Unhoard Your Life

One of our most of basic instincts is to acquire things in life.

We get a job. 

We get clothes. 

We get money. 

We get material things. 

Then we get a place to put them into. 

We get more money.

Rinse and repeat.

We store the things we had already acquired.

We fill up our existence.

We run out of space.

Then what? 

We die.

Someone else has to deal with all of the things we acquired.

Some get tossed. 

Some get passed down.

Some get put into a box in some other space.

The cycle continues.

I am as guilty as anyone else in this life. 

I have an attic with stuff from years ago that I will never use again.  I have a foot locker containing things from my grade school years.   I have cases containing cassette tapes from my youth, and even from the days when I still had a car that could play a cassette tape.  I haven’t thrown them out.   I can’t play them on anything, but I can’t part with them.   I have stuff in my garage.  Broken bits and bobs that don’t belong to anything that works, but I haven’t thrown them away because, eventually I will fix them or find a use for them.   

No, I won’t.

I’m just as bad on a digital scale.   I have disks, drives, and files dating back to the Apple IIc era of technology.  I “try” to keep all the footage of gameplay I record for my YouTube channel as if I can reuse that footage for something else.  Multiple three or four terabyte drives sitting on a shelf.    I put quotes around the word try because, on occasion, the drives fail and I basically have a paperweight that lights up but does nothing else.

Look at video games, today.  You start out with nothing and then you have to acquire resources.   You get rewarded for getting things.  If you're like me, you hold onto things because even though you have no idea what they do, at some point, you may need them.  By the middle of the game, you are frantically looking to store things in your inventory or find uses for them because you have no more room.   Video games have mirrored my hoarding life or enhanced.  I'm not sure which.

Is it genetic?  Is it an illness?  Is it just laziness?

Well, the first thing you have to understand is that I am the child of a baby boomer, that ever aging generation that lived through the Great Depression and World War II.  They had to scrimp and save everything because there just wasn’t any money or materials during those times.  Everything was precious either from a KTLO (Keep The Lights On) perspective or because of the war effort.  My parents have a house full of things from the 60s through today and I do not relish the day I, along with my siblings, will have to go through it all.

The second thing you have to understand may also explain something about yourself if you find you have the same issue.   I tend to resonate from mnemonic devices.  I associate a time and place to listening to a song or a visual reference.  I can remember a memory from a smell or listening to a sound.  For me, the tactile response to seeing something from my past brings me back to that place better than just having to remember it.    Maybe it’s fear of aging.  Maybe it’s fear of mental deficiency in my later years. 

Maybe I am just lazy.

But I am getting better.  In fact, I have done a lot of junk dumping.   When I first moved into my house, I could actually park a car in the garage.  Then, slowly, over the next 12 years, things got shoved into every space in that garage until you could only walk a small path from the door to the back, after moving a garbage can or two.  Along one wall were cardboard boxes, just tossed on top of each other.  I planned to use those for building fires in my wood burner or fire pit outside.   Well, I quit using the basement because the cats basically took over the downstairs (i.e. destroyed) and the place needs redone, so no more fires and no renovating until they are gone.    The other side of the garage was basically things that just got shoved there.   After a horrible set of rainstorms this summer, the garage flooded and the place reeked of wetness and mildew.   So, shit got tossed.   All of the cardboard boxes were broken down and consolidated into one giant box.  Three weeks’ worth of garbage collection took care of all the bags that were filled.  Now, while I still can’t get a car in there, I can move freely about and it’s more organized and I should have no problems in the event of another flood as there is ample space for water to reach the drains if need be.  Not, that I want that to happen, but nature sometimes dictates these things, not you.

My daughter’s room was another sore point.   Now, I am totally ashamed in how this played out but it happened and I can’t change that. 

When she was born, we had her nursery all done up and just adorable.  As far as renovations go, I was quite pleased with myself for being able to do what I had done.  I hate painting and I suck at these kinds of room things, but it really worked out, well.  But, she didn’t stay a baby or toddler very long.  That tends to happen with humans, they grow up.   Yet, we still kept all the things; toys, clothes, furniture.  It all stayed in that room and soon, you couldn’t find anything.  You couldn’t walk.  You couldn’t sleep.  At the age of six and even seven, my daughter still slept on the mattress that came from her crib.   The crib itself became a day bed, but the mattress and frame remained in the same shape, basically, as the day she came home from the hospital, minus the front railing.  And you could not walk in her room without stepping on something.  You could not open the door all the way.   It was horrible and I didn’t have to sleep in there, so it didn’t get fixed for a long time. 

But, it got fixed. 

The crib was dismantled and stored in the attic.  A new bed was bought and all of her childhood things, like toys or clothes were thrown out, packed away, donated, or repurposed.  It was now the bedroom of a bright young girl who has room to move and grow and it’s not done, but it’s headed in the right direction.

The attic is another sore point but it’s on the list.  My room is just the same but it’s somewhat better than it was three years ago.   The rest of the house is slowly making a comeback and it’s hard and it takes time.   It also took something else.   It took someone else.

You see, my whole world crashed and burned in 2012.   I haven’t talked much about it or about anything else, really, because like this blog, my life became neglected.    

My marriage ended.

But that’s not what caused everything to go to hell in that house.   That’s what changed it all.  

Now, it’s not what happened during my divorce that’s important.  My ex-wife and I are still friends.  We live five minutes from each other.  We are still parents.  For the sake of our daughter, we swallowed any feelings of animosity or anything we had for each other and made it easier on her.   But, the things that didn’t get easy were undoing all the damage that had been done to our lives, by ourselves.  I still live in the house and it still has so many things from our life together in it.  So, it’s hard for us to un-hoard our lives because of all the moving parts.    Ashamedly, for a year, my daughter had to share a bed with me every weekend because her room was unlivable and maybe it was depression that was keeping me from getting my ass in gear to fix it, but it got fixed because someone, other than me, stepped in and helped.

That’s the key to un-hoarding.   You need someone who isn’t going to be a ‘yes’ man or woman.  You need someone to make you make a decision and then question that decision.  It also helps because you don’t get caught up in the trips down memory lane when half of the work is being done by someone who can keep things out of your hands.   There were times I stopped to reminisce over a onesie or a toy.   But, the fact that someone else is there helping you makes you feel more productive and… somewhat guilty that they have to help with all this work. 

You need a support system that isn’t going to say, “Aww, I know how you feel.  We’ll just keep a few things.”

No.  Kick it in the ass.  You’ll feel better.  

Remember, your kid isn’t going to be a baby again.  Someone else can use it or it can be discarded, properly.  Get rid of it.  

You’re never going to suddenly reconstruct that teapot that shattered into 15 pieces.  I don’t care how much Super Glue you use.   Get rid of it.

And then buy that person dinner or drinks or help them back.  It’s easier to throw something out when it’s not your stuff.  Just like it’s easier to move someone when it’s not your stuff.

Take back your life so someone else doesn’t have to when you’re gone.

If you live to be a grand old age, you should probably pare down to just the essentials.

Acquire memories.  Acquire friends.  Get rid of all those things you cannot use. 

Un-hoard your life.

A Letter To My Daughter For When She's Old Enough To Date

I am writing this in protest because you will never be allowed to date.  But I know you will, so I better at least acknowledge it.

When I was younger and thought about the eventuality of having kids, I always wanted a son.  I know that's a really bad outlook.  It's just that I didn't understand girls.  I still don't.  I just figured it would be easier, ya know.

And even while you were still unborn and camera shy at the sonograms, I thought, "Maybe it will be a boy.  You never know."  I'd drive around in the car and have these philosophical discussions, with an empty backseat where you'd one day be, dispensing all my worldly knowledge about whatever it is I'm supposed to know at my age.  Guess what?  It isn't much.  When I say "I don't know" to you, I really don't know the answers.

But, when you were actually born and I held you, knowing full well you were a girl, I died that day.  I died and in the ashes was a rebirth of a man.  And this man was a father of a beautiful baby girl and he was never more in love with any creature on this Earth than you.  My heart hurt so much with love that I couldn't breathe.  And I was scared, too.  What the hell was I going to do with a girl, turn her over and say, "Yep, she's yours... figure out, other woman"?  Was I going to lock you up from the world and hope that a boy wouldn't dare take one step onto our lawn?

No, I couldn't do any of that because I wasn't always going to be able to.   My biggest problem in life is that I've tried to just solve the issues in our lives and not actually let someone figure them out themselves.   Instead of giving a general idea of what needs to be done, it was just easier for me to say, "Just give it here."  I can't be the answer for everything, so you need to know how to take care of yourself.  That's why I am so damn hard on you all the time.  That's why I constantly say take a hands off approach and try to let you figure certain things out.  Turns out, it works to a fault.  You're smarter than me and can do more than I ever could at your age and it gets you into trouble when you shouldn't attempt certain things.

So, in about a decade, you're going to attempt something else that I can't control or figure out.  Dating.

It's something I never could do right, then, and I still can't, now.  It's probably why I didn't do it that often, when I was a teen, and pretty much gave up on trying to figure it out when I got out of college.

In that way, I can't give you advice on how to date or how to find love.  That's something else you'll have to figure out on your own, and with any luck, you'll be better at than I was.  I pretty much know you will be, so no worries.

But, what I will say to you is something someone once told me about this kind of thing.

Be in something extraordinary.  Don't settle.  If they're not the best person for you, then you shouldn't be with them.  But remember this, too.  Guys don't know anything more than you do.  So, you have to be careful, but you also have to be better.

Now, I've made it as a personal mission to make sure you don't grow up just being a girl.  If you choose the tea parties and princesses route, I won't love you any less.  But, I know you, and you're rough and tumble just as much as you are tiaras and tutus.  I've hated how gender biased toys are in this world and you can be a scientist or a beauty queen with equal chance for success.  But what you need to realize is that with boys, we are pretty much stupid.  We need things spelled out for us but don't think we don't like you because we don't say it.  Sometimes we're just afraid you'll laugh at us.  So, give us a chance to show you before you break our hearts.

Also, don't let a boy hold the door for you, if he wouldn't do it for anyone else who isn't a girl.  Don't let him pick up the check if it means that much to pay your own way.  But talk about it.  Let him know why you would rather him not, if you so choose.  Then, let him pay anyway, just so he knows it's not an invitation for anything else.  You're not obligated to do anything.  You are far too independent to be coddled and even though chivalry is a nice concept, you are certainly no one's damsel in distress.

Definitely don't let a guy treat you badly and don't ever accept that you deserve it.  Just as you should never treat a guy that way.  As I have tried to raise you to be just as equal in strength and character as a boy, they are just as sensitive and vulnerable as girls.  But there are some men AND WOMEN out there that feel that people should be treated a certain way for whatever reason and it's not right.  You will never happiness at the receiving end of a harsh word or fist.  Also realize that it works both ways, too.

Be clear with a boy, because chances are more of them are going to fall madly in love with you than you will with them.  If you're not into them, let them know up front.  Be decent enough to explain that you don't feel that way.  Believe me, it will be a lot easier on the both of you let him down easy and early.   If not, he might shower you with praise and affection until you want to crawl out of your skin and he won't understand why it's not working.  Worse yet, he might overstep boundaries because he felt you were a tease.  I just don't have the money to bail you out of jail when you kick his ass for stepping over the line.

If you like a boy, and there's a chance he likes you, tell him.  Don't play games.  Don't make him pass tests and try to figure out his intentions.  The worst thing that ever happened by telling someone how you feel was for them to not return the sentiment.  No harm. No foul.  It's embarrassing and will probably hurt for a bit, but being honest is better and you might find it works a lot more.

Oh, boy... when it comes to um... being intimate....OK, man, pull it together, respect yourself.  I cannot stop you from having physical needs and I just hope you are safe and healthy about it.  Don't ever, EVER, think that you will make someone love you more because you give into them physically.  If you are not ready, then you are not ready.  And, don't pressure them because you think that they need to show you how they feel by being intimate.   And this will probably get me in trouble because, well, I'm a guy and it's still different, but you can say no at any time and it's not wrong to do so.  Any man worth your time will immediately understand and comply.

However, understand that even though you have every right to say no, that word may fall on deaf ears.  It's not you, it's them.  You should never be ashamed for being who you are, but sometimes, people are assholes and usually, it's someone you trust.  Don't ever forget that no matter how strong you are, there is always someone stronger.  I will never blame you for something happening, but you cannot expect everyone to be the best possible person in every scenario.  That being said, I will go Liam Nesson on their ass.  Just understand that you have a power that isn't fully quite understandable by you or others who are interested in you.

And eventually, you will probably find yourself with someone you love enough to want to marry.  For all that is decent and holy, let's not have a huge wedding.  I mean if you really want one I will do whatever I can to give it to you but realize that your wedding day is never for you.  It's always for other people.  It's for a DJ or band to be heard.  It's for a photographer to add to their portfolio.  It's for a caterer to drum up business.  It's for family and friends to share in your day or get free food and drink at the cost of a crock pot.   If you want a day for you, do whatever it is that makes you happy.  And that means finding someone who makes you happy, too.

Find someone who you will never get tired of in life.  Find someone who surprises you every day with something new and unexpected.  Find someone who will fight with you as much as for you.  Find someone who isn't afraid to cry because you hurt them or astound them.  Find someone who makes your heart break just like you broke mine on that very first day.  Find someone who pushes you to be better and will be better because of you.  Find someone you can talk to about anything.  Find someone that doesn't just like everything you like but likes their own things and appreciates that you like yours.  And be the same way.  You don't have to adopt every little thing they love, just love them for loving it.

And for all the love in the world, find someone you love as they are, not as you want them to be.  Don't try and change someone.  Don't try and save someone.   Find the man you want, not the man you need.  Because, quite frankly, you don't need a man.  You need a partner.  You need a teammate.  You need an anchor.  You want a love.  You want a family.  You want someone to complete you.   You want to find someone that even when they are at their worst, they are still better than everyone else.  You want someone that even when the world falls apart, they will be right there with you and you'll both save each other.  You want someone extraordinary.  You want someone better than me.  You need that, too.  But, no matter who you pick, they are the lucky one.  Because you picked me once and I am the luckiest man on Earth and I will always love you no matter who you love: man, woman, or whatever.

Just do it all after I'm dead.  OK?  Because the day you come home and tell me you're in love, it will probably kill me. 

I love you sweetie.

 

Rust Butt

If you were a modern day scientist or astronomer and went back in time to the Renaissance or even ancient Greece, imagine how silly explanations for every day events would sound. After all, Aristotle thought that maggots spontaneously generated from rotting flesh. And even in Gallileo’s time, there was debate on whether sun revolved around the Earth or vice versa.

But, you don’t have to be a scientist or a time traveler to enjoy the hilarity of how simple things are explained by someone not sure of what is actually happening. You just need to have a kid nearby.

I give you, my daughter’s explanation of rust butt. Now, to set this up, I have to explain that last August we went to a local park with a giant metal slide. It’s pretty well known in the area. To ride it, people usually take wax paper or cardboard to keep from cut down on the friction. On her first trip down the slide, my kid lost the wax paper and managed to get the equivalent to an Indian Rug Burn on her ass. She waited seventh months to come up with this theory.

Daugter: “Remember when we went down the giant slide and it rained?”
Me: “Yeah.”

Daughter: “I actually know how that happened.”

Me: “What?”

Daughter: “I know how my butt got all red.”

Me: “OK. How?”

Daughter: “Well, the slide was made of metal and my butt was wet. (from the rain) And water and metal don’t go well together, so my butt was red because it rusted.”

She’ll be up for the Noble prize in physics by third grade, I’m sure of it.

With Three You Get Wonka

As a parent, it’s my responsibility to ensure my child’s safety.   That usually means protecting her from the biggest threat to her safety, herself.   In reality, I’m not so much protecting her for her own well being, but my own sanity.   If she’s not in trouble, it’s one less mess I have to clean up at the end of the day.

However, as a parent, it is also my job to teach her how to reason and how to discern right from wrong.  In doing that, I give her three chances.  The first two are me warning her that the wrong choice will have consequences.  Consequences that she will ultimately be responsible for bringing upon herself.  The third time, she gets Willy Wonka.

Now, I’m not saying that she gets a candy bar or that she gets a viewing of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  I’m saying that my attitude towards her choosing to do the wrong thing will result in my letting her do it and explaining why she was wrong afterwards… Oompa Loompa chorus, notwithstanding. 

Willy Wonka can be seen as a lot of things: crackpot confectioner, crazy chocolatier, even sadistic salesman.  The one thing he isn’t is a helicopter parent.    We live in a world where we take away the prospect of winning at competitions in order to spare our little snowflakes the harsh reality of failure.  Soccer games.  We give everyone a trophy and say good game.   Are we really surprised when they grow up to be unable to handle rejection?

Willy Wonka gives them a warning and then he lets them go, usually ending his warning with, “Don’t. Stop. Come back.”   He lets the behavior happen.  He doesn’t interfere with the potential of a bad person doing bad things.  Failure is essential in order to learn where we went wrong.  In that realization we make strides to correct the action that caused the failure. 

In the end of Roald Dahl’s book, the losing children do not die, they are returned to their nasty, rotten, selfish old selves, but perhaps they are a bit wiser.    They are not returned to their former states, because consequences have permanent results.  You cannot “unring” that bell.

Now, my intentions are not always good natured.  My child does her fare share of bad things and I sometimes want her to fail in order to understand why shouldn’t make those decisions.  I would never purposely put my child in harm’s way and often times I continually repeat myself by saying, “stop jumping off that” or “don’t swing your arms in a circle near there.”  I know my own lack of grace and agility and recognize those same defects in my kid.  I’m trying to save her a broken leg.    Usually, the things I let her fail at are not listening to us when she should in reference to cleaning up her room or getting something as a reward like a trip to PetSmart (just to look) or McDonald’s (to play).

But, in most cases, she gets two warnings and then after that, she gets Wonka.

"Good Day Sir."
Available from Skreened.

WUMF: September 2012 Edition

OK... so, I've been distracted lately with stuff.   It's kept me from regularly posting, and I'm still late on my Labor Day travels post,  but the culmination of a few things have led to another thrilling edition of WUMF!


The Replacements
We all know that the replacement refs suck.  Fine.  But really, does the NFL care?  No.  You know why?  Because even bad publicity is good publicity.  Was it a bit petty that the league did not cave until the blown Green Bay/Seattle game??  Yes.  But the league generates a billion dollars. Even though the regular refs get like six figure incomes for working half the year and first class airfare, that's a still a huge disparity. 

Yet, it kind of backfires when the biggest names in team ownership see their games impacted by the botched calls.  The Krafts, who own the Patriots, and the City of Green Bay, which pretty much own the Packers both had games with controversial end game calls, resulting in losses for them.  That might be why the talks finally resumed and came to a conclusion.  So, now, we can get back to bashing the regular refs for blowing calls.  At least we get to see the Hochuli pythons signaling touchdown or holding.  Flex them you douche.  Flex them all the way to the bank.

SPPPPOOOOOON!
If you know what that's from you'll know what the hell I'm talking about. On Sunday, my wife was about to give our five year old a bath when she noticed what looked like a blackhead on her back.  Turned out to be a tick.  I looked at it for a second and just said, "Eff it!"  I pulled it out.   I managed to get it all out, intact.  It sat on my finger nail looking at me, wiggling.  So, I flushed it.

In hindsight, I should have saved it.   We took her to the pediatrician on Monday and they actually wanted to hire me to do tick removals.  Seems to be OK.  They gave her an antibiotic to treat a sinus infection and after three days, the bite is hardly noticeable.   No, "Bullseyse", as it were.   We'll keep an eye on her, though.

Now, we have some woods around our house, but we don't go near them.  In fact, on Sunday, we were only outside to go to the store, and then she was outside with m for about twenty minutes while I grilled steaks.  She played on her swing.  She didn't go anywhere near brush.  So, I don't know if she got it then, or if those damn strays passed it along.  That situation is getting ridiculous.

Slenderman
The other reason I haven't been posting is that I got sucked into watching these videos.  For those of you who do not know.  Slenderman was part of a competition on the Something Awful forums.  The task was to doctor up some photos to make it look like some scary phenomena.   The result was this thing that looked like a cross between the Gentlemen from Buffy, and a sperm.  Go look him up.

Anyway, it turned into an ARG, which is an alternate reality game where a group of people started posting videos like they were found footage.   Under the guise of making a "Student Film" called MarbleHornets, a friend is given a bunch of tapes from the production and is told to "burn them".  Of course, you can't do that, so the person starts watching them and posting them as entries online.  What happens is that you see strange things like video and audio distortion, shapes, SLENDERMAN!

You get sucked in, even though you know the whole thing is fake, just because they capitalized on the thing that made Blair Witch so popular 12 years ago. There is no explanation for why it's happening and that's part of the fun.  You hardly see the monster.  Of course, when you do, it's so badly constructed, but still, it creeps you out a bit.   After three years and 60 some entries, it's gotten a bit ridiculous, but damnit if I won't watch every single one of them.  There's even free video games online surrounding the hilarity.

Hitchcock was really good in using fetishistic scopophilia in films like Rear Window and Psycho.  That's when you are entertained by watching others' as in the case of Norman Bates looking at Marion Crane through the peep holes or L.B. Jeffries looks at his neighbors across the courtyard.   But what really ratchets up the excitement or terror is when you are simply observers, unable to control what's happening.  You simply sit and watch something.  In the case of the MarbleHornets videos, you are given a POV (Point of View) experience and the person filming takes you along on for the ride, passive and unable to control what is happening in the frame.

Gaming from Point A to Point B

I’ve said before how much I am a gamer with no time to game. Back when the world was simpler and I was not obligated to have a job or do a lot of chores I could partake in long-ass sessions of point and click, hack and slash, get lamp, and pew pew. Ah, 1987. How I miss you. But in today’s harsh reality, I have a five year old, a job, chores, and no time to game.

Those days of cruising around Daventry and evil scientist’s mansions looking for damsels in distress are gone, replaced with rescuing my daughter from the clutches of the evil monsters under her bed. The Saturday afternoons of swinging through the jungles looking for money bags and diamond rings are over as I am more inclined to look through the couches for the TV remote in order to put on something I will watch in the few minutes I get the television to myself. The nights of building cities from small towns have vanished as I put out the garbage and try to keep the roof over my head from buckling.

But, as a father who has no desire to grow up, I still find whatever time I can get to do a little button mashing. When my daughter was just about to turn one, I bought "Grand Theft Auto IV". Now, I am a huge fan of the series. I actually made the decision to buy a PS2 just so I could play "GTA III" back in 2002. So, nothing infuriated me more as when I had just got my daughter down for a nap and was all prepared to launch into "GTA IV" and that stupid glitch thing happened. Flash forward three years later, and I haven’t finished the game. Now, she’s old enough to understand what’s happening on screen, so she can’t even be in the same room if I were to play it. Pretty much my life has been relegated to watching Qubo or Nick Jr. If I do manage to steal some time to play my PS3, she comes bounding down into the man cave and I am forced to quit because she wants to watch.

But, it’s not all bad. She likes watching me play games and she really wants to participate. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have the coordination to handle a sixaxis very well. However, I plan to raise her as a gamer, but in doing so, she needs proper training. She has a Fisher Price iXL, so she has the stylus thing down. Now, we need to work on her ability to handle a controller. We can’t move too fast though, she needs to learn the basics. So, we’ll start with Atari 2600 games. One button, one stick. After all, learning to play video games without first playing on an Atari 2600 is like being taught how to win an All Valley Karate tournament with a stupid, blockable move like the Crane Kick but never being taught to paint a fence first. After that, we’ll move onto NES games and then Playstation and PC games. I would like her to appreciate the evolution of gaming and how even the simplest of games like Tetris can be entertaining and addictive.

In truth, I will look forward to her becoming a gamer as she grows older. She already has an interest in watching me play "Minecraft" and at the right age, when she can master keyboard and mouse, I plan to set up a server on a desktop and the two of us will build worlds together, just like we build skyscrapers and dinosaur compounds with her foam blocks. I’m laying the foundation, as it were.

Look at the landscape of games, per my analogy, Atari’s "Adventure" would be analogous to something like say "Skyrim"… maybe. I know that’s a stretch but I was thinking about the whole “Arrow to the knee” in that the sword in "Adventure" is basically and arrow like on a keyboard. Actually, you could probably draw a line from "Adventure" through "Zelda" to "Skyrim". Just like you could draw a line from "Pong" to "Wii Table Tennis". "Dodge ‘Em" to "Need for Speed"? I give up.

In any case, I’m bringing her up right. Then maybe I’ll bring her up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, Start.

The Ruination Of Easter or How I Can't Win With My Kid

Here’s a little tip for all you parents out there just getting into the threes and fours with your children.  Expect the ruination of any holiday by your own hand.

On Good Friday, while my wife was at work, I took on the task of coloring eggs with my daughter. I set it all up and let her have at it and she did a really great job. She colored 2/3 of the eggs all by herself. She put the eggs in the cup and put them on the rack to dry. No parental mucking up of the process.  It was because of that self sufficiency that made it horribly apparent that this would all end in tears.

See, after Easter is over. Those eggs need to be dealt with in some manner. You either use them or throw them away.

Personally, I’d rather use them. Chef salad and egg salad sandwiches are a wonderful use of hard boiled colored eggs. Unfortunately, they are also the last fates a four year old wants to see beset upon her prized colored eggs.

Last Wednesday was the day of eggs-ecution. I had hoped to do it in secret but unfortunately, my child is nosy and has to be involved with everything regardless of what kind of exploration Dora is doing at the time.

I pulled the carton out and began to peel the eggs. There was some initial begging and pleading for the eggs on her part. There was even some bargaining for a commuted sentence. I even think she promised to be a good girl at one point. Alas, dinner would wait for no one, not even the sobs of a four year old.

She fled to the safety of her bedroom and wet her pillow with the sobs and wails of someone who just watched their child put to death for the amusement of others. All her hard work, the accomplishment of coloring the eggs by herself, destroyed by the hand of the father. It was almost a tragedy of Greek or Biblical proportions.

Eventually, the cries of anguish subsided, replaced with the sounds of snores. She had cried herself to sleep, the poor thing. And in an hour, she was awakened for dinner and the sobs and ire for her father resumed.

But, I was to not be outdone by my wife who placed her bunny crazy straw in the dishwasher this past weekend. She straightened that bitch out… and I’m talking about the straw.

As I sat there, waiting for karma to free me from the guilt of being made the hand of fate against those eggs last week, I was given the cold shoulder and my daughter said, “It’s OK mommy. It was an accident.”

I hate holidays.

Four Seasons To a Four Year Old

Bailey on Christmas Morning

Twice a week, I pick my daughter up from the petri dish that is Kinder Care.  This is where she got the stomach flu from last week.  Apparently, there were four cases prior to hers and we just found out about them today. 

On our drive home we discuss what she did that day and I ask her, "Were you good, today?"  to which she replies, "Check the sheet, Daddy."  

She's four. 

She then asks if I brought her Bunny Milk, better known as Nestle's Quik.   I tell her that I came straight from work and didn't have time to stop and get some from home.   She gets a little upset and doesn't understand why I don't automatically have some on me when I drive the hour long commute from the other side of Pittsburgh. 

She's four.

She asks all kind of other questions like why it's dark or daylight outside when I pick her up.  Since late November, I've explained that it gets darker at an earlier time during the Fall and Winter, and in the Spring and Summer, it stays daylight longer.  This baffles her. 

She's four.

So, here it is the second month of Winter and it's starting to stay lighter, later, and she asked why.  I told her again about the seasons and then asked her if she knew what the seasons were called.

She said, "Um, Halloween?" 

She's four.

"No,"  I said,  "That's a holiday in a season."  I then called out the seasons and asked if she knew what was the first season of the year was. 

"Winter!"

"Correct!  Now what comes after Winter?"

"Halloween!"   She exclaims.

She's four.

"No.  Honey, look..."  I then began sounding out the first syllable of Spring and she got it.  Then we moved onto Summer and after sounding out the first syllable, she got that right.  Then, she got Fall very quickly and back to Winter.   I then asked her if she knew what came after Winter, again.

"Halloween?"  She asked. 

She's four.

"They just keep repeating.  Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall.  Got it?  There's four.  OK, now, which comes after Winter?"

"Daddy, let's just focus on the bunny milk, OK?"
 
She's four...

Class dismissed.

Shed No Tears For Your King. The PSU Scandal

Let's face it.  I am not going to be able to get to my Vegas trip without at least venting a little about the Penn State scandal.  I can't ignore it.  It can't be unseen.  So, here's my thoughts, for what it's worth.

I'm appalled.  Simply and utterly appalled.  And, unfortunately, a lot of my post will be about the one person who stands out more than everyone involved, Joe Paterno.  He shouldn't.  The case is against Sandusky.  Sandusky is the monster.  Everyone else simply enabled him to do what he did.  And lionizing Parterno or vilifying him does nothing to help ease the victims' pain and suffering.  They are truly lost in all of this media circus.

I did not go to PSU.  I was a Pitt grad.  Now, before you flame me for making this a Pitt vs. PSU thing, understand this.  I hold no loyalty to Pitt athletics.  I hold no loyalty to college athletics at all.  In fact, I am disgusted by the entire entity known as the NCAA.  They are a corporation who makes money off of collegiate athletics.  Pure and simple.  Regardless of whether they uphold standards of morals or values about sportsmanship or whatever, above all, they are in business to make money.  If not, they wouldn't be licensing all of their gear with the logos and player likenesses to EA sports or other profitable venues. 

That being said, what happened last year at OSU... and chew on this, I will never refer to OSU as THE Ohio State University.  Once again, it's not a Pitt thing, it's just simple pretentiousness.  I don't care if it says "THE" in the logo, the charter, whatever document you want to march out.  It's Ohio State University or OSU.  End of THE story.  Anyway, that whole debacle last year over player compensation, lying, whatever, just proves that the NCAA is just as corrupt as any other corporation that is greedy.   They mete out punishments when it's clear that everyone knows there is something wrong but clearly they hold the business in a higher regard than the well being of the student athletes because if they didn't, these scandals wouldn't take place and there would be stiffer punishment and reform for the programs.  Better regulation.  Better watchdogs.  They know it's there, but as long as it doesn't disrupt the business of making money or tarnish the brand, they turn a blind eye.

Back to PSU.  I don't need to rehash the story.  I don't want to.  We all know what happened and if you don't, go read the presentment to the grand jury.  You can find it here as well as everywhere else.  Quite simply, this was an incident that was swept under the rug when it could have been exposed before any others were hurt.

Mike McQueary walked into a shower and saw an act.  He then reported it to Joe Paterno.  Sometime later, he was then called into the offices of Curley and Schultz and explained what he saw.  Police were never involved.  The incident was dropped and Sandusky was merely relieved of his locker room keys and the incident was reported to Second Mile, the charity or 'farm team' for Sandusky's prospects in his monstrous acts.

Now, whether McQueary is lying in what he told Curley and Paterno or whether Curley and Paterno were lying about what they were told is irrelevant.  The fact that some kind of indecent and inappropriate acts were taking place between an educator/administrator/adult and a child on University property requires, at the bare minimum to be reported to REAL police, not campus cops.  REAL POLICE.  911 POLICE.

Not to mention that as a witness to the events, McQueary should have been compelled to stop the act when he witnessed it.  There was a recognition between the perpetrator, victim and witness.  After all of this went away, there were times when McQueary and Sandusky were present at the same place and same time, and with children involved.  How do you hold your tongue, let alone your lunch?

Now, onto Paterno.  He is not guilty of breaking any laws?  I posed that as a question because I do not know for sure.  He broke 'God's' law, if you want to call it that.  He took his stance on integrity and morality that he spewed so much in his 41 years as coach and threw it on the ground, stomped it, pissed all over it, then spat on it.   He failed a child and so many more.   To say that he reported it to his superiors is convenient when it suited him.  Any other time, Paterno has been the perceived boss.   When his boss, Curley, went to his house to tell him it was time to go, as head coach, Paterno showed him the door.  Who would fire Joe Paterno?  Apparently, when it comes to disciplining Joe, he has no boss.  When it comes to reporting a heinous crime against a child, he has superiors. 

And the culpability goes on up to Spanier and even the University because they levelled a ban on Sandusky from campus facilities that was considered, unenforceable.  Well, why did you want to ban him?  Because he didn't turn off the lights?  Because he burped in public?  No, because he did something wrong.  He did something worthy of being banned from campus.  Yet, you let him back on campus and around children.  Why?  Because you didn't involve the police.  Why didn't you involve the police?  It would tarnish the program.  It would tarnish the reputation of the brand.  It would tarnish your King, who was friends of 30 plus years with the predator.  What other reason would you have to not involve police?

Athletics and University appearance should not be held above the safety of children.  If so, then what kind of message are you sending your prospective, current, and alum students?  We want you to grow and learn and feel safe in our environment but if anything happens, don't tarnish the school, regardless of how bad you get hurt.

And to not fire Paterno who has systematically proven that he holds too much power would have been another slap in the face of those victims.  Joe should have resigned immediately and not said, "Oh, I'll retire after the season."   Do the right thing.  You are the face of the school and the program.  No one other person holds as much influence.  You are the King.  You screwed up.  Own the fire.

"But he did his job."  Did he?  If you see someone's house on fire you call the fire department, right?  Do you ignore the sounds of someone in distress?  The difference is that McQueary and company weren't in a fire situation that could have caused them physical harm and more work for the fire department.  A little boy was being assaulted.  A little boy saw your eyes look right at him and you turned and left.  Everyone pushed it up the chain of command yet not one person thought to take care of the victim.  They left it up to the system and this child is forever lost.

Paterno IS culpable.  His fame, his legacy and his contributions over the years do not outweigh the obligation to protect the innocence of a child in his house.   And if you think that he did all he could have done ask yourself one thing, what if McQueary told Joe that there was a kid in the showers with Sandusky and his last name was Paterno.  Do you think Joe would have been fine with just telling his 'boss'?  Do you think he would have personally gone down there?   Do you think he'd be OK with McQueary just saying, "Joe, it was your son I saw, so I left and told my Dad and he said I should tell you." 

Make that kid's last name any of the people involved: 
McQueary.  Would he have left them in the shower?
Curely.  Would he have been fine with finding out a whole two days later and simply barring Sandusky from campus?
Spanier. 
Paterno.
Schultz.
The last name of any student/alum who cheers for Joe, on his lawn, or thinks that Joe did enough and now is flipping cars and vandalizing news vans at State College in outrage over Paterno's firing.

Put any of those names on the victim and ask how they would have reacted.  It would tell a different story.  Any child that is being harmed or abused or assaulted or victimized becomes your child.  In the world of education and development, you are a parent in the sense that you are obligated to do everything in the best interests of a child whether he/she is yours or not.

So, do not shed tears for your King, because he shed none for you when you needed him.  He simply did the bare minimum.  We Are Ashamed.

It's a Beautiful Song

It's a Daddy-Daughter weekend, once a month, when my wife has to work.   Sometimes, we go all over the place.  Sometimes, we just veg out at the house.  It is never a dull moment though.

This past weekend I had a lot to do and had to bring the little one with me.  First, I had a haircut to get and she was an angel, even managing to negotiate her way into a lollipop and a free nail painting, instead of having what she really wanted, a haircut. 

Next, its off to get the oil changed at Walmart, which is always fun, from a sarcastic point of view.   Then, it's to the Buy Backs to see what pre-owned Wii game, I can get for me and my Father-in-law.

And, if she's really a good girl, she'll get a trip to McDonald's to play on the slide.  Of course, right now she's glued to the game screen over behind the giant Big Mac.... she's my daughter.

However, one the way here, she sat in the back of the car, wearing sunglasses and looking cool.  I was flipping through radio stations, avoiding 96.1 as much as possible because I hate Ke-dollar sign-HA, Katy Exploding Boobs Perry and generally other pop bubblegum, played ever hour music.  

As I scanned the dial, I slid, unknowingly into a Celine Dion song on the lite rock station.  I quickly switched it and this little voice shot out of the back, "Hey, put that back on!"

I couldn't believe it.   "You mean this song?" as I put back on Celine's 'Because You Loved Me'.

"Yeah.  I like that song."

"Kiddo, you don't even know that song.  Mommy doesn't like that song.  Daddy doesn't listen to that song.  Why do you want to."

"Because it's a beautiful song."  She said. 

"Fine."

We sat in the parking lot of McDonald's until it was over.   Somewhere, I've wronged my child.   My constant barrage of Rush, Journey, Led Zeppelin, The Refreshments, The Clarks, AC/DC, Warren Zevon, and other classic acts just hasn't sunk in enough.   I weep for the future.  

Actually, I don't.  She's still cooler than me.  Celine and all.

My Kid, the Artist

My daughter loves to draw.  We go to restaurants and out come the Crayons and away go our place mats as she commandeers them for her masterpieces.  She's four, so I give her a lot of leeway.  She's not Monet or Picasso.  She's just a kid with an eye for color and design.

After a long day of work I get a lot of joy from being greeted by her and her latest artwork.   Today was no exception.   Here is her rendition of a brontosaurus.

 

I'll be here all week folks, tip your servers.

Hell, forget the tip, give them the whole thing. 

Text Me About My Weiner

A friend of mine posed a great statement.   "I'm glad I left the dating scene before people started emailing pictures of their genitals to each other."  Of course, my reply to that was that we both left the dating scene before you could really do that with cell phones.

In the wake of Weinergate and the fact that Anthony Weiner admitted to sending a picture of his package to a female just illustrates further that people, no matter how smart and how aware of the stupidity of doing such things, will continue to make asses out of themselves.

Recently, a PA Turnpike employee was accused of coercing underage girls into texting nude images of themselves to him.  The one girl received a message from an unknown phone number, claiming to be her boyfriend, asking her to send him a naked picture.  AND SHE DID IT!   Then, using fear and blackmail, he got more girls to send him pictures.

As a parent of a child that has yet to enter her teen years, I can only imagine what the technology will be capable of by then.  For the record she's only four but she acts like a teen.   Disappointment is the end of the world and she throws tantrums with the best of them.  Still, I plan on giving her a phone that calls four numbers;  Our house, our cell phones, and 911.   It will not be text capable and no phone will be included. 

The Internet:  Enabling People to Do Stupid Things Since 1991.

Oh, and how classic is it that a guy named Weiner gets busted for sending pictures of his...

WUMF: April Edition

End of April already?

WOW.  That means another Edition of WUMF is in order. For those of you just tuning in, smack yo selves!

I’ll wait. Make it a good one.

There. Better?

OK, like I said, for those of you just tuning in, WUMF stands for What’s Up My Friends. Basically, this is me just phoning in a post at the end of the month that ties up some loose stuff that happened which didn’t constitute a full post or at least didn’t happen because I was lazy.

1. Mother Nature Just Made the D-Bag Awards Ballot
This past month’s weather has been ridiculous and coupled with last month’s tornado here in my area, Mother Nature has secured her place on the D-Bag of the Year awards for 2011. Between the Earthquake and Tsunami in Japan, the tornadoes that ripped through the south and especially the one mile wide EF5 Tornado that just engulfed Tuscaloosa Alabama there is mounting evidence that Mother Nature is pissed off this year.

2. Hooked on Phonics and Beer Works For My Kid
Last month my kid’s KinderCare teacher sent home a progress report stating that she has not been mastering such concepts like creativity or spelling. After putting aside the ‘My kid is a genius, you’re wrong!’ mentality, I began questioning my daughter on why she doesn’t seem to be showing how smart she is in school.

Her answers amounted to, “I don’t like answering the teacher when she asks me those questions.” That tells me that she knows the answers but just doesn’t want to be an organ grinder monkey and perform on cue.

First, her creativity and ability to solve problems in a creative manner shone through this Easter as she decorated the house, on her own using an empty Scooby-Doo Rohgurt box and a Silly Bandz to create a hanging decoration. She realized that the open flap of the box wouldn’t hang on the nail, so she attached the Silly Bandz as a way to hang on the nail.

Next we worked on letters and numbers. We’ve been working in a book that has all kinds of activities surrounding letters and numbers. She does a pretty mean connect the dots exercise, calling out all the letters and numbers by name. However, the most impressive feat of intelligence was being able to spell “Pittsburgh”, “Steelers”, and “Moosehead” from the various signs around the restaurant/bar that we often go to for dinner. We didn’t even have to prompt her. She willingly says, “That is spelled…” So, it’s not that she’s dumb. She would rather do it on her own time… at the bar.

3. Golf Season starts for the Penguins
Last night was a frustrating loss at the hands of the Tampa Bay Lightning. Considering how the Pens got to the playoffs after losing Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin to injuries and Matt Cooke to stupidity I can say that they really did perform beyond expectations. This is a team that found a way to win during the regular season with so many issues. However, when you get to playoff hockey, you need a little more. They just didn’t have it. Haters will say, “Kovalev did nothing.” “Neal underperformed.” “Fleury fell apart.” “The fans lost faith.” And there is some truth to that. But the reality is that this team did way more than it should have done, given its makeup and they were playing with House Money.

Tampa Bay is not a Stanley Cup winning team, this year. They aren’t. But they were better than the Pens and managed to overcome a three game deficit and win. 

Game Sevens are notoriously bad luck for the Pens and yet it should never have come to that. Fleury shares some blame for that but the scoring was just not there. You cannot expect a team to go into a playoff run without having the ability to score on the Power Play. For as much blame as there is to be heaped on Fleury, who played awesomely during Game Seven, there is just as much blame to be placed on the offense. Now, Fleury did fall for that play behind the net leading to Tampa Bay’s only score of the game. We saw that in Game Si. But the defense should have picked up the blind spot and let Fleury try to follow the puck if they happened to not pull off that move and wrap around the front.

Finally, it was not meant to be. Believing this team could win a Stanley Cup was wishful thinking, at best. It is a better thing that they would not have had to face The Caps in round two, because the disappointment would have been all that much greater. There would have been hopes that Crosby would have come back to square off against Ovie and had he not, it would have crushed the city that much more. Let him take the off season to fully recover from the concussions and we’ll try again next year.   Just do me a favor, powers that be, do not schedule Pensguins' playoff hockey games on the same night as Pirates games.  It seems that every time the Pirates would win, the Pens would lose.  Pittsburgh has somehow fallen off its axis and PAT buses, all three of them have started sliding up the sides of skyscrapers, Inception style.

4.  Bailey, Pick Up Line One
Some outfit with the University of Chicago keeps calling my house to do a survey about kids. After the first couple of times of getting no messages on my machine I called them back. I asked them to take my number off the list and they said sure. They promptly called two more times the next week. I answered one of them and asked them again to remove my number from their list. They promptly called me two more times this week.

My daughter got a tape recorder for Easter. My mother read a bunch of books and recorded her voice to tape for my kid to play and read along. While this may seem like a totally unrelated piece of useless information, I plan on putting a blank tape in the recorder and waiting until the next time the bastards call back. Then, I’ll let my kid answer the phone and record the call from the phone in the other room. Hilarity will ensue and maybe they’ll get the point.

Here’s to May.



Double, Double, Bailey Is In Trouble

You want to believe your kids. You want to believe that when they say they saw the bogeyman in their closet with blood soaked fangs, a sharpened ridge of spines on their back and a thirst for child flesh. You know, however, that it’s simply a shirt or some other outfit hanging in their closet that takes on the grisly form they described. Yet, you know that they think they saw it and you believe that they believed it.

Confused?

My three year old is finishing up her first full year of Kindercare in a couple of months and it’s been a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because she gets that socialization and structured learning that she’s going to need. It gives my wife and my father-in-law a much needed break from having to watch her while I’m at work. It also gives my wife the chance to go back to work as well. The downside is that you get the four months of chronic ear infections and a membership to the green mustache brigade. You also get the reality check that your kid is a hellion at school as well as at home. Sometimes, we can bribe the kid for good behavior. For this week, we promised that if she was a good girl, we’d go to McDonald’s on Thursday night.

We did this because we had a bit of an issue with the little one drawing on chalkboards with unapproved writing tools. I picked her up on Tuesday and saw a chalkboard in her cubby. I have no idea why it was there, nor do I know why it had appeared to have been scribbled on with a marker. I gathered my kid from the next room and off we went. She immediately apologized to me for something. I asked why she was saying she was sorry. “I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. Are you mad at me?” I still have no idea what she had done. It was almost as if she was trying to get me to absolve her of any wrong doing before knowing what she had done. I asked her what happened. She rattled off a story about a chalkboard. I pieced together the fragments and figured out that she drew on the chalkboard with something other than chalk and got in trouble for it. The teachers did not tell me what happened and I didn’t ask. Putting a chalk board in the cubby doesn’t tell me much and there was nothing on her report that indicated there was a problem.

I asked my wife to inquire on Thursday when she dropped her off in the morning. When I talked to my wife that afternoon and remembered about the chalkboard, I asked if she had talked to the teacher but it was already too late to discuss it. I figured I would ask when I picked her up. When I went into her room at the end of the day, I saw the chalkboard in her cubby. It looked like it was still there from the other day. I gathered up all my kid’s things and went to go collect her, outside. I asked about the chalkboard and her teacher said she drew on it with marker before and then did it again, today. Now, I was upset. I had just had this heartfelt apology on Tuesday about the chalkboard with a promise that she’d never do it again and now I find out that she broke that promise.

Once we got in the car, I asked her why she drew on the chalkboard with marker.

She said, “I didn’t do that today.”
I said, “Your teacher told me you did it.”
“But I didn’t do that today.”

At this point, I noticed a difference in her voice. At anytime when she is lying about something she has a certain tone to her voice. This particular instance was different and it sounded totally sincere. But, I didn’t let her know that. I wanted to draw more information out of her and see if she really was telling the truth.

“Honey, why would the teacher lie? She has no reason to lie to me. You run the risk of losing McDonald’s.”
“Daddy, I didn’t do that today.”
“Ok, well, I want to really believe you.”
“I love McDonald’s and I want to go there.”
“I know. It’s just that I need to discuss this with your Mommy and decide if you deserve to go.”
“Daddy, I deserve to go.”
“Why do you deserve to go?”
“Because I want to go and I love McDonald’s.”
“OK, but I still plan on telling Mommy about the chalkboard and we’ll see.”

Pause…

“You know what, Daddy?”
“What?”
“Snitches are witches.”

Chekov's Garage

My wife hates my inability to throw away seemingly useless items. My garage is filled with these things. There’s a 4x8 piece of cardboard that covered our patio table while it was in the box. There are various curtain rods that serve no purpose. From the standpoint of an outside observer, these items are clutter, junk, refuse, or signs that I may be a hoarder. All of these are true but, though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.

Now, I am a product of my upbringing. My father is famous for repurposing useless items into ‘wonderful things’. He built an entire charcoal grill out of an old lawnmower, 55 gallon drum, swing set, and countertops. To that point, he also built a forge out of an old charcoal grill and a ShopVac.  I may have mentioned it before.

Additionally, I spent a great deal of my childhood playing old school text adventure games where you would acquire items, that held no obvious value, only to use them later on in a crucial part of a quest. A more up to date example would be the envelope of items that Ben Affleck receives in the movie Paycheck.

Still, regardless of the value of an item, I can eventually find a use for it. It may not be pretty or ideal, but it does the trick. I often find myself wishing I had something that I had already thrown away whenever I’m trying to patch something in the house. “If we only had a wheelbarrow, that would be something.”

And so the torch gets passed to another generation, as I found my three year old doing some decorating for Easter. She felt the need to hang her own decorations, such as hanging a triangle (musical instrument) on the handles of our hutch and a square of toilet paper (unused, thankfully) on a nail in our living room wall.

But what impressed me most was an empty Rogurt box hanging from another nail. It was slated to be put into the trash, once I actually replaced the full trash bag with an empty one, that is. But, sitting on the counter, she eyed it and saw a purpose for it. Unfortunately, it had no way of being hung on the nail, so she found a way to make it work. She took a Silly Bandz, wrapped it around the cardboard lid flap and then hung the entire box on the nail, using the Silly Bandz to hang it on the nail.

My wife was prepared to throw it away until she noticed how my daughter had managed to hang it. She neither intervened nor helped out daughter figure out how to solve the hanging problem.

Simply left to her own devices, a three year old solved a design problem. She’s either destined to pursue a career in engineering or be a useful hoarder like her father and grandfather.