Life can be like peeing in the wind. The honest truth about my life. I will lay it all out there for you to read....or not. Family, Hobbies, sports, camping, adoption, divorce, sex, love, children, teenagers, mental illnesses, beer, fishing, kickboxing, adventures, fantasies, TV shows and much more
I have to say that this whole getting old thing is getting under my skin.
I was having a conversation with our 14 year old son (big hockey fan) yesterday and I proceeded to tell the story of going to my first hockey game. Bruins vs. Penguins. I continued saying that I was so excited because Bobby Orr was playing and I had seats right behind the bench.
He threw me an odd look and said, “who the heck is Bobby Orr?” I, feeling old, said, “what?! He was like the …Pele of hockey.” Then I got…”and who is Pele?” I said, “OK…he was like the Tiger Woods or Kobi Bryant of hockey.” The response to that was, “Oh…he cheated on his wife with prostitutes?”
This conversation went on for a few more minutes, until I finally got through to him with comparing him to Michael Jordan and Wanye Gretzky. It is sad to me how many of my sports heroes are not known by today’s youth.
The one good thing about my …aging is that Mariah has a ‘thing’ for little old men. I think that I am going to give in and invest in a walker.
Now I know that everyone ages differently, but I have to say that I think that the human mind is a devilish little fucker.
As many of you know…today is my birthday. I turned 42. SHIT!!!!
For the most part I feel great…when speaking generally. I can run around with the kids, love roller coasters, camping, acting foolish at the beach, ridding in the cart at the grocery store…you know…a typical man who acts like a kid.
On the other hand, my mind has been playing some god awful tricks on me over the last few months. Maybe it is from all of those stupid commercials that spotlight an aging man with his joint pain, or the ones for Viagra or the Hover-round…maybe it is from watching TV and movies with aging men…who know?
What I do know is that I wake up most mornings with a sore back. I get a stiff neck when the is a chilly breeze. I (even though I live in Southern California) even get literally chilled to the bone when it drops below 55 degrees. I get joint pains. I need to rest and massage my shoulder after throwing a football with the boys…and I am now at the stage where I NEVER pass up an opportunity to go to the bathroom.
I woke up this morning to find that …one of our kids had taped up notes all over the house, such as: the one on the coffee pot that read, “all old guys need coffee to wake up…” or the one that was in the stairwell the said, “Careful old man…you don’t want to throw a hip coming down the stairs” or the one on my computer asking (in very big letters) if I needed glasses to read it.
Bless the kids for their sense of humor…but F them for reminding me of what is to come…and reminding my brain that this is a great day to make me feel old.
Well…this is a lot of writing…I think I need a nap.
So, as most of you know, I have been going through a shitty time with my ex and her ridiculous behavior. I know that I tweeted a few things last night when she started texting me with .... the following.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 9:47 PM
I'm in Brentwood at a dinner and am hearing that you and mariah can't handle my young boys and give them the attention they need. Should I come get them and bring them to their home where they are loved and appreicated?
FROM ME TO HER Whatever. I am sitting watching a movie with them. Fuck off and don’t text me with this stupid shit anymore.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 9:49 PM
Especially sice Mariah complains about them every time they are there and they hate being there anyway. I'd rather my sons be happy.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 9:57 PM
Really? I heard you're playing poker while jaden sleeps on the couch again. They tell everyone how they hate being with you. Poor Jaden told sarah XXX's husband stu that he wishes he was his dad instead of you because stu actually pays attention to the boys. Michelle XXX listened to the boys complain about how much they hate going to your house the whole way there today. You're a pathetic excuse for a dad. Why bother trying? Just make them happy. It's so easy. All hey want is your attention and love and you are just too selfish.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 9:59 PM
They are happier home withe where they are suurpunded by people that care and pay attention to them. At least let them have that.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 10:03 PM
I'll come get them. Because if they are awake as you say watching a movie, they shouldn't be anyway. It's way past bedtime for kids their age. I'm 10 mins from your house.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 10:14 PM
I'm not drinking. But I hear you've had your share of beer tonight. And I'm keeping a log of the boys complaints and begging to not be with you for court. God knows you haven't gotten anything yet because you're a pathetic human being. I'm just trying to support my boys. You don't deserve them and are harming them every second they are there.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 10:16 PM
At least I have enough respect for my children to keep this private. You care about Twitter more than your sons.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 10:18 PM
Way to go 'dad'! You know that jaden's teachers found your blog? Ok. I'm done. Hopefully, I won't have to dealwith tu again because my boy will he what they want. To not be with you ever again.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 10:19 PM
Hopefully I won't have to deal with you again because my boys will get what they want. To not be with you ever again.
Contact: 1323919991X Date: 11/21/2009 10:25 PM
Awww. Did it hurt your feelings that your boys prefer other dads to you??? You just slandered me. Judge who already hates you will love that.
Make sure to read Parts One and Two before you read this one
Summer between 9th and 10th grade, I returned home and was going to go back to public school. I lived in a very small town where everyone knew everyone…until a new family moved into our development. The neighborhood guys and I decided that it would be a good Idea for up to stickball games, bikes and skateboards to the street in front of their house…you know, we had to check them out.
As it turned out, the family was a mother, and a girl about our age and a younger son. No more than an hour into our street shenanigans, we saw the screen door on the front of the house open and the mom saying something to the girl as she pushed her out the door towards us. (old school social enabling)
The girl stopped in her front yard, sat down and just watched us. Most of us began showing off and trying outlandish jumps and tricks on our bikes. After she watched us acting like fools for a while, two of my friends and I walked up to her and introduced ourselves. We found out that she was our age and would be starting in our school in September. They had moved here from another state after her parents got divorced.
The girl was a bit homely and did not really have anything special about her looks. Just kind of plain. After inviting her to hang with us, we began just treating her like one of the guys. Not to mention that she was pretty good on a skateboard.
As the summer wore on and we all hung out together, I made it a point to look out for her…I knew better than to burn ‘girl’ bridges. It was not long before I felt as though she kind of liked me. I was unsure about how I felt about that. I mean, it is nice to be liked but I did not know if she were my type. (as a girlfriend) She was not ‘sexy’, hung out with the guys, had previously confided that she’d never even kissed a boy and was all around kind of a goody two shoes. I on the other hand had started drinking, smoked cigarettes here and there, dabbled in smoking pot, went out at night to cause trouble with the boys and expected sex from a girlfriend.
…beginning of dilemma.
I did not know at that time how much she really knew about me or if she’d like what she saw …but a part of me liked the idea of ‘molding’ her to my liking. I could teach her the rope and then she’d be perfect for me.
My friends did not understand what I was doing when I asked her out, but soon after…they did. (I hate to say this now, but she was like a puppy going through training.)
On our 15 block walk back home, we exchanged a few “I am the man” nods…but did not say much to one another.Once we got home, our father wanted to know the scoop.We filled him in to the best of our ability and then went into our room.Antsy and pacing around the room, I did not know how long I could put off calling her.I need to know if we were going to see each other again.I needed to know if she really liked me.I needed to know if there was a chance of a long distance relationship.I was dying.After about an hour and a half…I was defeated.I caved and called the number that she wrote on my hand.
After a few short rings, the sound of her sweet voice filled my ear.I struggled for words.A few seconds later I was comfortable speaking again.She had a weird way of calming me.I adored that in her.
We saw each other a few more times before I headed back home to New Hampshire.During these visits we kissed twice, we sat in her room for hours talking and listening to music, we agreed to be boyfriend and girlfriend and we agreed to call and write to each other frequently.
Once home, I bragged to all of my friends (all that would listen) about how "I picked up the hottest girl in New York and now she is my girlfriend."I don’t think many of them believed me…until the day that I got my first letter from her.It was the sweetest love letter I had ever gotten and it had a Polaroid picture of her in front of Tower Records.My friends, after seeing her picture, both believed and, from then on, looked up to me.
After a few weeks, it was time for me to go upstate to my boarding school.I did not like that idea of being that much further away from ‘my love’ but I had no choice.The adjustment to living at school was tough, but was made much easier with the picture of Vanessa on my desk and the letters I received EVERY day from her.I literally got about 40 letters from her in the first 2 months of school.
After a few more months, and as the letters slowed in frequency, I received the letter that I hoped would never come.The Break Up Letter.I was crushed.I know that I had only known her for a handful of months and that I’d only actually seen her in person 5 or 6 times and she lived 10 hours away…but still.I moped around for a week or so hoping that I’d get another letter…which never came.
The next two years I spent flirting and having flings with all of the teachers’ (age appropriate) children and a few girls from neighboring towns.I suppose it was the experimental phase…where I needed to know where I stood as far as picking up girls and handling short term relationships.It was quite fun while it lasted (barring the time I got caught with the headmaster’s daughter in the bathroom of the church.) but I knew that when I got back home, I was ready for something more.
Daddy Geek Boy’s recent post really got me thinking…thinking about my childhood and old relationships.
It not only re-hashed memories of my first ‘true love’ (Sydney something) who moved out of state 3 days after we started ‘going together.’ I had liked her for a long time (at least a month) before I got up the nerve to ask her out. Yeah…my timing sucked. We could have had a whole month together. The way that my 7th grade mind processed that badly timed and handled relationship was this: I would no longer fear rejection and if I liked someone…they knew it at the same time as I did.
This led me into quite a difficult to sum up stage.
It was the summer between 7th and 8th grade and 2 of my siblings and I were with our father in NYC and browsing through the aisles at Tower Records. All of the sudden my brother (2 years my junior) rammed his elbow into my ribs. As I raised my fist above my head, ready to open the flood gates upon him I grunted, “What?!...the hell was that for?” Not at all scared of the impending fist in the face…he just pointed. There were two girls a few rows over…looking up at us and giggling.
Holy shit they were hot! I mule kicked my sister so that she would get away from us, and proceeded to shyly look over at them and then smile and look away. This continued for a few minute…until I was brought back to reality by a tap on my shoulder. It was my father. I thought he was going to totally ruin this…a kind of tendency he has. But he didn’t. He handed me $5 and said, “Go buy those cute girls a Coke or something…and meet us at home before dark.”
My brother and I were in shock…starring at one another as our father and sister left the store. We grinned and then continued with our little eye game with the girls. Then it hit me…a flash of Sydney. I was not going to let this opportunity get away. Noticing that we had drifted into the Opera section, we, needing to collect ourselves, headed for the door, looking at the girls over our shoulders a few times before getting out o the street.
Once outside, we propped ourselves against the side of the building and began throwing ideas around as to what we’d say to them when the came out. All of the sudden the emerged from the store, saw us and smiled. As they neared us I could not believe how good looking they were.
After a very awkward greeting and introduction, the two of them agreed to go for a soda with us. While standing in line at the hot dog cart, we exchanged bits and pieces of info about ourselves.
Not thinking about the fact that this was New York and we lived in New Hampshire…or the fact that at the end of the summer I would be going to boarding school about 4 hour further north. We were here and they were interested.
Vanessa (mine) had super long black hair that swayed back and forth across the top of her ass, hazel eyes and a developing body that made me stare a bit more than I should have. Her friend Nancy (my brother’s) was a strawberry blonde with a Brooklyn accent and beautiful blue eyes.
We sat on a nearby bench, talking about what we’d been doing, music that we liked and how long we were going to be here in the city. It was bliss. I remember when Vanessa’s father came over and told them that it was time to go. I was crushed. I sadly watched as she and her friend trailed behind her father…looking back at us. As I sat there thinking of yet another way too short relationship, she came running back and grabbed my hand. Whipping a pen out of her pocket, she wrote down her phone number and whispered in my ear to call her later.
I think I about peed myself. With my mouth gaping open and an odd grimace on my face, I waved as she trotted to catch up with her father. Once out of sight my brother and I turned towards each other and proceeded to give each other a high five followed by the most ridiculous end zone dance imaginable.
Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.
* Our pediatrician admitted it early on.
The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.
The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.
He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.
The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.
The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.
The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.
She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:
The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.
The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.
The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.
The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.
She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook.
She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.
This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.
That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.
Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.
Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.
What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.
I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.
That, too, is my purpose today.
It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.
To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.
I have to say that I feel very lucky when it comes to the health of my kids. Yeah, they get banged up, get colds, toothaches, stomach problems…occasionally some constipation…but never anything serious. I have even posted about me and my unhuman history of making it 41 years and never spending a night in a hospital or even breaking a bone.
Since I started blogging, I have heard some of the most horrendous stories about people’s kids being gravely ill. It is almost unimaginable for me to comprehend what they must be going through as a parent…not to mention the suffering of a child.
In real life, I don’t even know anyone (close to me) that has had a very sick child…I have experience here. The one thing that I can say is that I bet I’d be a mess. I can see myself going over the top and just plain losing it. I’d be like Denzel in that movie John Q.
Much of the time, Mariah will come up to me with a sad, heartbroken look on her face…then I’ll ask her what is wrong. She slump into a chair to tell me the horrors that some other blogging parents are going through with their sick child. I feel bad for them. But it just does not affect me the same was as it does her. Maybe it is because I have never been through or experienced first (or even second) hand what it is like. Maybe it is because I don’t know these people. Maybe it is because I am a cold son of a bitch…I don’t know. But the fact remains; I DO feel for these families and truly care about the health and well being of ALL children.
Now…one of the resident Hot Dads (AlwaysHomeandUncool) has a big date (October 2nd ) coming up that really means a lot to his family (especially Thing1) and many more people throughout the world. Read a bit about what they have been through here and here.
I encourage you all to join him in his efforts to create awareness and raise funds for Cure JM. Cure JM is a 100-percent volunteer organization that funds medical research into the cause, treatment and eventual cure of juvenile myositis, juvenile dermatomyositis and their variants. The group also offers family support opportunities to help JM children, their parents, friends and relatives cope with the disease. To date, we are more than halfway to this year's fundraising goal of $500,000, nearly all of which goes directly to JM doctors to pay for research fellowships, specialized lab equipment and fund studies.
Please do what you can and save some space on your blogs on October 2nd and make sure to even tell your real life friends and family about it. We need to get a hold on these childhood illnesses that cause so much pain!
I don’t know about you but recently I have been having some issues with the sayings like, “Money can’t buy love.” and “Money doesn’t equal happiness."
I know that literally they are true, but at the core of what they mean….I have always thought it to be… without the ‘pad’ of money, it is much easier to feel/experience what love really is.
Now…Philosophers and ‘wise men’ may say these things, while at the same time, psychologists and socioeconomic studies say the complete opposite. “The lack of money and financial hard times are proven to be the root of a great deal of divorce, break ups, and household dysfunction.”
WTF!?
With the economy, lack of work and rising costs of having 6 kids (schools, groceries, movies, ice cream, birthday gifts, etc., etc.) The ‘lack of funds’ is proving to have a devastating effect on our whole house.
Mariah and I worry about ‘making it’ through the month, while the kids, increasingly, need things - and we don't need the kids worrying about our money situation. Continually telling the kids that we can’t afford it or that it will have t wait kind of puts a damper on their day and makes them wonder how stable our family really is. Meanwhile, Mariah and my stress levels rise and it tends to come out in the form of a cold, angry, or unhappy attitude…which then equates to the Gods pissing on our ‘flame.’
I love Mariah. I love all of the kids. I love the time we are able to spend together. I love what we have. But these days it seems that, whether it is Mariah and I or one of us with one of ( or a group of ) the kids…tempers are short, attitudes uneasy and the lovey, cuddly sides of us all are pushed aside from the stress. I feel like at any given time…someone in the house is in a foul mood…and does everyone else have the right to be cheery and happy?
I miss the constant smiles that we all once shared. I miss the spontaneous love making. I miss the luxury of being able to take Mariah out for an evening.
I want it all back!
I know that it is all part of being an adult, being a parent, being out of work and struggling through hard times…but it is plaguing me and I fucking hate it!!!!
By the time morning hit, we could hardly wait to see if we’d caught anything (or anyone) in our traps. We ignored the stealth policy as we bolted through the woods to the location of our creations. One by one, we closely inspected them, noticing nothing but a few random piles of animal scat and a small handful of porcupine quills.
Disappointed with having caught nothing we regrouped for a new strategy. After thoroughly discussing the mater in detail, we thought that the best plan was to lure someone into one of the traps. Yes…I was the one with 3 sisters and it was decided that little sisters make great prey.
Upon returning from my neighbor’s house we approached my middle sister, taunting her with a large bag of Twizlers and candy corn, we told her to count to 100 and then if she could find us at our fort that she could have our bag of sweetness. She began counting and we bolted into the forest snickering at our own genius.
A few minutes later, as we had taken up position in eyesight of each of our traps, we began to hear the crunching and twig snapping of a non-trained civilian tromping through the woods. Excited beyond belief, we all sat completely still, awaiting our catch.
A few seconds later, she appeared on the path…only 20 feet or so from our spring snare. Prancing up the path with thoughts of mouthfuls of candy, she neared the hidden danger. All of the sudden, we heard it. She had kicked the trip wire and *swoosh* the slip knot had tightened around her feet and she was hoisted into the air. Screaming and struggling, head bobbing a few feet off the ground we all emerged from the bushes, laughing and impressed with ourselves.
We stood in a circle around he, patting each other on the back, completely ignoring her cries for help. After a few brief comments and a bit more laughing, we decided that it would be best to leave her there for a while. Backing away and heading out on the path towards our house, we peaked over our shoulders just to see her squirming, and tears streaming from her eyes and landing in the cushion of pine needles that lined the forest floor.
We got back to my house and in an attempt not to tip off my mother, we busied ourselves with our bikes and the construction of a jump at the end of the driveway. About an hour later, after one of my friends launched off the jump and crashed into a tree at the edge of the woods, we all looked at one another with a touch of fear in our eyes and we took off into the woods. We had forgotten about my sister who had been hanging upside down in the middle of the porcupine and fox infested woods for close to an hour.
When we arrived, we saw my sister, still crying, but too tired to struggle. It seemed that she had just enough energy to tilt her head enough to see us approaching. Her sobs were faint, but at least she was still alive. We quickly released the knot at the base of a nearby tree and my sister fell with a thud to the ground. As she got up and began to stumble down the path she yelled to us that MOM was going to kill us and that we were going to be in big trouble. Chasing after her, with the bag of candy held out in front of us, we bribed her with the contents of the bag along with mild threats of further violence if she did tell.
As far as I know, our secret lived on and from that point on we re-adjusted out traps to only catch animals…which we did.
We gathered at the edge of the woods as the sounds of clanking dishes filled the air. Full from the dinners we had all just finished, we sat and waited for the last two members of our squad.
All dressed in our fatigues (or as close as we could get) we had our briefing. The seven of us agreed that minimal talking/noise …and of course only using our code names would be the only way to keep our top secret mission intact.
We spread out slightly as we entered the woods. For the next ten minutes all we could hear was the faint crackling of pine needles beneath out boots and a random twig snapping as we pushed our way through the trees to our hide-out.
The air was still, breezes blocked by the acres of pine trees on all sides. We entered our 2 story fort one at a time, without making a sound. Once we were all inside, we began planning our day’s activities. In low, but commanding, whispers we discussed the three traps we were going to set along the paths to our hideaway. *We’d seen enough Vietnam and random other war movies to know the best ones to ensnare the mistaken or intentional intruders.
Over the next 5 hours all seven of us worked diligently to perfect our military works of art. We split up into 3 groups; Pain, Sniper and Grunt worked on the bungee pit, Hammer, Red and Cap worked on the spring snare while Gunny, Top, Nuke and Camo perfected the suspended log (or mace trap).
**I will not tell you which of the above my code name was.
We regrouped as it began to get late in the day and began rounds to check out all of the work that had been done. All of the traps were set…satisfied with our ingenious success, we all headed home for dinner.
Around 8PM, we got back together, armed with flashlights to inspect our newly crafted traps…and to make sure that they were still in place.
The bungee pit was the first that we got to. It was just fine…a 4 foot deep ditch, which spanned the width of the path, covered with branches, twigs and leaves – hiding the bounty of sharpened wooden spikes that were positioned at the bottom, awaiting their first prey.
The spring snare was next. It was set with a young white birch tree, pulled back with a very sensitive network of ropes, a large slip knot and trip wire. We had high hopes for this one. We tripped it a few times and were thoroughly impressed.
Lastly we came to the mace trap. This was the hardest to set as the log, suspended 20 feet in the air, had to have weighed at least 100 pounds. Held in place only by a small stick attached to the rope acting as the trip wire…this was a sensitive one and we were all very careful not to trip it by accident.
Stay tuned to the ending of this story…in my next post.
(until then...go read the first, second and third installments about my childhood)
A bit random…but I am just going to throw it out there…
Is it only me or do any of you with you could just go back in time to the late 70s or early 80s?
I loved that time…I mean sure…I got into some trouble and drove my parents absolutely insane…but I was a boy growing up in rural New Hampshire and there were no video games, addicting TV shows, cell phones to distract us.
I loved cruising around with my friends, hanging out, causing trouble and having good old fashion boy fun.
These days things are so much more complicated…yes, I know that much of that comes from being a father to 6 kids, but even when I put myself in any of their shoes…with the texting and Internet shit that they get into, the drama with all of the cliques in schools, the gangs, teens driving all over creation, etc. it is enough to drive a man nuts!
We just grounded our 12 year old and she has absolutely no clue what to do. She can’t go hang out with friends and can’t use her cell phone. We told her that she could use the house phone to call and talk to her friends and she said, “No thanks…I don’t want to talk to them…I want to text them.”
How fucking impersonal are cell phones and IMing, email and all of the other Internet communications making our kids?
We just allowed her to use AIM and she has been at the computer for 3 hours and counting….WTF!?
Now I guess we will have to limit her use. I know that kids don’t have the self control that we wished they did…shit I don’t have the self control that I wished I did…but the fact of the matter is that ….when I was a kid, and none of that stuff was around…life just seemed much more innocent, fun and …shit….easier.
Conflicted, twisted, can’t get it straight Feelings of uselessness invade the mind Is there a better man for them? A candle flickering, the sun peaking through clouds Fighting off the self disgust Jealousy, insecurity...the stabbing pain Is there a better man for them? Doing my best…not nearly enough Happy but hating Loving and loved…but is it enough Things can’t go on in the manner they are Is there a better man for them? The scale teeters, weight on both sides What is for the best – love or money Clutching to a thread, unable to choose I had better be right, I’ve got everything to lose
When I look back on my childhood, I think of it as a happy, ‘normal’ childhood…just like everyone else who was growing up in the 70s and 80s. We had everything that we needed and parents who loved us and tended to us the way parents should.
Recently I’ve found myself telling wild stories from my childhood, that lead me to believe that we were anything but normal.
Growing up with 5 siblings (3 sisters and 2 brothers) there was always a lot going on and there were always rifts springing up between sets of us. For the most part, our parents just sat back (and now reflecting on it were most likely cracking the fuck up) and letting us sort things out ourselves…as learning experiences.
M=Adoptive Mother F=Step Father S1=sister (older by 2 years) S2=sister (younger by 4 years) S3=step-sister (younger by 6 years) B1=brother (younger by 2 years) B2=step-brother (younger by 4 years)
I will summarize a few of the questionable stories for you over the next week or so. Then you can tell me if my childhood sounds normal to you or not.
‘Normal’ childhood? - The Mini Hulk
I was a bit of an instigator (still am) and would make it a point to pick on (almost to the point of crying) B2. Now being 4 years younger, he knew that standing his ground with me would be a drastic error in judgment…so he never did…until one day. It was right after school and I was mentally jabbing at him and making him feel as close to a pile of dog shit as I could. Then something happened…the boy freaked. His eyes changed. His skin flared up in a deep red and he screamed, “I HAVE HAD IT!” I responded with some bully-ish retort that sent him flying over the edge. With that, he, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move, ran past the wood stove, snatching up the large iron fire poker and proceeded to chase me around the house…swinging at will trying to silence my banter. Realizing how serious he was, by the trail of broken vases and lamps in his wake and the near miss to the back of my head, I found the only lockable room in the house (my parents) and securely locked the door behind me. Sitting on the edge of their bed, listening to his threats of violence…I figured that the homicidal rage would soon subside and we could all go about our day as per the norm.
All of the sudden, my thoughts were interrupted by the crashing sound of the fire poker connecting with the door knob that was currently saving both of us from a great deal of pain. I watched as the knob became looser and looser, heard wood of the door cracking and I knew that it would be any minute that mini Hulk would come crashing through the door.
I took that as a sign that he was not in a frame of mind to calm down and that I should seek refuge elsewhere. I scrambled over to the window and lowered myself as far as a 12 year old could and jumped the remainder of the two story drop…then bolted (with a slight limp) over to a neighbor’s house until my parents got home.
Come back to read the next installment…Fork Dinner
I am not only amazed at the speed in which pre-teens can speak, but my ability to think I understand what they are saying…and being way off base.
Driving down the street with our fast talking 12 year old when we cam to a stop light. As we were waiting, a young woman began crossing the crosswalk with her dog. All of the sudden, Megan spits out, “Dang…She has a GREAT lag!” I quickly look at the woman. I looked right at her ass, thinking that a lag was her rear. Then I realized who was in the back seat and concentrated on the woman’s walk…thinking a lag might be a kind of strut…like the old school ‘pimp walk.’
Not seeing anything special…(though I did take another sneak peak at her ass) I turned to look over my shoulder and asked, “What the heck is a lag?”
Megan laughed and faster than I could tune my ears, recited, “ I didn’t say lag…I said lag! L as in Larry, A as in Army, B as in Boob!”
I, trying to control my laughter turned and (tried to) sternly say, “Megan…B as in Boob? What about Bob…or Beach?”
After the clarification…I did realize that the woman was walking an very cute Black Lab.
When I think back to my childhood and what TV shows I watched. I find it funny how different things are today…with the ratings, parental controls and people lobbying against shit that really would not make a difference if kids had better parenting.
Overall…I think it is all about the parenting…not what kids see or watch on TV.
When I was a kid, I watched: Cartoons including; Underdog, The Shmoos, Scooby Doo, The Flinstones, Bugs Bunny Road Runner Hour and Sylvester and Tweety As well as; the A-Team, Land of the Lost, Eight is Enough, Hawaii Five-O, Hardcastle and McCormick, Beretta, CHIPS, Dukes of Hazard, Planet of the Apes, Starsky and Hutch, etc.
These days…I don’t know that parents (in general) would allow young kids to watch those shows….well, with the exception of Eight is Enough and a few of the cartoons. I saw something years ago that named the Bugs Bunny Road Runner Hour and Sylvester and Tweety two of the most violent shows on TV. WTF?!
I guess I just don’t know why parents are not taking responsibility for their kids…and are just throwing the blame for their fucked up kids on TV and the entertainment industry. My feeling is that a kid (for the most part) can watch whatever …as long as the parents do their job teaching the child right and wrong, respect, and that they can talk with them about anything…the kid will be fine.
We don’t (again…for the most part) sensor anything that the kids watch and if they are watching something that is disturbing to them or that they don’t understand…we are there to openly discuss it with them.
I think that it is the kids that can’t (for whatever reason) talk to their parents and are left home in front of a TV with nobody teaching them about life…or the kids who's parents are so over protective that they can't do shit without mommy hovering and making all of the decisions...those are the ones who end up with the big problems.
PARENTS!!!!!! Schools don’t teach kids respect, honor, right and wrong and morals. They don’t reinforce the ‘family first’ mentality that I think all people should be taught. They don’t teach about peer pressure, gangs, the laws, how to communicate with parents. THAT IS YOUR JOB!!!!
Stop blaming everyone else for your inability to spend quality time with your kids, communicate with them and teach them what they need to know to have a good life.
I propose we put a ban on sheltering children and fine parents who blame others for their kids fucking up or being complete sissies!
So, over the past week I have had the luxury of spending some quality time with all of the kids and just about every one of them has amazed me…in one way or the other.
On a drive home I was asked, “oh, is that your news building?” as we passed the FOX building. I replied, “Yes, I think it is.” Then “Oh, yep…it is…I can see the satellites on the roof” billowed from the back seat. Immediately following that came, “Who invented the Internet?” I responded with “I think it was a group of guys…” Not allowing me to even finish the statement I was hit over the head with, “yeah…the old TVs you had to touch…the new ones you use a remote.” Being that I could not piece together the thought process behind this string on random statements that came out as a conversation…I just sat there and nodded (with a confused look on my face.)
Next…at a Caribbean restaurant, while we were waiting for our food, I was asked….”Are you getting the corn on the cock?” I quickly replied, “Corn on the COB? Yes. I did order corn on the cob. (I could barely hold in the laughter.)
I was also told, in the not so distant past, that with our new FiOS TV service, that we can ‘INCESTaneously’ get movies for free. (I believe that she was trying to say instantaneously.)
Well….the list goes on and on…I’m sure you get why I question the Santa Monica school system.
I will start by saying that I live in a very nice, safe and …sort of upscale neighborhood and love our proximity to the ocean (7 blocks.) This is great and good for the kids. They can walk to the beach, shopping, schools…and we have no need to worry about their safety.
The one thing that has lodged itself beneath my skin is how different this neighborhood is from the one that I grew up in. As a kid, I remember knowing everyone in the neighborhood. My parents knew everyone and got together for dinner or drinks with them regularly. We, as kids, would cruise around and go door to door hanging out with each other. It was a very comfortable feeling…one of community and friendliness.
Here on the other hand, no matter how hard we try, our neighbors SUCK!!!! Even on our block…nobody hangs outside. Nobody is invited to anyone’s BBQs or get-togethers. There is not even a “hello” while walking down the street. We may get a little head nod, but I just don’t get it.
This is a house that Mariah grew up in and her family has been here for more than 25 years…still nothing. There are a few kids on the block that are the same age as our kids…yet none of them play together. Some of the adults are our age, yet socializing is unheard of. What the fuck?!
The only neighbor that is friendly and eager to talk and be involved is the family directly next door…but they barely speak English. They are Chinese and the language barrier is more of a brick wall than a barrier. Mr. Neighbor does come over when he sees me outside, to spark up random little conversations (which is nice and I do appreciate the effort) but often I think that we both get a bit frustrated with our inability to communicate effectively.
As an example (because it just happened) he asked me and I had to try to explain about TPing. (Some girls who have a crush on our son snuck over the other night and did their best to cover our hedge and tree out front with toilet paper.) Mr. Neighbor was concerned, so I had to explain that it was all in fun and that it was something that young teens do as a sign of affection and playfulness. This conversation was one that lasted at least 30 minutes and was primarily me talking and him nodding with a blank look on his face.
Anyway…we have been seriously considering moving. We love the area we are in but this un-neighborly neighborhood that we are in is a shitty feeling that is too hard to shake. I would, quite frankly, rather live in a trailer park in tornado alley with neighbors who hung out together, looked after one another and were just plain neighborly.
As a parent, I can say that I find it funny how much you can tell about the parenting by the attitude of kids. I truly think that when you encounter those smart-ass kids with disrespectful attitudes and a filthy mouth…it is the parents’ fault. Those bratty kids that whine and can’t do a damn thing on their own…parents’ fault. The kids failing at school…parents’ fault. The trouble makers, the bullies, the sissies, the druggies and the sluts…all the parents’ fault. Yes….there are exceptions, but for the most part I think that much of the above can and could be quickly sqashed if the parents act quickly and tend to their kids the way a parent should.
This also goes the other way. You know when you meet that kid who seems 5 years older than they really are. The one’s that consistently say please and thank you. The one’s who do well in school. The ones that surround themselves with decent friends. The ones who enjoy being home as much as going out with friends. The ones who, by nature, offer respect to elders and don’t talk back.
You meet those kids and suddenly wonder what you could do to get your kids to act more like them…”Have I done something wrong? Why doesn’t my kid act like that?”
Yes…you guessed it. I am talking about Mariah and her kids. For any parent…or Mother for that matter, there is no better compliment than someone telling you how great a job you have done in raising such well rounded and wonderful children.
I am saying this to you Mariah. You have done the impossible. You’ve raised 4 great kids who all have the ‘good’ qualities that I mentioned above. No matter how you feel about yourself on any given day. Know that you have successfully out-parented 90% of the nation.
I was adopted and born and raised on the East Coast (New Hampshire, Massachusettes, Connecticut, Maine, Virginia & Florida), but have lived in Southern California since 1994. I am a parent of 6 children. I love the outdoors and spending time with my family. We spend a lot of time tent camping and making fun of RV'ers and all of their "belongings".
