I can’t say that I actually remember any of my first days of school. Kindergarten is a hazy fog. I remember my fifth birthday because I thought I would be able to go to school the next day because obviously I was old enough. But they wouldn’t let me in. How disappointing. I can’t even remember with any clarity where we actually lived or what school I did time at for my kindergarten year. I guess I huffed too much paste in the boys’ room and killed off those weak brain cells.
I have no recollection of my first day of junior high, high school or even college. Nothing in particular really stands out about any of those days, except for the first few days of third grade that I spent disease ridden in a hospital bed.
But tomorrow … Tomorrow is the first day of graduate school. I hear stories all the time about people with a family working a full-time job and attending grad school in the evenings. I never really thought I would end up doing that myself. Had I really intended to pursue a graduate degree, I should have started immediately after finishing my baccalaureate degree. That would have been the smart thing, and that's what I tell students now if they are anticipating future education. But let’s face it, when planning a career in journalism, a graduate degree is definitely not required. Heck, a college education isn’t even a prerequisite to get a job as a reporter. (Please feel free to insert your own jokes about pinheaded journalists.)
(Dramatic music builds in the background ) But, alas, as the winds of change blow wistfully across my career paths, I sway toward the lure of higher education, reshaping my will in order to fulfill a higher calling that has been thrust upon me by fate. I must, at long last, return to the classroom where I will face the demons that lie before me in an attempt to climb the next rung on the corporate ladder. (music builds to a crescendo) After all, to advance in the field of higher education one must advance academically as well. (music fades)
OK, so my reaction might be somewhat dramatic, but how would you like to be going back to school when you're 33? It’s easy for me to sit around with college kids and rehash stories of the good old days and offer them advice about which professors to take (I work at my alma mater), and which ones to stay away from. But it’s not so easy to sit here thinking about returning to the classroom and having to take another 37 hours -- 40 if you count the leveling course.
Can I do the work? Sure. That is not the question. The questions surround the time commitment that I will have to make for the next three years. I hope to finish in two, but that may not be an option. I have to work classes around my schedule. The university will foot the bill for four classes (12 hours) a year, but if I want to finish in two years I will have to take an additional two courses, paying for the tuition out of my own pocket. Finding the classes will be easy enough. I work at our main campus and we have three other campuses within an 80 mile radius where courses are offered, as well as our virtual campus that houses all our online courses.
Yet, the fact remains that I am a moderately impatient person. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine. I will start my first class tomorrow and want to complete the whole degree within a year. After all, as a full-time student I regularly took between 30 and 35 hours a year, not counting summer terms. It’s at this point that I have to tell myself, ‘Idiot! Those weren’t graduate level courses.’
Oh well, since this first course is a leveling course (junior/senior level) I can use it to get back into the swing of things. I assume I’ll have to spend some time in the library – yuck! I never liked spending time in the library. They are always so depressingly quiet, and librarians have a tendency to be strange. But I will be better able to judge how things will work once I am back in the classroom. Then perhaps I can double up during some terms and try to finish in two years, culminating in a magnificent graduation ceremony where I will be decked out in colors.
And the most important thing about earning a graduate degree? Once you have a decorative robe, you no longer have to feel like a piece of trash wearing a Hefty bag while marching in the convocation line with all the Ph.Ds during the year’s first chapel service.
After all, we must have our goals.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
The Seventh Inning Stretch
There we were, standing in the dugout. The hot West Texas sun was beating down on our pale, sun-burn prone skin. There was no shade on our side of the field, but that was OK. It was the first softball game of the season and we were just excited to be there. Of course, by “we” I’m referring to myself, the other coach and the six girls who were wondering if we would have enough people to field a team.
Eventually, two more girls showed up and we knew, by rule, we were allowed to play with eight. Our young warriors warmed up on the sideline as Jackson and I penciled in a lineup and batting order.
This was it … the moment of truth. If you have never experienced 9 and 10-year-old girls softball, then you haven’t … well, I’d like to say that you haven’t lived, but that would just be blatantly incorrect. What I should say is that if you haven’t experienced 9 and 10-year-old girls softball, then you haven’t experienced 9 and 10-year-old girls softball, because quite frankly, there is nothing else like it.
The fact that I’m helping coach this team is amazing in and of itself. But then again, Jackson needed someone who knew how to keep a scorebook; something I can do in my sleep should the need ever arise. Jackson’s daughter, my niece, is on the team. He needed help coaching and apparently I was the logical choice.
For someone who generally hides when there are large or small groups of children around, coaching youth league softball isn’t exactly a dream come true. However, since it is sports related, I have been able to tolerate it so far. The kids aren’t that bad and if you can keep them busy doing stuff, they don’t really have time to annoy you. I can definitely think of worse things to do.
Anyway, the game was nothing spectacular. In fact, it was anything but. If you play pitcher or catcher in this league you see a lot of action. If you play anywhere else, you can use the time to finish your homework, check your email on your palm pilot, talk on your cell phone or brush up on your psyche-out chants if you don't feel like lugging your electronic equipment onto the field with you. This is apparently why you hear singing and chanting coming from the dugouts of high school softball teams. All those girls must have played youth league softball where they never had anything else to do.
As a sports reporter, I once talked to a high school softball player and applauded her and her teammates for not being like every other team in the state which found it necessary to rattle off those annoying sing-songy chants throughout the entire game. She agreed, thinking it was kind of stupid.
At her next game, however, the team decided to start chanting. I was sitting near the dugout taking pictures and keeping a score book. When I heard the sudden noise I looked over at her, giving her one of those “what-the-heck” kind of looks. To her credit she was not taking part in the singing. She returned my gaze then promptly turned around and told her teammates to stop it because it was embarrassing. I had to like that girl.
At our Tuesday evening game, however, our young kids had nothing better to do since the game really didn’t involve them. They worked on their songs and chants while watching the grass grow in the outfield. The pitcher and catcher tossed the ball back and forth in a failed attempt to get the other team out.
All-in-all it was a stunning tale of inadequacy as the two teams combined to score 17 runs on 2 hits in two innings of play. The game was called when the time limit expired.
That’s right, 17 runs (we lost 9-8) on 2 hits. There were a grand total of 27 bases on balls issued. Neither team managed to get three outs in any particular inning. Due to league rules you are only allowed a certain number of batters per inning. When that number had batted, the inning was over.
To our credit, our team got both hits. And our pitcher did manage to strike out a couple of batters in the second inning, but walking 27 batters doesn’t make for exciting softball.
Needless to say, at practice today, our girls are going to work on pitching.
Eventually, two more girls showed up and we knew, by rule, we were allowed to play with eight. Our young warriors warmed up on the sideline as Jackson and I penciled in a lineup and batting order.
This was it … the moment of truth. If you have never experienced 9 and 10-year-old girls softball, then you haven’t … well, I’d like to say that you haven’t lived, but that would just be blatantly incorrect. What I should say is that if you haven’t experienced 9 and 10-year-old girls softball, then you haven’t experienced 9 and 10-year-old girls softball, because quite frankly, there is nothing else like it.
The fact that I’m helping coach this team is amazing in and of itself. But then again, Jackson needed someone who knew how to keep a scorebook; something I can do in my sleep should the need ever arise. Jackson’s daughter, my niece, is on the team. He needed help coaching and apparently I was the logical choice.
For someone who generally hides when there are large or small groups of children around, coaching youth league softball isn’t exactly a dream come true. However, since it is sports related, I have been able to tolerate it so far. The kids aren’t that bad and if you can keep them busy doing stuff, they don’t really have time to annoy you. I can definitely think of worse things to do.
Anyway, the game was nothing spectacular. In fact, it was anything but. If you play pitcher or catcher in this league you see a lot of action. If you play anywhere else, you can use the time to finish your homework, check your email on your palm pilot, talk on your cell phone or brush up on your psyche-out chants if you don't feel like lugging your electronic equipment onto the field with you. This is apparently why you hear singing and chanting coming from the dugouts of high school softball teams. All those girls must have played youth league softball where they never had anything else to do.
As a sports reporter, I once talked to a high school softball player and applauded her and her teammates for not being like every other team in the state which found it necessary to rattle off those annoying sing-songy chants throughout the entire game. She agreed, thinking it was kind of stupid.
At her next game, however, the team decided to start chanting. I was sitting near the dugout taking pictures and keeping a score book. When I heard the sudden noise I looked over at her, giving her one of those “what-the-heck” kind of looks. To her credit she was not taking part in the singing. She returned my gaze then promptly turned around and told her teammates to stop it because it was embarrassing. I had to like that girl.
At our Tuesday evening game, however, our young kids had nothing better to do since the game really didn’t involve them. They worked on their songs and chants while watching the grass grow in the outfield. The pitcher and catcher tossed the ball back and forth in a failed attempt to get the other team out.
All-in-all it was a stunning tale of inadequacy as the two teams combined to score 17 runs on 2 hits in two innings of play. The game was called when the time limit expired.
That’s right, 17 runs (we lost 9-8) on 2 hits. There were a grand total of 27 bases on balls issued. Neither team managed to get three outs in any particular inning. Due to league rules you are only allowed a certain number of batters per inning. When that number had batted, the inning was over.
To our credit, our team got both hits. And our pitcher did manage to strike out a couple of batters in the second inning, but walking 27 batters doesn’t make for exciting softball.
Needless to say, at practice today, our girls are going to work on pitching.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
What's in a name
Well, I have finally decided to take the plunge. I am returning to the classroom in search of that elusive master’s degree. I have kicked around the idea for several years but continued to have hang-ups concerning what degree to pursue.
My undergraduate degree is in communications. Let’s face it, working in the communications field is not that difficult. While it helps to have a degree it is not required. And furthermore, a graduate degree in communications will do little good unless you want to teach in that field.
My other option was along the same lines – a master’s degree in education. Once again I don’t really want to teach, but I could have specialized in English and taught creative writing or something like that at a high school level. Lord knows an alarmingly large number of high school students definitely need a little help learning how to write. Some are quite eloquent. Others, however, couldn't write the sentence “See Spot run” if you spotted them “see” and “run.”
There is another big drawback to pursuing a master’s degree in education at my university, dealing with certain personnel issues. I don’t think I would be able to stomach taking classes from certain individuals. I'll just leave it at that.
But I had an epiphany the other day as I sat in a small office in our business building. Our virtual campus is housed in the business building and I was talking with the director of the VC when the Division Chair of our business department wandered in.
At this point I have to side track to tell you the name of the Division Chair. I promise you that this is absolutely, positively, 100 percent true. I could not make this up no matter how hard I tried.
Our Division Chair is a military man complete with short, cropped hair and demanding demeanor, although he is very good natured and has a good sense of humor. He grew up in a small town 20 miles east of here and was always known by his middle name – Brian or Byron or something like that. It wasn’t until he stood before a large congregation of students at Texas A&M University as a freshman that he realized how humorous his name really is. Our budding young Division Chair was required to stand before this large group and introduce himself. As he walked up on stage, he decided to use his name as it appeared on all of his official documents. This proud, young, military man stood before the group and introduced himself as Otto. B. Schacht. (last name pronounced Shot). To top it off, he married a woman named Madonna.
Needless to say this man is good for a story or two.
Anyway as we were talking I suddenly realized that a degree in management would be perfect for me. I have since checked on all the criteria and will soon be registered to pursue a master’s of art in management.
Of course, I just want to be known on all my official documents as Jonathan R. Petty, MAM.
My undergraduate degree is in communications. Let’s face it, working in the communications field is not that difficult. While it helps to have a degree it is not required. And furthermore, a graduate degree in communications will do little good unless you want to teach in that field.
My other option was along the same lines – a master’s degree in education. Once again I don’t really want to teach, but I could have specialized in English and taught creative writing or something like that at a high school level. Lord knows an alarmingly large number of high school students definitely need a little help learning how to write. Some are quite eloquent. Others, however, couldn't write the sentence “See Spot run” if you spotted them “see” and “run.”
There is another big drawback to pursuing a master’s degree in education at my university, dealing with certain personnel issues. I don’t think I would be able to stomach taking classes from certain individuals. I'll just leave it at that.
But I had an epiphany the other day as I sat in a small office in our business building. Our virtual campus is housed in the business building and I was talking with the director of the VC when the Division Chair of our business department wandered in.
At this point I have to side track to tell you the name of the Division Chair. I promise you that this is absolutely, positively, 100 percent true. I could not make this up no matter how hard I tried.
Our Division Chair is a military man complete with short, cropped hair and demanding demeanor, although he is very good natured and has a good sense of humor. He grew up in a small town 20 miles east of here and was always known by his middle name – Brian or Byron or something like that. It wasn’t until he stood before a large congregation of students at Texas A&M University as a freshman that he realized how humorous his name really is. Our budding young Division Chair was required to stand before this large group and introduce himself. As he walked up on stage, he decided to use his name as it appeared on all of his official documents. This proud, young, military man stood before the group and introduced himself as Otto. B. Schacht. (last name pronounced Shot). To top it off, he married a woman named Madonna.
Needless to say this man is good for a story or two.
Anyway as we were talking I suddenly realized that a degree in management would be perfect for me. I have since checked on all the criteria and will soon be registered to pursue a master’s of art in management.
Of course, I just want to be known on all my official documents as Jonathan R. Petty, MAM.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Cool kid
Isn't she cool?
My daughter is a regular little fashionista. I don't really know if "fashionista" is a word, but that is the way I describe her. She has a definite sense of style, be it wearing cowboy boots with a miniskirt, or matching her shoes and hair ribbons. She does an excellent job for a 6-year-old.
She obviously loves pink, but has been known to wear other colors. A while back she decided she wanted to wear her black mini skirt. I said OK as long as she picked out some other clothes to go with it. She came back with black shoes, black tights and a black long-sleeve t-shirt with a pink lace spider emblazoned on the front. She showed them to me and asked if they would go good together. Even I knew enough to say yes.
Once she was all decked out with her hair fixed the way she wanted it (she's good about telling us if she wants a pony tail, dog ears, half pony tail or leave it down) she looked at herself in the mirror and said, "(Aunt) Rachel would like this outfit."
I wonder what she'll be like when she's a teenager.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Because I have nothing better to say
Accent: Texan/southern. It has gotten worse over the years. When I was in college and spent a lot of time working in radio; I had very little accent. I had taken classes on pronunciation and things like that. I actually enjoyed speaking properly. But, alas, I fell off the annunciation wagon and am drowning in my cultural norm.
Booze: No thanks. Voluntarily tried a sip of non-alcoholic beer once and it was disgusting. I managed to make it through college without drinking which was quite an accomplishment since my roommates and friends “tied one on” every once in awhile.
Chore I hate: Mopping. I wish someone would invent self-cleaning floors.
Dog or Cat: Cat. Two in fact, Bogey and Bacall.
Essential Electronics: Television/DVD player
Favorite Cologne: I’ve never been all that interested in cologne. I currently use Old Spice body spray, however. Glacial Falls is my favorite.
Gold or Silver: Unfortunately, silver does not work with my coloring, so I have to go with gold, although I am currently wearing a silver watch and a silver chain. But I could never pull off silver framed glasses. They just look bad on me.
Hometown: I was born in “The Table,” but I don’t really have a hometown. I guess I claim wherever I am currently living as my hometown.
Insomnia: Only when I can’t sleep. Just kidding. I have never really suffered from insomnia. For some reason, I have always been able to successfully shut off my brain. And of course, some may say that is its constant state.
Job Title: Assistant Director of Communications. Only because a few years ago someone thought “communications” was more politically correct than “public relations.” I personally tell people that I am a professional butt kisser. I earned my B.A. in B.S.
Kids: One 6-year-old girl. She’s growing up too fast. She will graduate from kindergarten in a few weeks. Of course I tend to agree with Mr. Incredible on his assessment of elementary school graduations … “They keep finding new ways to celebrate mediocrity.”
Living Arrangements: I own my home (sort of) where I live with my wife and child. My wife wants another kid, but I don’t. I tell people we have a very expensive form of birth control … it’s called a two bedroom house.
Most admirable trait: **Gee, I have so many!** I don’t know if it’s admirable, but it’s fun. I consider myself and “equal opportunity insulter.” I pick on everybody from superiors to subordinates. Punching peoples’ buttons is a hobby of mine.
Number of sexual partners: One … but don’t tell my wife … and why are you asking anyway?
Overnight stays in the hospital: One. I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was 7 years old. I gave myself my first shot. By my estimation, I have given myself more than 21,000 shots since then. “Look, Ma! No track marks!”
Phobias: Scared of heights and small cramped spaces. So you can imagine that I’m not a big fan of flying. It’s just not natural.
Quote: See Mr. Incredibles' quote above about "celebrating mediocrity."
Religion: Christian
Siblings: None of consequence. But I do have an older sister. I tell people my parents quit when they finally got it right.
Time I wake up: 6 a.m. weekdays and no later than 7:30 on the weekends. I get a back ache if I lay in bed too long. Plus the 6-year-old is a pretty good weekend alarm clock. She has to have her Saturday morning McDonald’s.
Unusual talent or skill: I can wiggle my eyes back and forth really quickly. I have never met anyone else that can do that, so I don’t know what it looks like. I would try to do it in a mirror, but I can’t really see anything when I do it. I’ve been told it looks weird.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Onions. Vile, filthy, abomination of the vegetable kingdom
Worst habit: I bite my nails
Yummy foods I make: I make really good steak burritos of my own design. No onions, though.
Zodiac sign: Scorpio.
Booze: No thanks. Voluntarily tried a sip of non-alcoholic beer once and it was disgusting. I managed to make it through college without drinking which was quite an accomplishment since my roommates and friends “tied one on” every once in awhile.
Chore I hate: Mopping. I wish someone would invent self-cleaning floors.
Dog or Cat: Cat. Two in fact, Bogey and Bacall.
Essential Electronics: Television/DVD player
Favorite Cologne: I’ve never been all that interested in cologne. I currently use Old Spice body spray, however. Glacial Falls is my favorite.
Gold or Silver: Unfortunately, silver does not work with my coloring, so I have to go with gold, although I am currently wearing a silver watch and a silver chain. But I could never pull off silver framed glasses. They just look bad on me.
Hometown: I was born in “The Table,” but I don’t really have a hometown. I guess I claim wherever I am currently living as my hometown.
Insomnia: Only when I can’t sleep. Just kidding. I have never really suffered from insomnia. For some reason, I have always been able to successfully shut off my brain. And of course, some may say that is its constant state.
Job Title: Assistant Director of Communications. Only because a few years ago someone thought “communications” was more politically correct than “public relations.” I personally tell people that I am a professional butt kisser. I earned my B.A. in B.S.
Kids: One 6-year-old girl. She’s growing up too fast. She will graduate from kindergarten in a few weeks. Of course I tend to agree with Mr. Incredible on his assessment of elementary school graduations … “They keep finding new ways to celebrate mediocrity.”
Living Arrangements: I own my home (sort of) where I live with my wife and child. My wife wants another kid, but I don’t. I tell people we have a very expensive form of birth control … it’s called a two bedroom house.
Most admirable trait: **Gee, I have so many!** I don’t know if it’s admirable, but it’s fun. I consider myself and “equal opportunity insulter.” I pick on everybody from superiors to subordinates. Punching peoples’ buttons is a hobby of mine.
Number of sexual partners: One … but don’t tell my wife … and why are you asking anyway?
Overnight stays in the hospital: One. I was diagnosed with diabetes when I was 7 years old. I gave myself my first shot. By my estimation, I have given myself more than 21,000 shots since then. “Look, Ma! No track marks!”
Phobias: Scared of heights and small cramped spaces. So you can imagine that I’m not a big fan of flying. It’s just not natural.
Quote: See Mr. Incredibles' quote above about "celebrating mediocrity."
Religion: Christian
Siblings: None of consequence. But I do have an older sister. I tell people my parents quit when they finally got it right.
Time I wake up: 6 a.m. weekdays and no later than 7:30 on the weekends. I get a back ache if I lay in bed too long. Plus the 6-year-old is a pretty good weekend alarm clock. She has to have her Saturday morning McDonald’s.
Unusual talent or skill: I can wiggle my eyes back and forth really quickly. I have never met anyone else that can do that, so I don’t know what it looks like. I would try to do it in a mirror, but I can’t really see anything when I do it. I’ve been told it looks weird.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Onions. Vile, filthy, abomination of the vegetable kingdom
Worst habit: I bite my nails
Yummy foods I make: I make really good steak burritos of my own design. No onions, though.
Zodiac sign: Scorpio.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Somebody wet my pants
You know you are in West Texas when you walk into a room and the only topic of conversation is the rain, and you experience the childlike exuberance with which those participating embrace the topic.
Needless to say, it rained here this afternoon ... a much needed rain. There was a nice, slow sprinkle falling when I left my office for lunch. Just enough to dampen the atmosphere and make the ceramic tile in our entry way extremely slick. This is always entertaining since I work in the building where old folks with money come to leave donations. We just hope they fall on the way out after they have already dropped off their checks.
Coming back from lunch, the rain had all but stopped. I had an appointment in the science building on the other side of the campus, which for our small campus is roughly the equivalent of four city blocks. I decided to walk and breathe in the fresh air.
Upon leaving the science building, there was still barely a sprinkle. I thought I would head over the gymnasium to pick up some information from a couple of coaches. The gym is sort of on the way back to my office, if you take the circuitous route and sneak up on my building from behind, but it is still at least three blocks from the science building.
I hike to the Hutch through the damp afternoon air, watching the grass turn green before my very eyes. I spend about an hour in the gymnasium talking to various head coaches, one of whom was just named golf coach of the year in our region. That’s fairly significant since four of the top eight teams (including us) in the country are in our region.
As I polish off the interview and gently place my notepad and recorder in my pocket to protect it from the dampness and head back up stairs and toward the outer doors, I suddenly remember what this part of the world is famous for during this time of year … momentary torrential downpours.
… and I got wet.
Needless to say, it rained here this afternoon ... a much needed rain. There was a nice, slow sprinkle falling when I left my office for lunch. Just enough to dampen the atmosphere and make the ceramic tile in our entry way extremely slick. This is always entertaining since I work in the building where old folks with money come to leave donations. We just hope they fall on the way out after they have already dropped off their checks.
Coming back from lunch, the rain had all but stopped. I had an appointment in the science building on the other side of the campus, which for our small campus is roughly the equivalent of four city blocks. I decided to walk and breathe in the fresh air.
Upon leaving the science building, there was still barely a sprinkle. I thought I would head over the gymnasium to pick up some information from a couple of coaches. The gym is sort of on the way back to my office, if you take the circuitous route and sneak up on my building from behind, but it is still at least three blocks from the science building.
I hike to the Hutch through the damp afternoon air, watching the grass turn green before my very eyes. I spend about an hour in the gymnasium talking to various head coaches, one of whom was just named golf coach of the year in our region. That’s fairly significant since four of the top eight teams (including us) in the country are in our region.
As I polish off the interview and gently place my notepad and recorder in my pocket to protect it from the dampness and head back up stairs and toward the outer doors, I suddenly remember what this part of the world is famous for during this time of year … momentary torrential downpours.
… and I got wet.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
To hum? Or not to hum?
Have you ever had one of those moments where you suddenly realize that you are in public, doing something that could be potentially embarrassing? I had such a moment yesterday while traipsing through Wal Mart after supper.
The moment was conceived Tuesday evening as I watched a few minutes of American Idol. Why I would ever admit to this in a public forum baffles me, but nothing else was on and I had a headache and didn’t feel like doing anything constructive with my time. Anyway, for some unknown reason, one of the songs periodically raced through my moderately uncluttered brain all day Wednesday.
However, making your way to the fitting rooms, where your wife is helping your daughter try on some new pants, by walking through the women’s underwear area is probably not the best time or place one should be overheard humming or whistling the tune to Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girls.”
The moment was conceived Tuesday evening as I watched a few minutes of American Idol. Why I would ever admit to this in a public forum baffles me, but nothing else was on and I had a headache and didn’t feel like doing anything constructive with my time. Anyway, for some unknown reason, one of the songs periodically raced through my moderately uncluttered brain all day Wednesday.
However, making your way to the fitting rooms, where your wife is helping your daughter try on some new pants, by walking through the women’s underwear area is probably not the best time or place one should be overheard humming or whistling the tune to Queen’s “Fat Bottom Girls.”
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Time for a meme
I stole this from another blog. I just thought I'd throw it out here for the heck of it.
1) Who is the last person you high-fived? My daughter last night at supper.
2) If you were drafted into a war, would you survive? Probably not. I would get tired of waiting for the know-it-alls to figure everything out and would eventually try to do it all on my own.
3) Do you sleep with the TV on? Only when napping.
4) Have you ever drunk milk straight out of the carton? Yes.
5) Have you ever won a spelling bee? On.
6) Have you ever been stung by a bee? No, but I have been stung by wasps several times.
7) How fast can you type? I haven’t timed myself since high school, but I imagine it is faster than the 30 words a minute I could do then.
8) Are you afraid of the dark? Only when I’m scared.
9) Eye color – Sometimes blueish, sometimes greenish.
10) Have you ever made out at a drive-in? No.
11) When is the last time you chose a bath over a shower? Never. I only take a bath if a shower is not an option.
12) Do you knock on wood? All the time.
13) Do you floss daily? No, but I knock on wood, so my teeth are safe.
14) What happened to question #14? I don’t know, but this is how it read when I stole it off of someone else’s blog.
15) Can you hula hoop? The convex nature of my abdomen is not conducive to the curvature of the hoop.
16) Are you good at keeping secrets? Yes … well, the important ones.
17) What do you want for Christmas? A concave abdomen.
18) Do you know the Muffin Man? Yes, I snacked on his immediate family early last week.
19) Do you talk in your sleep? No.
20) Who wrote the book of love? Never read the book. I went straight to the Cliff’s Notes.
21) Have you ever flown a kite? In West Texas, you don’t fly kites … you kind of throw one up there and hang on for the ride.
22) Do you wish on your fallen lashes? No.
23) Do you consider yourself successful? Somewhat.
24) How many people are on your contact list of your cell? Five. However, I carry a small contact card in my wallet with several more phone numbers on it.
25) Have you ever asked for a pony? Not that I remember.
26) Plans for tomorrow? Work, then take my daughter to McDonald’s for supper since my wife will be out of town.
27) Can you juggle? As a matter of fact, yes I can.
28) Missing someone now? No, I found them all yesterday.
29) When was the last time you told someone I Love You? This morning.
30) And truly meant it? This morning.
31) How often do you drink? Whenever I’m thirsty, but never alcohol.
32) How are you feeling today? Partly cloudy.
33) What do you say too much? I try to maintain a certain level of eloquence with my conversational skills, refraining from repetition of colloquialisms or phrases.
34) Have you ever been suspended or expelled from school? No. But don’t ask me if I should have.
35) What are you looking forward to? Saturday.
36) Have you ever crawled through a window? Yes. But only because I locked myself out of the house.
37) Have you ever eaten dog food? No. But my sister has.
38) Can you handle the truth? I prefer the truth.
39) Do you like green eggs and ham? Of course.
40) Any cool scars? I have a small scar on my left index finger that I got while wrapping a Christmas present for my grandmother when I was but a wee child. We bought her kitchen knifes.
Now it's your turn. I expect full disclosure.
1) Who is the last person you high-fived? My daughter last night at supper.
2) If you were drafted into a war, would you survive? Probably not. I would get tired of waiting for the know-it-alls to figure everything out and would eventually try to do it all on my own.
3) Do you sleep with the TV on? Only when napping.
4) Have you ever drunk milk straight out of the carton? Yes.
5) Have you ever won a spelling bee? On.
6) Have you ever been stung by a bee? No, but I have been stung by wasps several times.
7) How fast can you type? I haven’t timed myself since high school, but I imagine it is faster than the 30 words a minute I could do then.
8) Are you afraid of the dark? Only when I’m scared.
9) Eye color – Sometimes blueish, sometimes greenish.
10) Have you ever made out at a drive-in? No.
11) When is the last time you chose a bath over a shower? Never. I only take a bath if a shower is not an option.
12) Do you knock on wood? All the time.
13) Do you floss daily? No, but I knock on wood, so my teeth are safe.
14) What happened to question #14? I don’t know, but this is how it read when I stole it off of someone else’s blog.
15) Can you hula hoop? The convex nature of my abdomen is not conducive to the curvature of the hoop.
16) Are you good at keeping secrets? Yes … well, the important ones.
17) What do you want for Christmas? A concave abdomen.
18) Do you know the Muffin Man? Yes, I snacked on his immediate family early last week.
19) Do you talk in your sleep? No.
20) Who wrote the book of love? Never read the book. I went straight to the Cliff’s Notes.
21) Have you ever flown a kite? In West Texas, you don’t fly kites … you kind of throw one up there and hang on for the ride.
22) Do you wish on your fallen lashes? No.
23) Do you consider yourself successful? Somewhat.
24) How many people are on your contact list of your cell? Five. However, I carry a small contact card in my wallet with several more phone numbers on it.
25) Have you ever asked for a pony? Not that I remember.
26) Plans for tomorrow? Work, then take my daughter to McDonald’s for supper since my wife will be out of town.
27) Can you juggle? As a matter of fact, yes I can.
28) Missing someone now? No, I found them all yesterday.
29) When was the last time you told someone I Love You? This morning.
30) And truly meant it? This morning.
31) How often do you drink? Whenever I’m thirsty, but never alcohol.
32) How are you feeling today? Partly cloudy.
33) What do you say too much? I try to maintain a certain level of eloquence with my conversational skills, refraining from repetition of colloquialisms or phrases.
34) Have you ever been suspended or expelled from school? No. But don’t ask me if I should have.
35) What are you looking forward to? Saturday.
36) Have you ever crawled through a window? Yes. But only because I locked myself out of the house.
37) Have you ever eaten dog food? No. But my sister has.
38) Can you handle the truth? I prefer the truth.
39) Do you like green eggs and ham? Of course.
40) Any cool scars? I have a small scar on my left index finger that I got while wrapping a Christmas present for my grandmother when I was but a wee child. We bought her kitchen knifes.
Now it's your turn. I expect full disclosure.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Didn't Jesus blow up parliament?
I saw an interesting movie last week. While on our mini-vacation, the wife and I ditched the offspring and headed out for dinner and a movie. Since my wife went shopping earlier in the day I was allowed to choose the movie. And what should a self-respecting, red-blooded, American male choose? … V for Vendetta, of course.
The movie is based on a graphic novel, or glorified comic book if you will. It is about a “terrorist” who decides it is time to stand up against the oppressive government. I didn’t know much about the movie going in. I had just seen a few commercial trailers and thought the guy wearing the mask and black cape looked really cool wielding his vast array of cutlery.
On the way into the theatre, I took a quick peak at the movie poster on which was a picture of the anti-hero with the statement “People should not fear their government; governments should fear their people.” Interesting concept.
As the movie plays, it is made clear that V, the title character, is not a person, but an idea and as he says, “People die, but ideas never do,” or something along those lines. V is fighting against an oppressive British government of the future that strikingly resembles Hitler’s Nazi regime of the past.
Not to give too much away, but the movie ends with British Parliament being blown to pieces as V’s idea spreads throughout the masses. It is clear that V is not a person, but he is every person.
It was a great movie. I obviously don’t condone blowing up the government. That would just be stupid. But at some point we all have to take a stand for what we believe is right. If that means bucking the status quo, then so-be-it.
However, as I was channel surfing Monday evening I ran across a know-it-all politico who was lashing out against the movie. It was so pathetically obvious that he was a conservative, right-wing Republican spewing rhetoric concerning the liberal Hollywood media. He talked about how horrible the movie was and what kind of bad message it is sending to high school and college students everywhere. He admitted that he sat through it with his two boys … at which point I was thinking, ‘Idiot! Why did you take your boys? It’s obviously not a movie for children.’
Then this faux genius said something that just blew me away … “This movie says that blowing up Parliament is good and Christianity is bad.” I think my brain stopped working for a moment in an attempt to connect with this man on his level.
I couldn’t believe that those words actually fell out of his mouth. I was stunned that he could even begin to draw that conclusion from this movie. It had nothing to do with Christianity. The only thing obviously religious about the film was the fact that one of the people V was after was a church bishop who had apparently strayed from his religious vows. There was no discussion of Christianity in any way, shape, form or fashion. There are some religious overtones as far as martyrdom and sacrifice are concerned, but in no way does this movie portray Christianity in a negative light of any kind.
It is a story about a man who represents everyone, fighting against government leaders who are oppressive and wrong in the way they treat people. He spends his time fighting small battles while cultivating followers and telling them the truth in order to get them to understand until the final climax through which there is a rebirth of the vision and ideals for which he has sacrificed.
Huh … Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I wonder if mister religious right had read any of his Bible lately.
The movie is based on a graphic novel, or glorified comic book if you will. It is about a “terrorist” who decides it is time to stand up against the oppressive government. I didn’t know much about the movie going in. I had just seen a few commercial trailers and thought the guy wearing the mask and black cape looked really cool wielding his vast array of cutlery.
On the way into the theatre, I took a quick peak at the movie poster on which was a picture of the anti-hero with the statement “People should not fear their government; governments should fear their people.” Interesting concept.
As the movie plays, it is made clear that V, the title character, is not a person, but an idea and as he says, “People die, but ideas never do,” or something along those lines. V is fighting against an oppressive British government of the future that strikingly resembles Hitler’s Nazi regime of the past.
Not to give too much away, but the movie ends with British Parliament being blown to pieces as V’s idea spreads throughout the masses. It is clear that V is not a person, but he is every person.
It was a great movie. I obviously don’t condone blowing up the government. That would just be stupid. But at some point we all have to take a stand for what we believe is right. If that means bucking the status quo, then so-be-it.
However, as I was channel surfing Monday evening I ran across a know-it-all politico who was lashing out against the movie. It was so pathetically obvious that he was a conservative, right-wing Republican spewing rhetoric concerning the liberal Hollywood media. He talked about how horrible the movie was and what kind of bad message it is sending to high school and college students everywhere. He admitted that he sat through it with his two boys … at which point I was thinking, ‘Idiot! Why did you take your boys? It’s obviously not a movie for children.’
Then this faux genius said something that just blew me away … “This movie says that blowing up Parliament is good and Christianity is bad.” I think my brain stopped working for a moment in an attempt to connect with this man on his level.
I couldn’t believe that those words actually fell out of his mouth. I was stunned that he could even begin to draw that conclusion from this movie. It had nothing to do with Christianity. The only thing obviously religious about the film was the fact that one of the people V was after was a church bishop who had apparently strayed from his religious vows. There was no discussion of Christianity in any way, shape, form or fashion. There are some religious overtones as far as martyrdom and sacrifice are concerned, but in no way does this movie portray Christianity in a negative light of any kind.
It is a story about a man who represents everyone, fighting against government leaders who are oppressive and wrong in the way they treat people. He spends his time fighting small battles while cultivating followers and telling them the truth in order to get them to understand until the final climax through which there is a rebirth of the vision and ideals for which he has sacrificed.
Huh … Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I wonder if mister religious right had read any of his Bible lately.
A golfing we shall go
Spring Break. You can always count on the weather to change around here during Spring Break. Last year, we got six inches of snow. This year we had to settle for rain. It was much-needed rain, however, so no one is really complaining.
My goal during Spring Break was to play a few rounds of golf. I originally had anticipated getting in three rounds, but windy, cold weather on Wednesday morning put a quick end to that.
On Thursday, we left for the in-laws. We headed out early in order to make good time. It is nearly a six hour drive and we needed to be there by noon. We stopped for breakfast about an hour down the road where we ran into Spooky and her crew. They were headed the opposite direction on I-40. After a quick bite to eat, it was back in the van and down the road.
We reached my in-laws in pretty good shape and immediately … before I even unloaded the van … my father-in-law, brother-in-law and myself grabbed our clubs and headed for the golf course. I knew it would be an interesting round because I had just spent six hours driving. There’s no real way to loosen up while buckled into a bucket seat, speeding down the highway.
I was right. My golf game started off blazing. I birdied the first hole and parred the second. After two holes, I was 1-under par and three strokes up on the pseudo dad who is generally a much better golfer than I am. That is when things changed. I suddenly remembered that I completely suck at golf. I triple bogied the next hole and things just went down hill from there.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I wasn’t alone. None of us were playing particularly well that day. In fact, I won a hole with a nine. My father-in-law scored a 10 after hitting two balls out of bounds and my brother-in-law quit the hole before finishing, forcing him to take one more stroke than the worst score … an 11. Golf can be an ugly game. I think some people wear funny looking pants and gaudy shirts just to take away from the fact that their golf game is so ugly.
The next day, my father-in-law and I played a different course. I didn’t have any pars or birdies, but all-in-all I played better. Most of my score card consisted of bogey or double-bogey. There were only three holes which were worse than that.
And while I didn’t win the game either day, nor did I come close to breaking 90, golf is a game that always gives you just enough to keep you coming back for more. After all, I was the only one to birdie a hole during the two days.
I wonder if I can sneak out to the course this weekend …
My goal during Spring Break was to play a few rounds of golf. I originally had anticipated getting in three rounds, but windy, cold weather on Wednesday morning put a quick end to that.
On Thursday, we left for the in-laws. We headed out early in order to make good time. It is nearly a six hour drive and we needed to be there by noon. We stopped for breakfast about an hour down the road where we ran into Spooky and her crew. They were headed the opposite direction on I-40. After a quick bite to eat, it was back in the van and down the road.
We reached my in-laws in pretty good shape and immediately … before I even unloaded the van … my father-in-law, brother-in-law and myself grabbed our clubs and headed for the golf course. I knew it would be an interesting round because I had just spent six hours driving. There’s no real way to loosen up while buckled into a bucket seat, speeding down the highway.
I was right. My golf game started off blazing. I birdied the first hole and parred the second. After two holes, I was 1-under par and three strokes up on the pseudo dad who is generally a much better golfer than I am. That is when things changed. I suddenly remembered that I completely suck at golf. I triple bogied the next hole and things just went down hill from there.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, I wasn’t alone. None of us were playing particularly well that day. In fact, I won a hole with a nine. My father-in-law scored a 10 after hitting two balls out of bounds and my brother-in-law quit the hole before finishing, forcing him to take one more stroke than the worst score … an 11. Golf can be an ugly game. I think some people wear funny looking pants and gaudy shirts just to take away from the fact that their golf game is so ugly.
The next day, my father-in-law and I played a different course. I didn’t have any pars or birdies, but all-in-all I played better. Most of my score card consisted of bogey or double-bogey. There were only three holes which were worse than that.
And while I didn’t win the game either day, nor did I come close to breaking 90, golf is a game that always gives you just enough to keep you coming back for more. After all, I was the only one to birdie a hole during the two days.
I wonder if I can sneak out to the course this weekend …
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Breaking the Spring
Aaaahhhh! Spring Break!
And what exactly does that mean? It means I sit here at my desk with little or nothing to do. The few miniscule jobs that I do have to accomplish can’t really get done because the people I need to talk to are not on campus. The students have disappeared as well, so things really get boring around here. Not to mention that basketball season has ended and the few weeks post basketball are always the most depressing time of the year for me.
However, I am only working two days this week. I decided to take the rest of the week off to spend some extra time with the family. My mini-vacation begins on Wednesday morning. I am getting up at the crack of dawn and heading out to the golf course where I expect to get my rear end waxed by a local math professor. He doesn’t have to work at all this week because the faculty gets spring break off. Faculty …. Thhhpppptt! Just wait until I start spreading rumors about him being into rear-end waxing.
After losing miserably to the Ph.D., I will load the family in the van and we will make the five and a half hour drive to Norman, Okla., to visit the in-laws, where I will no doubt get my hind quarters whipped again on the golf course by my father-in-law.
It’s tough being a golfer. Actually I don’t claim to be a golfer, I just tell people that I enjoy an occasional walk in the park. But, alas, I have taken up a hobby for which I am not well-suited.
It’s tough because I am an ultra-competitive person. I am not a sore loser and I am not a poor winner. I don’t run around and gloat (excessively) when I beat people at things, and I don’t sit in a corner and sulk when I perform poorly. However, I hate losing. I have learned to deal with it because I am a bad golfer.
The sad thing is, the only real competition you have on the golf course is yourself. It’s not like the other guys are playing defense. It’s just you, your club and some dimpled little ball that laughs maniacally as sails out of bounds. But what does it say when you are such a bad golfer that you can’t even beat yourself?
Well, I’ll have fun trying. I might be able to get in as many as three rounds of golf this week. I don’t think I’ve ever played three rounds in one week. I can’t afford it. The stupid game costs way too much. And then you have to buy all the special equipment: gloves, shoes, clubs, balls (because I always seem to lose mine), tees and whatever else you think might improve your game.
To be perfectly honest, however, I don’t wear golf shoes and I still play with the first set of clubs I ever bought. They cost me $75 used and I got them when I was in college so many years ago. I can’t bring myself to invest in the new technology which would supposedly improve my game. I tell people I’m not good enough to justify spending that much money on the sport. Of course, if I spent that much money, I might be a little bit better.
Oh well, I just try to swing easy, hit it straight and keep my goal simple: 90 … all I want to do is break 90. Is that too much to ask?
And what exactly does that mean? It means I sit here at my desk with little or nothing to do. The few miniscule jobs that I do have to accomplish can’t really get done because the people I need to talk to are not on campus. The students have disappeared as well, so things really get boring around here. Not to mention that basketball season has ended and the few weeks post basketball are always the most depressing time of the year for me.
However, I am only working two days this week. I decided to take the rest of the week off to spend some extra time with the family. My mini-vacation begins on Wednesday morning. I am getting up at the crack of dawn and heading out to the golf course where I expect to get my rear end waxed by a local math professor. He doesn’t have to work at all this week because the faculty gets spring break off. Faculty …. Thhhpppptt! Just wait until I start spreading rumors about him being into rear-end waxing.
After losing miserably to the Ph.D., I will load the family in the van and we will make the five and a half hour drive to Norman, Okla., to visit the in-laws, where I will no doubt get my hind quarters whipped again on the golf course by my father-in-law.
It’s tough being a golfer. Actually I don’t claim to be a golfer, I just tell people that I enjoy an occasional walk in the park. But, alas, I have taken up a hobby for which I am not well-suited.
It’s tough because I am an ultra-competitive person. I am not a sore loser and I am not a poor winner. I don’t run around and gloat (excessively) when I beat people at things, and I don’t sit in a corner and sulk when I perform poorly. However, I hate losing. I have learned to deal with it because I am a bad golfer.
The sad thing is, the only real competition you have on the golf course is yourself. It’s not like the other guys are playing defense. It’s just you, your club and some dimpled little ball that laughs maniacally as sails out of bounds. But what does it say when you are such a bad golfer that you can’t even beat yourself?
Well, I’ll have fun trying. I might be able to get in as many as three rounds of golf this week. I don’t think I’ve ever played three rounds in one week. I can’t afford it. The stupid game costs way too much. And then you have to buy all the special equipment: gloves, shoes, clubs, balls (because I always seem to lose mine), tees and whatever else you think might improve your game.
To be perfectly honest, however, I don’t wear golf shoes and I still play with the first set of clubs I ever bought. They cost me $75 used and I got them when I was in college so many years ago. I can’t bring myself to invest in the new technology which would supposedly improve my game. I tell people I’m not good enough to justify spending that much money on the sport. Of course, if I spent that much money, I might be a little bit better.
Oh well, I just try to swing easy, hit it straight and keep my goal simple: 90 … all I want to do is break 90. Is that too much to ask?
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
How uncouth
You will sink in a mire. You like to think you're
normal, but deep down you really just want to
strip off your clothes and roll around in
chicken fat.
What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla
Monday, March 06, 2006
Happy Birthday
“Daddy,” she said. In recent weeks, she has gone from calling her parents Mama and Da-da to mommy and daddy. “You have to say ‘Happy Birthday to me!’”
“Happy Birthday to me,” I replied.
Amidst the chaos that ensued as she tried to explain how I had misunderstood her statement, I managed to get a hug and wish the offspring Happy Birthday. My 5-year-old teenager turns 6 today.
We had her birthday party yesterday, but it has been made quite evident to us that today will likewise be a day of celebration. She has made a point to tell her teachers and anyone else at school that her birthday is on March 6. She is fully expecting to be wished “Happy Birthday!” during the morning announcements. Mommy is bringing cupcakes to the class later today, and tonight, it has been requested that we dine a Chili’s so she can have Kraft Macaroni and Cheese served in a fancier bowl than what we have at home. She also wants us to tell them that today is her birthday and she is expecting them to sing to her.
Six years seems like a long time, but the years have flown by. The offspring loves to reminisce about being born and how her toes were cute. She talks about being shown to mommy and being washed and cleaned by the doctors. She remembers that Mimi and Papa and Mamaw and Papaw were all there as well as aunts and uncles and other friends.
That’s quite a memory on the girl, but even her memory isn’t perfect. She still has questions about the day she was born. As we drove to a pizza joint after her party yesterday, the youngster piped up from the back seat …
“Daddy,” she asked, “did you like me when I was a baby?”
“Happy Birthday to me,” I replied.
Amidst the chaos that ensued as she tried to explain how I had misunderstood her statement, I managed to get a hug and wish the offspring Happy Birthday. My 5-year-old teenager turns 6 today.
We had her birthday party yesterday, but it has been made quite evident to us that today will likewise be a day of celebration. She has made a point to tell her teachers and anyone else at school that her birthday is on March 6. She is fully expecting to be wished “Happy Birthday!” during the morning announcements. Mommy is bringing cupcakes to the class later today, and tonight, it has been requested that we dine a Chili’s so she can have Kraft Macaroni and Cheese served in a fancier bowl than what we have at home. She also wants us to tell them that today is her birthday and she is expecting them to sing to her.
Six years seems like a long time, but the years have flown by. The offspring loves to reminisce about being born and how her toes were cute. She talks about being shown to mommy and being washed and cleaned by the doctors. She remembers that Mimi and Papa and Mamaw and Papaw were all there as well as aunts and uncles and other friends.
That’s quite a memory on the girl, but even her memory isn’t perfect. She still has questions about the day she was born. As we drove to a pizza joint after her party yesterday, the youngster piped up from the back seat …
“Daddy,” she asked, “did you like me when I was a baby?”
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Everyone needs attention
This has been an unusually busy week for me – and it’s only Wednesday. This weekend is homecoming at the old alma mater so that will keep me a little busy, but it won’t be too bad. Most of my stuff will involve athletic activities which I enjoy anyway.
But early this week – like yesterday – I was busy with other activities. It was TAKS testing day in Texas and for those of you who know, the TAKS test is one of the most moronic, idiotic, imbecilic excuses for a government regulated exam that anyone could have come up with.
I can just see the unintelligent legislator who happened across this idea … “Let’s take our entire education system, boil it down into one test and force our children at threat of life, limb and well being to complete this test that doesn’t even make sense to the adults who look at it. And furthermore, everything that every teacher in the entire state of Texas does or says throughout the course of a school year is based solely on the outcome of this one test. And whether or not they are competent enough to teach shall be determined by how some uncaring, degenerate of a third grader performs.”
Morons!
Anyway, Tuesday was TAKS day which means all the kids in kindergarten, who surprisingly do not have to take the test, need to be shipped out of the school so they won’t disturb those who are taking the test.
My 5-year-old teenager, being of kindergarten age, was being shipped to the metropolitan area 45 miles south to take part in a tour of the Science Spectrum.
I was fortunate enough to be able to accompany my child. Parents of various children went on the trip and were asked to be responsible for children as they toured the facility and played with the various science experiment type stuff.
Everyone who knows me knows how much I enjoy the company of small children. Those who don’t know me should understand that I have been barred by my wife from ever becoming an elementary school teacher because my idea of discipline is to take the first youngster who acts up in a class, bleed him, hang him in the corner and let him drip. I guarantee the rest of the students will behave accordingly for the entire year. Unfortunately, some people would look unkindly on my methods of discipline and might even consider them somewhat extreme.
As we entered the Science Spectrum I noticed that the students in my daughter’s class had selected buddies for the day. My child’s buddy was a young girl who is known to be a trouble maker. My child, God bless her, has chosen to befriend this girl because many of the other students want nothing to do with her.
Therefore, the students I was responsible for were my daughter and her friend. The assistant teacher looked at me apologetically when asking if I would take responsibility for her.
I said I would and you know what? I didn’t have a single problem with her. It was simply a matter of proper communication.
Sure, she got a little rambunctious at times but when she threatened to hit me I calmly looked her in the eye and explained that if she it me, it was only fair that I get to hit her back. When she was bothering me at another point, I told her that if she didn’t stop it, I was going to pull her hair.
“No you won’t,” she challenged.
“Yes I will,” I said matter of factly.
“But I’m just a kid,” she said.
“So,” I replied. “That’s still no excuse to be mean to me. Therefore, if you are mean to me, I am going to be mean to you.”
Apparently she had never had an adult, much less an adult male, explain things to her. Perhaps she doesn’t have much structure in her life. I didn’t get mad at her. I didn’t yell at her. I calmly just told her what I was going to do and made her believe it.
At other times, if she started to get a little wild, I would simply change the subject and talk to her about other things. She would participate in the conversation and would refrain from acting up.
I had no problem with her and all in all we had a pretty good day. As we sat through a movie in the Science Spectrum’s Omniplex, she fell asleep while leaning against my arm. And she even made sure to run over and give me a hug before they loaded the bus to go back to school.
Although I typically cringe at the thought of being around children who don’t belong to me, I also kind of feel sorry for those kids who aren’t given a chance. Everyone expects her to be a trouble maker when really, she isn’t a bad kid. She just needs someone to pay attention to her.
But early this week – like yesterday – I was busy with other activities. It was TAKS testing day in Texas and for those of you who know, the TAKS test is one of the most moronic, idiotic, imbecilic excuses for a government regulated exam that anyone could have come up with.
I can just see the unintelligent legislator who happened across this idea … “Let’s take our entire education system, boil it down into one test and force our children at threat of life, limb and well being to complete this test that doesn’t even make sense to the adults who look at it. And furthermore, everything that every teacher in the entire state of Texas does or says throughout the course of a school year is based solely on the outcome of this one test. And whether or not they are competent enough to teach shall be determined by how some uncaring, degenerate of a third grader performs.”
Morons!
Anyway, Tuesday was TAKS day which means all the kids in kindergarten, who surprisingly do not have to take the test, need to be shipped out of the school so they won’t disturb those who are taking the test.
My 5-year-old teenager, being of kindergarten age, was being shipped to the metropolitan area 45 miles south to take part in a tour of the Science Spectrum.
I was fortunate enough to be able to accompany my child. Parents of various children went on the trip and were asked to be responsible for children as they toured the facility and played with the various science experiment type stuff.
Everyone who knows me knows how much I enjoy the company of small children. Those who don’t know me should understand that I have been barred by my wife from ever becoming an elementary school teacher because my idea of discipline is to take the first youngster who acts up in a class, bleed him, hang him in the corner and let him drip. I guarantee the rest of the students will behave accordingly for the entire year. Unfortunately, some people would look unkindly on my methods of discipline and might even consider them somewhat extreme.
As we entered the Science Spectrum I noticed that the students in my daughter’s class had selected buddies for the day. My child’s buddy was a young girl who is known to be a trouble maker. My child, God bless her, has chosen to befriend this girl because many of the other students want nothing to do with her.
Therefore, the students I was responsible for were my daughter and her friend. The assistant teacher looked at me apologetically when asking if I would take responsibility for her.
I said I would and you know what? I didn’t have a single problem with her. It was simply a matter of proper communication.
Sure, she got a little rambunctious at times but when she threatened to hit me I calmly looked her in the eye and explained that if she it me, it was only fair that I get to hit her back. When she was bothering me at another point, I told her that if she didn’t stop it, I was going to pull her hair.
“No you won’t,” she challenged.
“Yes I will,” I said matter of factly.
“But I’m just a kid,” she said.
“So,” I replied. “That’s still no excuse to be mean to me. Therefore, if you are mean to me, I am going to be mean to you.”
Apparently she had never had an adult, much less an adult male, explain things to her. Perhaps she doesn’t have much structure in her life. I didn’t get mad at her. I didn’t yell at her. I calmly just told her what I was going to do and made her believe it.
At other times, if she started to get a little wild, I would simply change the subject and talk to her about other things. She would participate in the conversation and would refrain from acting up.
I had no problem with her and all in all we had a pretty good day. As we sat through a movie in the Science Spectrum’s Omniplex, she fell asleep while leaning against my arm. And she even made sure to run over and give me a hug before they loaded the bus to go back to school.
Although I typically cringe at the thought of being around children who don’t belong to me, I also kind of feel sorry for those kids who aren’t given a chance. Everyone expects her to be a trouble maker when really, she isn’t a bad kid. She just needs someone to pay attention to her.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Toughest girl in the 14th grade
There are several reasons I prefer women’s athletics to men’s. One reason is the simple fact that in post-game interviews, girls can generally form complete sentences. A little over a year ago, I interviewed a player for a game preview I was working on for the local paper. When asked what the team needed to work on, she replied, “We need to work on our defense and taking care of the ball. But we are getting there, progressively.”
Simply adding that word “progressively” changed that from a typical jock sentence into a prime example of what differentiates female athletes from men in most cases. I mean, when is the last time you heard a jock use any word that is more than two syllables? Much less, use it correctly.
Another reason I enjoy women’s athletic is because they are less like to showboat, show off, gloat or any of the other crap that ticks me off. I can’t stand all that extra curricular garbage that guys, for some reason, think makes them look cool. Their team may be down by 20 points, but if one of them dunks the ball they have to tug on their jersey, play to the crowd or make some sort of hand gesture that nobody understands as they perform their various renditions of the “look-at-me” dance.
I will admit that I have seen women do the same thing, but on a much lesser scale. And when women do it, it’s really stupid. But for the most part, the female athletes celebrate with simple high 5s for a teammate, or they just run back and play defense.
The same can be said for injuries. Guys always play it up, looking for sympathy. One of my biggest pet peeves is when an athlete supposedly gets hurt, wallows around on the floor like he is dying, takes an extended period of time getting up and then has to be helped off the floor only to return to the game after a few minutes. I literally told a high school athlete one day after witnessing such an incident that if I ever saw him do that I was going to personally kick his hind quarters. That young man went on to play basketball for Bob Knight at Texas Tech University and to the best my knowledge never did anything like that.
Female athletes typically don’t do that. Unfortunately, I have seen some serious injuries at which time the athlete is lying on the court in pain and has to be carried off. But those were legitimate injuries, not a jammed finger or ingrown toenail. For the most part, female athletes would prefer to get off the floor and deal with the minor injuries somewhere else.
Case in point: Last Saturday our women’s basketball team was playing against the No. 10 ranked team in the country. Our team has been struggling through conference play this year, but the young ladies valiantly took the court.
Midway through the second half, a sophomore guard who had just been reinserted into the game waved at the coaches to take her out. Not understanding why she had tired so quickly the coaches sent a player to check in for her. However, since there was no apparent rush, this player stayed in the game and continued to play hard for another trip down the court.
When the whistle finally blew to stop play, this young lady made her way over the bench, looking at her hand. The pinky finger on her left hand was sticking out sideways at an angle. She looked at her finger, looked at her coach and said, “I think it’s broken.”
On Tuesday, the young lady had surgery to repair the finger that had not only broken, but had twisted. Needless to say, she will miss several weeks while the finger heals. For some reason, healthy hands are key when playing basketball.
But as she played on with a broken finger and then came off the court, there was not a complaint, not a whimper, no wallowing around on the floor or jumping up and down at mid-court wanting everyone in the gymnasium to "look at her" … she just kept playing.
Tough kid, and that’s why I appreciate women’s athletics.
Simply adding that word “progressively” changed that from a typical jock sentence into a prime example of what differentiates female athletes from men in most cases. I mean, when is the last time you heard a jock use any word that is more than two syllables? Much less, use it correctly.
Another reason I enjoy women’s athletic is because they are less like to showboat, show off, gloat or any of the other crap that ticks me off. I can’t stand all that extra curricular garbage that guys, for some reason, think makes them look cool. Their team may be down by 20 points, but if one of them dunks the ball they have to tug on their jersey, play to the crowd or make some sort of hand gesture that nobody understands as they perform their various renditions of the “look-at-me” dance.
I will admit that I have seen women do the same thing, but on a much lesser scale. And when women do it, it’s really stupid. But for the most part, the female athletes celebrate with simple high 5s for a teammate, or they just run back and play defense.
The same can be said for injuries. Guys always play it up, looking for sympathy. One of my biggest pet peeves is when an athlete supposedly gets hurt, wallows around on the floor like he is dying, takes an extended period of time getting up and then has to be helped off the floor only to return to the game after a few minutes. I literally told a high school athlete one day after witnessing such an incident that if I ever saw him do that I was going to personally kick his hind quarters. That young man went on to play basketball for Bob Knight at Texas Tech University and to the best my knowledge never did anything like that.
Female athletes typically don’t do that. Unfortunately, I have seen some serious injuries at which time the athlete is lying on the court in pain and has to be carried off. But those were legitimate injuries, not a jammed finger or ingrown toenail. For the most part, female athletes would prefer to get off the floor and deal with the minor injuries somewhere else.
Case in point: Last Saturday our women’s basketball team was playing against the No. 10 ranked team in the country. Our team has been struggling through conference play this year, but the young ladies valiantly took the court.
Midway through the second half, a sophomore guard who had just been reinserted into the game waved at the coaches to take her out. Not understanding why she had tired so quickly the coaches sent a player to check in for her. However, since there was no apparent rush, this player stayed in the game and continued to play hard for another trip down the court.
When the whistle finally blew to stop play, this young lady made her way over the bench, looking at her hand. The pinky finger on her left hand was sticking out sideways at an angle. She looked at her finger, looked at her coach and said, “I think it’s broken.”
On Tuesday, the young lady had surgery to repair the finger that had not only broken, but had twisted. Needless to say, she will miss several weeks while the finger heals. For some reason, healthy hands are key when playing basketball.
But as she played on with a broken finger and then came off the court, there was not a complaint, not a whimper, no wallowing around on the floor or jumping up and down at mid-court wanting everyone in the gymnasium to "look at her" … she just kept playing.
Tough kid, and that’s why I appreciate women’s athletics.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Meme
I stole this from mi hermana, Spooky.
1) When you looked in the mirror first thing this morning, what was the first thing you thought? Huh.
2) How much cash do you have on you? $1.05 all in dimes and nickels – just in case I need a coke at the bookstore later today.
3) What's a word that rhymes with TEST? vest.
4) Planet? Neptune.
5) Who is the fourth person on your missed calls? I don’t miss calls, I just don’t answer the phone.
6) What is your favorite ring on your phone? Whichever one doesn’t sound like everybody else’s.
7) What shirt are you wearing? An off-white polo style with the university logo on it.
8) What do you label yourself as? Right! (as in correct not conservative. Although I am conservative. I’m just not right-wing conservative except on the third Tuesday of every month.)
9) Name the brand of shoes you've recently worn. Ummm... I have no idea. They were brown? (stole the answer from Spooky, also.)
10) Bright room or dark room? Dark or dim. It’s better for doing graphic work on the computer.
11) What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping.
12) What did the last text message on your phone say? Oh Please, I have better things to do than type on a telephone keypad.
13) Where is your nearest 7-11? Big Flat City, 45 miles south of here. (Again, same as Spooky’s, but we do have other convenience stores in the area.)
14) What's a saying you say a lot? I have no catch phrases. I try to vary my responses to things.
15) Who told you they loved you last? Wife.
16) Last furry thing you touched? Ghost kitty.
17) How many drugs have you done in the past three days? Let’s see … I shoot up three times a day and take one pill. Throw in that allergy medicine I took last night and I’m all good.
18) How many rolls of film do you need to get developed? Two, although I doubt that they are still good. I think I have had them around since I graduated from college roughly 10 years ago.
20) Your worst enemy? Stupid people … or administrators who are pathetically slow about doing anything other than holding uneventful meetings.
21) What is your current desktop picture? A picture of a small castle in Ireland. The photo was taken by a former student I know who went there on a study tour last summer.
22) What was the last thing you said to someone? "...I’m not sure who is supposed to pay for that pregnancy ad!"
23) If you had to choose between a millions bucks and being able to fly, which would you choose? Flying. If I could fly, I’d make a million bucks as the star of a freak show, or as a professional basketball player, or by saving money on gas.
24) Do you like someone? Yes. (Whew, that was a tough one.)
25) The last song you listened to? Theme music from The Incredibles. I watched it with the 5-year-old last night.
1) When you looked in the mirror first thing this morning, what was the first thing you thought? Huh.
2) How much cash do you have on you? $1.05 all in dimes and nickels – just in case I need a coke at the bookstore later today.
3) What's a word that rhymes with TEST? vest.
4) Planet? Neptune.
5) Who is the fourth person on your missed calls? I don’t miss calls, I just don’t answer the phone.
6) What is your favorite ring on your phone? Whichever one doesn’t sound like everybody else’s.
7) What shirt are you wearing? An off-white polo style with the university logo on it.
8) What do you label yourself as? Right! (as in correct not conservative. Although I am conservative. I’m just not right-wing conservative except on the third Tuesday of every month.)
9) Name the brand of shoes you've recently worn. Ummm... I have no idea. They were brown? (stole the answer from Spooky, also.)
10) Bright room or dark room? Dark or dim. It’s better for doing graphic work on the computer.
11) What were you doing at midnight last night? Sleeping.
12) What did the last text message on your phone say? Oh Please, I have better things to do than type on a telephone keypad.
13) Where is your nearest 7-11? Big Flat City, 45 miles south of here. (Again, same as Spooky’s, but we do have other convenience stores in the area.)
14) What's a saying you say a lot? I have no catch phrases. I try to vary my responses to things.
15) Who told you they loved you last? Wife.
16) Last furry thing you touched? Ghost kitty.
17) How many drugs have you done in the past three days? Let’s see … I shoot up three times a day and take one pill. Throw in that allergy medicine I took last night and I’m all good.
18) How many rolls of film do you need to get developed? Two, although I doubt that they are still good. I think I have had them around since I graduated from college roughly 10 years ago.
20) Your worst enemy? Stupid people … or administrators who are pathetically slow about doing anything other than holding uneventful meetings.
21) What is your current desktop picture? A picture of a small castle in Ireland. The photo was taken by a former student I know who went there on a study tour last summer.
22) What was the last thing you said to someone? "...I’m not sure who is supposed to pay for that pregnancy ad!"
23) If you had to choose between a millions bucks and being able to fly, which would you choose? Flying. If I could fly, I’d make a million bucks as the star of a freak show, or as a professional basketball player, or by saving money on gas.
24) Do you like someone? Yes. (Whew, that was a tough one.)
25) The last song you listened to? Theme music from The Incredibles. I watched it with the 5-year-old last night.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Bless the little cheerleaders
Have you ever caught yourself saying something you never thought you would say?I found myself in this very situation the other day.
I love sports. I played sports in high school. Made a living for several years as a sports editor of various newspapers and currently maintain a close relationship with a few coaches and teams at the university where I work.
Throughout this time, however, I have found one constant in my opinion … cheerleaders are worthless. They don’t really pay attention to the game and very often have to ask the person next to them how to spell G-O for the next chant they are planning. Even as a strapping young lad in high school, I never really paid attention to the cheerleaders. Quite frankly, I thought the athletes had much more going for them.
Needless to say, I have little use for cheerleaders who typically don’t lead cheers anyway. They do their little flips and gyrations during timeouts, but the real cheerleading comes from the athletes on the bench who actually know what’s going on in the game.
And I have no problem telling cheerleaders this. Last year, we had a student worker in our office who was a cheerleader and I constantly made fun of her. She was a good kid, though, and took it well. I did tell her I might have to change my outlook on cheerleaders after dealing with her for year. A current member of our Sunday school class is an ex-cheerleader. I haven’t really made fun of her, though. Her husband still plays for the basketball team. He’s bigger than me and has really sharp elbows. But they are both nice kids, too.
Back to my point … my 5-year-old teenager has stated for several years now that she wants to be a cheerleader. This hurts my heart. I try to get her to hang out with the athletes as much as possible and her babysitter, whom she adores, is even a basketball player. But that doesn’t change the stubborn offspring’s mind when asked what she wants to do.
“I want to be a cheerleader!”
Well, our church started a youth basketball league last year and this year expanded that league to include cheerleading. You know, it’s one of those leagues where people don’t keep score at the games because you just want the kids to have fun. That, my friends, is another huge soap box altogether.
Anyway, my youngster wanted to join the cheerleading along with her other little friends, so my wife and I decided to give it a shot. We paid the fee and collected the little outfit complete with pom-poms, a megaphone and weekly Bible verses that are way too long and have little to do with the day-to-day life a 5-year-old. (Another soap box).
Being the good father, I decided to support my child in this endeavor. Last week, I loaded up my camera and headed out for the games with cheerleader extraordinaire in tow. I snapped away while the little nugget cheered her heart out.
At one point, after a timeout, my daughter leaned over to me and said …
“Da-da, do you like this game?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m just here to watch the cheerleaders.”
Monday, January 09, 2006
KD and the broken nose
I slowly walked into the gym.
I was a little early for my 2 p.m. appointment with the men’s basketball coach, so I decided to watch the women’s team practice for a while. It had been two days since a humiliating beat-down at the hands of a conference opponent and I wanted to see how the young ladies were reacting.
Now you must understand, being a man approaching his mid-30s, 6-foot-2 and 225 pounds, there aren’t many things that make me go “eeewwww!” And certainly, a group of college basketball players running up and down the court generally doesn’t fit into that category, aside from dodging a pair of sweaty socks that were thrown at me one day. But that is another story altogether.
Today, however, was different.
Standing on the sidelines was one of the starting guards still decked out in street clothes as her teammates pounded the hardwood under the scrutiny of their coach. You see, while the team took it on its proverbial chin the preceding Saturday, this young lady took it on the nose – literally. A sophomore, roughly 5-foot-8 and 100-and-nothing pounds dripping wet, this young lady plays much tougher than she looks. She is not afraid to take the ball to the basket among the bigger, stronger players, and has suffered a few injuries.
On Saturday, however, a trip to the backboard landed her in the hospital. As the team was hoping to claw back into the game shortly after halftime, this young lady crashed the boards looking for a rebound. All she found, however, was the heel of her teammates hand as it came crashing down across the bridge of her nose. After the 10-count, play was stopped to attend to the injury.
The coaches and trainers rushed to the court, as the young lady lay on her back clutching her face. Although I knew she had been hit in the nose, it was difficult to really tell what the injury was because there was not a drop of blood anywhere on the court.
She was helped off the court and taken to the training room where a doctor looked at her and diagnosed that she had indeed broken her nose.
Two days later, she stood on the edge of the court cheering her teammates as they worked. I walked across the gym floor to where she was standing. If I hadn’t known better I never would have guessed she had a broken nose. There was a little swelling, but very little bruising or discoloration. Her pettite glasses rested carefully on the bridge of her nose, giving her a rather studious look as she surveyed the court.
“Hey, girl,” I said as she turned toward me. “Way to take a punch.”
She smiled as we began to discuss the injury and her impending treatment. It turns out that she is going to be fitted for a face mask and then play the rest of the season. In her words, she wasn’t even going to miss a game. The coach, however, is going to wait for the doctor’s clearance before he allows her back on the court.
Due to the way her nose was broken, it was impossible for doctor to set it without minor surgery. However, if she plays the rest of the season the nose will heal itself slightly out of position, although no one would notice by looking at her.
She explained that after the season, the doctor will have to break her nose again and set it properly. This, of course, sent shudders down my spine, but she said she could handle it as long as they knock her out first.
As we continued our conversation I told her I was amazed at the lack of bruising and overall appearance. I've seen broken noses before and many times they are accompanied by a pair of black eyes.
“… And I can’t believe it didn’t bleed,” I said.
“I know,” she agreed. “The doctor looked at it and said there was definitely blood in there, but it had been stopped up.”
“That’s kind of weird,” I said, wondering how you stop a major nose bleed without even trying. I mean, I’ve woken up on dry winter mornings and have done little more than sit up in bed and my nose starts bleeding.
As I contemplated the strangeness of the situation and how the blood flow could collect without ever releasing, I wasn't really prepared for what she said next.
“Yeah,” she said. “But this morning I had a really big sneeze ……….
“Eeewwww!”
I was a little early for my 2 p.m. appointment with the men’s basketball coach, so I decided to watch the women’s team practice for a while. It had been two days since a humiliating beat-down at the hands of a conference opponent and I wanted to see how the young ladies were reacting.
Now you must understand, being a man approaching his mid-30s, 6-foot-2 and 225 pounds, there aren’t many things that make me go “eeewwww!” And certainly, a group of college basketball players running up and down the court generally doesn’t fit into that category, aside from dodging a pair of sweaty socks that were thrown at me one day. But that is another story altogether.
Today, however, was different.
Standing on the sidelines was one of the starting guards still decked out in street clothes as her teammates pounded the hardwood under the scrutiny of their coach. You see, while the team took it on its proverbial chin the preceding Saturday, this young lady took it on the nose – literally. A sophomore, roughly 5-foot-8 and 100-and-nothing pounds dripping wet, this young lady plays much tougher than she looks. She is not afraid to take the ball to the basket among the bigger, stronger players, and has suffered a few injuries.
On Saturday, however, a trip to the backboard landed her in the hospital. As the team was hoping to claw back into the game shortly after halftime, this young lady crashed the boards looking for a rebound. All she found, however, was the heel of her teammates hand as it came crashing down across the bridge of her nose. After the 10-count, play was stopped to attend to the injury.
The coaches and trainers rushed to the court, as the young lady lay on her back clutching her face. Although I knew she had been hit in the nose, it was difficult to really tell what the injury was because there was not a drop of blood anywhere on the court.
She was helped off the court and taken to the training room where a doctor looked at her and diagnosed that she had indeed broken her nose.
Two days later, she stood on the edge of the court cheering her teammates as they worked. I walked across the gym floor to where she was standing. If I hadn’t known better I never would have guessed she had a broken nose. There was a little swelling, but very little bruising or discoloration. Her pettite glasses rested carefully on the bridge of her nose, giving her a rather studious look as she surveyed the court.
“Hey, girl,” I said as she turned toward me. “Way to take a punch.”
She smiled as we began to discuss the injury and her impending treatment. It turns out that she is going to be fitted for a face mask and then play the rest of the season. In her words, she wasn’t even going to miss a game. The coach, however, is going to wait for the doctor’s clearance before he allows her back on the court.
Due to the way her nose was broken, it was impossible for doctor to set it without minor surgery. However, if she plays the rest of the season the nose will heal itself slightly out of position, although no one would notice by looking at her.
She explained that after the season, the doctor will have to break her nose again and set it properly. This, of course, sent shudders down my spine, but she said she could handle it as long as they knock her out first.
As we continued our conversation I told her I was amazed at the lack of bruising and overall appearance. I've seen broken noses before and many times they are accompanied by a pair of black eyes.
“… And I can’t believe it didn’t bleed,” I said.
“I know,” she agreed. “The doctor looked at it and said there was definitely blood in there, but it had been stopped up.”
“That’s kind of weird,” I said, wondering how you stop a major nose bleed without even trying. I mean, I’ve woken up on dry winter mornings and have done little more than sit up in bed and my nose starts bleeding.
As I contemplated the strangeness of the situation and how the blood flow could collect without ever releasing, I wasn't really prepared for what she said next.
“Yeah,” she said. “But this morning I had a really big sneeze ……….
“Eeewwww!”
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Over the river and through the woods
The holidays are over and it’s back to work. Surprisingly, I was ready to return to a semblance of normalcy after a rather hectic week in which my wife, child and I visited both sets of grandparents, opened a lot of presents, ate too much food, got too little sleep, circumvented grass fires, drove through a snow storm, crossed the continental divide, dodged a few deer, worked in a round of golf, watched a few basketball games, nearly fell off a mountain, drove 2,189 miles and spent $245 on gas.
Was it worth it? Absolutely … except perhaps the part about nearly falling off a mountain.
After spending Christmas weekend in Norman, Okla., with my in-laws, we loaded the van and headed west for Grand Junction, Colo., where our college basketball team was playing a few games. We apparently got out of the Oklahoma City area just before the fires started on Tuesday.
The drive to Grand Junction was uneventful and gorgeous as we followed highway 50 through Colorado which runs alongside the Arkansas River for several miles. The drive through Gunnison was gorgeous as the snow-covered mountains overlooked the frozen lake.
My daughter kept asking if we were “stuck,” or “driving in circles” since we crossed the lake several times as we wound through the mountains.
We made it to Grand Junction with no trouble at all where we watched the basketball team play a couple of games. The team played really well even though it lost one of the two games.
My favorite player played great. I didn’t really get to tell her that prior to leaving Friday, because we were in a hurry to get on the road, but I’ll make it a priority to point out to her that I thought she played great over the weekend. She boosted her scoring average by more than a point and played solid defense. She also didn't make any big mistakes which has always been one of her strengths as a player.
The final game finished around 8 p.m. (Texas time) on Friday night. I knew the bus was returning home that night, so I had made plans to leave after the game as well. We were heading different directions because the family and I had to drive farther south and decided to cut across New Mexico.
While the bus had a rather uneventful return trip, aside from the stench of a loaded restroom tank and one player’s illness, our trip was far more taxing.
We had to dodge a herd of deer on a two-lane highway at one point. We came through unscathed, although a little rattled, but that was nothing compared to what we were about to face.
When a mountain pass becomes treacherous, highway departments should really consider posting signs that read “Stupid flatlanders must stop now!” There were plenty of signs reading “Chains required on all commercial vehicles.” But what the heck does that mean for me?
At one point as we trudged along in the snow and ice, we passed a sign that said the summit is 13 miles. “Good,” I think to myself. “If we can reach the top, we should be OK.” It took us an hour to reach the top of the mountain from that point.
And just to add anxiety to the already harrowing trip, as we reached a flat area on top of the mountain, we passed a sign that read “Chains or snow tires required on all vehicles beyond this point.”
Great! Here we are at the top of the mountain in a vehicle ill-equipped to continue the journey. My options are to turn around and go back down the way we came or break the law – and it was pointed out that proceeding without the proper equipment was unlawful – and go down the mountain by continuing forward.
I decided that if I had to go down the mountain one way or another, I was going to continue going forward.
The minutes passed into hours and the anxiety never lessened as we continued down the mountain only to discover that we had to reach the summit two more times before truly beginning the trek down. But our trusty van and its front-wheel drive, never slipped and never skidded on the ice, for which we gave much thanks to God. We were also lucky enough to fall in behind a snow plow and follow the freshly plowed highway much of the way down.
We were fortunate that after a long, hard day of cheering for her favorite team, my 5-year-old was asleep the entire trip. Had she been awake, I’m sure she would have constantly been asking … “Da-da, are we going to boom?” You see, the word “crash” has been outlawed in our van after we bumped bumpers with another vehicle backing out of a driveway one day a year or so ago.
After several days of hearing our 5-year-old repeat the story and reprimand us for “crashing,” my wife finally told her that the word “crash” is a bad word and must not be repeated in the van. She has stuck with that rule, occasionally correcting us if we use the word in casual conversation.
But we didn’t crash or boom.
By my calculations, it is approximately 170 miles from Grand Junction to Durango. For a West Texas boy, 170 miles means about 2 and a half hours of road time. But on the fateful night in the driving snow, it took us more than five hours to make that trip.
We eventually stopped about an hour south of Durango, in Bloomfield, N.M., where we stayed at a Super 8. Our room smelled as if it had housed someone’s hunting dogs the night before. The smell was probably similar to what the team was experiencing on their bus ride home with the loaded sewer tank. But at 3 a.m. and completely exhausted from the tense travel, what else were we going to do? If we passed up this motel, it was another two hours until we reached civilization.
We decided to sleep for four hours before returning to the road. After all, we still had roughly 11 hours of road time ahead of us before reaching my parents house on New Year’s Eve.
Needless to say, that 11 hours was nothing. We even killed an hour in Albuquerque eating a late breakfast. We traded our 10 to 20-mile per hour drive the night before for a pleasant 80-mile per hour pace on Saturday and finally came to a stop at 5 p.m.
The next day we took communion at my father’s church, dug into a big pile of world famous steak fingers then drove the final 2 and a half hours home. It was nice to get home and see that our cats were still alive and hadn’t destroyed the house. It was nice to finally sleep in our own beds, and it was nice to look around and see nothing but flat land, albeit burning out of control in several places.
After 2,189 miles in eight days, one gets a little road weary. But it won’t last long. After all, I have to get back on the road this Saturday if I’m going to watch the team play in Oklahoma City.
Was it worth it? Absolutely … except perhaps the part about nearly falling off a mountain.
After spending Christmas weekend in Norman, Okla., with my in-laws, we loaded the van and headed west for Grand Junction, Colo., where our college basketball team was playing a few games. We apparently got out of the Oklahoma City area just before the fires started on Tuesday.
The drive to Grand Junction was uneventful and gorgeous as we followed highway 50 through Colorado which runs alongside the Arkansas River for several miles. The drive through Gunnison was gorgeous as the snow-covered mountains overlooked the frozen lake.
My daughter kept asking if we were “stuck,” or “driving in circles” since we crossed the lake several times as we wound through the mountains.
We made it to Grand Junction with no trouble at all where we watched the basketball team play a couple of games. The team played really well even though it lost one of the two games.
My favorite player played great. I didn’t really get to tell her that prior to leaving Friday, because we were in a hurry to get on the road, but I’ll make it a priority to point out to her that I thought she played great over the weekend. She boosted her scoring average by more than a point and played solid defense. She also didn't make any big mistakes which has always been one of her strengths as a player.
The final game finished around 8 p.m. (Texas time) on Friday night. I knew the bus was returning home that night, so I had made plans to leave after the game as well. We were heading different directions because the family and I had to drive farther south and decided to cut across New Mexico.
While the bus had a rather uneventful return trip, aside from the stench of a loaded restroom tank and one player’s illness, our trip was far more taxing.
We had to dodge a herd of deer on a two-lane highway at one point. We came through unscathed, although a little rattled, but that was nothing compared to what we were about to face.
When a mountain pass becomes treacherous, highway departments should really consider posting signs that read “Stupid flatlanders must stop now!” There were plenty of signs reading “Chains required on all commercial vehicles.” But what the heck does that mean for me?
At one point as we trudged along in the snow and ice, we passed a sign that said the summit is 13 miles. “Good,” I think to myself. “If we can reach the top, we should be OK.” It took us an hour to reach the top of the mountain from that point.
And just to add anxiety to the already harrowing trip, as we reached a flat area on top of the mountain, we passed a sign that read “Chains or snow tires required on all vehicles beyond this point.”
Great! Here we are at the top of the mountain in a vehicle ill-equipped to continue the journey. My options are to turn around and go back down the way we came or break the law – and it was pointed out that proceeding without the proper equipment was unlawful – and go down the mountain by continuing forward.
I decided that if I had to go down the mountain one way or another, I was going to continue going forward.
The minutes passed into hours and the anxiety never lessened as we continued down the mountain only to discover that we had to reach the summit two more times before truly beginning the trek down. But our trusty van and its front-wheel drive, never slipped and never skidded on the ice, for which we gave much thanks to God. We were also lucky enough to fall in behind a snow plow and follow the freshly plowed highway much of the way down.
We were fortunate that after a long, hard day of cheering for her favorite team, my 5-year-old was asleep the entire trip. Had she been awake, I’m sure she would have constantly been asking … “Da-da, are we going to boom?” You see, the word “crash” has been outlawed in our van after we bumped bumpers with another vehicle backing out of a driveway one day a year or so ago.
After several days of hearing our 5-year-old repeat the story and reprimand us for “crashing,” my wife finally told her that the word “crash” is a bad word and must not be repeated in the van. She has stuck with that rule, occasionally correcting us if we use the word in casual conversation.
But we didn’t crash or boom.
By my calculations, it is approximately 170 miles from Grand Junction to Durango. For a West Texas boy, 170 miles means about 2 and a half hours of road time. But on the fateful night in the driving snow, it took us more than five hours to make that trip.
We eventually stopped about an hour south of Durango, in Bloomfield, N.M., where we stayed at a Super 8. Our room smelled as if it had housed someone’s hunting dogs the night before. The smell was probably similar to what the team was experiencing on their bus ride home with the loaded sewer tank. But at 3 a.m. and completely exhausted from the tense travel, what else were we going to do? If we passed up this motel, it was another two hours until we reached civilization.
We decided to sleep for four hours before returning to the road. After all, we still had roughly 11 hours of road time ahead of us before reaching my parents house on New Year’s Eve.
Needless to say, that 11 hours was nothing. We even killed an hour in Albuquerque eating a late breakfast. We traded our 10 to 20-mile per hour drive the night before for a pleasant 80-mile per hour pace on Saturday and finally came to a stop at 5 p.m.
The next day we took communion at my father’s church, dug into a big pile of world famous steak fingers then drove the final 2 and a half hours home. It was nice to get home and see that our cats were still alive and hadn’t destroyed the house. It was nice to finally sleep in our own beds, and it was nice to look around and see nothing but flat land, albeit burning out of control in several places.
After 2,189 miles in eight days, one gets a little road weary. But it won’t last long. After all, I have to get back on the road this Saturday if I’m going to watch the team play in Oklahoma City.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Happy Holy-days
‘Tis the season to be jolly … Fa, la, la, la, la, la ‘freakin’ la’
I have been accused of being a “crotchety old man” by certain family members. That’s OK. It really doesn’t bother me all that much because I am a bit more conservative than some of the flaming liberals in our clan.
However, in my crotchetiness, I must say that I am not a big fan of the Christmas season. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with family and friends and I love working at a job where we get two weeks off. I love giving gifts to those people I care for.
What I don’t necessarily care for is getting "nickel-and-dimed" to death by every group, class and organization I am affiliated with that suddenly feels like they should do their part to help out the less fortunate. I also don’t like being accosted by bell ringers at every store front and intersection in town who are supposedly raising money for a “good cause.” Where is that money really going, and why do they not need to raise it in June?
Not only that, but you have to bring a Christmas ornament to this gathering or a gag gift to that. Your child is expected to bring a gift for a gift exchange in her ballet class. You have to cook brownies for this group or a cake for that group … and don’t forget the green bean casserole. You buy presents for kids in families you have never seen. You donate to special interest groups who are trying to pass out some Christmas cheer. You do all this and suddenly you realize you haven’t bought your own child a Christmas present.
Don’t get me wrong, my family has been greatly blessed and we are very fortunate to be in the situation we are in. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for all He has given us, be it money, food, family or friends who make our lives easier and more enjoyable. And furthermore, I love helping people out, but I would rather do it when it is least expected, not when everybody is telling me to do it and looking down on me if I don’t. And don't get me started on the over-commercialization of Christmas.
I really don’t know how to end this post. I really don’t have anything else to say. But I suspect there are more people out there who feel the way I do, and I hope they all get to stop at some point, relax and enjoy the people and places around them.
Merry Christmas!
I have been accused of being a “crotchety old man” by certain family members. That’s OK. It really doesn’t bother me all that much because I am a bit more conservative than some of the flaming liberals in our clan.
However, in my crotchetiness, I must say that I am not a big fan of the Christmas season. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with family and friends and I love working at a job where we get two weeks off. I love giving gifts to those people I care for.
What I don’t necessarily care for is getting "nickel-and-dimed" to death by every group, class and organization I am affiliated with that suddenly feels like they should do their part to help out the less fortunate. I also don’t like being accosted by bell ringers at every store front and intersection in town who are supposedly raising money for a “good cause.” Where is that money really going, and why do they not need to raise it in June?
Not only that, but you have to bring a Christmas ornament to this gathering or a gag gift to that. Your child is expected to bring a gift for a gift exchange in her ballet class. You have to cook brownies for this group or a cake for that group … and don’t forget the green bean casserole. You buy presents for kids in families you have never seen. You donate to special interest groups who are trying to pass out some Christmas cheer. You do all this and suddenly you realize you haven’t bought your own child a Christmas present.
Don’t get me wrong, my family has been greatly blessed and we are very fortunate to be in the situation we are in. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for all He has given us, be it money, food, family or friends who make our lives easier and more enjoyable. And furthermore, I love helping people out, but I would rather do it when it is least expected, not when everybody is telling me to do it and looking down on me if I don’t. And don't get me started on the over-commercialization of Christmas.
I really don’t know how to end this post. I really don’t have anything else to say. But I suspect there are more people out there who feel the way I do, and I hope they all get to stop at some point, relax and enjoy the people and places around them.
Merry Christmas!
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