his seventies. I suppose he once had teeth but I could not verify. Snuffy charged twenty-five cents a week per home; I remember because I paid Snuffy on a couple of Saturdays. Snuffy was not one for conversation; I heard him say yep, nope and occasionally give a little grunt. Both Snuffy and his horse reeked of distinct aroma.
Snuffy lived in a little house in lower Washington Park. He did not have electricity or indoor plumbing. His outhouse sat within two arms length of the same creek where me and my friends would crawdad fish; never gave any thought back in the day. (That's all I have to say about that now). Besides his horse, Snuffy had a hand full of chickens (most people did) and two goats. Damnedest sight; the goats grazed on grass growing on the roof of Snuffy's little shanty-house.
These days, I put my trash in one large container and my recyclables in another container. I roll them to the front curb each Monday morning. Some time during the day two different huge trucks with long pinching-type arms pull up to the curb and in robot fashion the mechanical arms lift my junk and toss it into the truck's hopper-bin. The driver of the vehicle never gets off his ass; Snuffy would have worked circles around this punk boy!
Along with the disappearance of the Snuffys of the American landscape, I cannot recall the last time I heard the call of the 'push-cart' guy yelling out from the streets, "HOT TAMALES; GET YOUR RED HOTS!"
First time I saw Snuffy he looked to be perhaps in his late seventies. When I left home for college in 1957 he still appeared to be in his seventies. I suppose he once had teeth but I could not verify. Snuffy charged twenty-five cents a week per home; I remember because I paid Snuffy on a couple of Saturdays. Snuffy was not one for conversation; I heard him say yep, nope and occasionally give a little grunt. Both Snuffy and his horse reeked of distinct aroma.
Snuffy lived in a little house in lower Washington Park. He did not have electricity or indoor plumbing. His outhouse sat within two arms length of the same creek where me and my friends would crawdad fish; never gave any thought back in the day. (That's all I have to say about that now). Besides his horse, Snuffy had a hand full of chickens (most people did) and two goats. Damnedest sight; the goats grazed on grass growing on the roof of Snuffy's little shanty-house.
These days, I put my trash in one large container and my recyclables in another container. I roll them to the front curb each Monday morning. Some time during the day two different huge trucks with long pinching-type arms pull up to the curb and in robot fashion the mechanical arms lift my junk and toss it into the truck's hopper-bin. The driver of the vehicle never gets off his ass; Snuffy would have worked circles around this punk boy!
Along with the disappearance of the Snuffys of the American landscape, I cannot recall the last time I heard the call of the 'push-cart' guy yelling out from the streets, "HOT TAMALES; GET YOUR RED HOTS!"
Monday, July 29, 2013
I Turned Around and it was Gone
Many things that I once observed and even some that I engaged are no longer part of our American landscape; let me explain. Use to be that most young boys and many adult men sported the crew-cut/flat top hair fashions. Yesteryear's summer evenings found a lot of folks sitting on porches or visiting in backyards. Neither no more.
I don't notice adolescent boys riding bikes with a baseball glove 'looped' on the handlebars and the ends of a baseball bat precariously held at each bike handle grip. These days, I walk many sidewalks in my neighborhood but no longer do I see hop-scotch or four-square chalk markings. It has been a long time since hearing the evening voices of children calling out "Mother May I? " or "anti-anti-over." I suppose some current youth-obesity connects with the demise of 'Duck Duck Goose, Red Rover and Leap Frog.' No longer do young kids play tag and should one wish to purchase marbles today, the best bet is going to an antique shop. 'Pitchin' pennies and throwing tennis balls against walls and steps to hone eye-hand-catching' skills is no more. Speaking of eye-hand quickness, I suspect those young girls of my generation developed fast hands playing endless games of 'Jacks.' Been decades since I've heard the 'clanking' sound of a neighbor's horse shoe banging against the iron peg and just as long since seeing a neighborhood men fussing over rules of a croquet game.
I once read that from 1948 through 1958, America could count over 3,000 drive-in theaters; I supported a few drive-in theaters in East St. Louis from '54-to-'57. Actually, I only 'saw' one movie at the drive-in...It seemed wrong that particularly Friday night to 'make-out' with my girlfriend while Moses was parting the Red Sea in the movie, Ten Commandments. Some of those 1948 autos had 'running-boards' while most of the 1950's models showed off big white-wall tires with fender-skirts mud flaps. 'Curb-finders' were a must to protect scratching those beautiful white wall tires. Every night was cruise-night.
Metropolitan cities use to have real-live cops at busy intersections directing the rush hour traffic; some of those officers put on a magnificent show.
I think Tuesdays at 10 A.M. is the time many communities, nowadays 'test' their sirens with long blasts; I recall the 9 P.M. siren sounding each evening back in the Washington Park in 1950. I always believed our parents were in cahoots with the local police to signal the time for us kids to get off the streets and back in the house.
My church has air conditioning today so I won't find any funeral fans in the pews and I can expect to get out of service on time since we don't offend church-folks with those 'come-forward-and surrender-your life to Jesus' alter invitations.
I believe after my morning coffee on the backyard swing, I'll head to the mall and see if I can find a pair of 'white-buck' shoes. Later, I intend to go find a hedge apples.
I don't notice adolescent boys riding bikes with a baseball glove 'looped' on the handlebars and the ends of a baseball bat precariously held at each bike handle grip. These days, I walk many sidewalks in my neighborhood but no longer do I see hop-scotch or four-square chalk markings. It has been a long time since hearing the evening voices of children calling out "Mother May I? " or "anti-anti-over." I suppose some current youth-obesity connects with the demise of 'Duck Duck Goose, Red Rover and Leap Frog.' No longer do young kids play tag and should one wish to purchase marbles today, the best bet is going to an antique shop. 'Pitchin' pennies and throwing tennis balls against walls and steps to hone eye-hand-catching' skills is no more. Speaking of eye-hand quickness, I suspect those young girls of my generation developed fast hands playing endless games of 'Jacks.' Been decades since I've heard the 'clanking' sound of a neighbor's horse shoe banging against the iron peg and just as long since seeing a neighborhood men fussing over rules of a croquet game.
I once read that from 1948 through 1958, America could count over 3,000 drive-in theaters; I supported a few drive-in theaters in East St. Louis from '54-to-'57. Actually, I only 'saw' one movie at the drive-in...It seemed wrong that particularly Friday night to 'make-out' with my girlfriend while Moses was parting the Red Sea in the movie, Ten Commandments. Some of those 1948 autos had 'running-boards' while most of the 1950's models showed off big white-wall tires with fender-skirts mud flaps. 'Curb-finders' were a must to protect scratching those beautiful white wall tires. Every night was cruise-night.
Metropolitan cities use to have real-live cops at busy intersections directing the rush hour traffic; some of those officers put on a magnificent show.
I think Tuesdays at 10 A.M. is the time many communities, nowadays 'test' their sirens with long blasts; I recall the 9 P.M. siren sounding each evening back in the Washington Park in 1950. I always believed our parents were in cahoots with the local police to signal the time for us kids to get off the streets and back in the house.
My church has air conditioning today so I won't find any funeral fans in the pews and I can expect to get out of service on time since we don't offend church-folks with those 'come-forward-and surrender-your life to Jesus' alter invitations.
I believe after my morning coffee on the backyard swing, I'll head to the mall and see if I can find a pair of 'white-buck' shoes. Later, I intend to go find a hedge apples.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Showing Some Skin?
Sometime ago, a couple of my kids made comments about the skin on my forehead; the skin they said looked rough to them. One kid went so far as to compare my skin to that of an alligator, which I thought was rather harsh but considering their DNA, I understand the directness.
Anyway, our family medical doctor explained to me that my children were simply noticing some 'fatty-deposits.' The doctor further stated, " the aging process often leaves the fatty-deposits on our bodies." He even went so far as to suggest that I likely have similar fatty-deposits on other parts of my body. That conclusion makes sense to me considering the fact that my skin, on all parts of this body, is the 'same age.' This also means that I soon can expect my ass to look like my face. In the near future, my wife will be confused seeing me naked in the bathroom; she won't know if I entering or leaving the shower.
Speaking of human skin; I would offer the following:
1) A woman with bosom stretch marks that resemble an LA city road map should not wear low cut blouses.
2 )Regardless of a man's weightlifting prowess, he should not wear cut off shirts in public restaurants.
3) Speaking of cut off shirts; women who choose not to shave underarms should also pass on this attire. (Exception: if she is a pit member at the county fair's stock car races).
4) Those with toenails the color of field corn should pass on open toed sandals.
5) People over the age 40 should only wear mid-drifts 25 feet from a large body of water.
6) Skin tattoos should not have arrows that point to functioning body parts.
I was thinking about wearing a baseball cap to cover my forehead's fatty deposits but I don't have either of the two ball caps apparently acceptable in public restaurants: John Deere or NASCAR. Right Bubba!
Anyway, our family medical doctor explained to me that my children were simply noticing some 'fatty-deposits.' The doctor further stated, " the aging process often leaves the fatty-deposits on our bodies." He even went so far as to suggest that I likely have similar fatty-deposits on other parts of my body. That conclusion makes sense to me considering the fact that my skin, on all parts of this body, is the 'same age.' This also means that I soon can expect my ass to look like my face. In the near future, my wife will be confused seeing me naked in the bathroom; she won't know if I entering or leaving the shower.
Speaking of human skin; I would offer the following:
1) A woman with bosom stretch marks that resemble an LA city road map should not wear low cut blouses.
2 )Regardless of a man's weightlifting prowess, he should not wear cut off shirts in public restaurants.
3) Speaking of cut off shirts; women who choose not to shave underarms should also pass on this attire. (Exception: if she is a pit member at the county fair's stock car races).
4) Those with toenails the color of field corn should pass on open toed sandals.
5) People over the age 40 should only wear mid-drifts 25 feet from a large body of water.
6) Skin tattoos should not have arrows that point to functioning body parts.
I was thinking about wearing a baseball cap to cover my forehead's fatty deposits but I don't have either of the two ball caps apparently acceptable in public restaurants: John Deere or NASCAR. Right Bubba!
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Disgustingly Phony!
'Look what they've done to 'my game.' A phrase not so unlike, in meaning, with the 1970's folk song, 'Look What They've Done to My Song;' the intentional meaning carries similar messages and that is: people can take something good and beautiful and turn it into ugly trash...and so it is with the American sport scene!!
Pro baseball player, Ryan Braun won the National League MVP Award a couple of years ago and now he is suspended for the remaining games (2013) for substance abuse. Barry Bonds the 185lb rookie baseball player for the Pirates surpassed most of Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron's home run records when he retired from the Giants after a 22-year career, weighing 235lbs. Bonds claims that his metamorphosis body change occurred due to dedicated weight work. What a hard working guy that Barry Bonds fella.
Thousands of high school graduating seniors sweat out GPA's and test scores hoping to measure up to entry requirements at prestigious American universities only to see 'dumb' athletes get tuition free scholarships and their coaches make millions. We would note that many of today's college athletes end up in trouble with the law and many more fail to graduate. Our Division I Universities are stepping stones for a lot of street-punks to the pros while their hypocritical institutions make millions from NCAA playoffs.
Recently, I have followed a collegiate (summer) baseball league and note another disturbing trend. Our sport society is beginning to promote ill-mannered activities, bad behavior and less than positive sportsmanship attitudes. I advance the following scenario, which occurs at Springfield Sliders home games and Quincy Gems home games: A player from the visiting team is selected at the start of the game and his name given out by the public address announcer as the individual who, if goes hit less, will cause folks in attendance to receive free sandwiches at a local fast food restaurant. That's correct, we create a frenzy of negative cheering against one amateur baseball player. The crowd yells and screams for this player's failure each at bat appearance; the payoff is a 630 calorie burger for the fat-ass fans. These same glutinous losers likely never stood sixty feet away from a pitcher throwing a 93-mile per hour fast ball and these clowns would literally shit their pants facing a 2-to-8 curve ball that is coming at the batters head but breaks 12-inches over the plate! Go sit down fools and try NOT to show your ignorance.
Hypocrisy abounds; it is everywhere. Major League baseball continues its ban on Hall-of-Fame worthy, Pete Rose for betting on games but welcomes back into the game players who cheat with steroid use. Our distinguished officials and leaders read sportsmanship creeds before high school and college games and then laugh at and taunt opponents who fail in noble attempts. Shame on our shabby care taking of our youths' games. Shame on our misstated mission statements, which are trumped by our actions; actions that are disgusting.
Only we narcissistic, self-centered and self-indulged Americans would take 'pause' from such disgusting behavior to put our beer down and stand in the seventh inning to sing, "God Bless America." Oh my, I am sure that God cannot wait to bless His Americans; after all, we are His favorite people.
Oh, I just thought of another song to which we give lip service;. "They Will Know We Are Christians By Our Love."
Pro baseball player, Ryan Braun won the National League MVP Award a couple of years ago and now he is suspended for the remaining games (2013) for substance abuse. Barry Bonds the 185lb rookie baseball player for the Pirates surpassed most of Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron's home run records when he retired from the Giants after a 22-year career, weighing 235lbs. Bonds claims that his metamorphosis body change occurred due to dedicated weight work. What a hard working guy that Barry Bonds fella.
Thousands of high school graduating seniors sweat out GPA's and test scores hoping to measure up to entry requirements at prestigious American universities only to see 'dumb' athletes get tuition free scholarships and their coaches make millions. We would note that many of today's college athletes end up in trouble with the law and many more fail to graduate. Our Division I Universities are stepping stones for a lot of street-punks to the pros while their hypocritical institutions make millions from NCAA playoffs.
Recently, I have followed a collegiate (summer) baseball league and note another disturbing trend. Our sport society is beginning to promote ill-mannered activities, bad behavior and less than positive sportsmanship attitudes. I advance the following scenario, which occurs at Springfield Sliders home games and Quincy Gems home games: A player from the visiting team is selected at the start of the game and his name given out by the public address announcer as the individual who, if goes hit less, will cause folks in attendance to receive free sandwiches at a local fast food restaurant. That's correct, we create a frenzy of negative cheering against one amateur baseball player. The crowd yells and screams for this player's failure each at bat appearance; the payoff is a 630 calorie burger for the fat-ass fans. These same glutinous losers likely never stood sixty feet away from a pitcher throwing a 93-mile per hour fast ball and these clowns would literally shit their pants facing a 2-to-8 curve ball that is coming at the batters head but breaks 12-inches over the plate! Go sit down fools and try NOT to show your ignorance.
Hypocrisy abounds; it is everywhere. Major League baseball continues its ban on Hall-of-Fame worthy, Pete Rose for betting on games but welcomes back into the game players who cheat with steroid use. Our distinguished officials and leaders read sportsmanship creeds before high school and college games and then laugh at and taunt opponents who fail in noble attempts. Shame on our shabby care taking of our youths' games. Shame on our misstated mission statements, which are trumped by our actions; actions that are disgusting.
Only we narcissistic, self-centered and self-indulged Americans would take 'pause' from such disgusting behavior to put our beer down and stand in the seventh inning to sing, "God Bless America." Oh my, I am sure that God cannot wait to bless His Americans; after all, we are His favorite people.
Oh, I just thought of another song to which we give lip service;. "They Will Know We Are Christians By Our Love."
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Lucky and Blessed
There is not enough time or ink to list all the ways God has blessed me. Let me just touch on the very fact that I beat many odds and should not be living at age 74. I explain:
Through the years, I ate much cheese and tuna fish from a can. My tuna-fish sandwich with mayo (school lunch) sat in my hot metal-locker from 7:30 A.M. until noon many days. As a young boy, I went barefoot wading and tubed for catfish in water moccasin infested lakes and I ate crawdads from creeks with suspect sewage. My mother told me that as a baby, I slept on my tummy in cribs covered with lead-base paint. I am sure the child proof medicine bottles were unheard.
My adolescent years saw me hitchhiking or riding my bike throughout the 80 thousand East St. Louis residents in a total state of denial that any harm could come to a 12-year old city boy. Those little league baseball teams had tryouts and some kids did not make the team; they dealt with the disappointment...imagine that. I don't remember but I am sure that I stood in the front seat of my parents' auto unrestrained; I do recall standing in the back of dad's pickup truck. If thirsty enough, I disregarded mother's advice 'not to put my mouth on the public ball diamond fountain.' I have eaten tons of white bread, too many cup cakes, enough sugar drinks to float the Queen Mary, real butter and a pig-farm of fried bacon. The amazing aspect of this life style left me skinny because I was one 'active' boy in perpetual motion.
As a young boy, I left the house in summer months at about 9 A.M. and returned for the supper hour. My mother could not contact me during the day; no one could possibly know my whereabouts. I did not have sophisticated toys but entertained myself with 'homemade' spinner games and board games.
I never heard of lawsuits but I did have firsthand information about the omnipotence of the law, teachers and clergy. I also knew that a belt could be used for something other than 'holding' up my father's trousers.
The aforementioned reminiscences is not a brag or boast. They are occurrences, which defy seventy-four years.
Through the years, I ate much cheese and tuna fish from a can. My tuna-fish sandwich with mayo (school lunch) sat in my hot metal-locker from 7:30 A.M. until noon many days. As a young boy, I went barefoot wading and tubed for catfish in water moccasin infested lakes and I ate crawdads from creeks with suspect sewage. My mother told me that as a baby, I slept on my tummy in cribs covered with lead-base paint. I am sure the child proof medicine bottles were unheard.
My adolescent years saw me hitchhiking or riding my bike throughout the 80 thousand East St. Louis residents in a total state of denial that any harm could come to a 12-year old city boy. Those little league baseball teams had tryouts and some kids did not make the team; they dealt with the disappointment...imagine that. I don't remember but I am sure that I stood in the front seat of my parents' auto unrestrained; I do recall standing in the back of dad's pickup truck. If thirsty enough, I disregarded mother's advice 'not to put my mouth on the public ball diamond fountain.' I have eaten tons of white bread, too many cup cakes, enough sugar drinks to float the Queen Mary, real butter and a pig-farm of fried bacon. The amazing aspect of this life style left me skinny because I was one 'active' boy in perpetual motion.
As a young boy, I left the house in summer months at about 9 A.M. and returned for the supper hour. My mother could not contact me during the day; no one could possibly know my whereabouts. I did not have sophisticated toys but entertained myself with 'homemade' spinner games and board games.
I never heard of lawsuits but I did have firsthand information about the omnipotence of the law, teachers and clergy. I also knew that a belt could be used for something other than 'holding' up my father's trousers.
The aforementioned reminiscences is not a brag or boast. They are occurrences, which defy seventy-four years.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Hey, What's the Hold Up?
For the previous eight-months, I have been doing a great deal of cooking. I enjoy experimenting with all kinds of foods, recipes and marinating; I leave nothing to guess. I truly embrace the activity and I especially like cooking for my wife. Of course, I now spend a lot of time in the grocery stores, spice shops and the cookware department. Often times when shopping, my worse disposition shows; I detest line-waiting and I seemingly always make the wrong 'choice' when selecting the check-out lane. Invariably, the shorter line will develop 'issues' by the time I arrive at the conveyor belt. Just yesterday, I was at a local grocery store and I elected to get into a lane that had only three people ahead of me and they each had few items. Good choice? Nope!
Here was the first problem that I noticed too late in the lane-game; there was a very attractive young girl working cashier duties in lane 7 and the cashier boy in my lane (8) had serious hormonal issues; the lad kept making cash register entry errors because he could not take his eyes off the dolly. I then noticed that the elderly lady in front had a ticket bill of $17.93 She was on a mission from hell sifting through her purse items, which she dumped onto the counter searching for three pennies. What is it about, old-farts and exact change?
The next lady, in front of me, questioned nearly every item's price claiming the item was 'on sale.' Finally, the last lady checked out and her bill came to one hundred ninety-seven dollars and 42 cents. She tried three different plastic cards and all three were rejected. She walked out of the store and I waited for a clerk to remove the abandoned cart before I paid for my lettuce, spinach, frozen mango and toilet paper.
I have been known to leave grocery lines when such nonsense erupts. My tolerance runs thin and I can get a little red-ass with people; however, this particular time I did not want to end up with red-ass...we were out of toilet paper back at the crib.
Here was the first problem that I noticed too late in the lane-game; there was a very attractive young girl working cashier duties in lane 7 and the cashier boy in my lane (8) had serious hormonal issues; the lad kept making cash register entry errors because he could not take his eyes off the dolly. I then noticed that the elderly lady in front had a ticket bill of $17.93 She was on a mission from hell sifting through her purse items, which she dumped onto the counter searching for three pennies. What is it about, old-farts and exact change?
The next lady, in front of me, questioned nearly every item's price claiming the item was 'on sale.' Finally, the last lady checked out and her bill came to one hundred ninety-seven dollars and 42 cents. She tried three different plastic cards and all three were rejected. She walked out of the store and I waited for a clerk to remove the abandoned cart before I paid for my lettuce, spinach, frozen mango and toilet paper.
I have been known to leave grocery lines when such nonsense erupts. My tolerance runs thin and I can get a little red-ass with people; however, this particular time I did not want to end up with red-ass...we were out of toilet paper back at the crib.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sex: America's Fascination
I suppose I should never expect to be 'shock-proof' but at my age and given my vast experiences, I would think that I'd be somewhat insulated from 'surprises.' I am not and yesterday morning presented a real television-viewing moment shocker.
I returned to the house from some early morning produce shopping when I walked into the family room to join my wife with a cup of coffee. My wife was taking a break from the morning flower watering chores. The television was on and co-hosts Kathy Lee and Hoda were blabbing away and giggling. As I settled into my chair my wife said, "You are not going to believe what these two gals are talking about." Kathy Lee was doing exaggerated facial contortions while Hoda was waving a 12-inch ruler about attempting to show Katy Lee what the measurement 5 1/2 inches looked like. Kathy Lee inquired of Hoda, "Is that an erect Johnson?" I looked at my wife and said, "You gotta be kidding me; 10;30 A.M. on a major network?" I know the morning newspaper has movie listings with 'rating- numbers' and I remember all seven words that the late comic, George Carlin told us you cannot 'say' on television. Nevertheless, we have two ladies discussing the size of the male sex organ on T.V. and referencing the penis with the pet-name, 'Johnson.?' The question about average penis 'size' either soft or hard was the subject of a recent 'study.' I do wish we had more money spent on cancer and Alzheimer's studies than such total nonsense as sex-organ size.
Years ago, Virginia Slim cigarette commercials targeted the female market. The company producing Virginia Slims had a catch phrase about the modern day transformation of the American female; The slogan was "You've come a long way, baby." I suppose women have 'come' a long way. Women now may dress like a man, curse like a man, deface their bodies with tattoo markings initiate relationships and share date expenses with a man. I expect women will not be offended when men begin television discussions about breast and vagina sizes.
I understand that a popular segment on the Kathy Lee & Hoda Show is a 'make-over' moment. Periodically, they select a couple of gals from the streets and do one of those before and after make overs. I believe the day is fast approaching when Hoda may whip out her 'ruler' and settle the new segment question, "Which of these two guys has the biggest 'Johnson?'
I returned to the house from some early morning produce shopping when I walked into the family room to join my wife with a cup of coffee. My wife was taking a break from the morning flower watering chores. The television was on and co-hosts Kathy Lee and Hoda were blabbing away and giggling. As I settled into my chair my wife said, "You are not going to believe what these two gals are talking about." Kathy Lee was doing exaggerated facial contortions while Hoda was waving a 12-inch ruler about attempting to show Katy Lee what the measurement 5 1/2 inches looked like. Kathy Lee inquired of Hoda, "Is that an erect Johnson?" I looked at my wife and said, "You gotta be kidding me; 10;30 A.M. on a major network?" I know the morning newspaper has movie listings with 'rating- numbers' and I remember all seven words that the late comic, George Carlin told us you cannot 'say' on television. Nevertheless, we have two ladies discussing the size of the male sex organ on T.V. and referencing the penis with the pet-name, 'Johnson.?' The question about average penis 'size' either soft or hard was the subject of a recent 'study.' I do wish we had more money spent on cancer and Alzheimer's studies than such total nonsense as sex-organ size.
Years ago, Virginia Slim cigarette commercials targeted the female market. The company producing Virginia Slims had a catch phrase about the modern day transformation of the American female; The slogan was "You've come a long way, baby." I suppose women have 'come' a long way. Women now may dress like a man, curse like a man, deface their bodies with tattoo markings initiate relationships and share date expenses with a man. I expect women will not be offended when men begin television discussions about breast and vagina sizes.
I understand that a popular segment on the Kathy Lee & Hoda Show is a 'make-over' moment. Periodically, they select a couple of gals from the streets and do one of those before and after make overs. I believe the day is fast approaching when Hoda may whip out her 'ruler' and settle the new segment question, "Which of these two guys has the biggest 'Johnson?'
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Never a Ball & Chain
I am certain that many who read this blog come to believe that perhaps I 'harp' on some subjects a tad too often, i.e., cell phones usage and especially, cell phone use in the presence of others, which is rude manners. I make no apologies for those previously expressed attitudes nor do I back off of the following; I told you so moment!
Kent State University just completed a study (wasting money) to conclude that those college students who spent 14 hours or more a day on their iPhone were more overweight and less fit than those who spent fewer hours on the iPhone...duh! Anywhere you may go publicly, you cannot help but notice that most folks are 'looking' down towards their handheld gadget (iPhone). Adolescent boys, who once played grab-ass tag now plop their over sized asses on benches and engross themselves texting some other 'puffy' kid while nearby social contact opportunities are ignored. Many times I find myself wishing to engage some of my grandkids in conversation only to notice they are occupied with their cell phone; it transcends bad manners and becomes a missed sharing moment never to present itself again. How very sad.
Just this morning at 6 A.M., I headed out the door for my 45-minute walk before the heat and humidity became unbearable. My wife suggested that I take my cell phone in case of an emergency. I took the phone but I did not turn it on and after I post this blog, I am heading to the backyard swing with the Toy Poodle, Yodie, a cup of coffee and NO PHONE!
Kent State University just completed a study (wasting money) to conclude that those college students who spent 14 hours or more a day on their iPhone were more overweight and less fit than those who spent fewer hours on the iPhone...duh! Anywhere you may go publicly, you cannot help but notice that most folks are 'looking' down towards their handheld gadget (iPhone). Adolescent boys, who once played grab-ass tag now plop their over sized asses on benches and engross themselves texting some other 'puffy' kid while nearby social contact opportunities are ignored. Many times I find myself wishing to engage some of my grandkids in conversation only to notice they are occupied with their cell phone; it transcends bad manners and becomes a missed sharing moment never to present itself again. How very sad.
Just this morning at 6 A.M., I headed out the door for my 45-minute walk before the heat and humidity became unbearable. My wife suggested that I take my cell phone in case of an emergency. I took the phone but I did not turn it on and after I post this blog, I am heading to the backyard swing with the Toy Poodle, Yodie, a cup of coffee and NO PHONE!
Friday, July 19, 2013
Forever Somewhere
While backyard swinging yesterday evening, I recalled two Jewish guys who lived in our neighborhood back in East St. Louis (1947). Myron and Hinny were the best of friends. Most often when you saw one working his garden, you'd see the other giving a helping hand. Myron, however, began suspecting that Hinny was having an affair with his wife. One afternoon, Myron came home early from work and sure enough, Hinny was in the upstairs bedroom with Myron's wife. "Quick, Myron's wife said to Hinny, hide under the bed."
When Myron entered the bedroom, he began looking everywhere for that scoundrel, Hinny. He opened closet doors, looked behind curtains and when he looked under the bed, he spotted his long time friend and said, "Hinny, what are you doing under there?" Hinny spoke softly saying, "Myron, my good friend, every body's gotta be somewhere?"
Hinny was correct; every body must be somewhere, forever! That said, my wife and I made our final plans to be in that somewhere after we have no choice to 'go' anywhere. We always put off talking about this eventuality because our kids perceive us as 'doom & gloom' posturing. Hey, we are moving towards the respective ages of 75 and 73, it's about time that we complete internment plans. The thought process to arrive at a decision was not a slam-dunk. My wife and I were both raised in East St. Louis, Illinois and it is fact that we cannot 'go home' while living so why the hell would we elect to go home dead.
We lived various lengths of time in the following Illinois communities where I coached high school sports: Assumption, Mason City, Washington, Edwardsville, Jacksonville and Decatur. We have children living in Granite City, South Barrington and Jacksonville. We decided that since we have no plans to live with any of our kids in old age, we feel it not necessary to burden any kid with talking plastic flowers to our graves on Memorial Day. We have thus chosen Sunset Hills Mausoleum (the outdoor one; I like the idea of fresh air) in Edwardsville, Illinois.
My brother Tom and his wife Vicky also have final resting plans at this site. They will be in the opposite-end second row corner drawer from Mel and Gerry. I selected the second row because I wish to be high enough that any of my leftover Edwardsville basketball fan adversaries are challenged to urinate that high.
When Myron entered the bedroom, he began looking everywhere for that scoundrel, Hinny. He opened closet doors, looked behind curtains and when he looked under the bed, he spotted his long time friend and said, "Hinny, what are you doing under there?" Hinny spoke softly saying, "Myron, my good friend, every body's gotta be somewhere?"
Hinny was correct; every body must be somewhere, forever! That said, my wife and I made our final plans to be in that somewhere after we have no choice to 'go' anywhere. We always put off talking about this eventuality because our kids perceive us as 'doom & gloom' posturing. Hey, we are moving towards the respective ages of 75 and 73, it's about time that we complete internment plans. The thought process to arrive at a decision was not a slam-dunk. My wife and I were both raised in East St. Louis, Illinois and it is fact that we cannot 'go home' while living so why the hell would we elect to go home dead.
We lived various lengths of time in the following Illinois communities where I coached high school sports: Assumption, Mason City, Washington, Edwardsville, Jacksonville and Decatur. We have children living in Granite City, South Barrington and Jacksonville. We decided that since we have no plans to live with any of our kids in old age, we feel it not necessary to burden any kid with talking plastic flowers to our graves on Memorial Day. We have thus chosen Sunset Hills Mausoleum (the outdoor one; I like the idea of fresh air) in Edwardsville, Illinois.
My brother Tom and his wife Vicky also have final resting plans at this site. They will be in the opposite-end second row corner drawer from Mel and Gerry. I selected the second row because I wish to be high enough that any of my leftover Edwardsville basketball fan adversaries are challenged to urinate that high.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
First on a Summer Garden Hose & Last on the Ice Cream Crank...BAD
My wife and I usually go to Wal Mart every July to purchase a discounted 'fan' that will be given to a needy person during these Midwest summer days. This past week (July 14) has seen a heat wave grip for most folks in 43 states. Many 'senior citizen centers across the country remain open extended hours to accommodate the elderly who are without air conditioning and most shopping malls find many more folks 'hanging-out' to find relief.
I remember my youth in East St. Louis, that industrial city on the banks of the Mississippi where the summer heat and humidity combine for sweltering conditions. My 1954, baseball uniform was made out of 100% wool; I wore a t-shirt and pajama bottoms under the wool uniform to reduce the incredible 'itching' under that July sun. Speaking of a hot July; the temperature this week (July 2013) in Decatur, Illinois will linger at 93 degrees for a high and it will be 'muggy.' On July 14, 1954, the East St. Louis temperature was 115 degrees...the Roustios, as did most folks, did not have air conditioning but we did have a window fan and thank God for screened porches and Grandpa E. V. Bennett's homemade ice cream.
Let me reflect on homemade ice cream, if I may. Not many folks make homemade ice cream these days and the ice cream makers today are electric, which requires no 'crank-the-handle' efforts. You see, back in the day, the ice cream ingredients were place into a cylinder container, which was then positioned inside a wooden mini-barrel container that had ice and salt placed between the cylinders and a crank mechanism was then engaged by people who would turn and turn and turn until the ice cream became hard. The cranking was 'easy' in the beginning but became very difficult, requiring much 'grunt effort' later in the process. This explains why Grandpa E.V. took his cranking turns early.
The July days of 1954, found a 15-year old boy taking the city bus to Lansdowne junior high school where he honed basketball shooting skills all morning and then walking his girlfriend to Jones Park to sit together by the lagoon and then play American legion Baseball of an evening...if time permitted, I concluded the day shooting more baskets in my backyard under spotlights; much to the dismay of the local cops who said the spotlights presented a hazard for motorists...my dad won that debate!
Funny but I don't recall being uncomfortable with the summer heat of July 1954; I do recall that July as perhaps the best summer of my life. I will always be grateful to neighbors who left garden hoses attached; you just had to remember not to be first on the hose.
I remember my youth in East St. Louis, that industrial city on the banks of the Mississippi where the summer heat and humidity combine for sweltering conditions. My 1954, baseball uniform was made out of 100% wool; I wore a t-shirt and pajama bottoms under the wool uniform to reduce the incredible 'itching' under that July sun. Speaking of a hot July; the temperature this week (July 2013) in Decatur, Illinois will linger at 93 degrees for a high and it will be 'muggy.' On July 14, 1954, the East St. Louis temperature was 115 degrees...the Roustios, as did most folks, did not have air conditioning but we did have a window fan and thank God for screened porches and Grandpa E. V. Bennett's homemade ice cream.
Let me reflect on homemade ice cream, if I may. Not many folks make homemade ice cream these days and the ice cream makers today are electric, which requires no 'crank-the-handle' efforts. You see, back in the day, the ice cream ingredients were place into a cylinder container, which was then positioned inside a wooden mini-barrel container that had ice and salt placed between the cylinders and a crank mechanism was then engaged by people who would turn and turn and turn until the ice cream became hard. The cranking was 'easy' in the beginning but became very difficult, requiring much 'grunt effort' later in the process. This explains why Grandpa E.V. took his cranking turns early.
The July days of 1954, found a 15-year old boy taking the city bus to Lansdowne junior high school where he honed basketball shooting skills all morning and then walking his girlfriend to Jones Park to sit together by the lagoon and then play American legion Baseball of an evening...if time permitted, I concluded the day shooting more baskets in my backyard under spotlights; much to the dismay of the local cops who said the spotlights presented a hazard for motorists...my dad won that debate!
Funny but I don't recall being uncomfortable with the summer heat of July 1954; I do recall that July as perhaps the best summer of my life. I will always be grateful to neighbors who left garden hoses attached; you just had to remember not to be first on the hose.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Sleepless in Decatur
When I find sleep allusive, I usually get out of bed and busy myself with some on-going project, writings or reading. A few weeks ago when tossing and turning, I got up and turned on the television; NEVER again. If you think prime time television 'sucks,' don't ever television surf after 2 A.M.
There was a preacher fella offering viewers a free vial of 'No Devil Oil.' All I needed to do was telephone a toll free number, give my address and in a few days I would receive the magic potion. This godly guy said that I could take dollar bills and spread them about a table then put a drop of this 'No Devil Oil' on the money and in a few days I would have more money. If I have any aches or pains just rub the 'No Devil Oil' on the pain area and it would no longer hurt. Those with heart conditions can drop this oil on the heart and 'bingo;' no more heart issues. I switched channels.
The 2:30 A.M. show had a middle aged man seated next to a shapely young lady who was perhaps in her mid-twenties. The fella talked about a product called 'Extenze' while the pretty girl spoke no words but did a lot of smiling as if on cue to all explanations regarding the product benefits. The viewers were told that 'Extenze' would enhance the size of the male sex organ. The guy doing the sales-pitch claimed that 'bigger' is not necessarily better but Extenze could also help guys grade out better as lovers; the young lady really grinned at that idea. I switched channels; my fear was I might purchase this product and about six weeks into taking the pill, I would have 'larger' ears and a Pinocchio nose.
I thought my luck could be better with the movie channel; not so, it was a marathon movie week of 'Rocky' movies starring Sylvester Stalone. I watched for five minutes and remembered that Stalone is likely the worst actor in Hollywood's history.
Suddenly, I realized there was a resemblance between the 'No Devil Oil' preacher-salesman and the gent hustling that penis-growth pill. ...and I believe that the guy 'pitching' sales for Oxyclean actually died a few years ago; that's creepy.
There was a preacher fella offering viewers a free vial of 'No Devil Oil.' All I needed to do was telephone a toll free number, give my address and in a few days I would receive the magic potion. This godly guy said that I could take dollar bills and spread them about a table then put a drop of this 'No Devil Oil' on the money and in a few days I would have more money. If I have any aches or pains just rub the 'No Devil Oil' on the pain area and it would no longer hurt. Those with heart conditions can drop this oil on the heart and 'bingo;' no more heart issues. I switched channels.
The 2:30 A.M. show had a middle aged man seated next to a shapely young lady who was perhaps in her mid-twenties. The fella talked about a product called 'Extenze' while the pretty girl spoke no words but did a lot of smiling as if on cue to all explanations regarding the product benefits. The viewers were told that 'Extenze' would enhance the size of the male sex organ. The guy doing the sales-pitch claimed that 'bigger' is not necessarily better but Extenze could also help guys grade out better as lovers; the young lady really grinned at that idea. I switched channels; my fear was I might purchase this product and about six weeks into taking the pill, I would have 'larger' ears and a Pinocchio nose.
I thought my luck could be better with the movie channel; not so, it was a marathon movie week of 'Rocky' movies starring Sylvester Stalone. I watched for five minutes and remembered that Stalone is likely the worst actor in Hollywood's history.
Suddenly, I realized there was a resemblance between the 'No Devil Oil' preacher-salesman and the gent hustling that penis-growth pill. ...and I believe that the guy 'pitching' sales for Oxyclean actually died a few years ago; that's creepy.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
I Apologize
A writer runs many risks when putting words together to make a point. One such risk is 'over-generalization.' In a recent blog, I attempted to underscore parenting changes, I did just that; over-generalized. I suggested all grandkids are disrespectful and, of course, they are not. There is no such absolutes . I correct my miss-spoken words and apologize for the 'blanket' statement.
More Than Beauty in Eye of Beholder
One of the few things that I have in common with my children is our profound love and respect for my father; their grandfather. That agreed and said all parties should recognize an incongruity in their perspectives. <My father did not assume the same discipline-demeanor and behavior expectation attitudes as a grandparent that he did as a parent.; my children thus knew a different person than did I>
I am sure that my children become upset with me, talk with one another about my unacceptable parenting-opinions and dismiss me as some sort of out-of-touch 'kook' or nut-case when it comes to parenting ideas and expectation of my grandkids. Let me give an example or two. I believe my grandchildren are generally disrespectful to their parents and have far too much to say. I think my grandchildren have too much family-matters information too soon and they are unable to process the information with less than adult size brains; consequently, these kids weigh-in with unwarranted and ill-thought-out verbal opinions. My father use to tell me often, when making sure that I understood my opinion-giving parameters; "Hey boy, yours is NOT to reason why, yours is but to do or die!" Yes sir, that was my kids' Papaw...what a guy, hey? Obviously, my dad never read a parenting book!
My adult parenting-children listen to my grandkids' opinions about where they should vacation as if they had some monetary stake in the matter. I swear, I never went on a family vacation as a kid with my parents and neither did my wife when she was a child at home. I do remember going frequently to the drive-in movies on Friday nights with mom and dad and it was a blast. I also recall a lot of backyard games and neighborhood picnics; those also were great fun. As parents ourselves, we took the kids to the Lake of the Ozarks a few times but nothing elaborate; I did not have the time off work or the extra monies to engage those niceties. I hear my grandchildren weighing in with their parents regarding family-vacation-experience expectation...gotta by shitting me! My father often told me and my brothers that we should "Be seen and not heard." Now there some crap that flies in the face of modern-day child psychologists! Don't dismiss my parents-style and parenting methods, these were the folks considered to be from the greatest generation; they kicked ass in WWII and then built a strong industrial country; I remember the celebrations along the way.
I suspect that some of the grandkids have no concept of lawn-mower usage or lawn raking. All my grandkids have many of the latest electronic gadgets and they each appear to wear the latest clothing styles. Many have automobile when they get their driver's license; my wife bought my first car when we got married my senior year of college. She had been working saving money while I was attending school. As a teenager, I waxed my mothers hardwood floors when I was sixteen just to get a five dollar bill for a date night; I thought she was an angel making me such a good deal.
I do recall my parents having conversations about making a 'better' life for me and my two younger brothers; thank God they did not confuse better with easier and softer.
For the most part, I followed the 'parenting-blueprint' shown by my parents. I am thinking perhaps my children have deep scars and thus felt it necessary to change the parenting approach...and here I thought I did such a wonderful job. Oh well, 'checkmate!!'
I am sure that my children become upset with me, talk with one another about my unacceptable parenting-opinions and dismiss me as some sort of out-of-touch 'kook' or nut-case when it comes to parenting ideas and expectation of my grandkids. Let me give an example or two. I believe my grandchildren are generally disrespectful to their parents and have far too much to say. I think my grandchildren have too much family-matters information too soon and they are unable to process the information with less than adult size brains; consequently, these kids weigh-in with unwarranted and ill-thought-out verbal opinions. My father use to tell me often, when making sure that I understood my opinion-giving parameters; "Hey boy, yours is NOT to reason why, yours is but to do or die!" Yes sir, that was my kids' Papaw...what a guy, hey? Obviously, my dad never read a parenting book!
My adult parenting-children listen to my grandkids' opinions about where they should vacation as if they had some monetary stake in the matter. I swear, I never went on a family vacation as a kid with my parents and neither did my wife when she was a child at home. I do remember going frequently to the drive-in movies on Friday nights with mom and dad and it was a blast. I also recall a lot of backyard games and neighborhood picnics; those also were great fun. As parents ourselves, we took the kids to the Lake of the Ozarks a few times but nothing elaborate; I did not have the time off work or the extra monies to engage those niceties. I hear my grandchildren weighing in with their parents regarding family-vacation-experience expectation...gotta by shitting me! My father often told me and my brothers that we should "Be seen and not heard." Now there some crap that flies in the face of modern-day child psychologists! Don't dismiss my parents-style and parenting methods, these were the folks considered to be from the greatest generation; they kicked ass in WWII and then built a strong industrial country; I remember the celebrations along the way.
I suspect that some of the grandkids have no concept of lawn-mower usage or lawn raking. All my grandkids have many of the latest electronic gadgets and they each appear to wear the latest clothing styles. Many have automobile when they get their driver's license; my wife bought my first car when we got married my senior year of college. She had been working saving money while I was attending school. As a teenager, I waxed my mothers hardwood floors when I was sixteen just to get a five dollar bill for a date night; I thought she was an angel making me such a good deal.
I do recall my parents having conversations about making a 'better' life for me and my two younger brothers; thank God they did not confuse better with easier and softer.
For the most part, I followed the 'parenting-blueprint' shown by my parents. I am thinking perhaps my children have deep scars and thus felt it necessary to change the parenting approach...and here I thought I did such a wonderful job. Oh well, 'checkmate!!'
Monday, July 15, 2013
Spinning Wheel / Swimming Head
My maternal grandmother, Mammy Bennett, when facing fast-paced, chaotic activities would often say, "My head is swimming!" These days, I find my head swimming and spinning as I attempt to digest the crazy crap 'out there!'
My 51-year old son is in Uruguay with six other missionaries using the sport of basketball to spread goodwill and the gospel of Christ. They will also be in Sao Paulo, Brazil where just last week a soccer umpire, who stabbed to death a player, was killed and decapitated by angry fans; that's crazy shit. Some guy in Grants Pass, Oregon using his rifle as a crutch inadvertently discharged the gun causing a shell to go through the ceiling of his apartment and killing a five-year old in the apartment above. That is pitifully sad. A five year old Kentucky boy uses his 'child-size' rifle to shoot and kill his 2-year old sister; this should make every American's head swim as we attempt to understand 'WHY' Americans are manufacturing lethal weapons for children. In Nelson, Atlanta the citizens must contend with a new town-law; home-owners must own a gun. That is not only crazy-ass logic, it surely is unconstitutional! I am thinking that we folks in America NEED some MISSIONARIES! My head is swimming!!!
Amidst this aforementioned chaos from sea-to-shinning sea, many Americans kept a media vigil on the eventual trial of George Zimmerman, the 'walk-about' Charles Bronson, Death Wish character who was charged with murdering a 17-year old 'Black' boy, Trayvon Martin. After much deliberating the jury returned a NOT guilty verdict. Even with the 'fuel charged' social media baiting segments of society, there appears to be a more civil nationwide reaction to this verdict as compared to the Rodney King and O.J. Simpson verdicts; much to the obvious dismay of our mainstream media, which begs for conflict and controversy. That attitude makes one's head swim. Perhaps the most positive influence on the post-trial prevailing-moods is the apparent Christian love and faith expressed by the Black youngster's parents.
On a personal note, our middle child and oldest daughter was in Jacksonville this past weekend celebrating her JHS Class of 1983, 30th Reunion. She spent the weekend with her sister, our youngest who is sending her last child off to college this fall.....talk about making a guy's head swim!!!
Excuse me while I go cut the lawn and not my wrists.
My 51-year old son is in Uruguay with six other missionaries using the sport of basketball to spread goodwill and the gospel of Christ. They will also be in Sao Paulo, Brazil where just last week a soccer umpire, who stabbed to death a player, was killed and decapitated by angry fans; that's crazy shit. Some guy in Grants Pass, Oregon using his rifle as a crutch inadvertently discharged the gun causing a shell to go through the ceiling of his apartment and killing a five-year old in the apartment above. That is pitifully sad. A five year old Kentucky boy uses his 'child-size' rifle to shoot and kill his 2-year old sister; this should make every American's head swim as we attempt to understand 'WHY' Americans are manufacturing lethal weapons for children. In Nelson, Atlanta the citizens must contend with a new town-law; home-owners must own a gun. That is not only crazy-ass logic, it surely is unconstitutional! I am thinking that we folks in America NEED some MISSIONARIES! My head is swimming!!!
Amidst this aforementioned chaos from sea-to-shinning sea, many Americans kept a media vigil on the eventual trial of George Zimmerman, the 'walk-about' Charles Bronson, Death Wish character who was charged with murdering a 17-year old 'Black' boy, Trayvon Martin. After much deliberating the jury returned a NOT guilty verdict. Even with the 'fuel charged' social media baiting segments of society, there appears to be a more civil nationwide reaction to this verdict as compared to the Rodney King and O.J. Simpson verdicts; much to the obvious dismay of our mainstream media, which begs for conflict and controversy. That attitude makes one's head swim. Perhaps the most positive influence on the post-trial prevailing-moods is the apparent Christian love and faith expressed by the Black youngster's parents.
On a personal note, our middle child and oldest daughter was in Jacksonville this past weekend celebrating her JHS Class of 1983, 30th Reunion. She spent the weekend with her sister, our youngest who is sending her last child off to college this fall.....talk about making a guy's head swim!!!
Excuse me while I go cut the lawn and not my wrists.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Stand Up or Give Up...A Simple Choice
I admire folks who 'stand' for some thing. Actually, I admire all people who step forward and publicly embrace ideas, beliefs and causes; even though those passions may be diametrically opposing views to that which I embrace. I may disagree but I shall tolerate 'rights' of every kind of thinking. I am saddened by the weak-kneed complainer who fears retribution or some negative 'fallout' from having public courage to stand and be COUNTED. 'Fear' is the greatest social-malady of the 21st century.
Please, if I may; I believe Jesus Christ died for our sins and thus our acknowledgment of Christ paves the way to forgiveness and eternity. Whatever it is that others may or may not believe (religiously), I accept as their right and I will defend that right. Personally,organized religions don't 'float-my-boat' because I notice too many who belong are 'long' on judgment and 'short' on tolerance.
Furthermore, I am a Democrat because I can identify with more platform-planks and tenants of that political ideology than those held by the conservative Republican Party. I am a social scientist with an eye on social issues; I am not a wall street guy worried about money. I believe the two-party philosophy differences make for healthy debate and the potential for positive resolutions I hold to one philosophy but appreciate the other.
Okay, why my public proclamations regarding religion and politics? I simply wish to 'stand-for-something.' I do not fear consequences for my thoughts and beliefs as long as I permit others the same freedom. What irritates me is folks who wish to change or correct something but choose to do so anonymously either because of the aforementioned retribution or their methods are less than honorable; those individuals fail to have my respect.
Let me illustrate...
A few weeks ago, I spoke out openly regarding the unwarranted parent-driven dismissal of a high school coach. Many telephoned or emailed expressing similar concerns and opinions but stated they could not 'go public' with their opinions for fear of a backlash on their kid. I say 'bull-butter.' The coach that got fired is somebodies kid! Another example: Recently, the Decatur Public School District was confronted with alleged illegal recruiting by one public school coach. I understand that the matter is under investigation; good. What I do not understand is the number of people who want to 'see' the issue cleaned-up but are scared shit less that their name may be draw into the confrontation. Give me a break...if we wish for wrongs to be righted then 'stand' for right or jump on the 'yellow-brick-road' with the Lion.
My wife and I recently saw the movie 'Heat,' staring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. McCarty's character is a tough, foul-mouth-speaking investigative inner-city cop. In one scene, she is upset with her Captain's lack of courage on a matter. She shouts repeatedly across a large office for all to hear, "Has any body seen the Captain's NUTS, they're very small and he's lost his NUTS."
I get it!
Please, if I may; I believe Jesus Christ died for our sins and thus our acknowledgment of Christ paves the way to forgiveness and eternity. Whatever it is that others may or may not believe (religiously), I accept as their right and I will defend that right. Personally,organized religions don't 'float-my-boat' because I notice too many who belong are 'long' on judgment and 'short' on tolerance.
Furthermore, I am a Democrat because I can identify with more platform-planks and tenants of that political ideology than those held by the conservative Republican Party. I am a social scientist with an eye on social issues; I am not a wall street guy worried about money. I believe the two-party philosophy differences make for healthy debate and the potential for positive resolutions I hold to one philosophy but appreciate the other.
Okay, why my public proclamations regarding religion and politics? I simply wish to 'stand-for-something.' I do not fear consequences for my thoughts and beliefs as long as I permit others the same freedom. What irritates me is folks who wish to change or correct something but choose to do so anonymously either because of the aforementioned retribution or their methods are less than honorable; those individuals fail to have my respect.
Let me illustrate...
A few weeks ago, I spoke out openly regarding the unwarranted parent-driven dismissal of a high school coach. Many telephoned or emailed expressing similar concerns and opinions but stated they could not 'go public' with their opinions for fear of a backlash on their kid. I say 'bull-butter.' The coach that got fired is somebodies kid! Another example: Recently, the Decatur Public School District was confronted with alleged illegal recruiting by one public school coach. I understand that the matter is under investigation; good. What I do not understand is the number of people who want to 'see' the issue cleaned-up but are scared shit less that their name may be draw into the confrontation. Give me a break...if we wish for wrongs to be righted then 'stand' for right or jump on the 'yellow-brick-road' with the Lion.
My wife and I recently saw the movie 'Heat,' staring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. McCarty's character is a tough, foul-mouth-speaking investigative inner-city cop. In one scene, she is upset with her Captain's lack of courage on a matter. She shouts repeatedly across a large office for all to hear, "Has any body seen the Captain's NUTS, they're very small and he's lost his NUTS."
I get it!
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Connect Emission Dots
Several months ago, I caught the tail-end of a television debate amongst six brain-surgeons, regarding the correlation, if any, between cell phone use and the incident of brain tumors. I like the tail-end of a debate; usually, folks make their best case when they conclude opinions. Unfortunately, this conversation-debate had all participants using the word, 'inconclusive.' I don't like the implication of that word. Had I spent the entire hour listening to this debate, I would have been 'pissed-off;' I expect winners and losers after debates.
Here is the debate in a nutshell: 'Is cell phone usage related to a higher incident of brain tumors?' These medical, brain surgeon-experts stated that studies were 'inconclusive.' I thought the moderator did a nice job when he asked the final question, "Do you folks (doctors) use cell phones?" Answer: "Only with an ear-piece," stated each doctor. NOW, I have my conclusion and I wish for those same folks who went ballistic over second-hand cigarette smoke to begin that same passionate campaign to have the guy seated next to me at 'Hooters' to go outside to talk on his cell phone.
Actually, I would never (personally) waste an hour listening to a debate about cell phone dangers. Look, for starters, we all know that cell phones emit a radiation just as an x-ray machine. That said, every time my dentist x-rays my teeth, he and the dental technician put a lead cover over my body and then both of them run like hell to the parking-lot just before I 'hear' a CLICK! Whoa, I do believe we have a conclusive- resolution!
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Read Carefully !
Yesterday evening, my neighbor hollered over the backyard fence to have me draw near for a 'funny' story. Seems as tho' he was recently at a local hospital ER to have a few stitches put in his hand when an 80+ year-old gent entered the ER with 'that' 4-hour Viagra side affect problem! Yes sir, it evidently happens. The story was entertaining mainly because the older fellow with the issue was openly telling everyone who would listen exactly what his problem was and how his 'girlfriend' was mad at him for leaving her to go to the hospital.
It reminded me of another similar 'off-the-wall' libido-enhancement saga. Perhaps three or four years ago, I was seated at a corner table at a local McDonald's, sipping my 'senior-coffee' and reading the USA Today, when a lady joined two other ladies at a nearby table. The woman began explain why she was late. Evidently, she spent much of the early morning hours with her husband at the hospital ER due to his excruciating abdominal pain. The lady continued with her tale loudly and began intermittent laughing. Seems her husband read an article that suggested that watermelon was some sort of aphrodisiac. It does, indeed.
The lady explained that after the ER doctor did several medical test to rule out various common abdominal problems, the gent told the doc and his wife that he may have eaten 'too much' watermelon. When the doctor asked how much watermelon he had eaten, the Casanova confessed that he had misread the article and instead of eating two-cups of watermelon, he had ingested nearly two whole melons! I had to leave McDonald's immediately because I could not contain my laughter hearing these ladies carry-on.
I was still giggling 'inside' my own stomach as I checked out of Kroger's and headed home with milk, bread, soda and of course, one small watermelon.
It reminded me of another similar 'off-the-wall' libido-enhancement saga. Perhaps three or four years ago, I was seated at a corner table at a local McDonald's, sipping my 'senior-coffee' and reading the USA Today, when a lady joined two other ladies at a nearby table. The woman began explain why she was late. Evidently, she spent much of the early morning hours with her husband at the hospital ER due to his excruciating abdominal pain. The lady continued with her tale loudly and began intermittent laughing. Seems her husband read an article that suggested that watermelon was some sort of aphrodisiac. It does, indeed.
The lady explained that after the ER doctor did several medical test to rule out various common abdominal problems, the gent told the doc and his wife that he may have eaten 'too much' watermelon. When the doctor asked how much watermelon he had eaten, the Casanova confessed that he had misread the article and instead of eating two-cups of watermelon, he had ingested nearly two whole melons! I had to leave McDonald's immediately because I could not contain my laughter hearing these ladies carry-on.
I was still giggling 'inside' my own stomach as I checked out of Kroger's and headed home with milk, bread, soda and of course, one small watermelon.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Increase Life Insurance for Coaches & Umpires
"Kill The Umpire" was a 1950, comedy movie staring the late actor, William Bendix. Recently, 'kill the umpire' was any thing but a comedy in Sao Paulo, Brazil. During a soccer match, (what else) an umpire ejected a player; the player begin to fist-fight with the umpire. The umpire pulled a knife (Brazilians obviously have concealed and carry laws) and he stabbed the player killing him. A mob of fans stormed the field, stoned to death the umpire and then quartered his body and stuck his head on a stick. America's youth sports programs are not that bizarre...yet; but give it time!
I spent my lifetime 'in sports!' I was a youth participant in East St. Louis where my parents told me to 'go play, have fun, hustle and listen to your coach.' I was a high school athlete and my parents, who evidently had 'some-sort-of-life' of their own told me, 'go play, have fun and listen to the coach.' I was a college athlete at Illinois State for four years and when I left for that higher institution of learning, my parents said, 'plan to have a job in four years'! I don't know what the hell happened to the charge, 'go have fun, etc.
For my entire playing career, I was told that sport would serve me long after I finished playing. Sport would 'build' my character and prepare me for life's challenges. I would learn how to work hard, dedicate to a cause, cooperate with teammates, follow instructions, sacrifice for others and be humble with success while learning and overcoming from setbacks. I believed all that stuff THEN and I believe ALL that stuff NOW. There is a problem, however! It is not the participant nor the mentor creating chaos, but the crazy-ass parents who have transformed into pathetic beings living vicariously through children's games and along the way undermining those sport values with criticism, jealousies, finger-pointing blame and angry outburst.
Today, we have many self-centered wannabes pretending to be athletes. They are coddled by 'hellicopter' parents who don't know their asses from a hole-in-the-ground when it comes to 'SPORT.'
In the USA, we have documented numerous acts of violence perpetrated at youth-sport events. With the proliferation of weapons being carried by the public, it is a matter of time when American soil is bloodied as was Sao Paulo, Brazil's.
I spent my lifetime 'in sports!' I was a youth participant in East St. Louis where my parents told me to 'go play, have fun, hustle and listen to your coach.' I was a high school athlete and my parents, who evidently had 'some-sort-of-life' of their own told me, 'go play, have fun and listen to the coach.' I was a college athlete at Illinois State for four years and when I left for that higher institution of learning, my parents said, 'plan to have a job in four years'! I don't know what the hell happened to the charge, 'go have fun, etc.
For my entire playing career, I was told that sport would serve me long after I finished playing. Sport would 'build' my character and prepare me for life's challenges. I would learn how to work hard, dedicate to a cause, cooperate with teammates, follow instructions, sacrifice for others and be humble with success while learning and overcoming from setbacks. I believed all that stuff THEN and I believe ALL that stuff NOW. There is a problem, however! It is not the participant nor the mentor creating chaos, but the crazy-ass parents who have transformed into pathetic beings living vicariously through children's games and along the way undermining those sport values with criticism, jealousies, finger-pointing blame and angry outburst.
Today, we have many self-centered wannabes pretending to be athletes. They are coddled by 'hellicopter' parents who don't know their asses from a hole-in-the-ground when it comes to 'SPORT.'
In the USA, we have documented numerous acts of violence perpetrated at youth-sport events. With the proliferation of weapons being carried by the public, it is a matter of time when American soil is bloodied as was Sao Paulo, Brazil's.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Bring on Labor Day
You know age is a consideration when you decide to 'watch 'fireworks' on the television while sitting in your favorite family-room chair. Still, I miss some aspects of the outdoor July 4th blast. I did not carry two lawn chairs a half-mile to perch on a grassy hillside and sit amongst thousands of profusely sweating families as folks passed mosquito repellent around and tolerated screaming kids. I also missed the much anticipated collective 'oohs and aaahs' after each sky-lighting explosion. As most Americans, regardless where independence day may be celebrated, I do appreciate our freedoms and always give a prayerful thanks to all who made sacrifices for those freedoms.
I recall fourth of July celebrations as a kid growing up in East St. Louis. Many neighborhood families headed to nearby communities to 'watch' fireworks. The general consensus was that by June 30, our East St. Louis politicians had 'stolen' any budgeted monies to purchase fireworks. July 4th offers a uniqueness in its own celebration. We have crowed the annual "Hot Dog Eating King' in American once again holding the world wide claim on obnoxious-gluttonous indulgence and we have tolerated dozens of singers adding words to the National Anthem in an attempt to give a personalized signature. When will we learn that 'MORE' is not better unless we are talking tapioca pudding!
Our next holiday celebration will be Labor Day. Now that was once a hellava holiday for 'blue-collar' East St. Louis folks. The thousands of union tradesmen were proud-parade marchers. In recent years, I think our massive Labor Day parades are held in China and Taiwan.
I am sure most of you readers, as I, got goose bumps watching the hot dog eating champ (ESPN) take his victory lap. Reminds me of the same USA pride I get watching film-clips of the great American Olympian, Jesse Owens carrying the American flag in front of Hitler. We Americans do have distinctive class.
I recall fourth of July celebrations as a kid growing up in East St. Louis. Many neighborhood families headed to nearby communities to 'watch' fireworks. The general consensus was that by June 30, our East St. Louis politicians had 'stolen' any budgeted monies to purchase fireworks. July 4th offers a uniqueness in its own celebration. We have crowed the annual "Hot Dog Eating King' in American once again holding the world wide claim on obnoxious-gluttonous indulgence and we have tolerated dozens of singers adding words to the National Anthem in an attempt to give a personalized signature. When will we learn that 'MORE' is not better unless we are talking tapioca pudding!
Our next holiday celebration will be Labor Day. Now that was once a hellava holiday for 'blue-collar' East St. Louis folks. The thousands of union tradesmen were proud-parade marchers. In recent years, I think our massive Labor Day parades are held in China and Taiwan.
I am sure most of you readers, as I, got goose bumps watching the hot dog eating champ (ESPN) take his victory lap. Reminds me of the same USA pride I get watching film-clips of the great American Olympian, Jesse Owens carrying the American flag in front of Hitler. We Americans do have distinctive class.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Say What You Mean; Mean What You Say!
A few years ago, I was asked by an East Coast high school athletics director if my speeches were 'power-point presentations.'
We agree that a speaker is an orator or lecturer of sorts and when he uses visual aids such as, videos, graphs and charts, his presentation is considered 'power-point.' This desire for the visual aid-laced communication should not surprise anyone. We now have a generation of adults who grew up tethered to video games, computers, iPhones, ipads, etc.
Whereas I also find the graphs, charts and other visual stuff to be useful, I would contend that a good speaker with a passionate message may not need any thing beyond his words to deliver the 'POINT.' I spent 37-years motivating young teenage boys to do stuff they did not wish to do and do the stuff well. Example: Be on time. Play hard all the time. Commit to physical demands of conditioning year round. Be unselfish. Be loyal. Please! The nature of the teen is self-centered and narcissistic; my words had to 'sell' the message and motivate the player into action. I believed then and believe today that successful sport teams have motivating leadership and those leaders can seal-the-deal with sound principles, simple approaches and motivating words.
Another guy who would not fit the bill for the East Coast athletics director's preconceived notion of a good 'speaker' would be Jesus Christ...He had some 'powerful points' to make but did not have a 'slide presentation.'
We agree that a speaker is an orator or lecturer of sorts and when he uses visual aids such as, videos, graphs and charts, his presentation is considered 'power-point.' This desire for the visual aid-laced communication should not surprise anyone. We now have a generation of adults who grew up tethered to video games, computers, iPhones, ipads, etc.
Whereas I also find the graphs, charts and other visual stuff to be useful, I would contend that a good speaker with a passionate message may not need any thing beyond his words to deliver the 'POINT.' I spent 37-years motivating young teenage boys to do stuff they did not wish to do and do the stuff well. Example: Be on time. Play hard all the time. Commit to physical demands of conditioning year round. Be unselfish. Be loyal. Please! The nature of the teen is self-centered and narcissistic; my words had to 'sell' the message and motivate the player into action. I believed then and believe today that successful sport teams have motivating leadership and those leaders can seal-the-deal with sound principles, simple approaches and motivating words.
Another guy who would not fit the bill for the East Coast athletics director's preconceived notion of a good 'speaker' would be Jesus Christ...He had some 'powerful points' to make but did not have a 'slide presentation.'
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
It's about Character Dumb Asses
Yesterday, I saw a television reporter stick a microphone in the face of a helicopter-pilot, who just executed an emergency landing of his copter (safely) in the Hudson River, asking the pilot, "Do you consider yourself a hero?". The pilot looked deadpan into the camera and said matter-of-fact, "I was just doing my job." Four passengers walked to safety.
Later that evening, I was watching an NFL program, which was showing 'highlights' of great touchdown runs. Most players scoring the touchdowns did some kind of end zone celebratory-dance thus keeping the T.V. cameras on the player; 'see me' was the obvious plea. I thought about the pilot and then I thought about Major League baseball hitters show-boating after a home run, defensive football players who strut about after sacking the runner. The NBA player who shows his ass with obnoxious taunting any time he dunks on an opponent or blocks the opponent's shot. And then I thought once again about the very humble helicopter pilot who is likely earning a substantially lower annual income than the self-centered arrogant athlete.
The past several days, one television network continues to advertise a coming 'new' show which will offer large sums of money to program participants who display bad public behavior, i.e., brush teeth at a restaurant table, rinse and spit water onto the floor or pick their nose in public; just to mention a couple of stunts. I conclude that in recent years' the onslaught of 'reality shows,' such as 'Bad Girls' and 'Jersey Shore' are apparently losing appeal to our countrymen and the need to spice things up with more and more vulgar 'Animal House' antics is needed on our T. V. airways. (And we wonder why adolescent bullying is such a major problem in school and on 'facebook.).
Please don't blame the media, the film entertainment industry or the educational system for our plummeting societal character-compass. Let's agree that our young people display poor manners and disgusting behavior because most parents are piss-poor at their responsibility of raising a good and well-behaved person.
My third grade teacher gave me a swat with a paddle (1947) and sent a note home explaining my behavior, which warranted the paddling and requested my parent to sign and return the note. My Father signed the note moments after he swatted me with his belt and told me not to bring anymore notes home from school; I never did misbehave at school again.
I am sure the helicopter pilot's parents were good at their parenting charge and you and I know damn well that many of the pro-athletes' parents get failing marks.
The great football running back, Barry Sanders was once asked why he did NOT celebrate in the end zone after scoring a touchdown. Sanders said there are two reasons why he did NOT do that: "First I wanted people to believe that I had been there before and secondly, I plan to be there again."
Later that evening, I was watching an NFL program, which was showing 'highlights' of great touchdown runs. Most players scoring the touchdowns did some kind of end zone celebratory-dance thus keeping the T.V. cameras on the player; 'see me' was the obvious plea. I thought about the pilot and then I thought about Major League baseball hitters show-boating after a home run, defensive football players who strut about after sacking the runner. The NBA player who shows his ass with obnoxious taunting any time he dunks on an opponent or blocks the opponent's shot. And then I thought once again about the very humble helicopter pilot who is likely earning a substantially lower annual income than the self-centered arrogant athlete.
The past several days, one television network continues to advertise a coming 'new' show which will offer large sums of money to program participants who display bad public behavior, i.e., brush teeth at a restaurant table, rinse and spit water onto the floor or pick their nose in public; just to mention a couple of stunts. I conclude that in recent years' the onslaught of 'reality shows,' such as 'Bad Girls' and 'Jersey Shore' are apparently losing appeal to our countrymen and the need to spice things up with more and more vulgar 'Animal House' antics is needed on our T. V. airways. (And we wonder why adolescent bullying is such a major problem in school and on 'facebook.).
Please don't blame the media, the film entertainment industry or the educational system for our plummeting societal character-compass. Let's agree that our young people display poor manners and disgusting behavior because most parents are piss-poor at their responsibility of raising a good and well-behaved person.
My third grade teacher gave me a swat with a paddle (1947) and sent a note home explaining my behavior, which warranted the paddling and requested my parent to sign and return the note. My Father signed the note moments after he swatted me with his belt and told me not to bring anymore notes home from school; I never did misbehave at school again.
I am sure the helicopter pilot's parents were good at their parenting charge and you and I know damn well that many of the pro-athletes' parents get failing marks.
The great football running back, Barry Sanders was once asked why he did NOT celebrate in the end zone after scoring a touchdown. Sanders said there are two reasons why he did NOT do that: "First I wanted people to believe that I had been there before and secondly, I plan to be there again."
Monday, July 1, 2013
Slip Sliding Away
The Roustio Family Reunion dynamics have changed drastically over its 64-year history. What began (1949) at Grand Marais State Park (East St. Louis), soon adjourning to Shilo Community Park (near Belleville, IL) and near Scott Air Force Base once held expectations of 150 people attending the annual festivities; yesterday's reunion numbered 44 folks. The up sides were great; plenty of good food and probably more visiting interaction than I have witnessed, at a family reunion, in years.
I was not the elder Roustio off spring in attendance; Mary Lou (Roustio) Arras took home those honors by a couple of birthdates. Of course the pressure was placed upon me to 'do something' to bring out the troops for next year's 65th Clan Gathering! I believe that I can coerce my immediate kin but I am going to need some help and imagination to motivate many others; I shall ponder upon the charge and give it a GO!
I have noticed a reoccurring emotional feeling the last two times that I have made the metro-east trek, which takes me by the assisted living home where my mother passed, the last two houses where my parents lived and the empty property where Roustio's Steak House once stood so prominently on route 157, Collinsville, Illinois. I also pass the nearby properties of several aunts and uncles as well as cousins who once joined the annual Roustio Family gala. That feeling, which overcomes me? I have a rush of claustrophobic-pressure upon my chest and throat causing a sensation that strongly suggests that I will not 'catch' my next breath. I feel as though I have lost both love ones and much of my personal documented history. There is but a handful of family living who could possibly attest to my totality. My journey and reminiscent stories can be shared with but a few; I am more than ever, isolated in my thoughts.
My response choices are limited. Those choices defined, I choose to push forward embracing the moment given and try my best to make some memories for those who show up June 29, 2014.
I was not the elder Roustio off spring in attendance; Mary Lou (Roustio) Arras took home those honors by a couple of birthdates. Of course the pressure was placed upon me to 'do something' to bring out the troops for next year's 65th Clan Gathering! I believe that I can coerce my immediate kin but I am going to need some help and imagination to motivate many others; I shall ponder upon the charge and give it a GO!
I have noticed a reoccurring emotional feeling the last two times that I have made the metro-east trek, which takes me by the assisted living home where my mother passed, the last two houses where my parents lived and the empty property where Roustio's Steak House once stood so prominently on route 157, Collinsville, Illinois. I also pass the nearby properties of several aunts and uncles as well as cousins who once joined the annual Roustio Family gala. That feeling, which overcomes me? I have a rush of claustrophobic-pressure upon my chest and throat causing a sensation that strongly suggests that I will not 'catch' my next breath. I feel as though I have lost both love ones and much of my personal documented history. There is but a handful of family living who could possibly attest to my totality. My journey and reminiscent stories can be shared with but a few; I am more than ever, isolated in my thoughts.
My response choices are limited. Those choices defined, I choose to push forward embracing the moment given and try my best to make some memories for those who show up June 29, 2014.
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