A few Sundays ago, I was perched in my usual 'back-row' seat in church when I gave notice to the many folks seated in front of me. It was apparent that there was a greater number of 'blue-grey-haired' older gals than 'grey-bald-headed' old boys. I understand that men and women born the same year will realize an approximate 7-year longer life-expectancy for the 'chicks' over the goats; still the disproportionate number of women to men in church was surprising.
Without any scientific data to support my theory, I toss it out to you nonetheless. People from my generation grew up 'thinking' differently than the generations in my rear view mirror. Let me explain. We 1950's fellas opened doors for the ladies and they allowed us to do so. Many of my contemporary couples found their prime work and child raising years with wives at home and men at work. After we retired and the kids were gone, the gals found a pleasant life in 'Red Hats,' bridge clubs, volunteer work and shopping. Contrary, we gents still have that radar-clock ticking inside, which tells us to get out of bed at 6 A.M. and DO SOME THING. That means clean the garage, tend to the yard or 'paint' some thing; anything! Simply put, the ladies know HOW to kick back and relax whereas we old fella-farts still measure our worth by building something or killing and skinning something. We empty our tanks quicker than the ladies...result?... more old gals in church than old geezers. Of, course there is another element to factor into the church-equation...men tend to be heathens and stay away from church.
I do think this will change with my grandchildren's generation. More and more women MUST work to make family-financial ends meet! Don't get me wrong, I have eight (8) granddaughters; I am all for women's right to work, equal pay etc. However, along with 'rights,' I have also noticed some gals now curse like men, smoke like men, dress and tattoo their bodies like the fellas; they'll likely forget how to enjoy retirement.
Emancipation always carries a price.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
Let's Fall In Love
I don't know about those 'fix-me-up' computer dating services but suffice to state, 40 million Americans use these dating services. It would appear to me that what was once 'happen chance' romance has now shifted to a more matter-of-fact yet calculated clinical experience.
These computer probability conclusions leave me cold and baffled. I cannot understand why anyone needs the costly service of statistical crunching-data to find a 'soul-mate.' Personally, I would doubt some 'outside' emotionless-data to render my interests, attractions and/or desires. I remember once when a computer was fed all kinds of statistical data about boxers Muhammad Ali and Joe Louis, two great heavy weight prize fighters from different eras, to determine who would win if they fought. If that is not totally stupid, I don't know what is!
I have no way of proving the following half-ass theory but I choose to toss it out there nonetheless. My children and grand children's generations have grown up in a visual-entertainment culture that asks 'nothing of the imagination. Our movies and television presentations leave nothing to imagine; we see horrific explosions, gaping gunshot wounds and mostly naked bodies showing much physical gyrations during love making scenes. There seems to be less required of the individual to conjure up possibilities. More and more people wish for instant pills to address maladies, food service 'out' and a click of the 'mouse' to deliver pronto information. Why not a 'click' to bring us our mate for a lifetime; well perhaps at least a few years before we click 'Divorced and Single Dating Service.'
An examination of my courtship offers the unusual by today's standards. I began hanging around Gerry Bischof and 'sitting' with her at the Friday night local theater when she was thirteen and I a mature older boy of 14. We dated for seven years, through the high school scene and married between my junior and senior years at Illinois State University. It is fair to say that we both felt a strong (early) physical attraction to each other however, I kept falling 'in love' with the girl that made me feel special and made me laugh. Fifty-three married years later, I still feel special and the extent to which she causes me to laugh is unbelievable. Our 'history' is our lifeline.
I am convinced that a computer would not necessarily match us and I think how sad the incredible loss.
These computer probability conclusions leave me cold and baffled. I cannot understand why anyone needs the costly service of statistical crunching-data to find a 'soul-mate.' Personally, I would doubt some 'outside' emotionless-data to render my interests, attractions and/or desires. I remember once when a computer was fed all kinds of statistical data about boxers Muhammad Ali and Joe Louis, two great heavy weight prize fighters from different eras, to determine who would win if they fought. If that is not totally stupid, I don't know what is!
I have no way of proving the following half-ass theory but I choose to toss it out there nonetheless. My children and grand children's generations have grown up in a visual-entertainment culture that asks 'nothing of the imagination. Our movies and television presentations leave nothing to imagine; we see horrific explosions, gaping gunshot wounds and mostly naked bodies showing much physical gyrations during love making scenes. There seems to be less required of the individual to conjure up possibilities. More and more people wish for instant pills to address maladies, food service 'out' and a click of the 'mouse' to deliver pronto information. Why not a 'click' to bring us our mate for a lifetime; well perhaps at least a few years before we click 'Divorced and Single Dating Service.'
An examination of my courtship offers the unusual by today's standards. I began hanging around Gerry Bischof and 'sitting' with her at the Friday night local theater when she was thirteen and I a mature older boy of 14. We dated for seven years, through the high school scene and married between my junior and senior years at Illinois State University. It is fair to say that we both felt a strong (early) physical attraction to each other however, I kept falling 'in love' with the girl that made me feel special and made me laugh. Fifty-three married years later, I still feel special and the extent to which she causes me to laugh is unbelievable. Our 'history' is our lifeline.
I am convinced that a computer would not necessarily match us and I think how sad the incredible loss.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Pure Hearts are Unfiltered
Our son, Steve has taught some twenty five or so years and has seen various grade-level assignments; most have been at the high school level. This year is the first experience teaching physical education to youngsters K-through-4; he is enjoying the change and having both belly laughs and shocking moments. Shall we agree that this age group is pure, honest, candid and unfiltered.
His students never gave much thought to their PE teacher's name, they feel perfectly happy calling out..."Hey, Jim Teacher!" Well, one young lad just had to have more information. Steve often has his class sing songs during calisthenics. On 'Jim Teacher's August 29th birthday, Steve told the students they were to sing 'Happy Birthday' to him. About the moment the first words rang out, the boy hollered loudly, "Hey, Jim Teacher, you gotta real name to put in this song?"
A fourth grade girl recently walked up her PE teacher and said matter-of-fact, "Mr. Jim Teacher, this is a lot of crap!" Steve quickly responded, "What is your problem, you shouldn't talk like that?" The little girl said, "Hey, Jim Teacher, I'm getting sick and tired of tying these kids shoes; I liked it better when I didn't know how to tie shoes!" (There is some hidden message in that comment regarding talents and responsibility-expectations).
One first grade boy thought physical education classes outside should offer the opportunity to relieve oneself at a nearby bush, 'like me and my Dad do at home.' "You ain't never whized outside with your Dad, Jim Teacher," asked the boy.
A couple days ago, Steve's PE class was doing exercises and responding to alphabet letters by shouting out a word using the letters. For example: H...happy, Halloween, hurt, etc. The letter 'P' was tossed out for play and the following ensued: Popcorn, Peanuts and suddenly an inappropriate word was shouted out...this 'P' word was not followed by cat / willow or foot; however, the little boy insisted it was a good word because his father uses the word a lot.
As the late entertainer, Art Linkletter said, "Kids say the darndest things!"
His students never gave much thought to their PE teacher's name, they feel perfectly happy calling out..."Hey, Jim Teacher!" Well, one young lad just had to have more information. Steve often has his class sing songs during calisthenics. On 'Jim Teacher's August 29th birthday, Steve told the students they were to sing 'Happy Birthday' to him. About the moment the first words rang out, the boy hollered loudly, "Hey, Jim Teacher, you gotta real name to put in this song?"
A fourth grade girl recently walked up her PE teacher and said matter-of-fact, "Mr. Jim Teacher, this is a lot of crap!" Steve quickly responded, "What is your problem, you shouldn't talk like that?" The little girl said, "Hey, Jim Teacher, I'm getting sick and tired of tying these kids shoes; I liked it better when I didn't know how to tie shoes!" (There is some hidden message in that comment regarding talents and responsibility-expectations).
One first grade boy thought physical education classes outside should offer the opportunity to relieve oneself at a nearby bush, 'like me and my Dad do at home.' "You ain't never whized outside with your Dad, Jim Teacher," asked the boy.
A couple days ago, Steve's PE class was doing exercises and responding to alphabet letters by shouting out a word using the letters. For example: H...happy, Halloween, hurt, etc. The letter 'P' was tossed out for play and the following ensued: Popcorn, Peanuts and suddenly an inappropriate word was shouted out...this 'P' word was not followed by cat / willow or foot; however, the little boy insisted it was a good word because his father uses the word a lot.
As the late entertainer, Art Linkletter said, "Kids say the darndest things!"
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Shame On 'Smart' Leaders
My, my this college education is expensive. I have one grandson that has a $42,000.00 annual college cost and three other grandchildren running a close cost race behind. I recall a few years ago when a granddaughter graduated from the U of I with a four-year total cost of $130,000.00. I remember how stressed she was when applying to the U of I even though, she had a 4.0 GPA and a 31 ACT score. She feared her grades and scores were NOT going to be good enough for admission. I coached several Division I basketball players who scored below 18 on the ACT and had perhaps a 'C-' average; oh, they were required to take a pre-entry 'Bridge Course Program.' I suppose the thinking is, a marginal academic high school student can be 'ready' for higher learning institutions if the all-America player engages a six-weeks summer academic-cram-course.
Each spring hundreds of thousands of high school students fall short of admission to prestigious universities due to grades and/or test scores while thousands of athletes, with sub-par grades and scores, get a fully paid education at those same institutions; all because of athletic skills. If the university sport team advances deep into post-season playoffs, the university makes millions off gate receipts, conference shares and television revenue monies. The irony of this transparent and irreverent arrangement should be disturbing to any organization and leader with the smallest of moral compasses. It is a bogus scam and swindle of the non-athletic collegian.
Many of these 'super' athletes never finish school but sign lucrative professional contracts. Other athletes fall short of the pro-payday and fail to graduate. The smart (non-athletic student) gets no financial help but pays the bulk of college overhead with their tuition and fees. I can guarantee you that the Duke University professor in research medicine is making much less than some head coaches and the chairpersons at Kansas University fall short of many coaches monthly check figures.
I understand the constitutional rights of a college athlete 'leaving' school early for that 'big' money deal. I do believe there should be in place the constitutional rights of Jack & Jill (average student) who bears the greater financial burden. I believe that an NCAA rule should be initiated requiring any athlete who signs a professional contract early, must be responsible for the 'financial-return' of all scholarship monies spent before leaving college. These 'returned' monies could help reduce the tuition cost for the kid who never dances in the end zone or butchers the Kings English in a post-game nationally televised interview.
Perhaps the return of educational money by the early departed student-athlete turned pro could establish a annual raffle drawing for all students facing heavy loan pay backs. We could call this the Professional Intercollegiate Sport Service Education Document. In the future, we would reference the program by the acronym, 'Pissed'.
Each spring hundreds of thousands of high school students fall short of admission to prestigious universities due to grades and/or test scores while thousands of athletes, with sub-par grades and scores, get a fully paid education at those same institutions; all because of athletic skills. If the university sport team advances deep into post-season playoffs, the university makes millions off gate receipts, conference shares and television revenue monies. The irony of this transparent and irreverent arrangement should be disturbing to any organization and leader with the smallest of moral compasses. It is a bogus scam and swindle of the non-athletic collegian.
Many of these 'super' athletes never finish school but sign lucrative professional contracts. Other athletes fall short of the pro-payday and fail to graduate. The smart (non-athletic student) gets no financial help but pays the bulk of college overhead with their tuition and fees. I can guarantee you that the Duke University professor in research medicine is making much less than some head coaches and the chairpersons at Kansas University fall short of many coaches monthly check figures.
I understand the constitutional rights of a college athlete 'leaving' school early for that 'big' money deal. I do believe there should be in place the constitutional rights of Jack & Jill (average student) who bears the greater financial burden. I believe that an NCAA rule should be initiated requiring any athlete who signs a professional contract early, must be responsible for the 'financial-return' of all scholarship monies spent before leaving college. These 'returned' monies could help reduce the tuition cost for the kid who never dances in the end zone or butchers the Kings English in a post-game nationally televised interview.
Perhaps the return of educational money by the early departed student-athlete turned pro could establish a annual raffle drawing for all students facing heavy loan pay backs. We could call this the Professional Intercollegiate Sport Service Education Document. In the future, we would reference the program by the acronym, 'Pissed'.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
No Longer a Home
My wife and I made a quick-trip to Glen Carbon/Edwardsville this Sunday past. The trip purpose was two-fold, we attended a Memorial Service for fifty-eight former residence of the Meridian Village senior living home who died this past year; my mother Lou was one. We arrived well in advance of the Chapel Service, which was scheduled at 2:45 P.M.; the additional time permitted Gerry and I to join my brother, Tom and his wife Vicky for lunch at Bella Milano's. The visit with my brother and his wife is always good.
The memorial service at the senior living facility marked the second time for me entering that building since my mother died. It remains somewhat difficult to return to the place that my mother called 'home' for nine years before her death. Mother Lou lived in Meridian's 'independent' quarters for the first seven years before declining health necessitated re-location in the 'assisted living' wing. The care was excellent those nine years.
The hallways hold many reminders of the numerous visits with mother. I would state without reservation that for the larger part, my mother was very strong and independent during the nineteen years she was required to live after my father's death. I know that her ninety-three year old body was ready to give up the struggles and painful maladies, which had invaded her. I believe she is at rest and peace and will have that 'life-eternal' of which she often spoke. My mind 'knows' it was time for her departure from this world my heart still yearns to hear her voice and feel the softness of her hands as she would frequently reach out and touch my face upon our goodbyes....'precious memories how they linger, how they ever flood my soul; in the stillness of the midnight precious memories unfold.'
I encourage everyone to reach out and make those connections with family. Those opportunities are NOT endless. Windows can close quickly and unexpectedly. Do all that you may so to never be facing that ugly feeling...woulda-coulda-shoulda.
The memorial service at the senior living facility marked the second time for me entering that building since my mother died. It remains somewhat difficult to return to the place that my mother called 'home' for nine years before her death. Mother Lou lived in Meridian's 'independent' quarters for the first seven years before declining health necessitated re-location in the 'assisted living' wing. The care was excellent those nine years.
The hallways hold many reminders of the numerous visits with mother. I would state without reservation that for the larger part, my mother was very strong and independent during the nineteen years she was required to live after my father's death. I know that her ninety-three year old body was ready to give up the struggles and painful maladies, which had invaded her. I believe she is at rest and peace and will have that 'life-eternal' of which she often spoke. My mind 'knows' it was time for her departure from this world my heart still yearns to hear her voice and feel the softness of her hands as she would frequently reach out and touch my face upon our goodbyes....'precious memories how they linger, how they ever flood my soul; in the stillness of the midnight precious memories unfold.'
I encourage everyone to reach out and make those connections with family. Those opportunities are NOT endless. Windows can close quickly and unexpectedly. Do all that you may so to never be facing that ugly feeling...woulda-coulda-shoulda.
Monday, November 4, 2013
I Will Not Fight It !
The 'fall back time change' has my sleep cycle messed up. Normally, I'm up at 5:30 A.M. each morning, you guessed, I am now up at 4:30 A.M. My wife yells at me as I leave the bedroom, "Don't be calling the kids or grandchildren for at least three hours!" I thus wonder around emptying de-humidifiers, waste cans, reading newspapers and writing these blogs.
Most of my blog writing is nonsense and the personal notes that I send to my adult children and grandkids is a lot of gobbledygook preaching, warnings and less than subtle messages about 'how' they should live; I suppose you could sum up my persona as not so much the fun-loving father/grandfather but, instead, the 'old pain-in-the-ass' relative you'd like to disown.
What is it about old farts, like me, who believe that they have something profound to impart to love ones and should they fail to do that they believe they have failed? Perhaps the most significant life lesson taught is to accept Christ as Lord and Savior, unless, of course you are Jewish, Muslim or Buddhist. I have my mother, Lou and maternal grandmother, Mammy to thank for this life's 'anchor.'
I understand that my children and grandchildren will face adversities and I suppose I believe that I need to give them some heads up preview and suggestions for overcoming. My personal firsthand observation about 'overcoming' came through an up close relationship with a father , who with a mere eighth grade education built a multi-million dollar enterprise in St. Louis and Dallas, Texas. Another individual from a distance showed me the true depth of resiliency; picking your 'knocked-down ass' up off the floor and soaring to greater heights. His name was Ron Stein. Stein was an all-state football, baseball and basketball player (1956) from O'Fallon high school (Illinois). Ron received a full athletic scholarship from the University of Illinois. The summer before he was to enter U of I, Stein was stricken with crippling Polio. Ron Stein played 'wheelchair' basketball at the University of Illinois and in 1960 he was a member of the USA Wheelchair Paraplegics Olympic Championship team. Yep, I've seen some folks overcome.
I also figured out the 'empowerment' factor. You know this one; believing that you CAN. This lesson was taught by many in my life. My family, teachers and coaches all kept pushing me with the same encouraging 'cheer,' you CAN help others, you can make a difference and you owe your talents (whatever they be) to other.
I reflect on themes I continue to preach and it is a simple message: Figure out who you are? (Talents/Passions) and what is your purpose? (Embrace a mission). Pay it all forward.
Most of my blog writing is nonsense and the personal notes that I send to my adult children and grandkids is a lot of gobbledygook preaching, warnings and less than subtle messages about 'how' they should live; I suppose you could sum up my persona as not so much the fun-loving father/grandfather but, instead, the 'old pain-in-the-ass' relative you'd like to disown.
What is it about old farts, like me, who believe that they have something profound to impart to love ones and should they fail to do that they believe they have failed? Perhaps the most significant life lesson taught is to accept Christ as Lord and Savior, unless, of course you are Jewish, Muslim or Buddhist. I have my mother, Lou and maternal grandmother, Mammy to thank for this life's 'anchor.'
I understand that my children and grandchildren will face adversities and I suppose I believe that I need to give them some heads up preview and suggestions for overcoming. My personal firsthand observation about 'overcoming' came through an up close relationship with a father , who with a mere eighth grade education built a multi-million dollar enterprise in St. Louis and Dallas, Texas. Another individual from a distance showed me the true depth of resiliency; picking your 'knocked-down ass' up off the floor and soaring to greater heights. His name was Ron Stein. Stein was an all-state football, baseball and basketball player (1956) from O'Fallon high school (Illinois). Ron received a full athletic scholarship from the University of Illinois. The summer before he was to enter U of I, Stein was stricken with crippling Polio. Ron Stein played 'wheelchair' basketball at the University of Illinois and in 1960 he was a member of the USA Wheelchair Paraplegics Olympic Championship team. Yep, I've seen some folks overcome.
I also figured out the 'empowerment' factor. You know this one; believing that you CAN. This lesson was taught by many in my life. My family, teachers and coaches all kept pushing me with the same encouraging 'cheer,' you CAN help others, you can make a difference and you owe your talents (whatever they be) to other.
I reflect on themes I continue to preach and it is a simple message: Figure out who you are? (Talents/Passions) and what is your purpose? (Embrace a mission). Pay it all forward.
Friday, November 1, 2013
This Congress May Like The Idea
My fellow Americans, (I always wanted to use that phrase), we can all agree that 'it has been a great run.' Starting with the Pilgrims, continuing with the westward expansion, the industrial revolution, space flight and high technology; we did ourselves proud. However, we need to face facts, things are going down the 'turlet.' Let's make a deal; let's sell the country. Here me out........................................
Many years ago, Arab nations got all pissed off over those Bob Hope & Bing Crosby 'road movies;' Road to Baghdad, etc, which made jokes about 'camel jockeys.' Many of those Arab adults today were the movie-goers back then...they're mad! Many are now terrorists doing that bombing thing...they're mad! The Mexicans never got over losing that war to America and now the descendants of Santa Ana are sneaking across our borders and screwing up our economy, schools and health care systems. (Note: We will acknowledge that our lawns 'look better' these days). The Chinese are now poisoning our pets with tainted 'beef jerky-treats.' Finally, the Middle Eastern countries never stop 'dicking' with fuel pump prices. It's time to sell. !
Mentally, revisit with me some recent events: Citigroup made a deal that garnered that institution billions of dollars and get relief from the mortgage crisis while many States have sold their highway toll-systems to Arab countries. Come to think of it, when was the last time you did business at a '7-11 Store' and someone greeted you in fluent English?? I rest my case; It's time to sell.
Stop and ask yourself a few simple questions: What do most Americans wish for in their lives? They wish to live away from people who 'look' different from them, have cheap gas, good barbecue sauce and plenty of cold beer. Therefore, we sell out. Sell all financial buildings, and school houses. We are going broke as a nation and our education system is 'leaving' children behind. If we sold our nation to the terrorists what motivation would they have to bomb that which they now own?
We should sell the country and request the same deal we gave the American Native Indians: Give us some free land, throw in some chickens and a milk cow, unlimited supply of Baby Rays Sauce, unlimited gasoline and an endless supply of beer-kegs for tailgate parties It would be nice to have a television set for Monday Night Football games or Camel Races; whatever becomes the national sport!
Many years ago, Arab nations got all pissed off over those Bob Hope & Bing Crosby 'road movies;' Road to Baghdad, etc, which made jokes about 'camel jockeys.' Many of those Arab adults today were the movie-goers back then...they're mad! Many are now terrorists doing that bombing thing...they're mad! The Mexicans never got over losing that war to America and now the descendants of Santa Ana are sneaking across our borders and screwing up our economy, schools and health care systems. (Note: We will acknowledge that our lawns 'look better' these days). The Chinese are now poisoning our pets with tainted 'beef jerky-treats.' Finally, the Middle Eastern countries never stop 'dicking' with fuel pump prices. It's time to sell. !
Mentally, revisit with me some recent events: Citigroup made a deal that garnered that institution billions of dollars and get relief from the mortgage crisis while many States have sold their highway toll-systems to Arab countries. Come to think of it, when was the last time you did business at a '7-11 Store' and someone greeted you in fluent English?? I rest my case; It's time to sell.
Stop and ask yourself a few simple questions: What do most Americans wish for in their lives? They wish to live away from people who 'look' different from them, have cheap gas, good barbecue sauce and plenty of cold beer. Therefore, we sell out. Sell all financial buildings, and school houses. We are going broke as a nation and our education system is 'leaving' children behind. If we sold our nation to the terrorists what motivation would they have to bomb that which they now own?
We should sell the country and request the same deal we gave the American Native Indians: Give us some free land, throw in some chickens and a milk cow, unlimited supply of Baby Rays Sauce, unlimited gasoline and an endless supply of beer-kegs for tailgate parties It would be nice to have a television set for Monday Night Football games or Camel Races; whatever becomes the national sport!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)