My wife approached me ever so cautiously the other day, staring in horror as if my 'Oprah toe' were on fire, or my third eye had a sharp object protruding from its socket, and asked in that ever-so-macabre Hitchcock-esqe tone, "What is that fur crawling up the side of your face and down into what used to be your pectoral region?"
"It's 'No Shave November', honey.", I retorted proudly.
"'No Shave November'. I don't get it, but it sounds stupid.", she snootily shot back, spinning on her heels at a hasty pace, so as not to miss the latest Grand Posting of the gluten-free alternative to the timeless holiday classic fruit cake recipe on Pinterest.
This is not an odd response or sentiment, but it is a tad bit frustrating. I mean, just because we men don't post clever cryptic updates like, 'I'm 25 weeks and lovvvve pistachio ice cream', or change our profile pictures to a different member of the cast of "Sons of Anarchy" every other day, doesn't mean we don't deserve our cause to stand up for, and represent. It just so happens we got something that's not entirely as glamorous, or mainstream, as other causes. No, we were gifted the cause to end all causes, that compound tubuloalveolar exocrine gland of the male reproductive system...the prostate. Well, and colon cancer awareness, but that's only because we've been called a**hole so many times, we just kind of adopted it as our own.
I get it. I'm no different than the next guy, but it is what it is; God's sense of humor at work and we need to pick up the ball, run with it (shameless sports reference) and reach our goal of awareness in the male population, along with prevention and, potentially, a cure. I don't know if either of the previous two scenarios are realistic, but I do know the issue is manageable, without going into a lot of medical mumbo jumbo that the latent member of our far inferior gender would only scratch his head, or nether regions, in a futile effort to understand.
It's all about sucking it up, and getting the screenings, gentlemen; one, which is not that far removed from the Roto-Rooter guy coming out and snaking your clogged drainage pipes, and the other just about as much fun, but not nearly as invasive. Nevertheless, it needs to be taken seriously, and it needs to be done. If not for yourself, and your personal longevity, for your family and those closest to you. Call your doctor and schedule an appointment (it's covered in the Obamacare package-I think) today, while your neck is still mercilessly itchy and it's at the forefront of your thoughts.
And ladies? While our "movement" may not bring to light, "shades" of Ryan Gosling dancing shirtless on our pillow top mattresses, or a virile lumberjack clearing a path to freedom, it is important...to us. Turn the other cheek, and allow us these 30 days to celebrate our manhood in its purest form, and possibly save ourselves, from ourselves, in the process.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Friday, November 8, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
...And The Greatest Of These Is Love
Ask yourself...is there a force more powerful? Hate, anger, rage; these words are all singular by definition. But love? Love encompasses each of these emotions, as well as compassion, kindness, selflessness and a host of others. And, has there ever been anything more disarming than the by products of this indomitable emotion, such as a warm smile, a kind gesture, or a pleasant word?
With everything that's wrong with the world, doesn't it make sense to strive for something better? To do something right? We get so caught up in the next venture, or appointment, or message that might get missed. We speed through life as if our God will be impressed with the fact that we refuse to be idle; that we always strive for more out of life, to be the best. But at what cost?
Some people get it. Most of us don't. At least, not until an unspeakable tragedy has struck our family, or hit awfully close to home. But, why? Why is it so easy to lash out with negativity, instead of lending any given situation to the appropriate perspective? Are we so jaded as a society, to think this emotion is not real, or to be left behind for those who are weakest among us? Or is it the strong that truly understand what it means to love and be loved?
I will be the first to tell you that I would be a complete hypocrite to say I practice this rule, or action to the fullest. Truth be told, I fail; and I fail miserably. But what I refuse to do is give up, because God sees there is light in my soul. He sees that somewhere through all of the hardness, caused by years of failings, there is promise and He has never given up on me.
Did you know it takes 17 muscles to smile and nearly 43 to frown? Why do we work so hard to display an emotion that is so counterproductive to anything we deal with in our daily lives? There are so many demands, and so much stress placed on each of us every day that it would seem to make sense to seek out some form of an outlet to these distractions, some escape. Yet, more often than not, the exact opposite is the end result. We're a little too impatient with the guy that sits a tick too long at the green light, or the person who rushes into the bank right in front of us just so they don't have to wait. Or perhaps we mutter bad words under our breath when the mom comes hurrying out of the store, nearly running into us, or the rude shopper who takes at least 20 items through the express lane. Why do these incidents affect us so negatively? Because we have been programmed to react in these given situations by those around us, and others we see react similarly. All this proves is that we are not in control of our lives, and what kind of way is that to live?
The next time you are confronted by a similar circumstance I would challenge you to view the moment through the other individuals' eyes. Try to imagine what may be happening in their lives to make them react this way. Think about some of the things that affect the way we interact on a daily basis, accept the humanity of the offense and alter your mindset. Try holding the door for the person, in just a little bit more of a hurry than you; assist the harried mom on her way out the door. Wave politely to the man as he pulls away, obviously embarrassed he has caused such an inconvenience to someone else. Be kind. It will make you feel better...guaranteed.
People are seeking out someone who will listen. They want desperately for someone to care. Displaying these characteristics, even for the briefest of moments, can cultivate an unimaginable result, mainly because it is not the norm. People want non-conformists. We all need non-conformity. Dare to reach out and help where it is needed, and mostly unexpected. Perform a deed which is simple in practice, but exceptional in spirit. Have faith in your fellow man, hold out hope for the power of people...and love; the greatest, most simple gift we can give to another.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
With everything that's wrong with the world, doesn't it make sense to strive for something better? To do something right? We get so caught up in the next venture, or appointment, or message that might get missed. We speed through life as if our God will be impressed with the fact that we refuse to be idle; that we always strive for more out of life, to be the best. But at what cost?
Some people get it. Most of us don't. At least, not until an unspeakable tragedy has struck our family, or hit awfully close to home. But, why? Why is it so easy to lash out with negativity, instead of lending any given situation to the appropriate perspective? Are we so jaded as a society, to think this emotion is not real, or to be left behind for those who are weakest among us? Or is it the strong that truly understand what it means to love and be loved?
I will be the first to tell you that I would be a complete hypocrite to say I practice this rule, or action to the fullest. Truth be told, I fail; and I fail miserably. But what I refuse to do is give up, because God sees there is light in my soul. He sees that somewhere through all of the hardness, caused by years of failings, there is promise and He has never given up on me.
Did you know it takes 17 muscles to smile and nearly 43 to frown? Why do we work so hard to display an emotion that is so counterproductive to anything we deal with in our daily lives? There are so many demands, and so much stress placed on each of us every day that it would seem to make sense to seek out some form of an outlet to these distractions, some escape. Yet, more often than not, the exact opposite is the end result. We're a little too impatient with the guy that sits a tick too long at the green light, or the person who rushes into the bank right in front of us just so they don't have to wait. Or perhaps we mutter bad words under our breath when the mom comes hurrying out of the store, nearly running into us, or the rude shopper who takes at least 20 items through the express lane. Why do these incidents affect us so negatively? Because we have been programmed to react in these given situations by those around us, and others we see react similarly. All this proves is that we are not in control of our lives, and what kind of way is that to live?
The next time you are confronted by a similar circumstance I would challenge you to view the moment through the other individuals' eyes. Try to imagine what may be happening in their lives to make them react this way. Think about some of the things that affect the way we interact on a daily basis, accept the humanity of the offense and alter your mindset. Try holding the door for the person, in just a little bit more of a hurry than you; assist the harried mom on her way out the door. Wave politely to the man as he pulls away, obviously embarrassed he has caused such an inconvenience to someone else. Be kind. It will make you feel better...guaranteed.
People are seeking out someone who will listen. They want desperately for someone to care. Displaying these characteristics, even for the briefest of moments, can cultivate an unimaginable result, mainly because it is not the norm. People want non-conformists. We all need non-conformity. Dare to reach out and help where it is needed, and mostly unexpected. Perform a deed which is simple in practice, but exceptional in spirit. Have faith in your fellow man, hold out hope for the power of people...and love; the greatest, most simple gift we can give to another.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Friday, October 18, 2013
Change Your Mind (Bully-Free Forever)
In order to affect change,
You've got to rearrange,
The thoughts in your mind,
And when you do, you will find,
Hope.
This will allow you to cope,
When you're riding the slippery slope,
Between heaven and hell,
And you feel you can't tell,
Anyone.
No one will listen,
Another child has gone missing;
Forever lost,
They didn't count the cost,
Of life.
That in order to keep on living,
You've got to keep on giving,
And Cymplify,
Don't indemnify;
There's no need.
To recognize the bully,
You need to recognize fully,
It's your child to protect,
From cause and effect,
And harm.
There's wrong and there's right,
But don't fight;
Or do,
Because you,
Make the difference.
Life isn't fair,
Show them you care;
And share
To make aware,
Of the problem.
In order to win,
We must begin,
To educate and eradicate,
And alleviate,
The torture and violence.
Free their souls,
Own the tolls,
Of this behavior;
Be their savior,
And parent.
Celebrate winnings,
And new beginnings;
Denounce endings,
Denounce endings,
By amending,
The way we think...and act.
Change Your Mind
Scott
Thank you Ken, for reaffirming my passion for the fight, putting font to the page, and for recognizing we don't speak with our mouths, we speak with our hearts...
Friday, October 11, 2013
Bully-Free Forever-This Makes It Real
Today, I'm going to get out of the way and allow this entry to stand on its own merit. Thanks Lynn, for sharing. You'll always be the big sister I never had.
Share To Make Aware,
Scott
October 10, 2013
Robey Elementary Administration:
I am writing to you today on behalf of Makenley Deuschle. I have never met Makenley, but then I don’t need to. I know his father, Scott, and have known him since he was in Elementary School. He was a friend and classmate to my brother. I always liked Scott. He was witty and a generally nice kid. I even took him to see Bruce Springsteen when I was in college (small lapse, on my part).
I have an intimate connection to Makenley, even though we have never met. I have 2 children from Russia. My husband & I went to Russia in 1998 to adopt our son, and in 1999 to adopt our daughter. During that time, I had lost contact with Scott and was busy loving, and trying to raise, 2 very different Russian orphans. All my husband and I wanted were children to love, no matter the risk or consequences. Thankfully, I found Scott again, on face book, and was introduced to his wonderful kids.
We were told our son would be “slow”, at best, but we brought him home, loved and nurtured him. To our surprise, and good fortune, he was/is a very bright child, full of life, energy, endurance, and the world is his to conquer. All this, despite being diagnosed as “failure to thrive” upon his arrival to the US. Our daughter, Tonia, was not so fortunate. Her mother and father drank. She was underweight, born with a horrible infection, and spent the first 45 days of her life, alone in a hospital. After 7 months of neglect by her parents, the Russian courts removed her from her family and placed her in an orphanage, where she remained until she was 2 ½ years old. No parenting; no love; no direction. Just another child in a room of 15.
Tonia struggles. She is socially awkward and immature. She has never really had a “friend”. She struggles in school. She has frequent outbursts in school, and does not really fit in anywhere. She looks like anybody else, but she is absolutely NOT like anyone else. Her deficits are mental, psychological/cognitive and emotional. It is terrible, & my heart breaks often. Sometimes, she is really hard to love, but love her we do. And we will continue to love her until the day when we are no longer here. She is our daughter.
School is her “worst” place to be. She doesn’t fit in. She likes to dress differently. She “clings” to friends and smothers them. They think she is strange. When she can’t get her schoolwork done, or has trouble concentrating, or gets frustrated, she acts out. The kids think she is weird and call her names. Oh, we’ve been to Psychiatrists, Social Workers, Speech Therapists, Play Therapists, Psychologists, Reactive Attachment Specialists, and so on. No one can really “pinpoint” her problem, but she does have a diagnosis of Expressive Language Disorder (plus and IEP), since the 1st grade. She is on medication now for anxiety and ADHD. Today she is much better, but it has NOT been an easy road. Being a teenager and trying to fit in with hormonal children has been particularly difficult. When she cut her hair short this year, she was tormented and teased, called a boy, called names, etc. We counseled and guided her about what to do. No one at school was really aware, until the day she “exploded” and told her entire class (at the top of her voice) where they could go and what they could do. Yes, I got the call from the school about her behavior, and was informed they had no idea she was being teased. Yep, she held it all in until she couldn’t take any more. She “let them have it”! She didn’t get in trouble, and the 2 worst kids were reported to the principal and to their parents. Things quieted down, for awhile.
Kids don’t “want” to be different. Special needs kids don’t “ask” to be different. Some kids don’t have the skills, or the parents, or the support, or the ability to “fit in”. They just want to belong and feel “included”. These children are the victims. I know there are hundreds of children in one school, there isn’t enough supervision, that teachers don’t see everything. I have a family full of educators, so I know ALL about it. But, I have a daughter who has had pain. She has come home crying and wants to know why people make fun of her, and why she has to be so different. We talk about how God doesn’t make mistakes, but she doesn’t want to hear that. She just wants to belong. When your child comes home and finally opens up about how much she hates herself and thinks it would be better if she wasn’t here, that’s when you “really” wake up. As a parent, YOU want to hurt someone. You want them to feel the pain. But you know it’s wrong. But all you know is that your child feels like it would be easier if they weren’t here. They just want to be anywhere, but here. When you hear that from your child, YOU eventually break into tears yourself. It is THE worse feeling ever. I would do anything to take their pain.
I have gone on for far too long. I am educated. I am a Nurse Practitioner with 28 years of service. I say service, because I am a caregiver. When people hurt, I hurt. I have worked in the Pediatric ICU, and seen a child beaten by their parents. It’s no wonder some kids turn out the way they do. We can’t change every child or patient, but I will continue to try with all that I am to make a difference in every person that I meet. It’s a hard job, and a lot of the time it can be thankless. But, when you make a difference to one person, it makes it all worth it.
Thank you for letting me share my story with you. Thank you helping, and loving, and supporting Makenley. It may be hard to focus on one child, but maybe that one child is the one you will make a difference for. You may be the one who helps them over that hill. You may build their confidence. They will know you are there for them. On behalf of all children who suffer because of a bully, I thank you for all you do to “stop this insanity”. We can’t lose anymore of our “special” kids. If we don’t stand for them, who will??
Sending you thanks for your work with children. Sincerely,
Lynn M. Allmond
Share To Make Aware,
Scott
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Share To Make Aware
That seems to be the recurrent theme here lately, what with all of this "Box Tops Against Bullying" stuff going on. Now it appears we've managed to morph into something that to this point had been unimaginable: a foundation against bullying, with an emphasis on special needs children. But that's for another blog entry, another day.
So, what does it all mean? You see me preach it, nearly daily, certainly ad nauseam...but why? Why am I so persistent, so insistent, that people pay attention, and act? It's simple on two counts: 1) Because I don't ever want to receive another message telling me that a child had chosen to 'give up', when I could have done more. It's happened. And 2) Because it's so simple in its fundamental practice. Clip (or tear) a 'Box Tops For Education' box top off a product (I've previously provided the link to their web address) and drop it off to a friend who might already be participating, or a collection site, currently locally in Gainesville, Florida, or invest in a stamp and put it in the mail. You all have the address; use it. 1, 2, 5, 50, 500... It doesn't matter, because it does matter. Every single one, matters. It allows us to say to the teenager who's had enough, that 'we've got your back'. It allows a young boy, or girl, with any type of developmental, or neurological impairment to interact with their peers without being singled out, or picked on because they are different, because they know we won't allow it. Different is beautiful; different deserves to be celebrated.
I went to school with a lot of friends, who attend a lot of churches, which have a lot of youth groups, which have a lot of teenagers, who eat a LOT of food. We all do. We all have families and friends who gather, just to be together; and we eat. Make them earn it. Charge them General (Mills) admission to attend your buffet. Why not? You can do it. We can do it. We are doing it, but this is only the beginning. Great things are on the horizon, and the box tops will always remain a cornerstone in our mission. Why? Because everyone can take part, and both the children and the schools can benefit. This isn't merely about an 11-year-old boy coming to me baring his demons. That would be masking a symptom instead of curing the disease. This is about children suffering; children that can't otherwise defend themselves against the aggression of others and need someone to reach out, and help. It could be your child next. It has been mine.
I promised you I would beg, borrow and steal, (figuratively speaking, those of you in law enforcement) and I have done so. And I will continue to do so, until there is no longer a need for me to run a foundation, or clip box tops for this purpose, because people have woken up, have made a conscious choice to live by the Golden Rule, instead of turning it into some sort of therapeutic mouthpiece, to ease a guilty conscience. We know the problem exists and shake our heads in mourning, almost nightly, listening to another talking head tell us about some poor child, in our communities who decided it just wasn't worth it anymore. It's time to stop shaking our heads and start shaking trees. Confront the problems where they exist, instead of standing by idly as another invaluable member of the human race is cast aside.
I've given you the vehicle; use it to support Makenley, your child, your neighbor's child, all of the children. But, please take your heads out of the sand, please internalize the problem; make it personal. Please take action, and...
...share to make aware.
Scott
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W. 30th St.
Indianapolis, In. 46234
So, what does it all mean? You see me preach it, nearly daily, certainly ad nauseam...but why? Why am I so persistent, so insistent, that people pay attention, and act? It's simple on two counts: 1) Because I don't ever want to receive another message telling me that a child had chosen to 'give up', when I could have done more. It's happened. And 2) Because it's so simple in its fundamental practice. Clip (or tear) a 'Box Tops For Education' box top off a product (I've previously provided the link to their web address) and drop it off to a friend who might already be participating, or a collection site, currently locally in Gainesville, Florida, or invest in a stamp and put it in the mail. You all have the address; use it. 1, 2, 5, 50, 500... It doesn't matter, because it does matter. Every single one, matters. It allows us to say to the teenager who's had enough, that 'we've got your back'. It allows a young boy, or girl, with any type of developmental, or neurological impairment to interact with their peers without being singled out, or picked on because they are different, because they know we won't allow it. Different is beautiful; different deserves to be celebrated.
I went to school with a lot of friends, who attend a lot of churches, which have a lot of youth groups, which have a lot of teenagers, who eat a LOT of food. We all do. We all have families and friends who gather, just to be together; and we eat. Make them earn it. Charge them General (Mills) admission to attend your buffet. Why not? You can do it. We can do it. We are doing it, but this is only the beginning. Great things are on the horizon, and the box tops will always remain a cornerstone in our mission. Why? Because everyone can take part, and both the children and the schools can benefit. This isn't merely about an 11-year-old boy coming to me baring his demons. That would be masking a symptom instead of curing the disease. This is about children suffering; children that can't otherwise defend themselves against the aggression of others and need someone to reach out, and help. It could be your child next. It has been mine.
I promised you I would beg, borrow and steal, (figuratively speaking, those of you in law enforcement) and I have done so. And I will continue to do so, until there is no longer a need for me to run a foundation, or clip box tops for this purpose, because people have woken up, have made a conscious choice to live by the Golden Rule, instead of turning it into some sort of therapeutic mouthpiece, to ease a guilty conscience. We know the problem exists and shake our heads in mourning, almost nightly, listening to another talking head tell us about some poor child, in our communities who decided it just wasn't worth it anymore. It's time to stop shaking our heads and start shaking trees. Confront the problems where they exist, instead of standing by idly as another invaluable member of the human race is cast aside.
I've given you the vehicle; use it to support Makenley, your child, your neighbor's child, all of the children. But, please take your heads out of the sand, please internalize the problem; make it personal. Please take action, and...
...share to make aware.
Scott
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W. 30th St.
Indianapolis, In. 46234
Friday, October 4, 2013
Flying The Un-friendly Skies
This is the story of two men, Peter the Pilot, and Sven Devinjensen; yes, S.D. It seems Mr. Pilot, we'll call him Peter, was having a very bad day (or late night, almost early morning). Mr. Devinjensen, heretofore known as Mr. D, was going through the paces of setting up his "freight off load operation", or FOO, when Peter came storming out of the crew door of his twin engine baby behemoth, and straight toward Mr. D.
Mr. D, always quick with a smile and a kind word, greeted Peter with his standard gratuitous salutation, "Good evening, Sir. How are you this fine evening?"
Well, you would have thought this was the match that burned down Atlanta, when Peter shot back at Sven with a gruff, "Are you in charge of this operation?!"
"Why, yes sir", replied Mr. D proudly, although a bit taken aback by this aggressive response to the most polite of introductions.
"Well, you need to get your "stuff" together", shouted the pilot. "Do you see this?", he queried as he thrust a paper printout with a lot of circles and stars, produced by the finest of ball point pens, into the chest of Mr. D. "This is the time I arrived at this gate", he spewed wildly, poking his finger at the paper, nearly gorging it in the process, spoiling the integrity of the "evidence", later to be procured by Sven (I said this guy was a pilot, not a genius). "I've been sitting here for T-W-E-N-T-Y MINUTES waiting for a stair team." "WHERE..IS..MY..STAIR TEAM?!?"
Now, searching for an adequate response to such a ridiculous question, Mr. D reflected on the work that he had been doing for his special needs son, Manfredly, and how he had been promoting a positive attitude when dealing with others, and always remaining respectful under any circumstance, when he answered, "Well, sir, when I saw you hanging out of the cockpit window waving frantically attempting to get my attention, I can only assume, I got on the radio right away and let the control tower know you needed a stair team at this gate, the furthest point away from any known civilization on the ramp, right away." "That is really all of the involvement that I have in this situation, as I have a very specific task to complete, in a very specific set of time parameters. I'm sure they will be here soon."
"Well, this is "farging" bull "snot"!!!" "I should be in my "falooting" hotel right now, sleeping!!!"
With face turning red, breathing getting shallow and hands steady, Sven looked at Peter and, thinking of Manfredly, the only possible thing to keep him from going 'Ali' on his new friend and losing his job, and hence his family, calmly replied, "I'll be happy to explain this awful situation to the appropriate manager, to ensure this never happens to another "bush" pilot, ever again."
"Well, WHO IS YOUR M-A-N-A-G-E-R???!!!???", he spewed forth with a fury that would have made Katrina look like a Girl Scout late for her cookie deadline.
"My manager is Branford McDowell, but the person we need to talk to? Yeah, that I'm not so sure about."
As he spun away on his heels, leaving smoldering rubber on the pavement of 'my...um, Mr. D's gate', leaving you with the immediate impression he thought he'd landed in Tokyo, or a high quality reproduction in Davenport, Iowa, to film the 5th installment in the Godzilla series, "Godzilla versus Peter the Bush Pilot", he turned back over his shoulder and screamed, "This is bull "short"!"
With this, Sven maturely turned away and went about his duties in a highly professional manner so that he could uphold his promise of delivering, 'The universe as quickly as humanly possible, under any given circumstance'.
The moral of this story? None of us are immune to bullying and the effects it has on others, especially children. Sven Devinjensen is a 46-year-old man who can defend himself, but so many affected by the continual harassment, and inhumane treatment they receive at the hands of these individuals, cannot. Perhaps Peter was having a very bad and will eventually reflect back, while he's washing dishes at Denny's, on the choices he made during this brief exchange. We are all accountable for our actions, and those actions have consequences. As adults to the children who continue to suffer, we need to expose the indecent behavior, the sources of this behavior and show the aggressors that without the proper response to appropriate guidance and discipline, the consequences they suffer long term will be severe as well. People deserve the best we have to give every day; children the most. Their attitudes and personalities are a direct reflection of who we are as their life mentors. Can we afford to give them less than our greatest effort? Ever? Do your part. Own your responsibility. It's time.
Share to make aware,
Scott
Mr. D, always quick with a smile and a kind word, greeted Peter with his standard gratuitous salutation, "Good evening, Sir. How are you this fine evening?"
Well, you would have thought this was the match that burned down Atlanta, when Peter shot back at Sven with a gruff, "Are you in charge of this operation?!"
"Why, yes sir", replied Mr. D proudly, although a bit taken aback by this aggressive response to the most polite of introductions.
"Well, you need to get your "stuff" together", shouted the pilot. "Do you see this?", he queried as he thrust a paper printout with a lot of circles and stars, produced by the finest of ball point pens, into the chest of Mr. D. "This is the time I arrived at this gate", he spewed wildly, poking his finger at the paper, nearly gorging it in the process, spoiling the integrity of the "evidence", later to be procured by Sven (I said this guy was a pilot, not a genius). "I've been sitting here for T-W-E-N-T-Y MINUTES waiting for a stair team." "WHERE..IS..MY..STAIR TEAM?!?"
Now, searching for an adequate response to such a ridiculous question, Mr. D reflected on the work that he had been doing for his special needs son, Manfredly, and how he had been promoting a positive attitude when dealing with others, and always remaining respectful under any circumstance, when he answered, "Well, sir, when I saw you hanging out of the cockpit window waving frantically attempting to get my attention, I can only assume, I got on the radio right away and let the control tower know you needed a stair team at this gate, the furthest point away from any known civilization on the ramp, right away." "That is really all of the involvement that I have in this situation, as I have a very specific task to complete, in a very specific set of time parameters. I'm sure they will be here soon."
"Well, this is "farging" bull "snot"!!!" "I should be in my "falooting" hotel right now, sleeping!!!"
With face turning red, breathing getting shallow and hands steady, Sven looked at Peter and, thinking of Manfredly, the only possible thing to keep him from going 'Ali' on his new friend and losing his job, and hence his family, calmly replied, "I'll be happy to explain this awful situation to the appropriate manager, to ensure this never happens to another "bush" pilot, ever again."
"Well, WHO IS YOUR M-A-N-A-G-E-R???!!!???", he spewed forth with a fury that would have made Katrina look like a Girl Scout late for her cookie deadline.
"My manager is Branford McDowell, but the person we need to talk to? Yeah, that I'm not so sure about."
As he spun away on his heels, leaving smoldering rubber on the pavement of 'my...um, Mr. D's gate', leaving you with the immediate impression he thought he'd landed in Tokyo, or a high quality reproduction in Davenport, Iowa, to film the 5th installment in the Godzilla series, "Godzilla versus Peter the Bush Pilot", he turned back over his shoulder and screamed, "This is bull "short"!"
With this, Sven maturely turned away and went about his duties in a highly professional manner so that he could uphold his promise of delivering, 'The universe as quickly as humanly possible, under any given circumstance'.
The moral of this story? None of us are immune to bullying and the effects it has on others, especially children. Sven Devinjensen is a 46-year-old man who can defend himself, but so many affected by the continual harassment, and inhumane treatment they receive at the hands of these individuals, cannot. Perhaps Peter was having a very bad and will eventually reflect back, while he's washing dishes at Denny's, on the choices he made during this brief exchange. We are all accountable for our actions, and those actions have consequences. As adults to the children who continue to suffer, we need to expose the indecent behavior, the sources of this behavior and show the aggressors that without the proper response to appropriate guidance and discipline, the consequences they suffer long term will be severe as well. People deserve the best we have to give every day; children the most. Their attitudes and personalities are a direct reflection of who we are as their life mentors. Can we afford to give them less than our greatest effort? Ever? Do your part. Own your responsibility. It's time.
Share to make aware,
Scott
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Movement Has Begun
"They make fun of the way I talk, and nobody will help me." This one simple, agonizing, innocent phrase has changed the course of our lives forever, and begun a movement which has transformed into a living, breathing entity.
The support for our son, and others like him, has been overwhelming. We have been witness to a multitude of people coming together for one common goal: alleviate the threat of bullying in our schools and communities. I had no realistic expectations for this thing. I thought, 'I'll ask a few friends for some box tops, so he can at least show an effort in the fund raising for his school and I'll call it a show of support for his emotional troubles, just to make the administrators at his school aware'. Well, as luck, God, or whatever would have it, the people in our extended families and friends' network wouldn't have it. We have received box tops from hospitals, universities, special needs schools, friends, friends of friends, and yes, even a nationally renowned rock-n-roll band. We've had a national organization for families 'ask' if they could be a part of our endeavor, and have asked me to be present to field questions and discuss our situation and mission, at a meeting in Gainsville, Florida next month, while we're there on vacation. The developments have been swift and steady. I just hope I'm ready for this ride.
If there's one thing I've learned in all of this, it's that, while some people are still stupid, the majority are wonderful, caring and selfless individuals, and we have all been affected by this blight on society in some form or fashion in our lives. Truth be told, I've actually learned a lot of things, but I just don't ever like to give the impression that I don't know it all. One of these things is that if you dedicate yourself to something, and show conviction, people will respond. The last thing any of us needs, is something else to occupy our time, but persistence and ownership, through an emotional purchase, leaves us no choice but to be involved. And the degree of involvement doesn't have to be all-consuming; that's the beauty of what we're doing. If you eat, and are strong enough to tear through cardboard, or cellophane, and mail letters, or know someone who's already involved...you can help. It literally takes less than two minutes to make an impact, to affect change. I know, I've timed it.
Heading into October, National Anti-Bullying Month, we are coming to an important crossroad in our continued development. It's critical now, more than ever, to make the next move, or take the next step, whatever that may be. For me, it will be to flame the desire to follow my calling, and fulfill the promise of a duty I've sought out for over 30 years. That will include speaking to groups, reaching out to additional outlets, media and otherwise, bending the ears of anyone who will listen, and those who have not. And it will include my begging, borrowing and stealing to ensure I make every single possible effort to make this mission an inconceivable, unexplainable, unimaginable success, for Makenley and his 'friends' around the country.
Be prepared, good people. We're just getting started. The train is gaining momentum and I don't see it slowing down any time soon. What I ask of you is simple: show support for our son, or anyone you know who has been subjected to this heinous, learned behavior. Stand behind us in our fight to eradicate these unconscionable acts from our schools, our neighborhoods...our lives. Take the time to clip even one box top, to help empower the movement. You are the ones that make it happen; we merely provide the vehicle. The children deserve our attention in this matter. They deserve our 'A' game, our greatest effort. The children deserve to be "free".
Share to make aware...
Scott
You can mail your box tops and a simple note of encouragement (this will require an additional minute) to:
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W. 30th St.
Indianapolis, In. 46234
The support for our son, and others like him, has been overwhelming. We have been witness to a multitude of people coming together for one common goal: alleviate the threat of bullying in our schools and communities. I had no realistic expectations for this thing. I thought, 'I'll ask a few friends for some box tops, so he can at least show an effort in the fund raising for his school and I'll call it a show of support for his emotional troubles, just to make the administrators at his school aware'. Well, as luck, God, or whatever would have it, the people in our extended families and friends' network wouldn't have it. We have received box tops from hospitals, universities, special needs schools, friends, friends of friends, and yes, even a nationally renowned rock-n-roll band. We've had a national organization for families 'ask' if they could be a part of our endeavor, and have asked me to be present to field questions and discuss our situation and mission, at a meeting in Gainsville, Florida next month, while we're there on vacation. The developments have been swift and steady. I just hope I'm ready for this ride.
If there's one thing I've learned in all of this, it's that, while some people are still stupid, the majority are wonderful, caring and selfless individuals, and we have all been affected by this blight on society in some form or fashion in our lives. Truth be told, I've actually learned a lot of things, but I just don't ever like to give the impression that I don't know it all. One of these things is that if you dedicate yourself to something, and show conviction, people will respond. The last thing any of us needs, is something else to occupy our time, but persistence and ownership, through an emotional purchase, leaves us no choice but to be involved. And the degree of involvement doesn't have to be all-consuming; that's the beauty of what we're doing. If you eat, and are strong enough to tear through cardboard, or cellophane, and mail letters, or know someone who's already involved...you can help. It literally takes less than two minutes to make an impact, to affect change. I know, I've timed it.
Heading into October, National Anti-Bullying Month, we are coming to an important crossroad in our continued development. It's critical now, more than ever, to make the next move, or take the next step, whatever that may be. For me, it will be to flame the desire to follow my calling, and fulfill the promise of a duty I've sought out for over 30 years. That will include speaking to groups, reaching out to additional outlets, media and otherwise, bending the ears of anyone who will listen, and those who have not. And it will include my begging, borrowing and stealing to ensure I make every single possible effort to make this mission an inconceivable, unexplainable, unimaginable success, for Makenley and his 'friends' around the country.
Be prepared, good people. We're just getting started. The train is gaining momentum and I don't see it slowing down any time soon. What I ask of you is simple: show support for our son, or anyone you know who has been subjected to this heinous, learned behavior. Stand behind us in our fight to eradicate these unconscionable acts from our schools, our neighborhoods...our lives. Take the time to clip even one box top, to help empower the movement. You are the ones that make it happen; we merely provide the vehicle. The children deserve our attention in this matter. They deserve our 'A' game, our greatest effort. The children deserve to be "free".
Share to make aware...
Scott
You can mail your box tops and a simple note of encouragement (this will require an additional minute) to:
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W. 30th St.
Indianapolis, In. 46234
Monday, September 16, 2013
PALS
This past weekend, I had the honor and good fortune of spending a few days with five of the greatest guys I have ever known. We laughed 'til we cried, cheered hard, ate too much and managed to re-kindle friendships that had remained bonded, although dormant for nearly thirty years.
Many of you have relationships similar to that of which I speak; a group of people you spend an enormous amount of time with in your formative years, who become family, and form a bond so tight, nothing can penetrate, or diminish, its strength regardless of the circumstances. These men are those friends, that family.
Our crew did everything together, back in the day. We went on road trips together, spent time at each others' houses, celebrated successes and endured failures together. We tolerated each other, despised one another, were, at times, mischievous and unlawful in our actions, and honorable in our loyalty, to a fault. In a phrase: we always had each others' backs, unconditionally.
Before last Friday, it had been twenty eight years since we'd all been under the same roof and it was as if we had never left. Special relationships and true friendships work that way. They allow you the latitude to work on various aspects of your life and personality, to forge careers and begin families, and have an impact on a wide variety of people whose lives you come in contact with. Special relationships are true and reflect themselves in your daily interaction with co-workers, family and other friends you may make along the way. Special relationships allow you to re-convene after a three decades long recess and say, 'Now, where were we?'
We are a partner in an IT management firm, a media relations educator, a grad student with a distinguished military career in two different branches of the service, an IT banking professional, and me. We all came from very humble beginnings and gathered in support of another no chance, small town friend who has worked, sacrificed, toiled and fought to become the Director of Athletic Bands at one of the most prestigious universities in the south, if not the country. As I sat there watching his group perform on Saturday, I had immense pride and, as I looked down the line at my friends in the stands, I couldn't help but wonder, 'How does this happen to a bunch of guys like us?' 'How did we evolve from that gang of misfit adolescents, to this?' Then, almost immediately, I realized its because we had each other. We had a built in support system that would not let us fail individually, or collectively, and that support was unwavering.
From the time we entered the house, until we departed for home, it was as if we had been transported back in some imaginary time machine. We made a quantum leap back into the bodies we occupied as impressionable teenagers, and it was awesome. We recounted stories, both happy and sad, called each other out when we were full of it, played pranks on one another, re-fashioned our legacies, lied to each other and added bricks and other fortified layers to our friendships.
While I may be sad at the moment, I am happy that we have all matured enough to realize, life is unpredictable and doesn't go on forever, and that in this life there is nothing more valuable than true friends and family. These men are representative of both. We have now vowed to make a similar pilgrimage each year, spending a few precious days to honor our friendships and demonstrate the importance of a lasting legacy to our own family and children, in hopes that one day they will be able to experience the same type of fulfillment in their own personal relationships.
Jeff, Mick, Burke, Dan and Bun, you are my brothers and I love you guys. Here's to forever remaining...Pals.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Many of you have relationships similar to that of which I speak; a group of people you spend an enormous amount of time with in your formative years, who become family, and form a bond so tight, nothing can penetrate, or diminish, its strength regardless of the circumstances. These men are those friends, that family.
Our crew did everything together, back in the day. We went on road trips together, spent time at each others' houses, celebrated successes and endured failures together. We tolerated each other, despised one another, were, at times, mischievous and unlawful in our actions, and honorable in our loyalty, to a fault. In a phrase: we always had each others' backs, unconditionally.
Before last Friday, it had been twenty eight years since we'd all been under the same roof and it was as if we had never left. Special relationships and true friendships work that way. They allow you the latitude to work on various aspects of your life and personality, to forge careers and begin families, and have an impact on a wide variety of people whose lives you come in contact with. Special relationships are true and reflect themselves in your daily interaction with co-workers, family and other friends you may make along the way. Special relationships allow you to re-convene after a three decades long recess and say, 'Now, where were we?'
From the time we entered the house, until we departed for home, it was as if we had been transported back in some imaginary time machine. We made a quantum leap back into the bodies we occupied as impressionable teenagers, and it was awesome. We recounted stories, both happy and sad, called each other out when we were full of it, played pranks on one another, re-fashioned our legacies, lied to each other and added bricks and other fortified layers to our friendships.
While I may be sad at the moment, I am happy that we have all matured enough to realize, life is unpredictable and doesn't go on forever, and that in this life there is nothing more valuable than true friends and family. These men are representative of both. We have now vowed to make a similar pilgrimage each year, spending a few precious days to honor our friendships and demonstrate the importance of a lasting legacy to our own family and children, in hopes that one day they will be able to experience the same type of fulfillment in their own personal relationships.
Jeff, Mick, Burke, Dan and Bun, you are my brothers and I love you guys. Here's to forever remaining...Pals.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Box Tops Against Bullying
At the risk of beating this horse beyond recognition, I'm going to venture up on to my soapbox one more time to discuss the importance of this topic, but perhaps not for reasons you might think.
I get extremely uneasy when people say things like, 'You're an amazing parent', or 'You guys are super heroes'. Fact is, I'm flawed. I struggle daily to maintain my sanity and continue to champion the causes we all champion because, well, frankly, it's exhausting. It's difficult enough raising kids that don't necessarily face a lot of the same challenges that a special needs child might. When you add that element to the mix, it's like lighting a match to a petroleum plant. Maintaining a healthy balance with work, spouse and family becomes a near impossible task and the day-to-day grind is enough to make you want to curl up in a ball and rock yourself to sleep. So, while family and friends' intentions are always positive and well founded, they aren't always accurate. I'm not a super hero, I'm a parent. Will I use a super heroic determination and strength to support and protect my children? Absolutely; one young man in particular.
By now, most of you who keep up with my postings know about Makenley and the challenges he faces each day from the time he wakes up, goes to school and back, then right up to the point he falls asleep. He is a stubborn, charismatic, loving, impulsive, humorous and intelligent individual and he is going through a difficult transitional period right now. With the onset of puberty and an awareness that coincides with this fascinating element of adolescence, comes a certain degree of uncertainty and confusion. It's difficult to find balance between peer interaction, the pressures this evolution can invite, scholastic initiative and the essential role each facet plays in one's personal development. When you include the internal demons that invade the little bodies of a special needs child, everything from wanting to be normal physically, to the nagging desire to fit in emotionally, it can, at times, be too much to bear. After the latest rounds of emotional instability, I found myself searching for something, anything that could ease this heavy load from my amazing son's shoulders; anything that could take his mind off the turmoil he was facing each day, and bring him a bit of peace and happiness. The funny thing about this period of time in particular, is, each day he would come home talking about how he needed these box tops. Day after day, "Dad, did you get any box tops today?" When I responded each time with a negative response, or anything other than that which he wanted to hear, I got sighs, groans and even a few monumental tantrums. All over these stupid box tops. Then he explained it to me. And it made sense. His school, like so many others, uses the box tops for education program as a means to help raise funds, and provide other ancillary supports for the enhancement of the students that attend there. This is a fundraising effort he was excited about and wanted to participate in, and that was good enough for me. If he can find a particular passion in a program like this, who am I to dissuade him? The problem for him is, me being me, I couldn't let it go at that. I decided that this effort could provide a wonderful, legitimate platform to accomplish a couple of important goals, all within the parameters of this one, simple, established program. We can use this initiative as a means to support him in his efforts to do well for the school and show solidarity for his other prevalent issue of late, bullying.
Could there be a more perfect way for strangers, united in a national struggle to lift the spirits of one young man, to interact than to clip out a cardboard box top, put it in an envelope with a 'forever' stamp and mail it to his home, or school? I mean, we all eat, right? And I would venture to say nearly everyone reading this posting has a box of cereal, or other dry boxed goods, containing one of these box tops. I understand a certain faction will reply by saying, 'Yes, but my children use the program too and I feel a need to support them'. Great. You're acting in their best interest, as any parent would do. But I'm not asking anyone to forgo their obligations locally. I'm saying, send 1, or 5, or 10 to support this cause and communicate to our society that this behavior is not tolerable, we recognize the issue at hand and we are determined to make a difference. And you know what? You may just have, living under your roof, a selfless, compassionate little guy, or girl, who understands what this young man is going through and can empathize in a way we are not capable of empathizing as adults, and volunteers their own collection, as at least one child of a supportive parent has done for Makenley.
It's an issue we're all aware of, all support and most remain silent about, because either a) it hasn't affected us personally, or b) it's a taboo subject and we want to believe in the best in people, that people are incapable of such behaviors and thus, choose not to act. The great thing about what I'm proposing here is, you can still show the same degree of support, but you get to do it anonymously.
You don't have to have children to participate. You don't even have to like children. All you need is a core belief that the act of bullying is inexcusable, and a willingness to go to your mailbox. We all have friends (well, most of us), relatives, co-workers, organizations, clubs, churches and the like that we can draw from, gain encouragement from, brainstorm with and who are eager to a-f-f-e-c-t change. We have youth groups and pep bands, and athletic organizations in our schools who already give so much, so unselfishly. Use these people. Recognize the potential in each of us to do better; to reach out when someone needs a certain degree of support, lift them up and show the world they are special. They are all special. You don't even have to live in is country to have an impact. You just have to have a heart, a compassionate soul and a little bit of drive, literally and figuratively.
I encourage you all, all over the country and globally, to support this effort, this movement. Help me obtain my personal stated goal of overwhelming our school and community with this worthwhile cause. The children are crying out. They need our help. They deserve our action. Take a minute and share this information on your social networking sites, or email, or whatever means you choose and get people involved. It time for real change. It's time to realize, even one more lost soul is one too many. It's time to change the system.
Anyone wishing to contribute can reach me privately for our home address, or you can simply mail your 'box tops for education' box tops to:
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W. 30th St.
Indianapolis, In. 46234
Feel free to include a note of support and encouragement and force our administrators to acknowledge and recognize, we are aware of how real this issue has become and we won't be satisfied until it has been eliminated as a threat to the well being of our children.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
I get extremely uneasy when people say things like, 'You're an amazing parent', or 'You guys are super heroes'. Fact is, I'm flawed. I struggle daily to maintain my sanity and continue to champion the causes we all champion because, well, frankly, it's exhausting. It's difficult enough raising kids that don't necessarily face a lot of the same challenges that a special needs child might. When you add that element to the mix, it's like lighting a match to a petroleum plant. Maintaining a healthy balance with work, spouse and family becomes a near impossible task and the day-to-day grind is enough to make you want to curl up in a ball and rock yourself to sleep. So, while family and friends' intentions are always positive and well founded, they aren't always accurate. I'm not a super hero, I'm a parent. Will I use a super heroic determination and strength to support and protect my children? Absolutely; one young man in particular.
By now, most of you who keep up with my postings know about Makenley and the challenges he faces each day from the time he wakes up, goes to school and back, then right up to the point he falls asleep. He is a stubborn, charismatic, loving, impulsive, humorous and intelligent individual and he is going through a difficult transitional period right now. With the onset of puberty and an awareness that coincides with this fascinating element of adolescence, comes a certain degree of uncertainty and confusion. It's difficult to find balance between peer interaction, the pressures this evolution can invite, scholastic initiative and the essential role each facet plays in one's personal development. When you include the internal demons that invade the little bodies of a special needs child, everything from wanting to be normal physically, to the nagging desire to fit in emotionally, it can, at times, be too much to bear. After the latest rounds of emotional instability, I found myself searching for something, anything that could ease this heavy load from my amazing son's shoulders; anything that could take his mind off the turmoil he was facing each day, and bring him a bit of peace and happiness. The funny thing about this period of time in particular, is, each day he would come home talking about how he needed these box tops. Day after day, "Dad, did you get any box tops today?" When I responded each time with a negative response, or anything other than that which he wanted to hear, I got sighs, groans and even a few monumental tantrums. All over these stupid box tops. Then he explained it to me. And it made sense. His school, like so many others, uses the box tops for education program as a means to help raise funds, and provide other ancillary supports for the enhancement of the students that attend there. This is a fundraising effort he was excited about and wanted to participate in, and that was good enough for me. If he can find a particular passion in a program like this, who am I to dissuade him? The problem for him is, me being me, I couldn't let it go at that. I decided that this effort could provide a wonderful, legitimate platform to accomplish a couple of important goals, all within the parameters of this one, simple, established program. We can use this initiative as a means to support him in his efforts to do well for the school and show solidarity for his other prevalent issue of late, bullying.
Could there be a more perfect way for strangers, united in a national struggle to lift the spirits of one young man, to interact than to clip out a cardboard box top, put it in an envelope with a 'forever' stamp and mail it to his home, or school? I mean, we all eat, right? And I would venture to say nearly everyone reading this posting has a box of cereal, or other dry boxed goods, containing one of these box tops. I understand a certain faction will reply by saying, 'Yes, but my children use the program too and I feel a need to support them'. Great. You're acting in their best interest, as any parent would do. But I'm not asking anyone to forgo their obligations locally. I'm saying, send 1, or 5, or 10 to support this cause and communicate to our society that this behavior is not tolerable, we recognize the issue at hand and we are determined to make a difference. And you know what? You may just have, living under your roof, a selfless, compassionate little guy, or girl, who understands what this young man is going through and can empathize in a way we are not capable of empathizing as adults, and volunteers their own collection, as at least one child of a supportive parent has done for Makenley.
It's an issue we're all aware of, all support and most remain silent about, because either a) it hasn't affected us personally, or b) it's a taboo subject and we want to believe in the best in people, that people are incapable of such behaviors and thus, choose not to act. The great thing about what I'm proposing here is, you can still show the same degree of support, but you get to do it anonymously.
You don't have to have children to participate. You don't even have to like children. All you need is a core belief that the act of bullying is inexcusable, and a willingness to go to your mailbox. We all have friends (well, most of us), relatives, co-workers, organizations, clubs, churches and the like that we can draw from, gain encouragement from, brainstorm with and who are eager to a-f-f-e-c-t change. We have youth groups and pep bands, and athletic organizations in our schools who already give so much, so unselfishly. Use these people. Recognize the potential in each of us to do better; to reach out when someone needs a certain degree of support, lift them up and show the world they are special. They are all special. You don't even have to live in is country to have an impact. You just have to have a heart, a compassionate soul and a little bit of drive, literally and figuratively.
I encourage you all, all over the country and globally, to support this effort, this movement. Help me obtain my personal stated goal of overwhelming our school and community with this worthwhile cause. The children are crying out. They need our help. They deserve our action. Take a minute and share this information on your social networking sites, or email, or whatever means you choose and get people involved. It time for real change. It's time to realize, even one more lost soul is one too many. It's time to change the system.
Anyone wishing to contribute can reach me privately for our home address, or you can simply mail your 'box tops for education' box tops to:
Makenley Deuschle
C/O Robey Elementary
8700 W. 30th St.
Indianapolis, In. 46234
Feel free to include a note of support and encouragement and force our administrators to acknowledge and recognize, we are aware of how real this issue has become and we won't be satisfied until it has been eliminated as a threat to the well being of our children.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Sunday, September 1, 2013
"They Make Fun Of The Way I Talk, And Nobody Will Help Me"
I had about fifty light-hearted, funny (in my mind, anyway) topics ready to go, when this one jumped to the forefront of my conscience and made me think, 'the other fluff can wait'. It's been ongoing for some time, and we've seen some of the signs: "forgotten" homework assignments, voluntary isolation, defiance at home; we've even scheduled a case conference, one month into the school year to update his IEP. But, it didn't really smack me in the face, or become crystal clear, until this morning when my son broke down and, upon my asking what was wrong with him, responded by saying, "They make fun of the way I talk, and nobody will help me."
To understand the issue at hand you need to understand my son. He was born with a condition; no, a disease I referenced in an earlier post called, Schizencephaly. I understand the majority have never heard of this disease, but may be familiar with the layman's root disease, Cerebral Palsy. Our son doesn't have a lot of classic signs. In fact, if you were to meet him for the first time, initially you may think he's a normal, healthy 11-year-old boy which, in many ways, turns out to be true. What you do recognize over time, are subtle differences such as the limp, the under-developed right arm, a propensity for drooling and...his speech. He has worked very hard in all phases of his young life, but this area is becoming more prominent socially and has caused him great personal embarrassment and discomfort, especially in a learning environment where he may be called on and encouraged to speak in front of his peers. He first brought this subject matter to my attention last year, when he mentioned that he didn't like himself and wondered why God made him so that people couldn't understand him. We talked a little bit about the unique nature of each of us individually and even worked on some solutions in his therapy sessions, which seemed to help, at least on the surface. He was responding more in class, his peers were apprised of his new speech techniques and everything seemed to be on the upswing. That was then, this is now.
It's sad to think about, really; why it's human nature to be cruel to each other, especially at such a young age. We, personally, are not unreasonable people. We understand, 'kids will be kids'. But, what kind of children pick on another child with a disability? Not that there should be degrees of acceptable bullying; all bullying is unacceptable. But, to conscientiously choose to say and do mean-spirited things to a peer who is physically inferior in most aspects? This is not normal adolescent behavior. This is a learned behavior, and it is disgusting and reprehensible. Don't believe people like this exist? Read the letter from the "concerned" Canadian citizen, which is currently circulating the social networking sites.
After my son and I had our initial conversation about the current state of his social situation, I immediately sent off an email to the principal of the school letting him know this was an issue in his school, at least in one known instance, and probably more. You know the adage, where there's smoke, there's fire. He replied back with the standard bureaucratic response, that this behavior was not acceptable in their school or school system, they would investigate and take appropriate action, blah, blah, blah...bull s***. Here we are, not 6 months later, re-convening a meeting, and topic, that were allegedly discussed and resolved at that time; taking time to update standards in our son's learning regiment, not due to a lack of comprehension, but due to a lack of oversight, regarding the hottest of hot-button topics in our academic society today. Why? What..are..we..afraid of?!? Is it wrong to hold ourselves, as responsible adults, to a higher moral standard, to be decent to each other and stop all of the senseless hatred and negativity? What in the world is ever accomplished by acting this way? Do people, in general, really feel better about themselves, or sleep better at night, knowing they've managed to make another human being feel absolutely miserable? It's deplorable and it's about time somebody had the guts, starting from the top down, to change this pervasive attitude in our communities. That's the platform, right? C-h-a-n-g-e? Put your money where your mouth is.
I'm not willing to have one more conversation with my incredibly heroic son, where he tells me he can't stand himself, he doesn't know why he was 'made different', or doesn't want to live. This is not his issue. He is not to blame. This one is on us, and we need to grow up, act like adults and O-W-N it, because the only statistic I'm going to allow him to become, is the one where he defies all of the odds and accomplishes all of the great things that are inside of him. He deserves that. They all do.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
It's sad to think about, really; why it's human nature to be cruel to each other, especially at such a young age. We, personally, are not unreasonable people. We understand, 'kids will be kids'. But, what kind of children pick on another child with a disability? Not that there should be degrees of acceptable bullying; all bullying is unacceptable. But, to conscientiously choose to say and do mean-spirited things to a peer who is physically inferior in most aspects? This is not normal adolescent behavior. This is a learned behavior, and it is disgusting and reprehensible. Don't believe people like this exist? Read the letter from the "concerned" Canadian citizen, which is currently circulating the social networking sites.
After my son and I had our initial conversation about the current state of his social situation, I immediately sent off an email to the principal of the school letting him know this was an issue in his school, at least in one known instance, and probably more. You know the adage, where there's smoke, there's fire. He replied back with the standard bureaucratic response, that this behavior was not acceptable in their school or school system, they would investigate and take appropriate action, blah, blah, blah...bull s***. Here we are, not 6 months later, re-convening a meeting, and topic, that were allegedly discussed and resolved at that time; taking time to update standards in our son's learning regiment, not due to a lack of comprehension, but due to a lack of oversight, regarding the hottest of hot-button topics in our academic society today. Why? What..are..we..afraid of?!? Is it wrong to hold ourselves, as responsible adults, to a higher moral standard, to be decent to each other and stop all of the senseless hatred and negativity? What in the world is ever accomplished by acting this way? Do people, in general, really feel better about themselves, or sleep better at night, knowing they've managed to make another human being feel absolutely miserable? It's deplorable and it's about time somebody had the guts, starting from the top down, to change this pervasive attitude in our communities. That's the platform, right? C-h-a-n-g-e? Put your money where your mouth is.
I'm not willing to have one more conversation with my incredibly heroic son, where he tells me he can't stand himself, he doesn't know why he was 'made different', or doesn't want to live. This is not his issue. He is not to blame. This one is on us, and we need to grow up, act like adults and O-W-N it, because the only statistic I'm going to allow him to become, is the one where he defies all of the odds and accomplishes all of the great things that are inside of him. He deserves that. They all do.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Are We There Yet?
Ah, yes. The good old-fashioned family vacation. Whose idea was this anyway? To shove a truckful of kids into a car, set off on a cross-country trek and call it anything other than a trip to the world's most evil dentist for a root canal with no Novocaine? I mean, think about it. We have the ability to be anywhere in the contiguous United States in 5 hours or less. What are we thinking and why do we care so much about the other two hundred and some odd poor souls we would be subjecting our innocent little offspring to?
We long for yesterday; for a simpler time when we spent every waking hour with our family and went everywhere together. But, what made those times seem so special, when these days it seems like a prison sentence, being subjected to the drip, drip, drip of the Chinese torture method? Perhaps it's because our parents were wise and knew something all along, that we could not possibly grasp; times were changing, we weren't as innocent as we perceived ourselves to be in our own minds, and one day they would receive the ultimate gift from us: payback.
I hate the people who founded this country, and all of her special 'family oriented attractions': from the national parks, to theme parks, to the beach communities, and so on. Have you bothered to look at a map lately, other than in your latest bug infested iPhone app? You can still buy them, you know. And, if you are as forward thinking, or paranoid, as I am, you can get them for free with your AAA Plus Platinum Special Rewards membership. Take a map, lay it out and study it. Give it a good, long look. There is not one of these worthwhile "attractions" within a reasonable driving distance from anywhere you may choose to live in this great country. It's a scam, and we are the naive victims of the game. Grr...
It all starts out innocently enough. You pile into the family truckster, or "man van", as some in my inner circle happily refer to it, children clicking their little seat belts over booster seats (mandatory until approximately 15 years of age, or 200 lbs., whichever comes first), or being restrained in the latest 16 point safety harness, everyone gleefully singing songs, or mapping out their evil strategy and then it happens: 5 minutes into your 16 hour pleasure ride into the 7th circle of hell, a teeny, tiny voice, thought initially to be springing forth from your subconscious, calls out, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
This one, seemingly innocent question, meant with the most honest sincerity (allegedly), has now set off an avalanche of follow-up questions, and statements, aimed squarely at the synapses in the brain which manipulate self control, irritability and sanity: "Daddy, I have to go potty." "Can we eat? I'm hungry. I need Donald's", and my favorite, "Mom! Sonny Poo Poo is touching me!" All, before leaving the cozy confines of your subdivision. The fact that this is an element of the American Dream, in any form, is as disturbing as waking up on the basement couch with Uncle John's arm draped over your side, drooling into your inner ear canal; or so I would imagine.
We do the best we can to disarm the verbal arsenal, or distract the attentively deficient, by singing antiquated songs, or playing ABC sight games our great grandparents used to play in their '42 coupes, but to no avail. This is the 21st century and they have far surpassed, by the age of 4, our capacity for what is real, tolerable and acceptable, and they make us pay. They make us pay for every meal we mandated a 'green' be flushed down into their little digestive tracts; for every time we refused to let them go play at little Susie Perfect's house because their attitude was a little off, or homework wasn't quite finished to the satisfaction of our illiterate neighbors with the hay field growing in their front yard. It's a brilliant plan, one that is clear in its intent and perfect in its execution: total destruction of the parental psyche, resulting in great rewards and feasts for little people everywhere.
We sit, argue with them and each other, teetering on the verge of complete dissolution of the family unit, until we look up in the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of our little angels sleeping peacefully, some 30 minutes outside our planned destination and realize, 'This is what it's all about'. Then, in that sweet, sleepy voice, with just a hint of yawn, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
"Yes, buddy. Yes we are."
Until tomorrow,
Scott
We long for yesterday; for a simpler time when we spent every waking hour with our family and went everywhere together. But, what made those times seem so special, when these days it seems like a prison sentence, being subjected to the drip, drip, drip of the Chinese torture method? Perhaps it's because our parents were wise and knew something all along, that we could not possibly grasp; times were changing, we weren't as innocent as we perceived ourselves to be in our own minds, and one day they would receive the ultimate gift from us: payback.
I hate the people who founded this country, and all of her special 'family oriented attractions': from the national parks, to theme parks, to the beach communities, and so on. Have you bothered to look at a map lately, other than in your latest bug infested iPhone app? You can still buy them, you know. And, if you are as forward thinking, or paranoid, as I am, you can get them for free with your AAA Plus Platinum Special Rewards membership. Take a map, lay it out and study it. Give it a good, long look. There is not one of these worthwhile "attractions" within a reasonable driving distance from anywhere you may choose to live in this great country. It's a scam, and we are the naive victims of the game. Grr...
It all starts out innocently enough. You pile into the family truckster, or "man van", as some in my inner circle happily refer to it, children clicking their little seat belts over booster seats (mandatory until approximately 15 years of age, or 200 lbs., whichever comes first), or being restrained in the latest 16 point safety harness, everyone gleefully singing songs, or mapping out their evil strategy and then it happens: 5 minutes into your 16 hour pleasure ride into the 7th circle of hell, a teeny, tiny voice, thought initially to be springing forth from your subconscious, calls out, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
This one, seemingly innocent question, meant with the most honest sincerity (allegedly), has now set off an avalanche of follow-up questions, and statements, aimed squarely at the synapses in the brain which manipulate self control, irritability and sanity: "Daddy, I have to go potty." "Can we eat? I'm hungry. I need Donald's", and my favorite, "Mom! Sonny Poo Poo is touching me!" All, before leaving the cozy confines of your subdivision. The fact that this is an element of the American Dream, in any form, is as disturbing as waking up on the basement couch with Uncle John's arm draped over your side, drooling into your inner ear canal; or so I would imagine.
We do the best we can to disarm the verbal arsenal, or distract the attentively deficient, by singing antiquated songs, or playing ABC sight games our great grandparents used to play in their '42 coupes, but to no avail. This is the 21st century and they have far surpassed, by the age of 4, our capacity for what is real, tolerable and acceptable, and they make us pay. They make us pay for every meal we mandated a 'green' be flushed down into their little digestive tracts; for every time we refused to let them go play at little Susie Perfect's house because their attitude was a little off, or homework wasn't quite finished to the satisfaction of our illiterate neighbors with the hay field growing in their front yard. It's a brilliant plan, one that is clear in its intent and perfect in its execution: total destruction of the parental psyche, resulting in great rewards and feasts for little people everywhere.
We sit, argue with them and each other, teetering on the verge of complete dissolution of the family unit, until we look up in the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of our little angels sleeping peacefully, some 30 minutes outside our planned destination and realize, 'This is what it's all about'. Then, in that sweet, sleepy voice, with just a hint of yawn, "Daddy...are we there yet?"
"Yes, buddy. Yes we are."
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Monday, August 12, 2013
I Want My Grandma's Fried Chicken
There are certain experiences in life which leave indelible imprints on our memory: our favorite sports team winning it all, the birth of a child, and Grandma's fried chicken. What is it about this phenomenon that makes our mouths water, taste it in our dreams and yearn for one more meal? Is it those memories of standing in her kitchen as a little boy, while the aroma of your favorite meal swallowed up that cozy ranch you used to beg your parents to visit, almost daily? Or watching the love and effort she put into every phase of the ordeal; from the homemade breading to the hand mashing of the potatoes? Whatever the case, a visit to Grandma's was always a magical experience.
Growing up, I had the very good fortune of living a very short drive from my grandmother. My father might tell you, too short. At any rate, I would harass my parents constantly, to go hang out at her house; not like my dad had spent the first eighteen years of his life living there, or anything. My friends were fun enough, but there was just something about spending a day, or couple of days, inside that home. There was always plenty to do, whether it be endless hours of Rummy and Yahtzee, building Lincoln Logs, or simply curling up on the couch watching our favorite soap, Guiding Light. The best part for me was, she always wanted me around.
I loved my family life and my mother was a wonderful cook, but I found the story of my grandmother's generation to be fascinating. I used to lie awake and wonder what their lives must have been like, living through the Great Depression and the Second World War. I would observe my grandfather, sitting quietly in his easy chair watching the news, or glancing at the Readers Digest, occasionally slipping outside the front door to pull on a Camel filter less smoke and was completely captivated with how this strong, silent man could make me feel so safe. I just l-o-v-e-d that place and the history wrapped up inside.
There were benefits to being one of Grandma's favorites (it would make mom uncomfortable, because she felt my siblings were slighted from time to time), like going to the mall, or Woolworth's, going to a movie together, or running meaningless errands, just to have the company, especially after Grandpa died. We would go everywhere, just to go. And she would let me do things, like pound on her piano until her ears would bleed, dig through the bottomless candy dish, or play and play and play, until we both collapsed in a heap and slept long hours through the night. Being one of her favorites also meant she asked for me before she passed, one of the most difficult times of my life, only days after rushing home from college to be by her bedside.
All of that has changed now and she has been gone nearly thirty years. Not a week goes by that I don't think about those times, sitting in her tiny dining room gazing in wonder, as she put the finishing touches on another masterpiece. I long to have her offer up the first piece of chicken, the leg, my favorite, and ask me to be polite and pass the gravy, just one more time. I often times smell those smells, see her smile and hug her in my dreams. And I miss her...every day.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Growing up, I had the very good fortune of living a very short drive from my grandmother. My father might tell you, too short. At any rate, I would harass my parents constantly, to go hang out at her house; not like my dad had spent the first eighteen years of his life living there, or anything. My friends were fun enough, but there was just something about spending a day, or couple of days, inside that home. There was always plenty to do, whether it be endless hours of Rummy and Yahtzee, building Lincoln Logs, or simply curling up on the couch watching our favorite soap, Guiding Light. The best part for me was, she always wanted me around.
I loved my family life and my mother was a wonderful cook, but I found the story of my grandmother's generation to be fascinating. I used to lie awake and wonder what their lives must have been like, living through the Great Depression and the Second World War. I would observe my grandfather, sitting quietly in his easy chair watching the news, or glancing at the Readers Digest, occasionally slipping outside the front door to pull on a Camel filter less smoke and was completely captivated with how this strong, silent man could make me feel so safe. I just l-o-v-e-d that place and the history wrapped up inside.
There were benefits to being one of Grandma's favorites (it would make mom uncomfortable, because she felt my siblings were slighted from time to time), like going to the mall, or Woolworth's, going to a movie together, or running meaningless errands, just to have the company, especially after Grandpa died. We would go everywhere, just to go. And she would let me do things, like pound on her piano until her ears would bleed, dig through the bottomless candy dish, or play and play and play, until we both collapsed in a heap and slept long hours through the night. Being one of her favorites also meant she asked for me before she passed, one of the most difficult times of my life, only days after rushing home from college to be by her bedside.
All of that has changed now and she has been gone nearly thirty years. Not a week goes by that I don't think about those times, sitting in her tiny dining room gazing in wonder, as she put the finishing touches on another masterpiece. I long to have her offer up the first piece of chicken, the leg, my favorite, and ask me to be polite and pass the gravy, just one more time. I often times smell those smells, see her smile and hug her in my dreams. And I miss her...every day.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Eye Don' Knead Know Speling Oar Grammer...
My name is Boo K. Riter and this won thyme inn school, eye remember my teacher says "ewe better listen too me cuz your goin two knead this some day. I was like, man your knot even going too bee their sew why our u hastlin me. " I use two h8 dat place be cuz it was like a prism sentence and they're was no per roll. I coldnt even bear too Sho up have the time, butt eye did any whey an it were a pane inn the but. Sum times I wood sit inn the back of the class and make fun of all the smart kids they wasn't to fun too bee around at all ever? Some how my teechers had me go all the way to twelveth grade and it was off full. This was da longist year of my live. Butt they let me graju eight anyways and eye laffed at them all on the stage in the Jim when they gave me a duhploma!
That some er wuz the bestest ever when I flu on a plain four the first time and went to Disney whirled. My buddy's dident go becoz they was to Bize getting reddy fore collige its col tho be cause it was awe sum without them awl bye my self. I road all the rides and saw the cassel. Then eye flu back an every won was gone. All off my frends that I use two chill with moved away so I just layed inn my room and did knot care when they all left me. It was pritty sad and I was board that I didn't half any bruthers oar sisters.
Won day I woke up an de sided I shooed git a job and make knew frends, oar go try too go two collige my self. And ewe no what, I started two feel better about my self. I was ix sited too feel good agin. I werked hard an studied perty hard to, and inn the middle of skool I de sided to get Sirius two become a righter. Eye practised and I practiced, and over time I began to understand things more clearly. I enjoyed learning and helping other people who asked, or needed my help, and my life began to take shape and have value.
I received my degree English literature, with a minor in Journalism and have decided to spend a year abroad, learning about different cultures and gathering even more knowledge, so I can come back and share those experiences with others. I am so glad I woke up and took the advice of that teacher. My only regret is that I don't remember her name because, frankly, I just didn't care at the time. So, if you're out there and you remember that 10-year-old boy who used to give you grief each day, and acted as if he didn't listen and didn't care; he did listen, he does care and he thanks you.
Thank you to all of the teachers who give so much of themselves each day, and always do the very best they can, for their students. You never know the life you are impacting at any given time; it may just be that boy, or girl, that's a little bit different than the others and seems to care a whole lot less. You have the 'gift'; the gift of sacrifice, and caring for the welfare of these children. That includes the student that doesn't dress quite as nice, or exhibit exactly the proper habits regarding hygiene and may not be fully engaged at all times. It isn't always their fault, and many times you are the one person who can impact them in a positive manner; be their refuge. Educating isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. If it were, everyone would do it. I encourage you to keep up the fight and never give up, especially when it seems hopeless, like they don't care. They do, it just may take some a little longer to appreciate the lessens you instilled in them, fulfilling their promise and moving forward, sharing their gift with someone else. Remember, those who can...teach.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
That some er wuz the bestest ever when I flu on a plain four the first time and went to Disney whirled. My buddy's dident go becoz they was to Bize getting reddy fore collige its col tho be cause it was awe sum without them awl bye my self. I road all the rides and saw the cassel. Then eye flu back an every won was gone. All off my frends that I use two chill with moved away so I just layed inn my room and did knot care when they all left me. It was pritty sad and I was board that I didn't half any bruthers oar sisters.
Won day I woke up an de sided I shooed git a job and make knew frends, oar go try too go two collige my self. And ewe no what, I started two feel better about my self. I was ix sited too feel good agin. I werked hard an studied perty hard to, and inn the middle of skool I de sided to get Sirius two become a righter. Eye practised and I practiced, and over time I began to understand things more clearly. I enjoyed learning and helping other people who asked, or needed my help, and my life began to take shape and have value.
I received my degree English literature, with a minor in Journalism and have decided to spend a year abroad, learning about different cultures and gathering even more knowledge, so I can come back and share those experiences with others. I am so glad I woke up and took the advice of that teacher. My only regret is that I don't remember her name because, frankly, I just didn't care at the time. So, if you're out there and you remember that 10-year-old boy who used to give you grief each day, and acted as if he didn't listen and didn't care; he did listen, he does care and he thanks you.
Thank you to all of the teachers who give so much of themselves each day, and always do the very best they can, for their students. You never know the life you are impacting at any given time; it may just be that boy, or girl, that's a little bit different than the others and seems to care a whole lot less. You have the 'gift'; the gift of sacrifice, and caring for the welfare of these children. That includes the student that doesn't dress quite as nice, or exhibit exactly the proper habits regarding hygiene and may not be fully engaged at all times. It isn't always their fault, and many times you are the one person who can impact them in a positive manner; be their refuge. Educating isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. If it were, everyone would do it. I encourage you to keep up the fight and never give up, especially when it seems hopeless, like they don't care. They do, it just may take some a little longer to appreciate the lessens you instilled in them, fulfilling their promise and moving forward, sharing their gift with someone else. Remember, those who can...teach.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Friday, August 9, 2013
Kids, And The 'Rule Of Three'...
For as long as one can remember, the laws of nature have mandated that every major life, or catastrophic, event has taken place with a 'Rule of Three'. There's no rhyme or reason. It's merely a greater force letting us know we've already had two chances, then asking how many more we need. The game of baseball and child rearing are no different. Today we'll focus on the kids.
I have categorized the rules as they apply to our family. Yours may differ but, in the end, I think you'll find we're all paddling up the same proverbial stream. The list, in no particular order of importance, is as follows:
The Three Ring Circus: This is simply the rule that states that if you have more than one child living under your roof at any given time, your life will be constant chaos and turmoil, and nothing will be anything less than a life altering, traumatic, or dramatic event.
Practical example-"MOOO-ooom!" "Sam took the last fig newton out of the jaaa-aaar!" A fig newton. I know, right? Or, "DAA-aaad!" "Billy stole the rubber band that I took off of the paper that was in our drive way six months ago, that I completely forgot about until this very moment, and will keep me in therapy for the next 20 years if I don't get it baa-aaack!" Come on, tell me I'm lying. I dare you.
The Three Round Fight: This rule varies only slightly in appearance from the first example, in that many times there will be a physical confrontation which may, or may not, involve bruising, blood, and most likely, tears. This rule has a short term effect on the parent involved and most often results in a 'closed door' policy enforcement.
The Three Second Count: This rule is a typically the 'action' taken as the result of behaviors exhibited in the first two examples. This is a relatively new, 21st century version of discipline which has replaced the open hand, the belt, the switch, the paddle, the hanger, and every other effective method of corporal punishment, successful generations of parents employed raising their children. How this whole fad was initiated I'm not quite sure, but one thing is for certain: It's far more humiliating and embarrassing for the parent than it is the child. Kids know, as soon as we raise the finger, we are full of it, have lost all control, and they have won. You tell me; how effective is this (and this is reality)? "Boo Boo? If I get to three I'm going to take away everything good and meaningful about your life. Are you ready?" "O-N-E. I mean it. T-WWW-OOO! I'm not fooling around. TWO-AND-A-HALF!! I'll really do it this time! I'm not afraid of you." Oh R-E-A-L-L-Y? Every time I witness this rule in action, it makes my skin crawl, because I know the parent doing the finger pointing got their feelings hurt one too many times as a child and refuses to subject their children to the same abuses. Instead, they subject the rest if us to their new and improved version, and the monsters they have 'raised' as a result. Oh, and in our house, we never use the 'half', but always go straight to three.
The Three Minute Time Out: When the progressive, forward thinking individuals fail miserably enforcing the most recent rule, this is the result; because nothing spells control, like taking a disrespectful, unresponsive child and placing them in 'freeze mode' for an extended period of time. Child rearing "experts" (I always wondered how you become an expert beyond feeding, clothing and changing the crappy diapers of my kid, but I digress) recommend using a minute of quiet, reflective time for each year of their life. I.e.-The 3-year-old gets three minutes and the 9-year-old gets nine minutes. Now, I have one of these; a 9-year-old, and I'm nominated annually for 'Father of the Year' if I can get her to sit still for nine seconds. And more often than not, this rule is accompanied by the, "Sit still or we're starting over", by-law, which is entirely inefficient by its sheer definition. If you start over, who is benefiting from the 'punishment'? It's time to recognize; they're smarter than we are, and are proven professionals when it comes to exposing our weaknesses.
The Three Stop 'Roadie': We've all taken that short, two or three hour jaunt to grandma's, and subjected ourselves to our own famous last words: "Everyone go potty now, because we are not stopping, this time!" Then, as predictable as the sunrise, 'Birdie', named for the size of her bladder, screams incessantly that she will leave a little yellow pool on your fine Italian leather third row bench seat if you fail to pull the car over...now. Are we really stupid enough to say no? Be careful how you answer, because some of you in our midst help write the yearly budgets for every car detailing company in the country. Nine out of ten experts say that we will stop, on multiple occasions, because the psychological effects, and damage to our olfactory receptors, will be too great to overcome otherwise.
The Three Aisle Meltdown: This rule, probably he most fun and rewarding for the parent (at least us), deals with the phenomenon of the grocery store meltdown. We've all been there; you're wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles, talking or texting to your 'bestie', because you can't not hear from them for longer than five minute intervals, look down and notice your angel has been raking the shelves for the past 10 minutes and is now buried in a mountain of Oreo's and Cheesy Poofs. Now is the profound moment that men and women alike choose to 'grow a pair' and utter that one simple, negative, word that is non existent in the vernacular of today's youth: "No". The chain reaction that results from this fool-hardy attempt at parenting is both hilarious, and epic in its rate of failure. We, in our wisdom, have chosen to berate our shorty, pull them out of the cart, double stuffed lard flying into neatly fronted shelves, and leave them in a heap, screaming and sobbing as if they had just severed a limb sticking their arm in the live lobster tank. Proving a point, we unaffectedly keep 'shopping', one, two, three aisles over, until they are either out of earshot, or we are confronted by an angry mob, accompanied by security, threatening us with a visit from CPS. We love this rule in our household and have yet to get that knock on our door.
Three Hugs, Three Kisses, Three Times A Day: This is by far the most rewarding rule of them all; proof that no matter what dirty little, rotten scoundrels they may be some of the time, we love them all of the time. This is the rule that makes all of the laughable, inexcusable, ineffective methods we enact on a daily basis, worth the effort, or lack thereof. This rule is the realization that no matter what 'event' may transpire throughout the course of the day, nothing supersedes our love for our kids. This affection for our children is perhaps the greatest parenting lesson they can receive. That, regardless of how you choose to raise, or discipline your children, if you love unconditionally, they might just turn out alright in the end.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
I have categorized the rules as they apply to our family. Yours may differ but, in the end, I think you'll find we're all paddling up the same proverbial stream. The list, in no particular order of importance, is as follows:
The Three Ring Circus: This is simply the rule that states that if you have more than one child living under your roof at any given time, your life will be constant chaos and turmoil, and nothing will be anything less than a life altering, traumatic, or dramatic event.
Practical example-"MOOO-ooom!" "Sam took the last fig newton out of the jaaa-aaar!" A fig newton. I know, right? Or, "DAA-aaad!" "Billy stole the rubber band that I took off of the paper that was in our drive way six months ago, that I completely forgot about until this very moment, and will keep me in therapy for the next 20 years if I don't get it baa-aaack!" Come on, tell me I'm lying. I dare you.
The Three Round Fight: This rule varies only slightly in appearance from the first example, in that many times there will be a physical confrontation which may, or may not, involve bruising, blood, and most likely, tears. This rule has a short term effect on the parent involved and most often results in a 'closed door' policy enforcement.
The Three Second Count: This rule is a typically the 'action' taken as the result of behaviors exhibited in the first two examples. This is a relatively new, 21st century version of discipline which has replaced the open hand, the belt, the switch, the paddle, the hanger, and every other effective method of corporal punishment, successful generations of parents employed raising their children. How this whole fad was initiated I'm not quite sure, but one thing is for certain: It's far more humiliating and embarrassing for the parent than it is the child. Kids know, as soon as we raise the finger, we are full of it, have lost all control, and they have won. You tell me; how effective is this (and this is reality)? "Boo Boo? If I get to three I'm going to take away everything good and meaningful about your life. Are you ready?" "O-N-E. I mean it. T-WWW-OOO! I'm not fooling around. TWO-AND-A-HALF!! I'll really do it this time! I'm not afraid of you." Oh R-E-A-L-L-Y? Every time I witness this rule in action, it makes my skin crawl, because I know the parent doing the finger pointing got their feelings hurt one too many times as a child and refuses to subject their children to the same abuses. Instead, they subject the rest if us to their new and improved version, and the monsters they have 'raised' as a result. Oh, and in our house, we never use the 'half', but always go straight to three.
The Three Minute Time Out: When the progressive, forward thinking individuals fail miserably enforcing the most recent rule, this is the result; because nothing spells control, like taking a disrespectful, unresponsive child and placing them in 'freeze mode' for an extended period of time. Child rearing "experts" (I always wondered how you become an expert beyond feeding, clothing and changing the crappy diapers of my kid, but I digress) recommend using a minute of quiet, reflective time for each year of their life. I.e.-The 3-year-old gets three minutes and the 9-year-old gets nine minutes. Now, I have one of these; a 9-year-old, and I'm nominated annually for 'Father of the Year' if I can get her to sit still for nine seconds. And more often than not, this rule is accompanied by the, "Sit still or we're starting over", by-law, which is entirely inefficient by its sheer definition. If you start over, who is benefiting from the 'punishment'? It's time to recognize; they're smarter than we are, and are proven professionals when it comes to exposing our weaknesses.
The Three Stop 'Roadie': We've all taken that short, two or three hour jaunt to grandma's, and subjected ourselves to our own famous last words: "Everyone go potty now, because we are not stopping, this time!" Then, as predictable as the sunrise, 'Birdie', named for the size of her bladder, screams incessantly that she will leave a little yellow pool on your fine Italian leather third row bench seat if you fail to pull the car over...now. Are we really stupid enough to say no? Be careful how you answer, because some of you in our midst help write the yearly budgets for every car detailing company in the country. Nine out of ten experts say that we will stop, on multiple occasions, because the psychological effects, and damage to our olfactory receptors, will be too great to overcome otherwise.
The Three Aisle Meltdown: This rule, probably he most fun and rewarding for the parent (at least us), deals with the phenomenon of the grocery store meltdown. We've all been there; you're wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles, talking or texting to your 'bestie', because you can't not hear from them for longer than five minute intervals, look down and notice your angel has been raking the shelves for the past 10 minutes and is now buried in a mountain of Oreo's and Cheesy Poofs. Now is the profound moment that men and women alike choose to 'grow a pair' and utter that one simple, negative, word that is non existent in the vernacular of today's youth: "No". The chain reaction that results from this fool-hardy attempt at parenting is both hilarious, and epic in its rate of failure. We, in our wisdom, have chosen to berate our shorty, pull them out of the cart, double stuffed lard flying into neatly fronted shelves, and leave them in a heap, screaming and sobbing as if they had just severed a limb sticking their arm in the live lobster tank. Proving a point, we unaffectedly keep 'shopping', one, two, three aisles over, until they are either out of earshot, or we are confronted by an angry mob, accompanied by security, threatening us with a visit from CPS. We love this rule in our household and have yet to get that knock on our door.
Three Hugs, Three Kisses, Three Times A Day: This is by far the most rewarding rule of them all; proof that no matter what dirty little, rotten scoundrels they may be some of the time, we love them all of the time. This is the rule that makes all of the laughable, inexcusable, ineffective methods we enact on a daily basis, worth the effort, or lack thereof. This rule is the realization that no matter what 'event' may transpire throughout the course of the day, nothing supersedes our love for our kids. This affection for our children is perhaps the greatest parenting lesson they can receive. That, regardless of how you choose to raise, or discipline your children, if you love unconditionally, they might just turn out alright in the end.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Sunday, August 4, 2013
It's Opposite Day-This Is Going To Be Terrible!
My kids have this habit of walking to the cliff's edge of discipline and then turning their nasty little attitudes into a game-Opposite Day. Over time, they've developed this keen sense for when it's just about time to commence play, before hell's fury rains down on their little heads. Here's a typical exchange: "Hey Evan, it's Opposite Day. You're not stupid." "Hey Ella, it's Opposite Day. You're skinny and beautiful.", and so on, and so forth, until they either run out of gas, or we begin to interject our version of the game, and it immediately becomes uninteresting and lame. So today, in celebration of their mischievous minds, I've decided to write my entry in this fashion. Of course there's always an outside chance this could be awful. See? This is going to be easy. Oops, I did it again...
Our two older kids started back to school last Friday and I was so sad to see them go. The summers go way too fast and we had so much more we wanted to do. At least we were able to take a relaxing vacation with the entire family. It was sheer joy riding in the "man van" for 10 1/2 hours with four kids, ten years old or younger. They were so incredibly well behaved, you could not possibly imagine. They sat quietly for the entire trip, watching their movies, never once complaining of boredom, or wanting to decapitate a sibling. They refused to stop every two hours for bathroom breaks, and never once uttered the words hunger, or McDonald's. Upon arriving at our destination, they co-existed seamlessly, and without incident, for the duration of our stay and not once were they disruptive in public. All-in-all I would have to say this was one of our more proud experiences as parents. And camps? Our eldest son and daughter were both of the opinion that they were the worst..weeks..e-v-e-r.
On several occasions, to break up the sheer monotony of the days, we decided to venture out into the casual dining arena. We typically operated under the guise of some reward for previous displays of awesome social awareness and functionality, or merely to show the general public the fun, drama-free nature of our daily lives. Much to our delight, no drinks were ever spilled in the first five minutes of our visit, no one had to be called over to 'Bissell' up the remnants of a broken plate, our 18-month-old angel never chucked a peanut at the head of another patron in a "high-class" steakhouse and never, at any time, did a waiter at this same fine establishment, scare the life out of this aforementioned child, screaming, and clapping, and banging out his version of 'Happy Birthday', to some poor 82-years-young gentleman, who quite possibly wished he would be around for countless more years, to experience such joyful noises emanating from future gaggles of apron clad, independently wealthy, entrepreneurs. Now THAT'S a run-on sentence.
Today? Today's not much better. It's cloudy, cold and downright miserable outside. The kids are so subdued and needy, and the baby is sitting alone, quietly and calm, moving every once again, I can only assume, to assure me he's still breathing. There's absolutely no life in this house. If only they could venture outside to play for the day. In fact, glancing around, the atmosphere is a bit unsettling. The dogs aren't barking every two seconds when the door slams, from some young individual running in and out, repeatedly, to get water, or a snack, or use the restroom, or change their clothes from using the restroom; and the house, it's so...clean. Yes, it's days like this that make me wonder why I ever decided to do this; why we ever thought we could handle being parents and subjecting our lives to decades of torture and madness. I can only assume we had some momentary lapse of reason, on some day we called Opposite Day. If there is any certainty in all of this, it's that if we were to do it all again, we would change everything. We would erase all of the memories, experiences, triumphs and heartaches, and trade it all for a world of nothing...in a heartbeat.
Now, wouldn't that be 'stupid'? Oh, did i mention it's not Opposite Day anymore?
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Does This 'Smart' Phone Make Me Look Stupid?
It all started innocently enough; one guy entering a crowded restaurant, hoisting something resembling a walkie-talkie straight out of Sands of Iwo Jima, and a personal assistant, hired for no other purpose than to lug around the accompanying attaché and manage the mechanical train like a bride on her wedding day, requesting a table for 'three'. And we all looked on in wonder, and just new this man was a spy; so mysterious as he glided across the room, rocking his Ray-Ban Aviators and waiting while said assistant conducted a series of maneuvers in an effort to reach the assigned table in time to pull out a chair for this modern day Christopher Marlowe (look it up). Little did we know, he was simply a summer intern for Cellular One, the only known carrier at the time, checking the reception from inside the selected dining establishment, to the nearest major intersection, where his counter part waited patiently, the equivalent of a NASA regulation satellite dish duct taped to the back of his rental moped.
And what about the sighting of the first ever 'beeper' guy, to this point merely urban legend, born out of some hallucinogenic half-way house, on the campus of a university in Corvallis. You see him limping down the street wearing what can only be described as a line worker's industrial strength tool belt, which housed a box-like device the size of Webster's latest voluminous edition. And when Sasquatch received an alert? It brought the thunder like Wyatt Earp galloping across the dusty plains in search of a band of red sashes.
So, how on earth did we regress from this simple experimental concept, that never had a chance because of cost factors and technological deficiencies, to every man, woman and child on every street corner owning a portable device, often times at the expense of an honest meal? It didn't happen overnight and it was a process. Think about it. We've gone from a society of guys wearing pagers on every belt loop like a hippy selling jell-o shots at a rave party, to these petite, self contained, bite sized, touch screen computers, that do everything but brush our teeth and use the loo for us. At this rate, can that really be too far behind? And have you ever seen a more neurotic industry? We've gone from the large flip down, to the tiny flip up; from the plain touch tone, to the two-way. We've had the car phone, the hands free phone, the razr, the blackberry, the Bluetooth, the first generation 'smart' phone with the slide out Qwerty keyboard; ooh...ahh. How did we get here? How did we become so self reliant on technology, a place where our bodies and minds once ruled? How did we allow ourselves to become so dysfunctionally, functional?
You know, I turned down a job about 14 years ago, because I was simply too closed minded to accept what the carrier at the time, was selling me. The cellular age is going to take over the world. No way. One day, the majority of our business will be conducted with our phones. Impossible. One day, everyone will be able to afford the services that are widely reserved for the working professional today. Some may even receive these services for free. It's coming, watch and see. Thank you for your time. And, here we are. We are on the verge of becoming a virtual paperless society, all of our business conducted via apps and email. And textbooks? We have a generation growing up before us that may never know what a textbook is, but will instead read about it in their History of the World I, e-book, the required reading manuscript at colleges and universities everywhere, available in the iTunes Store.
We are there, in the age I never believed would, let alone could, sustain itself. We have wi-fi and hot spots, 4g and LTE; online degrees and virtual book clubs, cooking classes and sporting arenas. We are wholly dependent on the latest and greatest to achieve relevance and viability, to stay ahead and move forward. But, at what cost? Gone are the days of the family dinner, or drive where, to contact someone, we waited until we arrived back home. Progressive euchre now consists of switching laptops with your mate in the comfort of your own homes. Rooting for your favorite team requires little more effort than surfing for the one of fifty channels they may be playing on, because they are on, allowing for the 'convenience' of avoiding crowds, paying exorbitant parking fees, oh...and creating memories.
You have to be left to wonder what's next? I can assure you of one thing: I'm a believer that it can, and will, happen, whatever that next chapter may be. So, while I acknowledge, and conform to the notion that we must accept these "advances" as a necessary evil, I do so begrudgingly. And while I cling to the memory of a simpler time, I accept it solely as that; a memory. And yes, I do believe that 'smart' phone makes you look stupid; but, no more stupid than me.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
And what about the sighting of the first ever 'beeper' guy, to this point merely urban legend, born out of some hallucinogenic half-way house, on the campus of a university in Corvallis. You see him limping down the street wearing what can only be described as a line worker's industrial strength tool belt, which housed a box-like device the size of Webster's latest voluminous edition. And when Sasquatch received an alert? It brought the thunder like Wyatt Earp galloping across the dusty plains in search of a band of red sashes.
So, how on earth did we regress from this simple experimental concept, that never had a chance because of cost factors and technological deficiencies, to every man, woman and child on every street corner owning a portable device, often times at the expense of an honest meal? It didn't happen overnight and it was a process. Think about it. We've gone from a society of guys wearing pagers on every belt loop like a hippy selling jell-o shots at a rave party, to these petite, self contained, bite sized, touch screen computers, that do everything but brush our teeth and use the loo for us. At this rate, can that really be too far behind? And have you ever seen a more neurotic industry? We've gone from the large flip down, to the tiny flip up; from the plain touch tone, to the two-way. We've had the car phone, the hands free phone, the razr, the blackberry, the Bluetooth, the first generation 'smart' phone with the slide out Qwerty keyboard; ooh...ahh. How did we get here? How did we become so self reliant on technology, a place where our bodies and minds once ruled? How did we allow ourselves to become so dysfunctionally, functional?
You know, I turned down a job about 14 years ago, because I was simply too closed minded to accept what the carrier at the time, was selling me. The cellular age is going to take over the world. No way. One day, the majority of our business will be conducted with our phones. Impossible. One day, everyone will be able to afford the services that are widely reserved for the working professional today. Some may even receive these services for free. It's coming, watch and see. Thank you for your time. And, here we are. We are on the verge of becoming a virtual paperless society, all of our business conducted via apps and email. And textbooks? We have a generation growing up before us that may never know what a textbook is, but will instead read about it in their History of the World I, e-book, the required reading manuscript at colleges and universities everywhere, available in the iTunes Store.
We are there, in the age I never believed would, let alone could, sustain itself. We have wi-fi and hot spots, 4g and LTE; online degrees and virtual book clubs, cooking classes and sporting arenas. We are wholly dependent on the latest and greatest to achieve relevance and viability, to stay ahead and move forward. But, at what cost? Gone are the days of the family dinner, or drive where, to contact someone, we waited until we arrived back home. Progressive euchre now consists of switching laptops with your mate in the comfort of your own homes. Rooting for your favorite team requires little more effort than surfing for the one of fifty channels they may be playing on, because they are on, allowing for the 'convenience' of avoiding crowds, paying exorbitant parking fees, oh...and creating memories.
You have to be left to wonder what's next? I can assure you of one thing: I'm a believer that it can, and will, happen, whatever that next chapter may be. So, while I acknowledge, and conform to the notion that we must accept these "advances" as a necessary evil, I do so begrudgingly. And while I cling to the memory of a simpler time, I accept it solely as that; a memory. And yes, I do believe that 'smart' phone makes you look stupid; but, no more stupid than me.
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Dear God...I Demand An Explanation
My topic today will inspire some to wonder, some to question and some to condemn; me, for the rant I'm about to unleash, but you know what? I don't care. Plain and simple. I'm sick and tired of the nonsense and I want answers. And you know what? I'm going to get them. If not now, later. I can wait because this has been burning a hole in my soul for years. Somehow, some way, some day, GOD, you will tell me why; why very bad things continue to happen to good and, many times, innocent people. Last evening, a 3 year-old girl was shot and killed by a stray bullet, through the side of her house, as she was watching cartoons before bed...
We get it. You issued a directive not to eat the apple. We, created in Your image, couldn't resist. This made you angry, beyond belief, and now generations have paid for our 'human' error, with the punch line to your sadistic sense of humor. The irony? The 'apple' is now recognized as a viable method for holding physicians at bay. Are we to deduce from this logic that doctors are the devil and they want us to partake for an entirely different set of logical, or illogical, reasons? On the city's east side, a 5 year-old pedestrian was struck and killed by a hit and run motorist this afternoon. There were no witnesses...
Before I am labeled a blaspheming malcontent, and people begin hurling scriptures, or entire Bibles at me, sit back, examine and reflect on what I'm asking, or questioning. What exactly is the threshold of what we are able to handle? What is the ceiling? Because I see a lot of people in our society suffering every day, and many of them can't see the light, or part the seas, or muddle through the mire of life to discover this answer on their own. And, for many of them, it's already too late. Or, is this the part where our compassionate God lobs it back into our court and says, in an effusive manner, 'You've got this. Trust me.'? Tragedy today, when a bus carrying a load of passengers returning from church camp, overturned killing a youth pastor, his wife and their unborn child. Their 2 year-old son survived...
Here's an idea...let me be the punch line. I've lived a full life. If You have decided this is the course human life must take, I'll be the first in line. Or, why not the drunk with total disregard for his life, or that of anyone else? Obviously, he's already checked out; thrown in the towel. Take him, or her. But, that wouldn't be fair. How would we ever be made to pay for the SIN of that fateful day, when we took the bite and felt the shame of our nakedness. By the way, was this literal, or figurative nakedness, because it's all a little fuzzy to me? Take us, but STOP with the innocent and the good; the children. Are you really that short on angels these days? Sad news out of (insert city) today, when (insert name), the vivacious, cheerful 9 year-old, who took the country by storm with their positive outlook on this cruel, evil life, succumbed to the (insert horrifying, unimaginable disease), which had afflicted them for most of their brief childhood...
Maybe this is the point. We, as adults in society, the mentors of tomorrow's leaders, need to be taught an invaluable lesson ourselves; to be led. And, who better to provoke thought, or emotion, or action, than children? It sucks for us when these things happen to the good, or innocent, people around us, but what if that's merely a result of our being left behind? Perhaps these innocents had more to share, or get, out of this life in a brief period, than an entire lifetime of confusion and wonder. That, and they don't need saving; we do. I can't prove this to be fact, but it's the only thing that makes sense and, believe me, I will find out one day. But for now, I am angry, and hurt, and scared; and that's okay. God doesn't expect us to be perfect, but He does expect us to try; to make an honest effort at finding answers and question logic...and mourn. If we accepted these tragedies at face value, what would be the point in that? Today, all over the world, another angel has gained their wings...
Until tomorrow,
Scott
We get it. You issued a directive not to eat the apple. We, created in Your image, couldn't resist. This made you angry, beyond belief, and now generations have paid for our 'human' error, with the punch line to your sadistic sense of humor. The irony? The 'apple' is now recognized as a viable method for holding physicians at bay. Are we to deduce from this logic that doctors are the devil and they want us to partake for an entirely different set of logical, or illogical, reasons? On the city's east side, a 5 year-old pedestrian was struck and killed by a hit and run motorist this afternoon. There were no witnesses...
Before I am labeled a blaspheming malcontent, and people begin hurling scriptures, or entire Bibles at me, sit back, examine and reflect on what I'm asking, or questioning. What exactly is the threshold of what we are able to handle? What is the ceiling? Because I see a lot of people in our society suffering every day, and many of them can't see the light, or part the seas, or muddle through the mire of life to discover this answer on their own. And, for many of them, it's already too late. Or, is this the part where our compassionate God lobs it back into our court and says, in an effusive manner, 'You've got this. Trust me.'? Tragedy today, when a bus carrying a load of passengers returning from church camp, overturned killing a youth pastor, his wife and their unborn child. Their 2 year-old son survived...
Here's an idea...let me be the punch line. I've lived a full life. If You have decided this is the course human life must take, I'll be the first in line. Or, why not the drunk with total disregard for his life, or that of anyone else? Obviously, he's already checked out; thrown in the towel. Take him, or her. But, that wouldn't be fair. How would we ever be made to pay for the SIN of that fateful day, when we took the bite and felt the shame of our nakedness. By the way, was this literal, or figurative nakedness, because it's all a little fuzzy to me? Take us, but STOP with the innocent and the good; the children. Are you really that short on angels these days? Sad news out of (insert city) today, when (insert name), the vivacious, cheerful 9 year-old, who took the country by storm with their positive outlook on this cruel, evil life, succumbed to the (insert horrifying, unimaginable disease), which had afflicted them for most of their brief childhood...
Maybe this is the point. We, as adults in society, the mentors of tomorrow's leaders, need to be taught an invaluable lesson ourselves; to be led. And, who better to provoke thought, or emotion, or action, than children? It sucks for us when these things happen to the good, or innocent, people around us, but what if that's merely a result of our being left behind? Perhaps these innocents had more to share, or get, out of this life in a brief period, than an entire lifetime of confusion and wonder. That, and they don't need saving; we do. I can't prove this to be fact, but it's the only thing that makes sense and, believe me, I will find out one day. But for now, I am angry, and hurt, and scared; and that's okay. God doesn't expect us to be perfect, but He does expect us to try; to make an honest effort at finding answers and question logic...and mourn. If we accepted these tragedies at face value, what would be the point in that? Today, all over the world, another angel has gained their wings...
Until tomorrow,
Scott
Friday, July 26, 2013
He's Coming To America...TODAY!
After much self-deliberation, and with astute profoundness, or profound astuteness (whichever the case), I have decided to give you a break from me today and, instead, allow you the pleasure of the voice of a 2 year-old, just "home" to the states, after spending the first years of his life in an orphanage. Well, not his voice perhaps. He's Haitian, and as such, has primarily been exposed to Creole as his first language. If he could have spoken English at the time, I would imagine this is what his 'voice' might sound like, on this, the 9th anniversary of Makenley Parker Louissaint Deuschle's, 'Gotcha Day'.
Enjoy this letter to his new friends and family, dated July 26, 2004...
Hi everyone-
Greetings..from..AMERICA! I must say it's great to finally be here and meet some of the crazy people that have been asking me when I'm coming home. Before, I didn't know what home was, but now I'm starting to understand. Home is a big place where everyone has their own room, their own toys and we get to eat eggs out of a bowl with our own spoon, like big boys. Oh yeah, home is also where there are lots of doggies and a kitty. Kitty doesn't bother me too much, but the puppies are noisy. If they don't watch it, I'm going to bonk them on the nose. Just ask mommy about that one! Anyway...you came to hear about yesterday, so I'll do my bestest to remember (I'm a little bit tired from everything they put me through)...
To start everything off right, I woke up mommy and daddy at 3:30 in the morning; they were a little bit grumpy, hehe. Then I cried a little, faked like I was asleep, cried some more, went potty for mommy, got changed and climbed on her back, ready for the day...
They took me to breakfast, where I mainly played with the room key while she and daddy fussed some more about how tired they were and how long the day was gonna be. It was a hoot! The last thing I remember about that was, they said they were praying I'd be good on the plane, because I was up so early. I didn't really know what a plane was, so I kinda ignored it, but in the back of my mind I was thinking, 'We'll see'...
After breakfast, we met uncle Julma and cousin Junior. They told my daddy, 'We must go', so they had to pack very fast (mommy was not pleased) to leave for the airport. They fussed a little more in the room while they got everything together, and I just sat there wondering, 'Who are the babies here?' Nobody told me it was going to be this much fun just to watch...
Next, we went to the airport and had to go in lines. A LOT of guys took all the luggage from daddy and said they were there to help. They helped him, alright; helped him separate himself from his money. I didn't mind too much because, again, I don't even know what money is. Daddy was nervous, though, because mommy gave him something called, the 'evil eye'. This sounded much worse than anything you could ever catch in Haiti, where I'm from...
So we went through a line, where a really big man looked at us funny and asked my parents if I was theirs, and if they really wanted to do this (at least that was my interpretation). They insisted that I was, and they did, and he finally let us go. We waited a little while and then we went outside and walked up a 'mountain' and got in this really big machine. That's when they finally told me, this was a plane...
The end.
Makenley
Enjoy this letter to his new friends and family, dated July 26, 2004...
Hi everyone-
Greetings..from..AMERICA! I must say it's great to finally be here and meet some of the crazy people that have been asking me when I'm coming home. Before, I didn't know what home was, but now I'm starting to understand. Home is a big place where everyone has their own room, their own toys and we get to eat eggs out of a bowl with our own spoon, like big boys. Oh yeah, home is also where there are lots of doggies and a kitty. Kitty doesn't bother me too much, but the puppies are noisy. If they don't watch it, I'm going to bonk them on the nose. Just ask mommy about that one! Anyway...you came to hear about yesterday, so I'll do my bestest to remember (I'm a little bit tired from everything they put me through)...
To start everything off right, I woke up mommy and daddy at 3:30 in the morning; they were a little bit grumpy, hehe. Then I cried a little, faked like I was asleep, cried some more, went potty for mommy, got changed and climbed on her back, ready for the day...
They took me to breakfast, where I mainly played with the room key while she and daddy fussed some more about how tired they were and how long the day was gonna be. It was a hoot! The last thing I remember about that was, they said they were praying I'd be good on the plane, because I was up so early. I didn't really know what a plane was, so I kinda ignored it, but in the back of my mind I was thinking, 'We'll see'...
After breakfast, we met uncle Julma and cousin Junior. They told my daddy, 'We must go', so they had to pack very fast (mommy was not pleased) to leave for the airport. They fussed a little more in the room while they got everything together, and I just sat there wondering, 'Who are the babies here?' Nobody told me it was going to be this much fun just to watch...
Next, we went to the airport and had to go in lines. A LOT of guys took all the luggage from daddy and said they were there to help. They helped him, alright; helped him separate himself from his money. I didn't mind too much because, again, I don't even know what money is. Daddy was nervous, though, because mommy gave him something called, the 'evil eye'. This sounded much worse than anything you could ever catch in Haiti, where I'm from...
So we went through a line, where a really big man looked at us funny and asked my parents if I was theirs, and if they really wanted to do this (at least that was my interpretation). They insisted that I was, and they did, and he finally let us go. We waited a little while and then we went outside and walked up a 'mountain' and got in this really big machine. That's when they finally told me, this was a plane...
I don't know if any of you have ever been on a plane, but they're HUGANTIC! There were a lot of people, and I didn't know very many of them. I was sorta nervous, but I looked up and saw mommy and daddy, and felt A LOT better. I didn't know where they were taking me, but I didn't care, because they were with me...
Ok, so flying is fun. I really like taking off. It's fun watching everything get tiny, like ants; and the turbulence is great! Every time we bounced in the plane, I looked at daddy and we shared a laugh. Aunties, Lisa and Nancy, also entertained me and kept me laughing all the way to Miami (whatever that is). Daddy said it was good, so I went with it. Oh yeah, and I went potty on mommy's leg. She was tired and not very happy about it...
Miami was fun for me. I got to see mommy and daddy run around, acting silly again. First, they had to walk a really long way. Mommy took me in to change (and dry off) and we walked a lot more, to the passport place. The lines were kinda long, but the lady eventually took our passports and put little stamps on them, and smiled at me. She was nice. I liked her. Next, we waited for a man to take us in the immigration room (this is when daddy started looking at his watch). We didn't wait long, and when we went in the room, there were only three other people waiting, for to be citizens. Auntie Lisa told my parents we were lucky, because it was usually full. Daddy looked at his watch again. It only took about 20 minutes in there and then we had to walk a lot again, to go find our luggage. In Miami, they make you get your luggage and walk some more and then give it to somebody else, so they can put it in the new plane. I thought this was dumb. They must be lazy in Miami...
After we did that, daddy stopped to get mommy a sandwich at Burger King. I asked daddy for a Happy Meal and he said, "Wrong place"; then he...e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y...LOOKED AT HIS WATCH, AGAIN! Mommy ate really fast before we went to the X-ray machine, and I heard her tell daddy she didn't feel very good, because it was too fast for her to eat. Then, we put everything on the belt and they frisked mommy. Uh oh. She was REALLY mad about this. We men just looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Do they really think I'm a 2 year-old terrorizer? I heard daddy mumble something like, "They have no idea". We finally got to our gate and the nice man told us the flight was overbooked and we were bumped. Noooo, he didn't. Hehe. He actually changed our seat places, so we could all sit together. Then we started to come to Indiapolis...
When we got on this plane, I got tired. I started to cry, but mommy had daddy make me a 'secret bottle' (do they not think I can hear?), while she distracted me by making me do silly things, like wave to the man outside with the little orange sticks. I'm almost 2, so I obliged. We took off and it was still fun for a little while, but then I needed a nap. They had kept me up for a really long time, so I slept the whole way. Right before I woke up, I went potty on mommy's other leg (true story), and I saw her use the evil eye on daddy again; she didn't know I was awake. She changed me right there on the plane, but I don't think too many people noticed, because only a few turned around to sniff. She was very fast, I was clean, we were landing AND daddy stopped looking at his watch. Oh yeah, a few ladies talked to mommy on the plane and told her how lucky she was that I slept the whole time. Mommy said, "I know", but I didn't tell her I was good all day because I was so happy she took me to Indiapolis with her and daddy. That's going to always be my secret...
When we got to the terminal, nobody was happy to see us. What I mean is, we were 30 minutes early, so nobody was there. It was kinda anti-climatic, if you ask me. Here I was, fresh in from another country, I was good all day and nobody even wanted to see me? Geesh! I think mommy and daddy were ok, though, because I heard them finally exhale. Daddy must have been loud though, because he made some people look up and they started to scream. They told me it was a good scream, though; because they were happy to see me. It was mamaw and pappy and, another aunt, Brenda. Then, all of my new friends started to come, and they all brought me toys; it was a lot of fun. I met my other mamaw and pappy (how lucky am I? I have two!). They waited for me where the bags come from. I guess they didn't know they could just go see me upstairs, but I finally got to see them and my uncles, and then we all went to eat some food. I don't remember too much after that, because I got very sleepy...
All I know is, it was a very good day, and I was a good boy. I love all my new families and friends, and I'm so happy to be 'home' with my mommy and daddy...forever. Thank you.
The end.
Makenley
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)