I posted last week about my two wrestling kids. I now have to make a bit of a modification.
In my previous post I had talked about Toby getting a late start in wrestling; about how he has had to fight through bumps, bruises, inexperience, and a medical condition. Through it all he had refused to quit --- but then the very next match after my post, things went terribly south.
Toby has a medical condition known as Vocal Cord Dysfunction. I'm not a doctor so I'm not even going to attempt to give you an in depth explanation of the ailment but I will try to describe it in layman's terms.
Imagine your vocal cords going into spasms and slamming shut, cutting off your airway and suffocating you in the midst of intense physical activity. Scary.....
Now imagine being the parent of the athlete that is having the vocal cord spasm.......Horrifying.
Last wrestling season was gut wrenching for me. I broke into a sweat every time Toby stepped onto the mat and almost desperately prayed for a quick match.
The spasming happened four times last year, and each time I really, REALLY wanted Toby to just give this wrestling thing up.
But a trip to the doctor and then a speech therapist had given both Toby and myself hope that perhaps this could be managed. Toby learned how to recognize the signs for an oncoming attack and what breathing method to use to combat the problem.
We both walked into this year feeling optimistic that this vocal cord mess was under control and, two meets into the season, everything appeared to be fine.
Then....it happened again.
Toby had an outstanding first round. He shot and got into his opponents legs, picking him up and slamming him to the mat. His opponent really had no answers as Toby went up 6 to 1 with time running down in the first round.
The I saw it coming. As time expired, I could see a grimace on Toby's face as he very slowly got up off the mat. He head shot skyward and his mouth opened --- he looked like a fish out of water and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Toby started round two with his mouth open and a pained look on his face. Despite the discomfort he still managed to get a leg and slam his opponent into the ground. He was up 9-2 and I was praying that he could get a quick pin and get the hell out of there.
The two were tied up when suddenly Toby went crashing to the mat with his opponent on top of him. Toby quit fighting, lay flat on his back, and got pinned. As soon as it was over his opponent got up but Toby continued to lay there; his chest rising up and down rapidly.
I felt sick as I watched Toby struggle to get up, place his hands upon his head, and labor to get his breathing back under control. I could see his coaches talking to him as he desperately tried not to get emotional in front of everyone in the gym.
I leaned over to Karla and whispered, "Dear, I just don't think we can let him do this anymore."
"We are going to have to discuss this when we get home." she said.
To me, watching Toby have a vocal cord spasm is traumatic.....It's like watching your kid drown, I thought.
I had always told my kids that, no matter what happens, you have to finish what you start. Given these unforeseen circumstances I was more than ready to provide an addendum to that rule.
Afterward Toby had a headache and felt sick. He barely spoke with either Karla or myself and, with visible disappointment, decided to scratch his final match. I didn't tell him, but I was very glad he did.
Not that it mattered until much later, but the kid Toby was throwing around the mat ended up winning the weight class. (Not that I really give a shit about that)
The house was quiet. Toby, sick, disappointed, let down, came home before the meet was over. Karla made supper, but Toby wasn't in the mood.
"I think I'll just go to bed," he said quietly.
At 8:30, Toby walked into his room and closed the door behind him.
I really wanted to talk to him; try to cheer him up. But there are those times when you just have to let things go. I felt that this was one of those times.
I slept, well, more like tossed and turned on the couch, that night. I would occasionally get up and crack the door open to Toby's room to check on him. Resting --- breathing ---- ok. I closed the door and resumed my flip flopping on the couch routine.
No parent likes to see their kid upset. I lay awake, sick to my stomach. What could I possibly say that was going to make this kid feel better? He had put a lot of work into wrestling only to be hit with one disappointment after another. The "you did the best you could" speech was not going to cut it.
And as much as it pained me to do it, I had it in my mind that if Toby didn't pull the plug on wrestling then I was going to do it for him. There was no way I could watch another match like the one I watched the night before.
But, you want to know the great thing about this kid of mine? By the next morning he was over it. One of the outstanding characteristics that he possesses is his ability to take lemons and turn in into lemonade. He would rise from the ashes, determined to make the best of his situation.
Toby walked out of his room and told Karla and I that he was going to talk to his coach.
"I'm not confident that I can wrestle in a meet," he said, "But I can still practice. In practice I can walk away if things start to get bad. I can't do that in a match. So if it's okay, I'll practice and just be a manager at the meets."
Fine by me.
(I have to say, Toby's coach has been nothing short of outstanding throughout this entire mess. He immediately told Toby that he understood the situation, that Toby was more than welcome to keep practicing and attend the meets as a manager......And should he ever decide to get back on the horse....I'm very impressed with his coach.....He is a class act.)
I asked Toby if the breathing routine the speech therapist taught him didn't work.
"It does," he said, "The problem is that it's hard to go through a breathing routine when you either have a hand over your mouth or an arm around your throat."
Ah.
(He has never had to use his breathing routine while playing baseball or football. That should give you a fairly good idea about just how physically intense wrestling is.)
Right before his last meet Toby had laid out a practice schedule for Tera. Tera has wrestling practice two days out of the week; Toby set up practice for three more days. And it would be just a couple of days after his last meet, with his most previous unfortunate incident still fresh in his mind, that he would take the cushion off of the futon, throw it on the floor, and ask Tera if she wanted to practice.
Little sister, who has also taken a liking to wrestling, jumped on the opportunity.
"Let's work top today," said Toby, "Remember half and power half?"
"Uh....."
"That's okay...Let's get to work."
Toby would tell me later that he even though he didn't feel that he could actually wrestle he still loved the sport and wanted to stay involved.
Plus, even though he didn't say so, I think he is still holding out a little hope that he can get back on the mat. The doctor did tell him that, in time, he should outgrow his vocal cord dysfunction.
It's hard to say whether or not Toby will actually try to get back into a match and, I won't lie, it won't bother me in the least if he doesn't.
He actually admitted to me that it would be very hard to step onto the mat without having thoughts of another bad vocal cord spasm lingering in the back of his mind.
"But, it's alright," he said, "I can still use wrestling practice to stay in shape and get stronger and quicker. I can learn and work with Tera. Plus, now that I don't have to worry about my weight, I can try to pack on a few pounds for baseball and football season."
Atta kid.....
I can't tell you how proud I am of Toby. I think most kids would have just walked away from a sport that they felt they couldn't participate in. Toby instead decided that if he couldn't play then he could at least do the next best thing --- coach.
And it's a lot of fun to watch Toby work with Tera ---- especially since I have no clue what I'm doing.
In the end, I feel like I can say that I STILL have two wrestling kids.
Life is good. There may be setbacks --- but life is still good.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Monday, December 15, 2014
D1 Major Playoffs....
Ok folks.....Since I'm annoyed at the lack of a REAL playoff system in college football I have decided to try to create my own. (Not seriously, it only took me about an hour to slap this together) I have tried to align conferences as geographically correct as possible. I know it's not perfect.......but it was fun to create!!!
Check it out and feel free to critique.....
| Division 1 Major – East Region | ||||||||
| ACC – Atlantic | ACC – Coastal | Big 10 East | Big 10 West | SEC East | SEC West | |||
| Florida St. | Maryland | Ohio State | Wisconsin | Georgia | Alabama | |||
| Clemson | Virginia | Michigan | Minnesota | Florida | Ole Miss. | |||
| N. Carolina | V. Tech | Michigan St. | Illinois | South Carolina | Mississippi St. | |||
| NC State | W. Virginia | Penn St. | Purdue | Kentucky | Auburn | |||
| Miami | Rutgers | Indiana | Northwestern | Tennessee | LSU | |||
| Division 1 Major – West Region | ||||||||
| Big 12 East | Big 12 West | Pac 12 North | Pac 12 South | New East | New West | |||
| Iowa | Nebraska | Oregon | Arizona | Arkansas | Texas | |||
| Iowa St. | Kansas | Oregon St. | Arizona St. | Texas A&M | Texas Tech | |||
| Notre Dame | Kansas St. | Washington | UCLA | Baylor | TCU | |||
| Missouri | Colorado | Washington St. | USC | Oklahoma | Utah | |||
| Cincinnati | Boise St. | Stanford | California | Oklahoma St. | BYU | |||
| Conference Champion | 1 Non Conference Game | |||||||
| 9 Conference Games | ||||||||
| Conference Runner Up | Championship Game | |||||||
| All not reaching get a bowl game guaranteeing an 11 game season | ||||||||
| Bowl games are conference vs. conference | ||||||||
| Conference Champion and Runner Up go to playoffs | ||||||||
| Playoffs | ||||||||
| 3 Conference Champions – 2 Byes (Per Region) | ||||||||
| Byes will be given to top two by fewest points allowed | ||||||||
| East Regional | West Regional | |||||||
| Alabama | Oregon | |||||||
| Alabama | TCU | |||||||
| Wisconsin | Missouri | |||||||
| Wisconsin | TCU | |||||||
| Va. Tech | TCU | |||||||
| Alabama | TCU | |||||||
| Ohio St. | Baylor | |||||||
| Georgia | Baylor | |||||||
| Georgia | TCU | Arizona | ||||||
| Florida St. | National | Baylor | ||||||
| Champions | ||||||||
| Florida St. | Kansas St. | |||||||
Thursday, December 11, 2014
My wrestling kids...
Starting off on a side note I have to say that I am very proud to announce that I have survived another business trip week with just myself and the kids. The house is (relatively) clean and the kids have successfully made it to all their after school activities.
And I only forgot to do ONE MAJOR thing!!!!! But I digress.....I'll save that for a future post.
Once again, I am in absolute awe and have the utmost respect for single parents. I have no clue how they do it all and manage to stay sane. (And I'm only working part time....I can't imagine juggling two active kids with a full time job.)
When baseball and fall softball ended I was thinking that I was going to get to gear down and really enjoy having an off season. Toby would play football, followed by wrestling, and Tera would have Girls On The Run; none of which I coach. All I would have to do is pick them up after practice (which are all less then a mile from my house) and go to the games/races. I could just feel myself unwinding.
The we added pitching lessons (out of town) on top of Toby's wrestling. Not a big deal; it's just one night a week.
But then Tera did something that I did not expect.......She, too, went out for wrestling.
Big brother had talked her into trying out a wrestling camp and Tera bit into it hook, line and sinker --- which caught me a little off guard. In retrospect, Tera has never been a girlie girl so I shouldn't have been surprised. But more on that later.
So.....NO.......I do not really have an off season and the family sports expenses got a little more expensive than Karla and I had budgeted for.
But, life is like that. Since when has anything in life ever gone according to plan? All you can do is make plans, watch life blow those plans up, and then troubleshoot......and do it all with a smile on your face. Well, at least Karla does it with a smile on her face. I prefer to drop a few F bombs and rant.
Karla: "Did that make you feel better?"
Me: "HELL YES IT DID....AAARRGGHH!!!!"
Anyway.......Moving on.
TOBY....
Toby didn't get into wrestling until he hit the seventh grade and to say that he is behind is a little bit of an understatement.
That's not me being mean. That's just how it is. There are a lot of things that he is learning even now as a freshman that comes second nature to kids who have been wrestling since the second grade. And while Toby has managed to notch a few wins on his belt his lack of experience has placed him squarely on the wrong side of some quick and rough beatings.
He's had his shoulder wrenched (but not dislocated....I saw that happen to a kid.....Yikes...I squirmed a little....), he's come up with a swollen knee and he's had to fight through vocal cord spasms, or, vocal cord dysfunction if you prefer the technical term.
Wrestling is the most physically demanding sport Toby has ever participated in. Football, you say? NO.....Not even close.
In eighth grade Toby started losing matches because he was unable to breathe. At first we thought that maybe it was asthma but that didn't really make a whole lot of sense to me. He's never had asthma growing up so why would he have it now?
Regardless of what the problem may have been, it was tough to watch. At the start of every match I would break out into a sweat just knowing that if Toby couldn't finish the match early that he was going to end up on the mat flopping like a fish out of water. I was more than ready to pull him out of wrestling altogether.
But Toby wouldn't have it and he wouldn't have forgiven me had I made him quit. He would have used my own words against me, quickly reminding me that I had always told him that he has to finish what he starts.
Ok, kid.....Wrestle on.....
So after the third wrestling meet that found him light headed, gasping, and puffing on an inhaler, I took him to the doctor. As soon as I told the doctor that Toby only had this problem when he wrestled he smiled and said, "I bet he's having vocal cord spasms. I'm going to refer you to a specialist."
A trip to the specialist resulted in breathing lessons. The specialist told Toby that it is a natural reaction to hold your breath when you shoot or, in football, brace for impact as you make a tackle.
"No matter what happens," she told him, "Do not hold your breath. That can cause your vocal cords to slam shut and cut off your air."
Scary, scary stuff. But now Toby knows what to minimize the likelihood of having a vocal cord spasm. But if he does have a spasm he's been trained how to combat the problem. It doesn't sound like much fun too me.
And it's not at if he needed any other challenges with wrestling.
But I have to give him credit; at this point he refuses to quit ------- even if he did leave a ton of blood on the mat at his last meet.
Toby has always had problems with nose bleeds; so much so that he has had his nose cauterized not once but twice. Yet, if he get's popped in the nose just right......We have a gusher.
I was sick the day of the incident so I'm going off of what I've been told. Apparently Toby wrestled a kid who kept reaching across Toby's face to grab his arm. As this kid reached across he would pop Toby in the face.....Over and over and over again.
Finally the kid got in the shot that finally got Toby's nose to bleed ---- and he bled everywhere. Down the side of his face and onto his shoulder and uniform ---- all over the mat.
Throughout all this the ref never called time. Mama was NOT happy.
"That kid was a dirty wrestler," Karla ranted, "He just kept hitting Toby in the face over and over again."
After the match was over I guess it took some time to get all of the blood off of the mat. I asked Karla why she didn't get a picture ----- that was not a good question to ask......Oops....
So when I got Toby away from mad Mama I asked him, "So was what that kid doing illegal?"
"Technically, no," he said, "As long as you have an open hand you're ok,"
"What did your coach say?" I asked.
"He says I'm too nice."
You know what? I can believe that.
But I bet he'll be a little meaner by the time wrestling season is over.
I'm not being critical at all -- far from it..... He's taking his lumps and, with dogged determination, he just keeps on trying -- for that I am very proud of him.
TERA.....MUSCLE AND NAIL POLISH......
I don't know why I was surprised when Tera went out for wrestling. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea of my little princess rough housing on the mat and, I won't lie, it makes me a little nervous.
Tera practices with the team twice a week; but she practices at least two, maybe three days, with Toby and myself. I want her to be as ready to wrestle as we can possibly get her.
Toby and I both preach to her that wrestling is not a "nice" sport. Aches, pains, bumps, and bruises are just part of the gig. The sooner she accepts that the better off she will be.
But after asking Tera what she likes about wrestling, I started to wonder why I'm worried.
Me: "So what do you like about wrestling?"
Tera: "I GET TO TACKLE PEOPLE!!!!"
Oh....
Yeah, I shouldn't have been surprised. This is the same girl that wanted to go out for football, but a conflict with fall softball wouldn't allow for it. Hell, she may be pretty good at it.
I had never actually watched a wrestling practice before Tera joined up. But, because I'm worried I've been going to her practices and taking notes; trying to learn all that I can in order to help Tera improve at a quicker pace.
It only took one practice to understand why coaches in other sports love wrestlers.
From a conditioning standpoint, I don't think I've seen anything as physically demanding as wrestling practice. Even if you end up sucking as a wrestler, you'll still walk away at the end of the year in the best shape of your life.
Running leads into stretches. Stretches into line drills, into planks, into crab walks, into bear crawls. After warm up the coach may talk for a few minutes about what they are going to work on --- that's the longest he talks the entire practice. From there, whether they are working on sit outs, or takedowns, or tie ups, it's repetition, repetition, repetition. All the while, the coach is walking in between wrestlers an checking on their technique. If he does stop them to explain something he never talks for more than a minute before the kids are right back at it.
As I look at the notes on my phone, it boggles the mind how much they have learned in so little time.
One solid hour of almost non stop movement. And what's really cool about it is the coach is so good at keeping them busy that they don't even think about a bathroom or water break. Before you know it practice is over and I sit there, head spinning and thinking, "Shit, and they haven't even scratched the surface yet."
As a wrestler not only are you in great shape but you become quicker and stronger. You learn about leverage and that not everything you do involves brute strength.
And.......You either learn to be tough or, I'm guessing, you don't last.
Yeah, I'm nervous. I guess I'll just have to wait and see how Tera handles the first time she gets popped. (Actually, she has taken a shot to the mouth already ---- it didn't appear to phase her.)
Deep down, however, I just know she's going to be fine. She may not win very much.....but she'll be fine.
It's Dad that's going to have a hard time adjusting.......
MUSCLE AND NAIL POLISH........YOU GOTTA PROBLEM WITH THAT?
No Ma'am.....
And I only forgot to do ONE MAJOR thing!!!!! But I digress.....I'll save that for a future post.
Once again, I am in absolute awe and have the utmost respect for single parents. I have no clue how they do it all and manage to stay sane. (And I'm only working part time....I can't imagine juggling two active kids with a full time job.)
When baseball and fall softball ended I was thinking that I was going to get to gear down and really enjoy having an off season. Toby would play football, followed by wrestling, and Tera would have Girls On The Run; none of which I coach. All I would have to do is pick them up after practice (which are all less then a mile from my house) and go to the games/races. I could just feel myself unwinding.
The we added pitching lessons (out of town) on top of Toby's wrestling. Not a big deal; it's just one night a week.
But then Tera did something that I did not expect.......She, too, went out for wrestling.
Big brother had talked her into trying out a wrestling camp and Tera bit into it hook, line and sinker --- which caught me a little off guard. In retrospect, Tera has never been a girlie girl so I shouldn't have been surprised. But more on that later.
So.....NO.......I do not really have an off season and the family sports expenses got a little more expensive than Karla and I had budgeted for.
But, life is like that. Since when has anything in life ever gone according to plan? All you can do is make plans, watch life blow those plans up, and then troubleshoot......and do it all with a smile on your face. Well, at least Karla does it with a smile on her face. I prefer to drop a few F bombs and rant.
Karla: "Did that make you feel better?"
Me: "HELL YES IT DID....AAARRGGHH!!!!"
Anyway.......Moving on.
TOBY....
Toby didn't get into wrestling until he hit the seventh grade and to say that he is behind is a little bit of an understatement.
That's not me being mean. That's just how it is. There are a lot of things that he is learning even now as a freshman that comes second nature to kids who have been wrestling since the second grade. And while Toby has managed to notch a few wins on his belt his lack of experience has placed him squarely on the wrong side of some quick and rough beatings.
He's had his shoulder wrenched (but not dislocated....I saw that happen to a kid.....Yikes...I squirmed a little....), he's come up with a swollen knee and he's had to fight through vocal cord spasms, or, vocal cord dysfunction if you prefer the technical term.
Wrestling is the most physically demanding sport Toby has ever participated in. Football, you say? NO.....Not even close.
In eighth grade Toby started losing matches because he was unable to breathe. At first we thought that maybe it was asthma but that didn't really make a whole lot of sense to me. He's never had asthma growing up so why would he have it now?
Regardless of what the problem may have been, it was tough to watch. At the start of every match I would break out into a sweat just knowing that if Toby couldn't finish the match early that he was going to end up on the mat flopping like a fish out of water. I was more than ready to pull him out of wrestling altogether.
But Toby wouldn't have it and he wouldn't have forgiven me had I made him quit. He would have used my own words against me, quickly reminding me that I had always told him that he has to finish what he starts.
Ok, kid.....Wrestle on.....
So after the third wrestling meet that found him light headed, gasping, and puffing on an inhaler, I took him to the doctor. As soon as I told the doctor that Toby only had this problem when he wrestled he smiled and said, "I bet he's having vocal cord spasms. I'm going to refer you to a specialist."
A trip to the specialist resulted in breathing lessons. The specialist told Toby that it is a natural reaction to hold your breath when you shoot or, in football, brace for impact as you make a tackle.
"No matter what happens," she told him, "Do not hold your breath. That can cause your vocal cords to slam shut and cut off your air."
Scary, scary stuff. But now Toby knows what to minimize the likelihood of having a vocal cord spasm. But if he does have a spasm he's been trained how to combat the problem. It doesn't sound like much fun too me.
And it's not at if he needed any other challenges with wrestling.
But I have to give him credit; at this point he refuses to quit ------- even if he did leave a ton of blood on the mat at his last meet.
Toby has always had problems with nose bleeds; so much so that he has had his nose cauterized not once but twice. Yet, if he get's popped in the nose just right......We have a gusher.
I was sick the day of the incident so I'm going off of what I've been told. Apparently Toby wrestled a kid who kept reaching across Toby's face to grab his arm. As this kid reached across he would pop Toby in the face.....Over and over and over again.
Finally the kid got in the shot that finally got Toby's nose to bleed ---- and he bled everywhere. Down the side of his face and onto his shoulder and uniform ---- all over the mat.
Throughout all this the ref never called time. Mama was NOT happy.
"That kid was a dirty wrestler," Karla ranted, "He just kept hitting Toby in the face over and over again."
After the match was over I guess it took some time to get all of the blood off of the mat. I asked Karla why she didn't get a picture ----- that was not a good question to ask......Oops....
So when I got Toby away from mad Mama I asked him, "So was what that kid doing illegal?"
"Technically, no," he said, "As long as you have an open hand you're ok,"
"What did your coach say?" I asked.
"He says I'm too nice."
You know what? I can believe that.
But I bet he'll be a little meaner by the time wrestling season is over.
I'm not being critical at all -- far from it..... He's taking his lumps and, with dogged determination, he just keeps on trying -- for that I am very proud of him.
TERA.....MUSCLE AND NAIL POLISH......
I don't know why I was surprised when Tera went out for wrestling. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea of my little princess rough housing on the mat and, I won't lie, it makes me a little nervous.
Tera practices with the team twice a week; but she practices at least two, maybe three days, with Toby and myself. I want her to be as ready to wrestle as we can possibly get her.
Toby and I both preach to her that wrestling is not a "nice" sport. Aches, pains, bumps, and bruises are just part of the gig. The sooner she accepts that the better off she will be.
But after asking Tera what she likes about wrestling, I started to wonder why I'm worried.
Me: "So what do you like about wrestling?"
Tera: "I GET TO TACKLE PEOPLE!!!!"
Oh....
Yeah, I shouldn't have been surprised. This is the same girl that wanted to go out for football, but a conflict with fall softball wouldn't allow for it. Hell, she may be pretty good at it.
I had never actually watched a wrestling practice before Tera joined up. But, because I'm worried I've been going to her practices and taking notes; trying to learn all that I can in order to help Tera improve at a quicker pace.
It only took one practice to understand why coaches in other sports love wrestlers.
From a conditioning standpoint, I don't think I've seen anything as physically demanding as wrestling practice. Even if you end up sucking as a wrestler, you'll still walk away at the end of the year in the best shape of your life.
Running leads into stretches. Stretches into line drills, into planks, into crab walks, into bear crawls. After warm up the coach may talk for a few minutes about what they are going to work on --- that's the longest he talks the entire practice. From there, whether they are working on sit outs, or takedowns, or tie ups, it's repetition, repetition, repetition. All the while, the coach is walking in between wrestlers an checking on their technique. If he does stop them to explain something he never talks for more than a minute before the kids are right back at it.
As I look at the notes on my phone, it boggles the mind how much they have learned in so little time.
One solid hour of almost non stop movement. And what's really cool about it is the coach is so good at keeping them busy that they don't even think about a bathroom or water break. Before you know it practice is over and I sit there, head spinning and thinking, "Shit, and they haven't even scratched the surface yet."
As a wrestler not only are you in great shape but you become quicker and stronger. You learn about leverage and that not everything you do involves brute strength.
And.......You either learn to be tough or, I'm guessing, you don't last.
Yeah, I'm nervous. I guess I'll just have to wait and see how Tera handles the first time she gets popped. (Actually, she has taken a shot to the mouth already ---- it didn't appear to phase her.)
Deep down, however, I just know she's going to be fine. She may not win very much.....but she'll be fine.
It's Dad that's going to have a hard time adjusting.......
MUSCLE AND NAIL POLISH........YOU GOTTA PROBLEM WITH THAT?
No Ma'am.....
Thursday, November 20, 2014
What am I thankful for?....
It's that time of year again; when families get together under one roof to celebrate Thanksgiving. To show thanks for the blessing of the previous year's harvest by guiltlessly engaging in one of the seven deadly sins as we shove enough calories down our gullet in one afternoon to last us an entire week.
Yes sir, there is no better way to show how thankful you are than to unbutton your pants so that you can squeeze just a few more bites into an already over packed belly.
Next comes the mashed potato coma as you pass out on the couch and sleep through the football game. (That's okay....the Thanksgiving day games haven't been then same since Barry Sanders retired.)
And just when you think you're belly is about to explode?
"Who wants pie?"
UGH.........I'll be right there.....Got any more cool whip?
Every year on the drive to the family glutton fest Karla asks the same question of us every year.
"So, what are you thankful for?"
Toby: "Uh......."
Tera: No answer.....She's not paying attention.
Me: "Shit, I don't know......."
It's almost as if, in Karla's mind, Thanksgiving cannot truly begin until we have all proclaimed what we are thankful for.
I thought once, that if perhaps I didn't say what I was thankful for until after we ate, then the meal didn't count and so we would have to do it over.......No such luck; which is unfortunate because I would have really like to have had another round of stuffing.
So I guess I will use my blog to launch a preemptive "What are you thankful for" strike.
1. I am thankful that I do not have cable TV.
I know I have said it before....but I am REALLY thankful that Karla and I cut the cable; especially during this time of year when all of the holiday advertisements are in full swing.
Just my humble opinion, but whoever got the bright idea of advertising Christmas before Thanksgiving ---- WAY before thanksgiving --- should be shot. (OK, fine....Just in the leg. Sheesh)
It's sad, really, to see the story of baby Jesus being swept aside by an overwhelming tide of "Get this" and "Buy that". Yes sir, that shameless pig known as capitalism seems to get an earlier jump on Christmas with every year.
Fa la la la la --- Kids love gift cards........
Squeal all you want, you greedy swine, I got my family --- it's all I need........All is right with the world.
On a side note ---- does anyone other than me feel like they're committing a crime when they buy a violent video game as a Christmas present? Karla and I got Toby an X-Box one year and the game Halo....it just didn't feel right.
Silent night...... rat-tat-tat-tat-tat
Oh come all ye faithful ---- BOOM!!!
Christmas music and the sounds of war ----- not a good combination.
I won't be doing that again.
Anyway....The best part of cutting the cable?
"Toby, Tera, what do you want for Christmas this year?"
"Um, I don't know.....Let me get back with you on that."
By far, cutting the cable was one of the best things we ever did.
2. I'm thankful to be (almost) debt free....
By next fall Karla's vehicle will be paid off and, once again, we will be debt free.
I can't begin to tell you just how liberating it feels to not have to worry about debt. No mortgage, no vehicles, no student loans, no credit cards.....No worries.
I also can't stress it enough....If you haven't looked into Dave Ramsey you should. You may not agree with everything he advises you to do but, make no mistake, he will get you on the right path to, as he likes to put it, "Financial Peace."
I won't lie.....Paying down the debt was the roughest ten years of my life......But it was worth it.
Paying off the debt has also given me another reason to be thankful.....
3. I'm thankful that I will never, EVER, have to the work night shift again......
Some people love the night shift. Karla's uncle spent his entire working life on the night shift so that he could run his salvage yard during the day --- and he couldn't have been happier.
I was not that lucky......
Long story short, night shift did not go well once Karla and I started having kids. (Well, I didn't HAVE the kids --- I just stood in a corner waiting for the epidural to rid the delivery room of the horned, fire breathing demon and bring back my wife. In those moments I was wishing that I had the number of a good exorcist on speed dial.)
Things got really rocky for me when the kids started getting older. With every passing year their little lives got busier and my sleep became less and less.
I have learned first hand how bad your life can get when you can't get enough sleep. As a night shifter you do everything you can to trick your body clock into thinking it's time to go to bed. The room darkening shades, the sleepy time tea, disconnecting the phone, wearing ear plugs, etc. etc.
But, over time, none of it works. The effect it has on you mentally can be devastating.
I have never gone to the doctor and so wasn't officially diagnosed --- but I'm not an idiot. I was well aware of all the signs for depression. The last few years on night shift were not fun -- for me or my family.
It got to the point where if I got more than two hours of sleep then it was a successful trip to bed. I started taking shots of NyQuil to knock my ass out --- but it never really worked. Sleeping pills worked at first, but even those started to lose their effectiveness.
Occasionally I would collapse on a Friday afternoon and not wake up again until Saturday evening. Then the vicious two hours of sleep a day cycle would fire up again for another month or so.
I refused to go to the doctor. I did not want to be put on the drugs that I was sure I was going to be put on to treat my depression. I saw the medication as nothing more than a temporary, and expensive, fix. I know deep down that the real problem was the night shift and, once we paid off all of our debt, I was getting the Hell off of nights.
In retrospect, I know I should have went to the Dr.....But that's me thinking now with a clear mind. When you don't get enough sleep your brain goes into the toilet. In retrospect, my mood swings were unpredictable and it wasn't fair of me to force my family to ride my emotional roller coaster. There were times when I was not a pleasant person to be around. I should have gone to the doctor. But logic ceases to exist when you are in a horrible state of mind.
It was absolutely insane. I could be in a good mood one minute and then --- snap --- I would go into an emotional tail spin. Just about anything could trigger my rage -- or depression. A sad song or movie, a news article about the human races lack of compassion (thank God those don't come along very often, right). Sometimes it could be just getting out of bed. Sometimes it could be something as simple as Karla just saying hello.......
Sometimes ---- I didn't need a reason to be unhappy. I .....just.....was.....for no apparent reason whatsoever. My life was a train wreck.
Now let me take this opportunity to stress that during all of this I never spanked either of my kids; that is not how I operate. But I did have a few good R. Lee Ermey impersonations that I'm not too proud of.
By the time I left my night shift job my two hours of sleep was split up into several parts. Maybe a half an hour as soon as I got home. Maybe an hour in the afternoon, perhaps twenty minutes right before Karla and the kids came home.
I felt sick, and got sick, with alarming frequency. The bags under my eyes felt like a permanent fixture and every winter I got really pale because I didn't get enough sunlight. It's dark when you get up and go to work --- it's dark when you go home.
You know, now that I think about it, I'm willing to bet that a long walk in the morning sunlight would have done me a lot of good. It couldn't have done me any worse than when I was laying in my room tossing and turning.....
The only way I stayed even remotely functional was by downing pot after pot after pot of coffee along with lots of mountain dew. Caffeine was the only thing keeping me upright --- that's scary when you consider that I drove a fork lift for a living. It's a wonder that I never had an accident.
So as soon as we paid everything off I put in my two weeks notice. I left behind a great paying job. I could have built up a huge nest egg, a big retirement, a couple of college funds and a gigantic emergency fund.
But it wouldn't have been worth it....I was a basket case and I needed to leave.....immediately.
After I left it took nearly a full year to get to where I could sleep consecutive hours on a daily basis. I still battle insomnia from time to time, but it's a cakewalk compared to what I went through working nights...
I worked the night shift for almost twenty years........Holy shit, why?
You never really realize how bad a situation is until you get away from it. The longer I was away from nights the more I looked back and wondered what possessed me to stick with it for so long. I will never work another night shift job for as long as I live. Karla and the kids have told me as much.
Once again, thank you Dave Ramsey....I'm in a much better place now.
So.....There you have it. That's what I'm thankful for.
Actually....I mentioned three things that I'm thankful for. That should give me a pass for the next few years, right?
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.......
Yes sir, there is no better way to show how thankful you are than to unbutton your pants so that you can squeeze just a few more bites into an already over packed belly.
Next comes the mashed potato coma as you pass out on the couch and sleep through the football game. (That's okay....the Thanksgiving day games haven't been then same since Barry Sanders retired.)
And just when you think you're belly is about to explode?
"Who wants pie?"
UGH.........I'll be right there.....Got any more cool whip?
Every year on the drive to the family glutton fest Karla asks the same question of us every year.
"So, what are you thankful for?"
Toby: "Uh......."
Tera: No answer.....She's not paying attention.
Me: "Shit, I don't know......."
It's almost as if, in Karla's mind, Thanksgiving cannot truly begin until we have all proclaimed what we are thankful for.
I thought once, that if perhaps I didn't say what I was thankful for until after we ate, then the meal didn't count and so we would have to do it over.......No such luck; which is unfortunate because I would have really like to have had another round of stuffing.
So I guess I will use my blog to launch a preemptive "What are you thankful for" strike.
1. I am thankful that I do not have cable TV.
I know I have said it before....but I am REALLY thankful that Karla and I cut the cable; especially during this time of year when all of the holiday advertisements are in full swing.
Just my humble opinion, but whoever got the bright idea of advertising Christmas before Thanksgiving ---- WAY before thanksgiving --- should be shot. (OK, fine....Just in the leg. Sheesh)
It's sad, really, to see the story of baby Jesus being swept aside by an overwhelming tide of "Get this" and "Buy that". Yes sir, that shameless pig known as capitalism seems to get an earlier jump on Christmas with every year.
Fa la la la la --- Kids love gift cards........
Squeal all you want, you greedy swine, I got my family --- it's all I need........All is right with the world.
On a side note ---- does anyone other than me feel like they're committing a crime when they buy a violent video game as a Christmas present? Karla and I got Toby an X-Box one year and the game Halo....it just didn't feel right.
Silent night...... rat-tat-tat-tat-tat
Oh come all ye faithful ---- BOOM!!!
Christmas music and the sounds of war ----- not a good combination.
I won't be doing that again.
Anyway....The best part of cutting the cable?
"Toby, Tera, what do you want for Christmas this year?"
"Um, I don't know.....Let me get back with you on that."
By far, cutting the cable was one of the best things we ever did.
2. I'm thankful to be (almost) debt free....
By next fall Karla's vehicle will be paid off and, once again, we will be debt free.
I can't begin to tell you just how liberating it feels to not have to worry about debt. No mortgage, no vehicles, no student loans, no credit cards.....No worries.
I also can't stress it enough....If you haven't looked into Dave Ramsey you should. You may not agree with everything he advises you to do but, make no mistake, he will get you on the right path to, as he likes to put it, "Financial Peace."
I won't lie.....Paying down the debt was the roughest ten years of my life......But it was worth it.
Paying off the debt has also given me another reason to be thankful.....
3. I'm thankful that I will never, EVER, have to the work night shift again......
Some people love the night shift. Karla's uncle spent his entire working life on the night shift so that he could run his salvage yard during the day --- and he couldn't have been happier.
I was not that lucky......
Long story short, night shift did not go well once Karla and I started having kids. (Well, I didn't HAVE the kids --- I just stood in a corner waiting for the epidural to rid the delivery room of the horned, fire breathing demon and bring back my wife. In those moments I was wishing that I had the number of a good exorcist on speed dial.)
Things got really rocky for me when the kids started getting older. With every passing year their little lives got busier and my sleep became less and less.
I have learned first hand how bad your life can get when you can't get enough sleep. As a night shifter you do everything you can to trick your body clock into thinking it's time to go to bed. The room darkening shades, the sleepy time tea, disconnecting the phone, wearing ear plugs, etc. etc.
But, over time, none of it works. The effect it has on you mentally can be devastating.
I have never gone to the doctor and so wasn't officially diagnosed --- but I'm not an idiot. I was well aware of all the signs for depression. The last few years on night shift were not fun -- for me or my family.
It got to the point where if I got more than two hours of sleep then it was a successful trip to bed. I started taking shots of NyQuil to knock my ass out --- but it never really worked. Sleeping pills worked at first, but even those started to lose their effectiveness.
Occasionally I would collapse on a Friday afternoon and not wake up again until Saturday evening. Then the vicious two hours of sleep a day cycle would fire up again for another month or so.
I refused to go to the doctor. I did not want to be put on the drugs that I was sure I was going to be put on to treat my depression. I saw the medication as nothing more than a temporary, and expensive, fix. I know deep down that the real problem was the night shift and, once we paid off all of our debt, I was getting the Hell off of nights.
In retrospect, I know I should have went to the Dr.....But that's me thinking now with a clear mind. When you don't get enough sleep your brain goes into the toilet. In retrospect, my mood swings were unpredictable and it wasn't fair of me to force my family to ride my emotional roller coaster. There were times when I was not a pleasant person to be around. I should have gone to the doctor. But logic ceases to exist when you are in a horrible state of mind.
It was absolutely insane. I could be in a good mood one minute and then --- snap --- I would go into an emotional tail spin. Just about anything could trigger my rage -- or depression. A sad song or movie, a news article about the human races lack of compassion (thank God those don't come along very often, right). Sometimes it could be just getting out of bed. Sometimes it could be something as simple as Karla just saying hello.......
Sometimes ---- I didn't need a reason to be unhappy. I .....just.....was.....for no apparent reason whatsoever. My life was a train wreck.
Now let me take this opportunity to stress that during all of this I never spanked either of my kids; that is not how I operate. But I did have a few good R. Lee Ermey impersonations that I'm not too proud of.
By the time I left my night shift job my two hours of sleep was split up into several parts. Maybe a half an hour as soon as I got home. Maybe an hour in the afternoon, perhaps twenty minutes right before Karla and the kids came home.
I felt sick, and got sick, with alarming frequency. The bags under my eyes felt like a permanent fixture and every winter I got really pale because I didn't get enough sunlight. It's dark when you get up and go to work --- it's dark when you go home.
You know, now that I think about it, I'm willing to bet that a long walk in the morning sunlight would have done me a lot of good. It couldn't have done me any worse than when I was laying in my room tossing and turning.....
The only way I stayed even remotely functional was by downing pot after pot after pot of coffee along with lots of mountain dew. Caffeine was the only thing keeping me upright --- that's scary when you consider that I drove a fork lift for a living. It's a wonder that I never had an accident.
So as soon as we paid everything off I put in my two weeks notice. I left behind a great paying job. I could have built up a huge nest egg, a big retirement, a couple of college funds and a gigantic emergency fund.
But it wouldn't have been worth it....I was a basket case and I needed to leave.....immediately.
After I left it took nearly a full year to get to where I could sleep consecutive hours on a daily basis. I still battle insomnia from time to time, but it's a cakewalk compared to what I went through working nights...
I worked the night shift for almost twenty years........Holy shit, why?
You never really realize how bad a situation is until you get away from it. The longer I was away from nights the more I looked back and wondered what possessed me to stick with it for so long. I will never work another night shift job for as long as I live. Karla and the kids have told me as much.
Once again, thank you Dave Ramsey....I'm in a much better place now.
So.....There you have it. That's what I'm thankful for.
Actually....I mentioned three things that I'm thankful for. That should give me a pass for the next few years, right?
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.......
Thursday, November 13, 2014
You're a what?...
In this great melting pot we call America --- wait --- allow me to correct that. We are not really a melting pot at all....
The goal of the United States of America is, or maybe was, to be a melting pot; "Give me your tired, your poor......"
But we are a lot more like a tossed salad; just layers and layers of different vegetables (yes, I'm aware that a tomato is actually a fruit.....don't be so damn nit-picky....) all piled into one big bowl. Separate entities presented as whole to the indifferent consumer......
And by and large, while we United States citizens are very proud be American, there is a large portion of us that are also very proud (or at least somewhat aware of) our heritage.
I'm Mexican American --- tomatoes --- (it's use as a food originated in Mexico)
I am African American --- black olives --- (derived from the Oleaceae tree, which is found throughout Africa)
I am Italian ---- Breadsticks -- (originated in Italy)
I am German American --- cheese (actually, no one knows where cheese originated from. But we can't very well shove a sausage into a salad, now can we?)
I am Irish American -- they brought a potato salad.....(and a fifth) Variety is the spice of life, right?
I am Filipino American ----- ??????????
What? What is that? Did you bring, like, a coconut or something?
As long as I could remember no one, with a few minor exceptions, seems to know what a Filipino is. Hell, I'm Filipino and I barely know.
Here is what I do know:
1. The Philippines is an island chain in the south Pacific. It you're traveling by way of California, just head for Japan and hang a left. Better yet, just look at a map before you go.
2. The United States once had an air force base there (that's how Dad met Mom)
3. The yo-yo (which in Tagalog means "come back") was adorned with spikes and used as a weapon in the Philippines. (I can't imagine this thing worked very well.....yo-yo or spear......hmm....)
4. People here in the U.S. love Mom's food....
Yeah --- that's about it....Pathetic, right?
So, I have absolutely no reason to get upset when people can't figure out "what" I am. In fact I find it amusing and turn it into a guessing game. (No, there are no prizes. Just all in good fun.)
When I got my first job I was known as the Mexican kid, or the Puerto Rican kid. When I said I was neither, the people in the department that I was working in went nuts trying to guess my nationality.
The winner of the contest was from another department --- and another Filipino. I think the game would have went on forever if not for her. But she called me out; unto which most people looked at me and asked "What is that?"
It wouldn't be the last time that I would be referred to as "that"..... (or what)
I was too young to remember my Uncle George, but I remember Dad telling me once that when visiting with family George has asked where my Mom was.
"Oh, she's back home visiting family in the Philippines," Dad said.
"Oh, I see," said Uncle George, "How far a' drive is that?"
I hear Uncle George was a helluva nice guy. Maybe he misheard and thought Dad said Philadelphia... Philippines --- Philadelphia....Yeah, that's pretty close.
When my brother Tony was away at college, a football player from Chicago asked him "what" he was. When Tony said he was Filipino, the guy just shook his head and said, "I don't even know what that is."
But I think by far my favorite is when I'm misidentified by Native Americans. I don't know why, they don't look anymore confused than anyone else. Maybe it has to do with the way they ask.....
"Are you native?"
Me: "Uh, native to what?"
"What tribe are you from/do you belong to?"
Me: "Um, Ilocano?"
There are several different ethnic groups in the Philippines, but this is the only one I know. I have no idea what "tribe" I'm from.
But as amusing as I find all this, I have lately grown very disappointed that I didn't get to know my heritage a little better. Or at the very least know some of my native tongue.
The girl who guessed that I was Filipino got very excited and started rambling in Tagolag as if we had been life long friends. I threw my hands up in the air and said "stop, I don't know what your'e saying."
She was very visibly disappointed.
Hell, I'm half German with a German last name. At least when I go to a German restaurant and they start speaking Deutsch I can say...."Nin, nin....No sprechen zee Deutsch."
They, too, are disappointed. But at least I can speak a little bit.
My lack of Filipino knowledge really didn't hit me until Toby and his cousins got older. His cousin, Trysten, got a tattoo that (if you know what you're looking for) proudly symbolizes his Filipino heritage.
Toby and his cousin Allen occasionally try to speak Tagalog. It comes in very handy when they don't want anyone other than their grandmother knowing what they are talking about.
Toby is only one quarter Filipino but has more pride in his heritage than I do. Here is this pale skinned (accept in the summer, he tans very nicely) green eyed kid who is trying to learn Tagalog, has the Filipino flag hanging in his room, wears a Mark Munoz t-shirt, (for those that don't know, Mark Munoz is, by Filipino standards, a giant man and MMA fighter) and is constantly asking when Grandma Aida is going to come over and cook more Filipino food so he can learn how to do it himself.
I really let my son down.......and it kind of bothers me. (Tera, on the other hand, doesn't appear to give a shit...But, she is only nine.)
Ignorance is not bliss.......it's not.
So come the holiday season, my Christmas wish list will be very short but, unfortunately, somewhat expensive. I'm going to try to pick up my native tongue through Rosetta Stone.
Maybe if Toby can learn the language and to cook he will be happy. I guess I'm about to find out.
Oh.....There is one part of my Filipino heritage that I'm very glad I did not inherit. When Mom was expecting she wanted to name me Cimpriano Esperanza.
Yeah......Can you imagine kindergarten with that name? I'm also quite certain that I would have caught a lot of flak with that form of identification. It was hard enough being the stereotypical Asian kid -- skinny, uncombable hair with the cow lick from hell, and nerdy glasses --- Cimpriano would have just assured me a few extra beatings......
Dad, however, opted for a much simpler name. Tom, let's go with Tom.
I am most certainly good with that......
By the way....anyone want Pak Choy in their salad? How about okra?
The goal of the United States of America is, or maybe was, to be a melting pot; "Give me your tired, your poor......"
But we are a lot more like a tossed salad; just layers and layers of different vegetables (yes, I'm aware that a tomato is actually a fruit.....don't be so damn nit-picky....) all piled into one big bowl. Separate entities presented as whole to the indifferent consumer......
And by and large, while we United States citizens are very proud be American, there is a large portion of us that are also very proud (or at least somewhat aware of) our heritage.
I'm Mexican American --- tomatoes --- (it's use as a food originated in Mexico)
I am African American --- black olives --- (derived from the Oleaceae tree, which is found throughout Africa)
I am Italian ---- Breadsticks -- (originated in Italy)
I am German American --- cheese (actually, no one knows where cheese originated from. But we can't very well shove a sausage into a salad, now can we?)
I am Irish American -- they brought a potato salad.....(and a fifth) Variety is the spice of life, right?
I am Filipino American ----- ??????????
What? What is that? Did you bring, like, a coconut or something?
As long as I could remember no one, with a few minor exceptions, seems to know what a Filipino is. Hell, I'm Filipino and I barely know.
Here is what I do know:
1. The Philippines is an island chain in the south Pacific. It you're traveling by way of California, just head for Japan and hang a left. Better yet, just look at a map before you go.
2. The United States once had an air force base there (that's how Dad met Mom)
3. The yo-yo (which in Tagalog means "come back") was adorned with spikes and used as a weapon in the Philippines. (I can't imagine this thing worked very well.....yo-yo or spear......hmm....)
4. People here in the U.S. love Mom's food....
Yeah --- that's about it....Pathetic, right?
So, I have absolutely no reason to get upset when people can't figure out "what" I am. In fact I find it amusing and turn it into a guessing game. (No, there are no prizes. Just all in good fun.)
When I got my first job I was known as the Mexican kid, or the Puerto Rican kid. When I said I was neither, the people in the department that I was working in went nuts trying to guess my nationality.
The winner of the contest was from another department --- and another Filipino. I think the game would have went on forever if not for her. But she called me out; unto which most people looked at me and asked "What is that?"
It wouldn't be the last time that I would be referred to as "that"..... (or what)
I was too young to remember my Uncle George, but I remember Dad telling me once that when visiting with family George has asked where my Mom was.
"Oh, she's back home visiting family in the Philippines," Dad said.
"Oh, I see," said Uncle George, "How far a' drive is that?"
I hear Uncle George was a helluva nice guy. Maybe he misheard and thought Dad said Philadelphia... Philippines --- Philadelphia....Yeah, that's pretty close.
When my brother Tony was away at college, a football player from Chicago asked him "what" he was. When Tony said he was Filipino, the guy just shook his head and said, "I don't even know what that is."
But I think by far my favorite is when I'm misidentified by Native Americans. I don't know why, they don't look anymore confused than anyone else. Maybe it has to do with the way they ask.....
"Are you native?"
Me: "Uh, native to what?"
"What tribe are you from/do you belong to?"
Me: "Um, Ilocano?"
There are several different ethnic groups in the Philippines, but this is the only one I know. I have no idea what "tribe" I'm from.
But as amusing as I find all this, I have lately grown very disappointed that I didn't get to know my heritage a little better. Or at the very least know some of my native tongue.
The girl who guessed that I was Filipino got very excited and started rambling in Tagolag as if we had been life long friends. I threw my hands up in the air and said "stop, I don't know what your'e saying."
She was very visibly disappointed.
Hell, I'm half German with a German last name. At least when I go to a German restaurant and they start speaking Deutsch I can say...."Nin, nin....No sprechen zee Deutsch."
They, too, are disappointed. But at least I can speak a little bit.
My lack of Filipino knowledge really didn't hit me until Toby and his cousins got older. His cousin, Trysten, got a tattoo that (if you know what you're looking for) proudly symbolizes his Filipino heritage.
Toby and his cousin Allen occasionally try to speak Tagalog. It comes in very handy when they don't want anyone other than their grandmother knowing what they are talking about.
Toby is only one quarter Filipino but has more pride in his heritage than I do. Here is this pale skinned (accept in the summer, he tans very nicely) green eyed kid who is trying to learn Tagalog, has the Filipino flag hanging in his room, wears a Mark Munoz t-shirt, (for those that don't know, Mark Munoz is, by Filipino standards, a giant man and MMA fighter) and is constantly asking when Grandma Aida is going to come over and cook more Filipino food so he can learn how to do it himself.
I really let my son down.......and it kind of bothers me. (Tera, on the other hand, doesn't appear to give a shit...But, she is only nine.)
Ignorance is not bliss.......it's not.
So come the holiday season, my Christmas wish list will be very short but, unfortunately, somewhat expensive. I'm going to try to pick up my native tongue through Rosetta Stone.
Maybe if Toby can learn the language and to cook he will be happy. I guess I'm about to find out.
Oh.....There is one part of my Filipino heritage that I'm very glad I did not inherit. When Mom was expecting she wanted to name me Cimpriano Esperanza.
Yeah......Can you imagine kindergarten with that name? I'm also quite certain that I would have caught a lot of flak with that form of identification. It was hard enough being the stereotypical Asian kid -- skinny, uncombable hair with the cow lick from hell, and nerdy glasses --- Cimpriano would have just assured me a few extra beatings......
Dad, however, opted for a much simpler name. Tom, let's go with Tom.
I am most certainly good with that......
By the way....anyone want Pak Choy in their salad? How about okra?
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Odds and Ends...11/6/14
This is Halloween...
Too my surprise, Tera, a fellow chocoholic, took a page out of Toby's Halloween book and put a vast majority of her candy up for sale.
I wonder what she's planning on doing with the money that she earns? Aside from a slight obsession with My Little Pony figures she has never been one to want anything. She hates shopping --- period, has no desire to own a phone, doesn't really play video games, and she has an Itunes card that's been collecting dust.
Take Tera to the library and give her art supplies and she's happy. I am truly astounded at how low maintenance she is....I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she stays that way.
So now that both kids have ventured into the halloween candy selling business I have to say that I find the differences between the two kids amusing.
When Toby sold his candy, he simply threw everything into a bowl and taped a piece of paper onto it simply stating --- .10 cents or, when he was price gouging his old man -- .25 cents.
Tera, on the other hand, performed a detailed inventory which resulted in a two page itemized list of candies. Each candy was priced in direct proportion to it's size and uniqueness. (Example --- Tootsie pops, various flavors = .25 cents. Tootsie Pop, "Mystery" flavor -- .35 cents)
Toby's bowl of candy was just a hodgepodge that required some digging and sifting in order to find your heart's desire.
Tera's plastic tub of candy was neatly laid out; everything had a place. I believe she has a good future in warehouse and inventory management.
Toby's bowl was out on the table, but only when Toby was home......Steal from the Halloween Godfather and you're liable to have your hand cut off by one of his hired henchmen.
"Bonasera...Bonasera...What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?"
Tera operates on a trust system; which I will unfortunately have to explain to her is not a great way to run her business. On her little itemized list is the following statement: "Take candy, leave money according to price."
It's a good thing that her dad has a guilt complex. I am an honest man --- who, less then a week after Halloween, is already down seven bucks.........Shit.
I am tech savvy.....NO, really....
This week the power went out twice in our humble little hobbit hole and, having files that I don't want to lose on my computer, I decided that I had better save my important documents on a zip drive.
I plug the device into the USB port and, to my dismay, nothing happens.
Too make a long, aggravating story short (I really don't want to remember every troubleshooting technique I used in a vain attempt to fix the problem) I wasted about two hours of my day and could not get the damn device to work.
When Karla came home I vented. "The mac isn't recognizing the drive. It's supposed to show up on the desktop and then all I have to do is transfer the files. I tried everything I could think of and when that didn't work I googled my problem and still came up with nothing.....I think I might have a bad zip drive."
Karla, "Yeah. That's the USB connection for the wireless mouse."
.............
"oh......"
Well..........Shit.........
Bottomless Pit...
I know I've said it before, but I'm going to say it again......I really miss being able to eat whatever I want.
I miss being able to wolf down, not one, but two super sized big mac meals and still be ready to eat an hour later.
I miss hearing my mom, dad, wife, friends, ask me "How can you still be hungry?" or "How do you not weigh three hundred pounds?"
Don't get me wrong, I still have a good metabolism --- but I just can't go nuts like I used to. As a middle aged man I have to use this thing called "discretion"......and that just sucks.
And when I see Toby eat --- I get jealous.
Yesterday he downed, not one, but two Chipotle burritos and then followed it up with ice cream.
Two hours later he downs a few pieces of pizza.......He eats constantly; from the moment he gets up til the moment he goes to bed and, just like his dad use to be, he doesn't gain any weight.
Now, years later, I understand that look of hatred that I used to get from all my female friends as they said, "You make me sick....."
You should write a book....
I've been hearing this a lot lately from family and friends. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure that I have the discipline or the patience for such an undertaking.
I don't consider myself a writer. I'm more like an old bullshitter that just happened to sling his bullshit onto a piece of paper.
I don't consider my blog to be work. It's just a great way to vent, it's my own personal and not so secret diary -- and here is why I feel this way.......Every Thursday, when I sit down behind the keyboard, there is about a ninety five percent chance that I will have absolutely no clue what I'm going to write about -- and today was no exception.
I just go with whatever pops into my head, spend about an hour pounding the keys, read through it once, and then pass it off on Karla for approval.
After Karla goes over it I may, or I may not, run through it one more time before I post it.
That's basically it. Would that be considered improvisational keyboarding? Possibly.
So, if you were to consider what it takes to write a book -- things like research, developing a plot, subplot, a list of characters -- yadda yadda yadda.....Man, I just don't know. I'm not sure that I have the attention span for that kind of detailed undertaking.
I don't know.....Maybe.... Maybe.
I guess I should at least consider it.
Anyway.....I think I'm done here......The question now is do I want another cup of coffee? I went out for coffee this morning with my brother Tim; but not before drinking the pot I brewed up and having another cup at his house. All that and one large sea salt caramel latte later and I can't close me eyes. I don't think I've blinked once in the last couple of hours.
And I swear that I can HEAR colors.....Yes, pink is loud......very loud.
Water....Water is good. I'll just go with that ......
Friday, October 31, 2014
Health and Fitness Update...
Note: This is just a small part of the big picture.....This post would get way too big and out of control if I tried to cover everything about my personal health and fitness goals. That and I sat down in front of the computer with no clue what I was going to write about. (Actually, a common occurrence. I usually have no idea what I'm going to write about when I sit at the keyboard...I just start with whatever pops into my head and go from there.)
The lazy runner...
As hard as I try to get into running I just can't seem to get into a rhythm. Part of it is due to nagging injuries; last year being a sore left knee and my constantly tightening/cramping shins.
Per a friend's recommendation, I went to a store that specialized in running shoes, had my gait analyzed, and paid a pretty penny on a very nice pair of running shoes. After taking a week off and going through a series of daily stretches I was able to get back on the road -- this time with much better results. The knee was still sore, but not as bad, and my shins got through ok.
So what lesson was learned from this experience?
Not a damn thing. This year dumb ass went out and picked up a pair of shoes, on sale, from another store and, (I'm guessing) as a result, ended up sitting out Tera's first 5K of the year with a shooting pain in the arch of my left foot. (I was in Dave Ramsey mode when I bought the shoes. I just couldn't help feeling guilty for wanting to purchase an expensive pair of shoes and went the cheap route....Yeah -- mistake)
I will not make that mistake again. If I'm going to run I'm going to have to pony up the bucks for a really good pair of shoes. In the meantime I have purchased a pair of insoles (not the cheap ones) to hopefully get me through the rest of the year.
This weeks 5K runs have been tolerable --- not great -- but tolerable. With a ten minute per mile average I won't be winning any races but it will be enough to keep up with Tera, which is all that really matters.
However, I have to admit that even though I have been running I just can't seem to get into it mentally. Lately my train of thought has been that if there isn't either a ball or an axe wielding homicidal maniac involved then I really don't see the point in running.
But I'm sure my current state of mind is due to the frustration I'm feeling about missing out on Tera's run. I'll get through this....I always do.
Scale? What scale?
I have not weighed myself once since I left the work force almost a year and a half ago. I have no idea what I weigh and I really don't care.
I had decided that I was going to experiment with gauging my health not in how much I weigh but how good I feel. So far, all my clothes still fit, I don't have a beer gut, and I don't feel any less energetic. I will take that as a sign that I'm doing ok. However.......
Calories? What calories?
I'm not in near as good of shape as I could be. When I decided to kick the scale to the side I also decided to quit counting calories and rely on my body to tell me when I needed to eat.
Unfortunately it hasn't been my body that has been telling me when to eat; it's been my eyes, my cravings, and my family that has been telling me.
Anyone who has ever tried to follow a strict diet knows that it can be extremely difficult to stay on task; nearly impossible without the support of family.
But I am not about to throw Karla and the kids under the bus for not eating well. I'm placing that blame squarely on myself. There are two reasons for this:
1. I don't cook worth a crap. I've had some minor success with fried rice, spaghetti, and just about anything that you can throw into a crock pot. But I have also had quite a few abysmal failures. When your nine year old daughter comes into the house and asks "What is that? It smells like butt." on more than one occasion, you know that your cooking skills are lacking.
When I became a stay at home dad I was supposed to take over all the cooking, but Karla has been making supper more frequently that I would like her too.
I have to be honest. If cooking were my main job I would have been fired a long time ago.
But I'm not going to let this discourage me (much). I will keep trying.
I've cooked and I have watched Karla cook --- and I have no idea how she manages to make everything taste good.
When I cook I followed the directions in the book down to the letter (well, at least I try to). Every thing I need to accomplish my task is laid out ahead of time and when I finish, aside from a few dirty dishes, the kitchen looks no worse for wear.
When Karla cooks the cook book is nothing more than a loose guideline. She dives right into the meal without going through the recipe checklist and, more then once, I have heard her say either A. I'll be right back, I need to go to the store or B. Well, let's just see what we have in the cupboard to use as a substitute.
I can't operate that way. Such willy-nilly lack or organization would drive me up a wall.
Pots and pans bang as if she were occasionally throwing one against a wall. Smoke rolls out of the kitchen and the windows are opened to vent just enough out so as to provide nearly adequate vision for the task at hand.
Dishes, silverware, and ingredients are strewn about the counter and the floor. The dog hasn't left Karla's side, knowing all to well that something good will most likely hit the floor in the near future.
As she finishes her culinary masterpiece she begins to pile dishes up in the sink. Nearly all the pots and pans have food burnt to the bottom of them. I begin to cuss as I grab steel wool out from under the kitchen sink and, as I scrub, I begin to wonder if I will blow out an elbow before getting this f@($^&# pot clean.
I swear, by the time Karla gets done cooking it looks as if a horde of hyper active gremlins rolled through and destroyed the place.
And yet.....Her meals almost always tastes great.
So I guess the lesson learned here is that an ugly, awkward follow through garners exceptional results.
Yeah....Not going to happen. I have to be orderly or I will go insane.
2. I planted my first garden this year thinking that I would grow enough healthy food for us to limit our trips to the grocery store, thus reducing the temptation to purchase anything that comes out of a box or a can....
How'd that go, you ask? Well, I prefer to look at my first attempt at gardening through rose colored glasses. As opposed to a spectacular failure I prefer to see it as a non productive success. Yes sir, I have to the blinders on....
I planted a bunch of herbs, forgot about them, and they shriveled up and died. I intended to plant green beans as well but then ball season started and I never got around to it.
As far as the tomatoes go, I have no idea what happened. They were watered everyday and yet I only manage to produce a small bag of the regular size tomatoes. I'm thinking the clay in my yard my having something to do with it, so I will have to do a better job of fertilizing/making use of my compost bin.
The cherry tomatoes did great but they were eaten as soon as they got picked; I never had a chance to eat any of them.
Same goes for the strawberries. Every morning Tera would go out and stand by the strawberry plants, picking and eating. I never got to eat a strawberry either.
The peppers on the other hand did great.....but nobody wanted to eat them. When Tera and I were picking out what to plant in our garden she swore up and down that Toby wanted ghost peppers to make salsa. The plan was lots on tomatoes, lots of peppers (among other things), lots of salsa.
But when Toby found out what kind of peppers we got he said, "Oh God no.....Those things are too hot."
The peppers got picked. Lots of pepper got picked. But I have no idea what happened to them.
Okay....My first garden kind of sucked. But I still consider it a success in that I at least tried. I will be better prepared next spring.......I may even try to build a green house. Given my history with tools and DIY projects, building my green house should be calamitous enough to provide good blog material.....(Always look for the silver lining..)
So, in summary, I think I can look back on my current health and fitness status and say, ok, I'm not in as good of shape as I would like to be and I'm not eating as healthy as I would like to be.
But, all in all, I can't complain. I'm not on medication, I'm not over weight (unless you're looking at a BMI chart.....Don't even get me started on that piece of crap.), I feel good. That's more than a lot of people my age can say.
Perhaps I've set my personal goals a little beyond my reach but, that's just fine with me. It gives me something to shoot for.......
Keep pluggin' away....Keep pluggin away....
The lazy runner...
As hard as I try to get into running I just can't seem to get into a rhythm. Part of it is due to nagging injuries; last year being a sore left knee and my constantly tightening/cramping shins.
Per a friend's recommendation, I went to a store that specialized in running shoes, had my gait analyzed, and paid a pretty penny on a very nice pair of running shoes. After taking a week off and going through a series of daily stretches I was able to get back on the road -- this time with much better results. The knee was still sore, but not as bad, and my shins got through ok.
So what lesson was learned from this experience?
Not a damn thing. This year dumb ass went out and picked up a pair of shoes, on sale, from another store and, (I'm guessing) as a result, ended up sitting out Tera's first 5K of the year with a shooting pain in the arch of my left foot. (I was in Dave Ramsey mode when I bought the shoes. I just couldn't help feeling guilty for wanting to purchase an expensive pair of shoes and went the cheap route....Yeah -- mistake)
I will not make that mistake again. If I'm going to run I'm going to have to pony up the bucks for a really good pair of shoes. In the meantime I have purchased a pair of insoles (not the cheap ones) to hopefully get me through the rest of the year.
This weeks 5K runs have been tolerable --- not great -- but tolerable. With a ten minute per mile average I won't be winning any races but it will be enough to keep up with Tera, which is all that really matters.
However, I have to admit that even though I have been running I just can't seem to get into it mentally. Lately my train of thought has been that if there isn't either a ball or an axe wielding homicidal maniac involved then I really don't see the point in running.
But I'm sure my current state of mind is due to the frustration I'm feeling about missing out on Tera's run. I'll get through this....I always do.
Scale? What scale?
I have not weighed myself once since I left the work force almost a year and a half ago. I have no idea what I weigh and I really don't care.
I had decided that I was going to experiment with gauging my health not in how much I weigh but how good I feel. So far, all my clothes still fit, I don't have a beer gut, and I don't feel any less energetic. I will take that as a sign that I'm doing ok. However.......
Calories? What calories?
I'm not in near as good of shape as I could be. When I decided to kick the scale to the side I also decided to quit counting calories and rely on my body to tell me when I needed to eat.
Unfortunately it hasn't been my body that has been telling me when to eat; it's been my eyes, my cravings, and my family that has been telling me.
Anyone who has ever tried to follow a strict diet knows that it can be extremely difficult to stay on task; nearly impossible without the support of family.
But I am not about to throw Karla and the kids under the bus for not eating well. I'm placing that blame squarely on myself. There are two reasons for this:
1. I don't cook worth a crap. I've had some minor success with fried rice, spaghetti, and just about anything that you can throw into a crock pot. But I have also had quite a few abysmal failures. When your nine year old daughter comes into the house and asks "What is that? It smells like butt." on more than one occasion, you know that your cooking skills are lacking.
When I became a stay at home dad I was supposed to take over all the cooking, but Karla has been making supper more frequently that I would like her too.
I have to be honest. If cooking were my main job I would have been fired a long time ago.
But I'm not going to let this discourage me (much). I will keep trying.
I've cooked and I have watched Karla cook --- and I have no idea how she manages to make everything taste good.
When I cook I followed the directions in the book down to the letter (well, at least I try to). Every thing I need to accomplish my task is laid out ahead of time and when I finish, aside from a few dirty dishes, the kitchen looks no worse for wear.
When Karla cooks the cook book is nothing more than a loose guideline. She dives right into the meal without going through the recipe checklist and, more then once, I have heard her say either A. I'll be right back, I need to go to the store or B. Well, let's just see what we have in the cupboard to use as a substitute.
I can't operate that way. Such willy-nilly lack or organization would drive me up a wall.
Pots and pans bang as if she were occasionally throwing one against a wall. Smoke rolls out of the kitchen and the windows are opened to vent just enough out so as to provide nearly adequate vision for the task at hand.
Dishes, silverware, and ingredients are strewn about the counter and the floor. The dog hasn't left Karla's side, knowing all to well that something good will most likely hit the floor in the near future.
As she finishes her culinary masterpiece she begins to pile dishes up in the sink. Nearly all the pots and pans have food burnt to the bottom of them. I begin to cuss as I grab steel wool out from under the kitchen sink and, as I scrub, I begin to wonder if I will blow out an elbow before getting this f@($^&# pot clean.
I swear, by the time Karla gets done cooking it looks as if a horde of hyper active gremlins rolled through and destroyed the place.
And yet.....Her meals almost always tastes great.
So I guess the lesson learned here is that an ugly, awkward follow through garners exceptional results.
Yeah....Not going to happen. I have to be orderly or I will go insane.
2. I planted my first garden this year thinking that I would grow enough healthy food for us to limit our trips to the grocery store, thus reducing the temptation to purchase anything that comes out of a box or a can....
How'd that go, you ask? Well, I prefer to look at my first attempt at gardening through rose colored glasses. As opposed to a spectacular failure I prefer to see it as a non productive success. Yes sir, I have to the blinders on....
I planted a bunch of herbs, forgot about them, and they shriveled up and died. I intended to plant green beans as well but then ball season started and I never got around to it.
As far as the tomatoes go, I have no idea what happened. They were watered everyday and yet I only manage to produce a small bag of the regular size tomatoes. I'm thinking the clay in my yard my having something to do with it, so I will have to do a better job of fertilizing/making use of my compost bin.
The cherry tomatoes did great but they were eaten as soon as they got picked; I never had a chance to eat any of them.
Same goes for the strawberries. Every morning Tera would go out and stand by the strawberry plants, picking and eating. I never got to eat a strawberry either.
The peppers on the other hand did great.....but nobody wanted to eat them. When Tera and I were picking out what to plant in our garden she swore up and down that Toby wanted ghost peppers to make salsa. The plan was lots on tomatoes, lots of peppers (among other things), lots of salsa.
But when Toby found out what kind of peppers we got he said, "Oh God no.....Those things are too hot."
The peppers got picked. Lots of pepper got picked. But I have no idea what happened to them.
Okay....My first garden kind of sucked. But I still consider it a success in that I at least tried. I will be better prepared next spring.......I may even try to build a green house. Given my history with tools and DIY projects, building my green house should be calamitous enough to provide good blog material.....(Always look for the silver lining..)
So, in summary, I think I can look back on my current health and fitness status and say, ok, I'm not in as good of shape as I would like to be and I'm not eating as healthy as I would like to be.
But, all in all, I can't complain. I'm not on medication, I'm not over weight (unless you're looking at a BMI chart.....Don't even get me started on that piece of crap.), I feel good. That's more than a lot of people my age can say.
Perhaps I've set my personal goals a little beyond my reach but, that's just fine with me. It gives me something to shoot for.......
Keep pluggin' away....Keep pluggin away....
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Sucker punch....
There comes a time in everyone's life when some jerk comes along and pegs your bullshit meter. For Toby it came this week during a football game.
Toby has always been my laid back kid. For years I have tried to get him amped up for football games by playing an array of intense, in your face, shatter your skull music. Metallica, Disturbed, SOAD --- just about anything I could think of to get Toby into the rabid state I felt he needed to be in to play this game of legalized brutality.
......and it never worked.
Toby would switch over to Bob Marley and be bop around the house with the contented look of a Zen master. All is right with the world, brother...
I just couldn't understand how a kid as laid back as Toby could possibly get anything out of football. I've seen him make tackles and come up smiling. I've seen him get trucked by a bruising fullback just to get up and jog back to the huddle as if nothing had ever happened.
"Don't worry.....about a thing. Cause every little thing ---- gonna be alright."
Having never played football I had always been told that it's a game of controlled rage. That you have to approach every game as if you are going into battle.
Toby acted as if he was going to the beach.
I asked him once what it is that he liked about football.
"Defense. I like hitting people."
Really? I was really confused now. Is it possible to be a happy barbarian? Can you really bludgeon someone with a smile on your face?
"Toby, I don't get it. Don't you ever get fired up and angry? Don't you just want to go out there and rip someone's head off?"
Toby shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Nah, that's just not who I am."
That was before this year......
This year, his freshman year in high school, I've notice some subtle, and not so subtle, changes in Toby. The higher dose of testosterone surging through his body has brought along a growth spurt, pimples, and a wider range of emotions. He can go from laughing to surly to laid back to pissed off -- sometimes all in one day. It's not something I am accustomed to seeing. I'm used to Toby being so quiet that I have to occasionally check on him just to see if he's alright.
But, despite this new range of emotions that his family members are trying to adjust to, Toby is still the mellowest one in our little group. He's like a suddenly enlightened Spock, an emotionally constipated Vulcan who is now beginning to experience the wide range of feelings that an irrational human being can feel.
The first time I saw Toby get mad I thought, "Wait, who in the hell is this kid?"
The good thing is anger for Toby is very rare. All in all, life is good in my fourteen year old son's world.
Then I went to watch him play and saw something out of him that I had never seen before....
I won't mention the school, but let's just say that I am not a big fan of them. The three years that Toby's team has played them, two had been nothing but one long game of cheap shots. The one game that wasn't was when we were the home team and it was actually a good game.
The two years we were the visitors we blew them out and by the halfway point of the second quarter things would start to get chippy.
Toby had never played against a dirty team before. The first time he got blindsided after the whistle he mentioned it after the game but, in typical Toby fashion, he smiled and went on with his life.
This year was different.
I watched as Toby fire out of the slot and drove his hands into the cornerback's chest, driving him back about five yards. The cornerback responded by grabbing Toby's face mask and throwing him to the ground.
Next play ---- Toby went after the corner again and this time the corner wasted no time in sticking his hand inside Toby's helmet, grabbing his mask, and throwing him to the ground again.
Toby went back to the huddle.
The third time it happened (all consecutively) Toby fired off the ground and got nose to nose with the kid. The corner raised his hands as if to say "What?"
Toby came off the field and from the stands I could see how pissed he was. He was very animated when he talked to his teammates about how this corner was playing him. The happy-go-lucky kid had disappeared.
Toby went out the next series and lined up in the slot with his new friend lined up across from him. As soon as the ball was snapped Toby fired off the line, went straight at the corner, and punched him in the groin.
Oh God.......
My first thought was, "Son, you are going to get your ass kicked out of this game."
But apparently the referee had left his glasses in the car. He never flagged Toby -- just like he didn't flag the corner for throwing Toby down by his face mask. And he didn't flag the corner after he blindsided Toby after the whistle blew. It was almost as if these two kids didn't even exist.
Toby must have landed a good shot because the kid never bothered him after that -- although one of his teammates stomped on Toby's foot. (I missed that one. Toby told me about it after the game.)
The next day I talked to my brother, Tony, about it.
"Oh yeah," said Tony, "That kind shit happens all the time. I always hated being in a pile because some jackass would either pinch your legs or grab your nuts. There's a lot that goes on that the referee's don't see."
While such lowbrow tactics may be just part of the game for some, I don't want my kid playing that way. I would like to think that he's above such nonsense.
That being said, I get it -- there is only so much crap a person can endure before he feels that he needs to take matters into his own hands.
So I told Toby, "You did a good job blocking that kid. You know how I know that?"
"No."
"Because you had him so riled up that he spent his time focused on you and not the ball. You basically took him out of the game. You did your job and you should be proud of that."
Then I encouraged him to not let people like that get the best of him.
"The referee wasn't calling it," said Toby, "I had to do something. I wasn't about to let him do that to me the whole game."
Fair point.
I remember showing Toby youtube videos of Dick Butkus and told him that the growling maniac anchoring the middle of the Chicago defense was the very definition of a football player. This is the kind of attitude and ferocity that you need to bring to each and every game.
But, after watching Toby fist a kid's testicles into his lungs, I'm not so sure anymore. The round faced, happy child has given way to an enraged berserker. This is just not the Toby that I'm used to seeing.
So maybe we can compromise. Conan + Marley = Carley? Um.....No. I'll work on that.
"Conan, what is best in life?"
"To crush your enemies, see them flee before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women. (addendum) --- And to do it with a smile on your face." :)
"Stir it up.....Little darlin' stir it up......."
Toby has always been my laid back kid. For years I have tried to get him amped up for football games by playing an array of intense, in your face, shatter your skull music. Metallica, Disturbed, SOAD --- just about anything I could think of to get Toby into the rabid state I felt he needed to be in to play this game of legalized brutality.
......and it never worked.
Toby would switch over to Bob Marley and be bop around the house with the contented look of a Zen master. All is right with the world, brother...
I just couldn't understand how a kid as laid back as Toby could possibly get anything out of football. I've seen him make tackles and come up smiling. I've seen him get trucked by a bruising fullback just to get up and jog back to the huddle as if nothing had ever happened.
"Don't worry.....about a thing. Cause every little thing ---- gonna be alright."
Having never played football I had always been told that it's a game of controlled rage. That you have to approach every game as if you are going into battle.
Toby acted as if he was going to the beach.
I asked him once what it is that he liked about football.
"Defense. I like hitting people."
Really? I was really confused now. Is it possible to be a happy barbarian? Can you really bludgeon someone with a smile on your face?
"Toby, I don't get it. Don't you ever get fired up and angry? Don't you just want to go out there and rip someone's head off?"
Toby shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Nah, that's just not who I am."
That was before this year......
This year, his freshman year in high school, I've notice some subtle, and not so subtle, changes in Toby. The higher dose of testosterone surging through his body has brought along a growth spurt, pimples, and a wider range of emotions. He can go from laughing to surly to laid back to pissed off -- sometimes all in one day. It's not something I am accustomed to seeing. I'm used to Toby being so quiet that I have to occasionally check on him just to see if he's alright.
But, despite this new range of emotions that his family members are trying to adjust to, Toby is still the mellowest one in our little group. He's like a suddenly enlightened Spock, an emotionally constipated Vulcan who is now beginning to experience the wide range of feelings that an irrational human being can feel.
The first time I saw Toby get mad I thought, "Wait, who in the hell is this kid?"
The good thing is anger for Toby is very rare. All in all, life is good in my fourteen year old son's world.
Then I went to watch him play and saw something out of him that I had never seen before....
I won't mention the school, but let's just say that I am not a big fan of them. The three years that Toby's team has played them, two had been nothing but one long game of cheap shots. The one game that wasn't was when we were the home team and it was actually a good game.
The two years we were the visitors we blew them out and by the halfway point of the second quarter things would start to get chippy.
Toby had never played against a dirty team before. The first time he got blindsided after the whistle he mentioned it after the game but, in typical Toby fashion, he smiled and went on with his life.
This year was different.
I watched as Toby fire out of the slot and drove his hands into the cornerback's chest, driving him back about five yards. The cornerback responded by grabbing Toby's face mask and throwing him to the ground.
Next play ---- Toby went after the corner again and this time the corner wasted no time in sticking his hand inside Toby's helmet, grabbing his mask, and throwing him to the ground again.
Toby went back to the huddle.
The third time it happened (all consecutively) Toby fired off the ground and got nose to nose with the kid. The corner raised his hands as if to say "What?"
Toby came off the field and from the stands I could see how pissed he was. He was very animated when he talked to his teammates about how this corner was playing him. The happy-go-lucky kid had disappeared.
Toby went out the next series and lined up in the slot with his new friend lined up across from him. As soon as the ball was snapped Toby fired off the line, went straight at the corner, and punched him in the groin.
Oh God.......
My first thought was, "Son, you are going to get your ass kicked out of this game."
But apparently the referee had left his glasses in the car. He never flagged Toby -- just like he didn't flag the corner for throwing Toby down by his face mask. And he didn't flag the corner after he blindsided Toby after the whistle blew. It was almost as if these two kids didn't even exist.
Toby must have landed a good shot because the kid never bothered him after that -- although one of his teammates stomped on Toby's foot. (I missed that one. Toby told me about it after the game.)
The next day I talked to my brother, Tony, about it.
"Oh yeah," said Tony, "That kind shit happens all the time. I always hated being in a pile because some jackass would either pinch your legs or grab your nuts. There's a lot that goes on that the referee's don't see."
While such lowbrow tactics may be just part of the game for some, I don't want my kid playing that way. I would like to think that he's above such nonsense.
That being said, I get it -- there is only so much crap a person can endure before he feels that he needs to take matters into his own hands.
So I told Toby, "You did a good job blocking that kid. You know how I know that?"
"No."
"Because you had him so riled up that he spent his time focused on you and not the ball. You basically took him out of the game. You did your job and you should be proud of that."
Then I encouraged him to not let people like that get the best of him.
"The referee wasn't calling it," said Toby, "I had to do something. I wasn't about to let him do that to me the whole game."
Fair point.
I remember showing Toby youtube videos of Dick Butkus and told him that the growling maniac anchoring the middle of the Chicago defense was the very definition of a football player. This is the kind of attitude and ferocity that you need to bring to each and every game.
But, after watching Toby fist a kid's testicles into his lungs, I'm not so sure anymore. The round faced, happy child has given way to an enraged berserker. This is just not the Toby that I'm used to seeing.
So maybe we can compromise. Conan + Marley = Carley? Um.....No. I'll work on that.
"Conan, what is best in life?"
"To crush your enemies, see them flee before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women. (addendum) --- And to do it with a smile on your face." :)
"Stir it up.....Little darlin' stir it up......."
Thursday, October 16, 2014
This is Halloween...
Halloween...
I absolutely love Halloween. I used to constantly (well, okay, I still do) daydream that I was someone else. 24/7, 365 days a year I was; from the time I could first remember up until, well, now, my mind has always had a tendency to wander. I don't know how many times I have been engaged in conversation with someone and not been aware of it. I could be staring right at the person and not have a clue that he or she is even talking to me. In my warped mind, I was already somewhere else. In fact, I'm fairly certain that I have spent at least half of my life in a daydream --- and I never daydream of being something practical.
So, as a kid when Halloween rolled around, I knew that for at least one glorious night I was free to be whomever I wanted to be in public without anyone suspecting that I was off my meds.....Hell yeah, I'm all about that. Has anyone seen my cape and tights? Dammit......
Oh, and there's candy -- a nice bonus. The only difference now is that I don't have to go door to door for it. I buy it "for the trick or treaters" and then begin to piece away at it. I may as well just have my own bag by the front door because if the kids are getting treats, then by golly, I am too.
Every Halloween ends with a slight gut ache......Ugh....
Of course as an adult I have managed to (somewhat) control my imagination....I have no choice, I am an adult which, I must say, has to be the stupidest thing that I have ever done.
So no more costumes for me......I don't want to be known as the neighborhood's weird, creepy guy. I'll just have to settle for weird. :)
Toby....
Anyway, it's bizarre when I think about my kids and how each one approaches Halloween.
Toby treated halloween as a golden opportunity to earn a profit; which means that he is just like his mother. I'm not sure Toby ever really enjoyed dressing up; he just did it so he could get candy that he could sell to his classmates.
So picture this tiny, round face little boy dumping out all his booty on the living room floor. If that were me I would have been separating all the candy out and then figuring out in what order I was going to eat everything.
Toby picked out all the gum and a few pieces of chocolate. The rest he dumped into a bowl and taped a little sign on it that said ---- "10 cents"....
My little six year old egg head made a nice little profit. His buddies would come over and buy up just about everything he had ---- but only after I bought all the Kit Kats and Snicker bars. I'll be damned if I'm letting those fine pieces of chocolate leave the house.
As the years went by, Toby began to map out his territory. He knew which houses he wanted to hit first and which ones (anywhere he got candy corn, I believe) were okay to pass on. He had turned Halloween into a successful business; the only hiccup being that he found out that he could not sell his candy at school...Oops.
And it didn't escape me that the next year he went trick or treating he came back and marked up everything that I liked from .10 cents to .25 cents. ----- That's highway robbery, you little shit......
But, my wallet (and my teeth) is safe this year. Toby is a freshman this year and has given up trick or treating. He mows lawns now to make his money.
Tera....
Now Tera, on the other hand, is just like me. She loves dressing up and when she trick or treats she does it intending to keep every little piece of candy that she has received.
Karla watches Tera dump all of her goodies out onto the floor. As Tera is separating she is eating. Two pieces over here --- and one piece for me. OM NOM NOM..... Two pieces over here -- and one piece for me. OM NOM NOM.....
After about the fifth candy wrapper hits the floor Karla steps in and announces that she is taking Tera's goodies and hiding them so that they can be rationed out.
Tera protests (and I would have too) but Karla is right. If she doesn't hide the candy Tera will eat herself sick.
Karla: "You can have two pieces of candy when you get home from school."
Tera: "AAAWWW....."
Karla takes Tera's goodies and stashes them away --- without letting me know where she hid it, dammit......
Costumes...
I'm surprised Karla hasn't put a shock collar on Tera and I when we go to the Halloween store. Of course I guess she doesn't need to since she has control of the checkbook.
Tera and I usually skip the cheapo costumes and go right for the expensive paraphernalia. The costume has to look as authentic a possible in order for halloween to be fun -- and it makes it easier to get into character. :)
Karla does not see the amusement in it at all. It's not a Roth IRA or a flow chart showing our bank accounts and the "wonderful" power of compound interest. Miss Practicality has a hard time understanding why on earth Tera and I just have to have one hundred and fifty pieces of halloween lawn art.
Tera and I: "It's a werewolf. Isn't that cool?"
Karla: "You know you could just make ghosts out of pillow cases and hang them from the trees, right?"
Tera and I: "Really? Oh boy......"
Karla: "Yes, really."
Killjoy.....
I think Karla either totally missed the sarcasm in our voice of just chose to ignore it. (I'm guessing ignore)
We spent the following afternoon hanging pillow case ghosts on the tree limbs for Halloween........Crap.
I didn't even bother asking to go to the Halloween store this year. A grown man child can only hear
"No" so many times.
This year Tera decided that she wanted to be Coraline for Halloween. Coraline is a character in a Neil Gaiman book and Tim Burton movie.
In the book/movie Coraline has a doll made to her likeness that she carries about.
So Tera and I decided that, in order for the costume to be authentic, a Coraline doll was a much needed accessory.
I got online and found the exact doll that I was searching for --- and it could be mine for $200.
Ouch. How can a ten inch doll cost so damn much? Karla will never go for it.
A search for yellow Wellington boots found a pair for $50. Ouch....again.
If this keeps up Karla is going to have Tera trick or treating dressed in a bed sheet and a paper bag.
(I did find it amusing that after my search I got on Facebook and suddenly saw ads for Wellington boots. Hmm.)
I didn't even bother looking for the raincoat and blue wig. I turned it over to Karla and prayed that we could find some kind of compromise. It wasn't five minutes before Karla decided that she could make the Coraline doll herself........(Please be a close to the real thing as possible....It's just not the same if it's not authentic.)
Tera and I have a couple of weeks to wear Mom down.....Pray for us.
This year Toby has a football game on Halloween night so it will be Karla and Tera trick or treating; which will drive Tera crazy.
Tera: "Hurry up!!!!"
So if you happen to be one of my local readers just remember that I like Kit Kats and Snickers bar.....Er, I mean, TERA likes Kit Kats and Snickers bars.......
Have a happy Halloween!!!!
I absolutely love Halloween. I used to constantly (well, okay, I still do) daydream that I was someone else. 24/7, 365 days a year I was; from the time I could first remember up until, well, now, my mind has always had a tendency to wander. I don't know how many times I have been engaged in conversation with someone and not been aware of it. I could be staring right at the person and not have a clue that he or she is even talking to me. In my warped mind, I was already somewhere else. In fact, I'm fairly certain that I have spent at least half of my life in a daydream --- and I never daydream of being something practical.
So, as a kid when Halloween rolled around, I knew that for at least one glorious night I was free to be whomever I wanted to be in public without anyone suspecting that I was off my meds.....Hell yeah, I'm all about that. Has anyone seen my cape and tights? Dammit......
Oh, and there's candy -- a nice bonus. The only difference now is that I don't have to go door to door for it. I buy it "for the trick or treaters" and then begin to piece away at it. I may as well just have my own bag by the front door because if the kids are getting treats, then by golly, I am too.
Every Halloween ends with a slight gut ache......Ugh....
Of course as an adult I have managed to (somewhat) control my imagination....I have no choice, I am an adult which, I must say, has to be the stupidest thing that I have ever done.
So no more costumes for me......I don't want to be known as the neighborhood's weird, creepy guy. I'll just have to settle for weird. :)
Toby....
Anyway, it's bizarre when I think about my kids and how each one approaches Halloween.
Toby treated halloween as a golden opportunity to earn a profit; which means that he is just like his mother. I'm not sure Toby ever really enjoyed dressing up; he just did it so he could get candy that he could sell to his classmates.
So picture this tiny, round face little boy dumping out all his booty on the living room floor. If that were me I would have been separating all the candy out and then figuring out in what order I was going to eat everything.
Toby picked out all the gum and a few pieces of chocolate. The rest he dumped into a bowl and taped a little sign on it that said ---- "10 cents"....
My little six year old egg head made a nice little profit. His buddies would come over and buy up just about everything he had ---- but only after I bought all the Kit Kats and Snicker bars. I'll be damned if I'm letting those fine pieces of chocolate leave the house.
As the years went by, Toby began to map out his territory. He knew which houses he wanted to hit first and which ones (anywhere he got candy corn, I believe) were okay to pass on. He had turned Halloween into a successful business; the only hiccup being that he found out that he could not sell his candy at school...Oops.
And it didn't escape me that the next year he went trick or treating he came back and marked up everything that I liked from .10 cents to .25 cents. ----- That's highway robbery, you little shit......
But, my wallet (and my teeth) is safe this year. Toby is a freshman this year and has given up trick or treating. He mows lawns now to make his money.
Tera....
Now Tera, on the other hand, is just like me. She loves dressing up and when she trick or treats she does it intending to keep every little piece of candy that she has received.
Karla watches Tera dump all of her goodies out onto the floor. As Tera is separating she is eating. Two pieces over here --- and one piece for me. OM NOM NOM..... Two pieces over here -- and one piece for me. OM NOM NOM.....
After about the fifth candy wrapper hits the floor Karla steps in and announces that she is taking Tera's goodies and hiding them so that they can be rationed out.
Tera protests (and I would have too) but Karla is right. If she doesn't hide the candy Tera will eat herself sick.
Karla: "You can have two pieces of candy when you get home from school."
Tera: "AAAWWW....."
Karla takes Tera's goodies and stashes them away --- without letting me know where she hid it, dammit......
Costumes...
I'm surprised Karla hasn't put a shock collar on Tera and I when we go to the Halloween store. Of course I guess she doesn't need to since she has control of the checkbook.
Tera and I usually skip the cheapo costumes and go right for the expensive paraphernalia. The costume has to look as authentic a possible in order for halloween to be fun -- and it makes it easier to get into character. :)
Karla does not see the amusement in it at all. It's not a Roth IRA or a flow chart showing our bank accounts and the "wonderful" power of compound interest. Miss Practicality has a hard time understanding why on earth Tera and I just have to have one hundred and fifty pieces of halloween lawn art.
Tera and I: "It's a werewolf. Isn't that cool?"
Karla: "You know you could just make ghosts out of pillow cases and hang them from the trees, right?"
Tera and I: "Really? Oh boy......"
Karla: "Yes, really."
Killjoy.....
I think Karla either totally missed the sarcasm in our voice of just chose to ignore it. (I'm guessing ignore)
We spent the following afternoon hanging pillow case ghosts on the tree limbs for Halloween........Crap.
I didn't even bother asking to go to the Halloween store this year. A grown man child can only hear
"No" so many times.
This year Tera decided that she wanted to be Coraline for Halloween. Coraline is a character in a Neil Gaiman book and Tim Burton movie.
In the book/movie Coraline has a doll made to her likeness that she carries about.
So Tera and I decided that, in order for the costume to be authentic, a Coraline doll was a much needed accessory.
I got online and found the exact doll that I was searching for --- and it could be mine for $200.
Ouch. How can a ten inch doll cost so damn much? Karla will never go for it.
A search for yellow Wellington boots found a pair for $50. Ouch....again.
If this keeps up Karla is going to have Tera trick or treating dressed in a bed sheet and a paper bag.
(I did find it amusing that after my search I got on Facebook and suddenly saw ads for Wellington boots. Hmm.)
I didn't even bother looking for the raincoat and blue wig. I turned it over to Karla and prayed that we could find some kind of compromise. It wasn't five minutes before Karla decided that she could make the Coraline doll herself........(Please be a close to the real thing as possible....It's just not the same if it's not authentic.)
Tera and I have a couple of weeks to wear Mom down.....Pray for us.
This year Toby has a football game on Halloween night so it will be Karla and Tera trick or treating; which will drive Tera crazy.
Tera: "Hurry up!!!!"
So if you happen to be one of my local readers just remember that I like Kit Kats and Snickers bar.....Er, I mean, TERA likes Kit Kats and Snickers bars.......
Have a happy Halloween!!!!
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