Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts

One day while Ian and I were trading remarks back and forth via email, I made the comment "Welcome to My World!" He immediately replied and told me that would be a great title for a post. He even gave me some really solid ideas on what to post about. So I think that today is fitting for a glimpse into My World!

My world basically revolves around my family....My boys are constantly doing or saying something that keeps me thinking, or blushing, or pulling my hair out. I understand that it's their job to put dad into an early grave, and I have to say that normally they do a pretty good job. Now usually it's my two younger boys that come up with the questions that make you go Hmmm? (remember Arsenio?) Not today though. Today it was my 17 year old.

He and I had a discussion about this new federal law that will allow same sex couples to have the same benefits as hetero couples. It's all a crock though. It is really the federal government saying that if you are unmarried and together you can have the benefits of a married couple because they extended those same benefits to unmarried straight couples too. That's not the point of the story though.

I asked my son what he thought about it. He explained to me that he doesn't see why anybody would need to get married anymore. I felt that this was a prime opportunity for me to impart some fatherly advice on my oldest. So I asked if he thought marriage was just to get benefits. "Of course not" he said. "It's also for tax purposes." Jaw dropped. I asked him if it had anything to do with love or God? "I guess so for some people, but most people just want the perks dad." My first reaction was to tell him how wrong he was. My second reaction was to think about it before telling him how wrong he was. It forced me to take a good hard look at my own marriage. I have always believed I am in love with my wife. Not for a second did I get married to get a tax break, or better benefits. I had to be fair though and look at my relationship objectively. So I asked oldest son if he thought that was why I got married? "Don't be dumb." (aren't kids great when they are being honest?) He proceeded to tell me that he didn't know why I ever married his mom, but he was sure that's not why I married his step mom. So after controlling my laughter I pressed on.

We went through the list. My parents, his aunts, his other grandparents, even my in-laws. He told me no at every turn. That was about the time the lights clicked on for him I think. He hadn't made the remark personal enough when he made it, but after he looked at his family he realized that maybe there are some people that get married for the "right" reasons. I was pretty proud of myself and gave a mental pat on the back for my ability to guide this young mind in the right direction.

As he was getting ready to leave, I asked him if he would ever consider marrying for anything but love. As he walked out the door he told me "No way." Then about ten steps later as he was rounding the flowerbed to head to the street he turned around and said, "Well maybe if she's rich." I took the mental pat back and just shook my head. Welcome to my world........

If you happened to read my answers to the Monday Minute you will see that I answered the worst fight I had been in with a comment about a car door and my head meeting. Let me correct and say that it was a truck door, and it was in fact MY truck door.

I had a few scraps as a youngster. I didn't fight out of anger (usually). It was a matter of pride in some cases but more often than not I think we were bored. I can't remember getting really mad about anything and running into a fight. I was always of the belief that there is a time when talking won't resolve the issue. Sometimes you are gonna get your ears boxed in and the best thing you can do is be prepared for it in case it happens.

Well that situation presented itself one lovely day after school. I was approached by three guys and told that one of them had a girlfriend whom I was seeing. So many schoolyard fights are typical, they are the same setup lines and are usually just one guy (or many) wanting to pick on somebody. Now I knew this guy and I knew his ex-girlfriend, because I had gone out with her. She didn't want anything more to do with him, and I made sure I told him that in front of his two little friends. They warned me that if I was with her again, they would do "bad" things to me. I laughed and told them to do what they had to do. They didn't understand why I wasn't scared, but what they couldn't see was that I was scared. I just didn't figure to let them know how much.

Now my father always told me to know when trouble was coming. He explained to me at an early age that if somebody grabs me, I should defend myself. He also told me that if I had to fight, I should always strike first and strike hard. Needless to say I took that advice to heart. I watched the first guy come up in front of me and he started telling me that he was gonna kick my ass and blah blah blah. I told him once to back off, and it was his turn to laugh. That was when he pushed me. He didn't push me hard, he was just trying for some intimidation. My foot went back and then I was set and I punched him right in the lip. Before he could take a step back I kicked him in the knee and then I backed up waiting to see what the other two were going to do.

The tough guy was holding his lip because I got him good and he was bleeding a little bit. He was sorta hopping around on his good leg while his two friends were trying to calm him down a little bit. I decided I needed to make my bluff a little better because if the other two decided to rush me I was in for a good deal of pain. So I jumped forward and started yelling at em, "Come on!! I'll kick your ass too!!!!" They were startled and I like to think a little scared they grabbed up their buddy and left. I was pretty proud of myself that afternoon. I figured that I managed to avoid a lot of trouble with a small amount of force. The mental patting of the back happened and I went home.

As with most things as a teenager, I didn't think much about that incident, I had other things to consider. You know stuff like well....girls, sports, a big gulp from 7-11. You know important teen decisions, so that little scrap was soon forgotten well at least by me it was. That turned out to be a bad thing.

A week to the day after my run in with the 3 stooges, I was at my truck throwing all my junk in the back to go home. As I came to my door, one of those three was standing there and he told me he just wanted to talk for a second. I figured since he was alone, it would be just fine. So he tells me that his friend really likes this girl and he just wants me to back off for a little bit to give them a chance to work out their problems, and he is going on and on. I should have known I was being set up. I told him that I would ask her what she wanted to do, and if she told me to go then I would, but if not that was his friends problem. He told me something like "fair enough" and as I started to turn stooge #2 came from outside my line of sight. He basically grabbed my hair and belt loop on the run and led me straight into the door of my 1971 Ford truck. Now this is no modern fiberglass door, this is real good ol' fashioned metal. My head left a decent imprint in my door.

I've seen lots of guys get slammed into doors in movies, and usually they brush it off in a few seconds......NOT ACCURATE. I found out later I was slammed into my door 3 times but I only remember feeling the first one and it hurt! As I was falling to my knees the guy who slammed my head kicked me a couple of times then spit on me. I could have lived with the kicking and would have probably gotten over the head in the door thing, but he spit on me and that I couldn't get past.

I had a surprisingly small cut on my head from the impact, but I did have a rapidly swelling goose egg developing on my forehead. So, the guy that held my attention ran off when his buddy started slamming my head in the door. I guess he didn't want to be caught around a fight. Although in all fairness at that moment it wasn't a fight, it was a beating. I didn't do anything but take a slamming to my head and then take some kicking to boot. I guess that he figured I was all done in and said something that I couldn't really understand since my ears were ringing pretty good, and my vision was sort of hazy. I was on my knee wondering if I was going to the hospital, or if my parents were gonna be mad at me for wrecking the truck. It's funny what you think about in those moments. I couldn't remember what street I was on, but I could remember that I had dented my truck.

I tried to stand up, but my legs were still sort of jelly, so I went back to a knee to get my bearings. A girl that saw the whole thing came over and asked if I was ok. I told her I was fine, and she ran to a water fountain and wet her new headband and gave it to me. She was a volleyball player and I guess she had just gotten new sweatbands. I remember that so vividly because she made a point of telling me, "Don't worry they are brand new." I guess she figured that in my shape I would care if there was sweat mingled with cold water. I thanked her, and sort of wiped the little bit of blood off my head and left the band there to cool off my goose egg forehead. That was when that girl, bless her heart told me, "They are all standing over behind the economics building." I do appreciate a thoughtful girl. I guess she wanted to see me get my head busted in some more.

The second time I tried to stand up was much better, except for when I put my hands down, the asphalt was all crumbly and I almost fell because the piece my hand was on was separated from the road. I made it up though and that's when I looked down and saw the equalizer. That piece of blacktop that was loose from the road was sitting there looking up at me. I could tell it wanted me to take it "just in case". I grabbed up my new friend and started walking (fairly straight) towards the economics building which was only about 1/2 block away. My head was pounding something terrible and my vision was ok, but a bit hazy. If you have ever spent too much time in a swimming pool, and everything is a little big foggy that is what my vision was like.

There they were standing together talking like nothing happened. I found my attacker talking to his other two friend/accomplices. It turns out that the guy who put my head into the door was the same guy I punched. They hadn't seen me yet, so I kept walking up until I was only about 20 feet away. That was when the counter-attack began. I ran (walked fast, and unsteady) at him. He wasn't paying attention and his friends weren't looking my way. When I got to a couple of feet away one of his friends saw me and started to yell something, but that just made my guy, turn his back completely to me as he turned to look. I landed on his back with my arm across his chest and that piece of blacktop came right over the top of his head and landed with a satisfying crunch upon the bridge of his nose. Looking back it wasn't my finest hour. But I have to admit that it felt pretty good at the time.

That boy went down like a sack of potatoes. His friends stood there staring at me, as I guess I had started to bleed again. I yelled something that I don't even remember, but I'm sure it was a challenge to them, if they wanted to fight let's do it. Or some silly testosterone induced comment. Their response was to stand and stare at me. I don't think they could believe I got back up from the slam to the door. My head was still throbbing and I needed to get out of there. So I told them anytime they wanted to pick this up we could do it.

Well the damage to my door was $75.00. My damage was a mild concussion and a slight cut over my left eyebrow. The other fellow didn't fair as well as me. His damage was 4 stitches to the bridge of his nose. He was questioned by a teacher and then the vice principle when he showed up with stitches and told them that he had an accident on his motorcycle. The girl who offered up her headband to me, told somebody in authority what had happened, but she didn't say who did it. I told them the same thing, that I didn't know who did it. I was asked if I was ok and sent home. The guy that wanted me to leave his girlfriend alone was never involved in either of the incidents. He stayed conveniently in the background throughout it all.

Years later, I served in the military with one of those guys, and we had a good laugh about it. He apologized for setting me up for his buddy. I told him not to worry about it and it was water under the bridge. He sure did enjoy telling that story at the enlisted club. "You should have seen this guy he was nuts, blood running down his face, big ol' knot sticking out of his forehead and here he comes with a chunk of asphalt in his hand! He took Tommy down with one swipe and we were scared shit less. He's crazy, but I'm glad he's on my side." All in all it was ok, because it gave me a little status as that crazy redneck.

So the next time you see a guy get slammed into the car door in a movie and he pops back up to beat the bad guys, just remember that's just not gonna happen. I've had a few scraps and that is one of the worst I encountered. There are others, and one day I might even share another of them.

I enjoyed talking about my little baseball adventure even if I didn't get much enjoyment out of the jerks that I ended up discussing. That said it put me on the path to thinking about some of the things I have dealt with in my life, sports and otherwise.

When I was in 7th grade I had meningitis. It was bacterial and they were unsure if I would live through the ordeal. I lost 40 pounds and missed most of my 7th grade year. To say that it was a scary time in my life would be a lie. I was oblivious to the danger associated with this illness. I was a kid and my thoughts were limited to when I would see my friends again, when I would have to go to class again and more importantly when I would be able to play sports again.

After a lengthy stay in the hospital (weeks) I was finally told that I was on the road to recovery and could go home. My parents were I'm sure happier than I was. They would no longer have to take turns at the hospital watching over me day and night. Yeah my parents didn't go home together...ever. There was always one or the other of them either in my room or in the waiting room. They wouldn't let them sleep in my room, so the waiting room became a temporary bedroom for one of the two. I believe more often than not it was my father. My mom still had two other kids to get ready for school and all the other things that a housewife was expected to do. It was a different time and roles were far more defined than they are now. I don't know if that is better or worse, but it sure made it much easier for a husband and wife to know what was expected.

So I get home and I am unable to walk. Weeks in a hospital bed fighting for my life had left me with not much in the way of muscle mass. I had shrunk from 110 lbs to around 70 lbs. I am a big boned person, and for that matter I was a rather big boned kid. Never tall but what they would usually call husky. I didn't know fat till I was an adult (or at least late teen). I was able to hide the fact that I was so thin by wearing sweaters if I had to. Without a shirt though I look emaciated. There is no better way to describe the skeleton that was me without a shirt to hide my ribs.

I had to learn how to walk again. I developed strength in my arms fairly fast, but I had no coordination and my brain didn't tell my legs to work the way they should. I became a monkey of sorts, simply dragging myself from couch to chair to table to get around the family room and kitchen. It wasn't through any great will power on my part to be able to walk again except for the promise that my father made to me. I once asked when I got home if I would be able to play football next season. His answer was simple, if I could run and do all the things every other kid my age was able to do AND if the doctor said it was ok he would allow it. My father told me later that there was no way he was going to let me play football after all that they had been through with me. I accepted the answer and began my own private rehab. I would sit on my bed at night and stand myself up. Sit back down. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Thousands of times I did that just to get some strength in my legs. It worked fairly well, and soon I was able to get to the bathroom without hollering for someone to bring me in there (now that is freedom).

A home tutor was brought into my house and I began my schooling once again. Mrs. Moreno was my teacher and she was an angel in disguise. She gave me no pity, and didn't accept my BS excuses for not getting something done. She told me that I could do it or give up. It didn't matter to her because she was paid all the same. If I wanted to quit that was fine with her, she didn't expect much more out of a boy anyway. Well that was all I needed as far as motivation went. She pushed exactly the right buttons to make me want to excel. Not just because I wanted to get better, but I wanted to prove to her that I was no quitter. I struggled daily with the lessons, and she was there to offer help when she knew I was in over my head. She quietly helped me through the hardest hurdle in my young life.

Walking was pretty normal now and I was able to visit friends, well they were able to visit me. I wasn't let out of my parents sight for more than a few minutes at a time unless I was in "class". Eventually I was allowed to get out in the front yard and not long after I was playing catch with a friend, and then me and my dad were playing catch again. That in itself was one of the most awesome feelings in my life. The first time my dad heard me ask if he wanted to have a catch he told me that it might not be a good idea yet. I explained to him that I had been playing catch for a couple weeks and thought he might want to join in finally. Reluctantly he accepted and the smile on his face the first time I threw the ball back was from ear to ear. It didn't take but a couple of days of this before we were playing burnout again (throw it back and forth as hard as you can till somebody drops it).

In no time I was back at school to finish up the 7th grade. I got to be involved in the last quarter of the year. I might add that I had 4 F's a D and an A that quarter. My wonderful home teacher had begun teaching me from the wrong place in our books and I was completely lost. I didn't care though I was just happy to be back in school. I should also explain that my one A was in Physical Education. I was able to play all the sports that everybody else did and I promise I was dressed out for P.E. every day.

Summer came and we were pretty much back to normal. I got tired sometimes but not enough to notice. I was also still doing my silly stand up sit down exercise, but now I was doing it from the ground. I also added a jump to it. I would sit on the ground and then stand up, jump as high as I could and then sit back down. Over and over again I did these in the bedroom before bed. It was my one way to exercise in private without anybody knowing I was doing it. I wanted to be ready to try out for football and this was something to help or so I thought.

With a month of Summer left, football sign ups came. I asked my father if I could try out and his response was NO! I called him a liar and ran out of the house. Did I mention I ran out of the house? He chased after me and yelled for me to come back. I would have no part of that. I ran out of the cul de sac and down the street, with my father trying to catch up. After about 3 blocks I got tired and started walking. I turned around and my father wasn't following anymore. I figured I had a little time before he caught up so I wasn't too concerned. I was just mad that he didn't do like he said. Not more than a couple of minutes later there was my dad in the car telling me to get in. I didn't say a word I just climbed in. We drove straight to the family doctor (yeah there used to be those guys back then). He gave me a physical and told my dad that I was as healthy as you could hope for. The next Saturday I was signed up for football.

I was scared during those first weeks of tryouts. What if I couldn't keep up? What if my coordination wasn't back? What if I just wasn't good enough anymore? I made the team, and was put on second string. Now normally I would have been pretty upset by that. I had always been a starter before this, but figured that maybe I had lost a step since I was so sick all that time. It didn't take long for the coaches to see that I was still the same player I always was. I was moved up to first string before the first scrimmage and there I stayed.

The first game is the only one I can remember from that season. I was petrified. I hadn't been face to face with another team since before I was sick. All those doubts came back to me in a flash. What if was everywhere. Our coach huddled us up and told us all the normal pre game garbage. Pumping us up and getting our blood boiling. We all broke out of the huddle in a frenzy ready to kill anything and everything. My coach grabbed me and took me to the side. He explained to me that I shouldn't be nervous. I didn't know it showed, but he obviously saw it. He told me I was ready, slapped me on the helmet and let me go back to the team. We were on defense first and I was out there with em. My blood pressure had to be reaching stroke level by this time. I made my first tackle and everything was ok after that. I was calm and back in my element. The game went by fairly smoothly for the first half. The second half came and one of the coaches told me I looked tired so he was taking me out. The head coach would have none of it. He told me if I was tired to get off his field. I told coach I wasn't tired and wanted back in there. That's all he wanted to hear. Out I went ready to prove it. First play and they tried to pass it. I was a short guy back then, and most quarterbacks tried their luck against me. They didn't figure I was fast enough or tall enough to intercept their passes.....WRONG! I interecepted the ball and ran back about 30 yards before I was tackled. That was the icing on the cake for me. We won by a ton that game, but I don't even remember the score.

At then end of the season we were at our party to see who would get the awards for best offensive and defensive players. Top rusher and all that good stuff. Coach came out and told us that he had a special one to present. He called me up front and gave me a plaque that was presented to The Comeback Kid....I received the most inspirational player award that day. No award before or since has meant more to me than that one. He told all the parents and players that day that he was inspired by a 7th grader who gave everything he had to be a part of this team. I was embarrassed by all of the goo he was slinging, but I walked away with my award and my head was held pretty high. Nothing is impossible if you believe enough...There is always Hope.....

I guess that I grew up a child of the 70's. Although I was born in the 60's my childhood until teen years was spent in the 70's. I have so many great memories of playing sports, riding bikes, catching pollywogs at the pond. We would get the wrist rocket (slingshot) and go out shooting cans. There were the occasions with the bb guns as well. All in all we had a great time. In my town there wasn't a great fear of many things happening. No worrying about the crazy guy in the van stealing kids, or gangs. We worried about getting sick sometimes when a bad flu season came, but other than that life was pretty simple.

My first big baseball game was in 1977. I was in the Little League City Championship. This was my first year in little league. Back in those days you played tee ball through 8 years old. Then you would try out for Little League. If you were good enough at 10 you could play major league. If you weren't you played minor league. ALL 9 year olds played minor league. It gave them a chance to learn the fundamentals of the game, and to grow up a little bit and see how the game is really played when not using a tee.

Now everybody on our team was not 9 years old. There were some 10, 11, and even one 12 year old. The important thing was they played at the same level as us 9 year olds. It wasn't a matter of holding someone back to win the minor league games, because kids our age wanted to be in the major league. They wanted to hang out with their other friends that were also on a major league team. So here we were a group of 12 kids. I was the smallest, but I understood the game fairly well. Unfortunately one thing that hasn't changed is the smallest kid usually ends up in right field. Let me correct that statement. The smallest, worst or second left hander on the team. The bigger left hander would be the first baseman. I had two strikes against me. I was the smallest and the second left hander. I didn't care though I loved the game and would play anywhere the put me WITHOUT an argument.

So there I was playing my heart out. Surprisingly enough a good amount of action happens in right field when you are in minor leagues. A lot of the players swing late and hit quite a few balls onto the right side of the field. Needless to say with two good teams we had a busy day in the outfield on both sides.

My coach was a fair man. His name was Harry and his assistant was named Mike. They were both HUGE men. Not just to a kid either. Harry was 6'3" and Mike was 6'4". They both had a number of years playing and coaching baseball and we listened to every word they said. The equalizer on our team was a 10 year old named Brian. He could hit.....HARD! So many homeruns it was crazy. We loved having him on the team and he was a humble kid with a good bat, and even though his glove was only passing good, it was good enough.

So the rules say that every kid plays a minimum of 2 innings in the field and one at bat. I had 4 innings in right field and I must say I had a good day. Two base hits, and I caught a few fly balls and even threw a kid out at second base. The coach told me that I had to stay in the next inning because we had two other kids that needed to play. I was a bit upset but that was the rule and I didn't question coach.

The next inning comes and goes with no damage. 3 up 3 down on both sides of the field. This sets up the last inning and we are in the lead by 1. 6-5 and they have a runner on first. The next kid hits a ball to third base and our player bobbles it. Two kids on base and the next kid up hits a HIGH fly ball to guess where......Right field.....The new right fielder backs up and gets under it just like we had been taught all year long. We are all on our feet, and it's so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I think that our whole bench was holding their breath. He's under it and has his glove open to receive it. One hand under the glove to "guide it in. That's when the ball hits the palm of his glove and he drops it. By the time that poor kid picks up the ball and throws it in the batter had scored an in the park home run. We are now losing by 2 runs. We pat him on the back and tell him don't worry we will get it back.

The bottom of the inning and we get a runner on 1st. The next pitch and he steals 2nd. The batter hits a high fly ball to right field (told you there was action out there). The right fielder catches it and our runner gets to 3rd. That brings up the power hitter. He hits a hard grounder right to the short stop. Our runner jumps off the base and makes the short stop hold the ball so our batter can make it to first. Two runners on base and who comes up to bat? Yep the right fielder. It's only one out so we figure that the worst thing that could happen is he will get out and we have one more chance. First pitch he hits a slow ball to the pitcher who throws to 2nd and then to 1st for the only double play of the game. We lost 8-6.

Do you know what happened after the game to that kid? He went to the pizza party with us and we had a great time. We laughed about the season and all the silly things that happened. There wasn't a cuss word spoken on the field. My parents were out there just like everybody else's parents to hug us and embarass us telling us how wonderful we did.

Funny thing, my life didn't end because I wasn't out in right field to catch that ball. I wasn't up to bat to make a base hit and be the hero. Who knows maybe I would have dropped that ball too (NOT). I coulda struck out or hit into a double play as well(NOT AGAIN). I'll never know, but he made it through all of that as well. Nobody beat him up, he wasn't shunned at school, his parents didn't embarass him by shouting what a loser he was on the field. We just accepted it as part of the game.

I watch a good deal of baseball nowadays. I see coaches cheating to get certain players on the team. I watch parents lie about their childs age so he can get one more year at the younger age group and be the hero. I listen to parents criticize their child on the field, as well as someone else's child. The fact that a child makes a mistake is not acceptable any more. We don't allow our children to learn from those childhood errors. We want them to grow up now. We want them to be just little adults even when they are 10 years old.

I spoke with a friend of mine this weekend. He told me that a sponsor pulled out because they didn't feel they were getting the proper exposure because the team wasn't very good. Are you serious???? These are children. They aren't out there to offer exposure to a business. They are out there to learn how to play a game, but more important than that they are going to take the lessons learned on the field and apply them to the rest of their lives. So parents/coaches remember that when you are teaching your kids how to play. Remember that play is part of the game. It's not all work. It's not all about success either. We learn far more from the hard losses than the easy wins.

It's a sign of the times, that people are moving too fast now. They want to get their kids grown up and out of the house, moving towards their careers before they are teenagers. Here's an idea, let your kid be a kid. Let them experience all the great things that kids are supposed to experience. They will have plenty of time to experience all the crap of adulthood.

So sign your kids up for youth sports and support your local teams. Cheer em on, but don't put em down. Our kids need us to show them how good it CAN be. On a side note, the business that pulled out of sponsorship received such a backlash from a portion of the community that they jumped right back in. I promise you that regardless I won't do business there ever again. They have shown their true colors and that's enough for me. I should also make note that those parents that got together to offer their time and money to cover the expense of sponsorship should be commended. Many of them didn't have the money to do it, but they wanted their children to have that opportunity. Kudos to you!

There were two daughters, separated by 3 years. They grew up moving around a little bit. Never in the same place all that long. Maybe not moving out of town, but house to house was the order of the day. It didn't seem to hurt the children on the outside, but on the inside where it mattered there were changes. Those girls learned to never make really good friends, because after all they would just move away and that hurt too much. So their childhood was spent entertaining each other more than other children. you would think that these 2 sisters would be thicker than thieves.

The teen years hit, and of course things changed a little bit. One was a teen the other still pre and everybody knows that puberty does some funny things to the mind (as well as the body). The girls would still hang out, but maybe not so much as before. The oldest had discovered boys, and that opened a whole new world. Her dad was too busy making a living to pay all that much attention to what the girls did. he was usually only around on the weekends. They found out later, that making a living wasn't necessarily working, he had other "interests" that didn't include making money. They did include other women though.

Their mom tried in the best way she could to make a normal home for the girls, but she was ill-equipped to handle anything that required that much emotional involvement. It seems the whole family had a pretty huge emotional detachment. The girls continued to grow up learning to be cordial without getting attached. Eventually both girls were teens and that's where the headaches began.

The youngest of them thought that boys were just objects to be used for whatever she could make them do. She was a pretty girl, and when she wanted to she could be oh so sweet. Not many would guess that she was a borderline sociopath. This girl was basically without conscience. The oldest tried harder to be the kind of person she thought was expected. besides that she wanted so much to be praised by her parents. She did well in school, never got in trouble, and did her chores. Funny thing, how parents are automatically drawn to the troublemakers, they think they need to fix what's wrong. They don't understand that sometimes, all they need to do is pay some more attention to their child. That younger daughter was making waves, not big ones, just enough to get her on the radar with her parents. She figured out that the best way to get attention from them was to get into a little bit of trouble. Then they would come running in to try and fix the problem.

A few more years ran by and the older girl was in a relationship. She was serious about this, or so she thought. Soon to be a senior in high school, she looked forward to being with him. He had defended her against everybody and everything that stood in front of her. For the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to have somebody love her unconditionally. It scared her though, because deep down she knew this couldn't last. She had learned that lesson a long time ago. As soon as you start to really care about somebody, that was when everything went bad and either they would move or the object of her affection would. Sure enough her father came home one afternoon, just as summer vacation had started. "We are moving." It turns out that he had a chance to buy a business and they just couldn't pass up the opportunity. Once again her theory was proven correct. Fall in love and get hurt. What was the point really.

She knew she had to tell her boyfriend the bad news. He took it in stride, never complained or got bitter that she could see. She just figured he was already figuring other girls he could get. So they enjoyed their summer, but she always remembered that it would be only a matter of weeks until her life would have to start over yet again. The hot months flew by, and they had a great time. He had graduated that year, and although he worked much of the time he would always find time to get to her house, or write her a letter (that's when people write down words on paper). Before she knew it August was over. Summer had come to and end.

The family moved about 3 1/2 hours away. The boyfriend helped move them into the new house, and told her that he would visit often. She knew he was just being nice. After all how could he drive 3 1/2 hours that often while he was working. Plus she had one more year of school. Things couldn't look worse for her. She hated her family, she hated her life, and she hated her boyfriend for trying to be nice. She wanted everybody and everything to go away. So many times she had secretly wished that she was brave enough to just end it all. She realized that she didn't have that courage to take her life though. She was resigned to the fact that she would have to endure yet another new town, and another new school. Somehow she would have to find people to at least hang around with for the year. After all she would be a senior and she was coming into a school where everybody had known each other for at least 6 years, and in many cases much longer. She knew that this would be a year to forget. Why couldn't her dad just find work in town, and she could try to be normal and get to be with her friends for her last year of high school. She thought him a bastard, but just as quickly was guilty for thinking such a thing. She loved him so much that she didn't say a word. She was convinced that Dad was doing this for the family. She didn't realize at that young age that her dad was indeed a bastard. He was selfish and narrow minded. He destroyed his children's youth for his gain, and thought nothing of it.


To be continued..............

The last few days I've been a little on the serious side of things. I have had too much "real life" running through my mind. I decided that since today was the end of the work week (in theory) I would post a little story about my first encounter with too much alcohol. It was actually the first time I got drunk away from a family function where I could just hide from my parents and go to bed early without them realizing it (yeah we Italians and our wine).

I was 14 years old and it was Summer vacation. I was enjoying my vacation except for the fact that this girl I knew was moving away. She was friends with one of our neighbors and happened to be hanging out down there with him on her last night in town. I had a bit of a crush on her, but I didn't realize that she was out of my league at the time (she was 16 and had a drivers license). I walked down the street and there they were sitting out in front just chatting, but it was obvious that they were not interested in company at the time. I spoke a few akward words with them and left. I decided to visit another friend that was just up the street and only a few minutes further.

I got to my friend Jeff's house and he was outside as well (funny how so many of us actually just hung out in the yard before all those video games). We played some catch and were just talking like teenage boys do. He brought up the fact that his mom was asleep because she had to work early the next day and maybe we could sneak out some of her booze from the liquor cabinet. I had never drank hard liquor just wine and a beer so I was all for it. He snuck in the house and came back a few minutes later with a mason jar full of clear liquid. He told me to hang on and ran back in. A few minutes later he was back with 2 bowls of ice cream. He explained that his brother told him that milk would coat our stomachs and we wouldn't get sick if we ate the ice cream first.

So a bowl of ice cream and some tortilla chips and then we were drinking from the jar. Well the jar went pretty fast and then he was back in the house. He came back with another jar filled with a brown liquid. This one tasted much stronger than the first. I came to find out it was bacardi (thankfully not 151). We shined that off in record time and he went back for another. Time passed and he wasn't back yet. I started to worry that he had been caught. About that time he showed back up with one more jar full and it was the original stuff that was clear. That was vodka and it went down pretty smooth considering I was 14 and had no experience to base it on. Three down and I was feeling a little bit silly (actually more than a little). He sort of ran back in the house and came back with a bottle that was labeled Kahlua. He explained that any more booze out of the bottles and somebody would know. I sort of figured they were gonna know anyway. We went ahead and drank this stuff and it was gross, gross, gross. I was a little bit dizzy and told him I better get going home.

So began my trip to the house. I was about 1/2 mile from my goal. The trip started off smoothly enough. I was stumbling a little bit, but not all that much. I could see clearly for the most part and figured I had this licked. That all changed when I came around the last corner and started the straightaway to my house. I didn't quite make the turn and slipped to the curb. I remember getting up and stumbling into a parked car and falling again. This time I think they were bushes that I landed in after bouncing off the car. About that time the girl that I had the sort of crush on and her "friend" came up and asked if I was ok. Well I don't really remember what the words were that came out of my mouth, but they must have figured they meant no.

It turns out that I was on the lawn of family friends. The father came out and saw that I was pretty lit. He stood me up and I started to voice my objections by throwing up all over this guy's clothes. I should mention that Steve is a former vietnam Marine. He is very nice if he likes you, and not so much if he doesn't. He is also not so nice when you vomit on him. He dropped me rather uncerimoniously and went back in the house. A few minutes later my mom was standing over me and was speaking to me in some foreign language. I mumbled something and she became angry. I never was told exactly what I said, but it's been a rare occasion to see my mom that pissed at any comment her son made.

I next remember being brought into our "friends" house and that is where the fun began. I belive that I vomitted on the couch, the floor, the aquarium (yeah poor fish), the shower, and the extra bedroom where I spent my night. Bright and early the next morning my father was there to bring me home. Not a word was said, but he informed me that I was still drunk. I was put into our swimming pool to "sober" me up. So he basically allowed me to be awake and drunk. Later that day I was forced to go to my all star tryouts and was then grounded for the duration of my Summer.

While I admit it wasn't my proudest moment, it was a definite learning experience. Especially after I had to go back down to all those houses in that cul de sac and apologize to the people for being an ass (drunk). The positive aspect of this story.....I was able to give my friends something to tease me about to this very day. The negative. To this day I can't drink Kahlua. Jose Cuervo wasn't really much of a friend that night after all....

There is a man I know. We are going to call him Manny for the sake of this post. Manny grew up in a rather large household. Now Manny had a household full of brothers and sisters, and most of them were busy getting into trouble of one type or another. They didn't excel in school, and for that matter didn't excel in social settings. The family was a bit dysfunctional (more than a bit). The one bright spot for Manny was sports.

He could play any game that involved a ball and coordination. A naturally talented athlete, with an uncanny ability to win. He found the weakness in his opponent and exploited it. One of the best baseball players I've ever seen. Never played at a professional level, but I'm quite sure that if things were a little different in his personal life he could have and he would have succeeded. He was a great football player, and basketball player as well. I got him a little bit involved in tennis when I was in high school. I had been playing competitively for about 3 years when Manny and I started playing. Within 3 weeks he was keeping up with me. Nothing can take the ego away like that.

When Manny played baseball he had no fans in the stands. His parents didn't go to his games, and they didn't take him to his practice. He would ride his bike across town to practice. Never confiding in his coach that he didn't have a ride to or from. He was driven when he was on the field though. Singular in his goal, and he couldn't be swayed. Nothing rattled this guy when he was competing.

After graduation Manny got involved with a girl. This was only his second serious relationship. This turned out to be his wife. Now Manny wanted kids, but his wife wasn't a big fan of having a bunch of children. They ended up having one son. The greatest day in Manny's life was when his son was born. All those things his parents never did for him he would do for his own son. He saw immediately that the boy was going to be an athlete. Hitting baseballs at age 4 and fielding grounders at age 5 he was well on his way.

The big problem for Manny was his temper. He could maintain it on the field (usually). He yelled and argued on the field, but that was more to irritate and throw the other team off balance. Now as the parent of a player, he had to check his comments more often. Unfortunately he didn't. I used to think that he was trying to relive his youth through his son. As it turns out, he wasn't. He didn't believe for one minute that anybody should take advantage of his child, and he was going to do everything in his power to protect him. He still found himself looking like a fool on a few occasions because he couldn't control that temper (or that mouth).

Manny's son is graduating this year. This will be the boys last year as a ball player. Manny had high hopes for him, as he is truly a gifted athlete and deserves the playing time, that by the way he is being denied. Politics in sports is a sad thing and the kids don't deserve some of the treatment that comes from it.

Recently Manny opened his mouth again and went off the deep end. His son wasn't there to witness it, but some of the other kids heard and told the boy what was said.
Now more fences need to be mended. His son finally understands that his dad loves him and only wants to help and protect him. But Manny has had to take a few days to gather his wits about him and try to undo the damage he feels that he has done.

I'm here to tell you that anybody who will put himself in harms way to protect his child is a great parent. We all go about it different and some of us have better results than others. It doesn't matter though, because that is our job. Manny did his job, just not in the way that many of us have done ours.

So to you Manny I want to say I think you are one hell of a dad. I know that one day you are going to look back at some of your blunders and realize that maybe it wasn't the best way to handle things, but the important thing was you tried. You have raised a great kid, and half of that is your doing. Don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise. I'm sorry that you are having those doubts, but you did right my friend.

Your boy will appreciate all you have done even more as he gets older and has a family of his own. So take heart Manny...You did right....

There have been a number of posts on here where I've spoken fondly of my childhood. I enjoyed growing up in many ways. I'm not going to say it was perfect, because we all know that it's just not the reality of most childhoods. There are ups and downs that go with any growth. It's never going to be a completely painless process.

While I had a great family unit, that doesn't mean that we had all the material things that make life easier. When I was pretty young, maybe 8 or 9 my dad still had the old manual lawn mower. Now if I got in trouble I would have to mow the lawn with that dang thing. It's not the easiest piece of equipment to push I can tell you that. For those of you that don't know the old reel mowers that were manual were people powered. In other words the faster you pushed the faster the reel turned and cut the grass. If you were lucky you had a really sharp blade. If you were unlucky then it was dull (my dad kept it dull if I was going to mow). We had a dishwasher, her name was Dee and she was my sister, and sometimes it was another guy named (yep you guessed it). We washed the dishes after dinner. Pick up your room or don't have anything was pretty much the mantra around our house.

The point is we did without lots of things that weren't essential. Not just dishwashers and lawn mowers either. We got school clothes once a year and they better last or you would have patches on your pants. For little boys that wasn't a big deal compared to little girls. My sister never said much about it, but looking back I think it bothered her. I know that it bothered my mom, but you do with what you have right?

We were never hungry and we were never meant to feel anything but loved though, and that is something more important than any RC car or video game they could have found for us.

With that type of background I can't understand for the life of me why I have chosen to live as I did for so long. When I was a bit younger and struggling as many young couples do, I would never tell my mom and dad how bad it was. I always made sure we had food on the table, but that doesn't mean that we always had other things that might make life bearable. You know little things, like a phone, or in a few cases power. I'm not saying we lived like cave dwellers. But there were a few occassions when the power was shut off because we just didn't have the money. I was too proud to ask for help from my parents. At the time I chose to put my family through those trials because of Pride or maybe a little shame.

Funny thing was that even though I never admitted to my parents when we were in these situations, they could tell. Maybe the stress on my face sometimes, or maybe my wife said something to them. Regardless of the why I can still remember my mom calling me (yeah we had a phone most of the time) and telling me that she was clearing out the cupboard and had some things that she thought maybe I would want. If not she would just give them to my brother. I would go and get what was basically a care package from mom. She did it in a way to make me not feel like I was taking charity. It's amazing what parents will do to save their kids a little discomfort.

Time moved on and things obviously improved. I have managed to make it out of all that gunk that was basically growing up. I learned a few valuable lessons along the way too. First of all, Top Ramen is indeed the most versatile food ever invented. I'm a Ramen pro and can make at least 2 dozen dishes using it as the main ingredient (look out Iron Chef). Second, if you are in trouble don't be too damned proud to ask for help as long as you realize that it's a temporary thing, and only requires temporary help. Do for yourself when you can. Thrid and most important is I realized that my crappy way of dealing with this was to hide it away from those that cared about me the most. They wanted to help, but because they didn't want to hurt my pride either they didn't step in. Ha ha I guess that makes them enablers... Regardless the lesson to be learned is never be afraid to step out there and ask for help if you really need it. Pride is a dangerous thing. It does far more damage than good in my opinion. It goes both ways, don't assume that somebody doesn't need help just because they won't ask for it. Pride be damned. Offer assistance if someone near and dear to you is in need. Don't be too afraid of hurting the ego of those you love. They will understand eventually that you are only hoping to lend a helping hand.

Pride, Ego and Shame...Three of the worst things in the world sometimes. They are also the three things that taught me the best life lessons I could learn.

Ok, I'm done preaching, so now go back to looking at those really cool pictures from Santa Barbara :)

He lived in an abusive household. His mom was strung out on dope and his dad, well he didn't know his dad. The guy that shared the house with his mom beat him up from time to time. Most of the beating went to his younger brother. I can't imagine the life they led for the first 9 years of his life. They had no power sometimes, often cooking off of a camping range in the kitchen with cans of sterno cooking fuel. The meals consisting mostly of ramen noodles and cool aid. The house was dirty all the time and his mom was stoned and the "father" was just mean.

He came to our house at the age of 11. He was quiet and a complete introvert by this time. My wife and I felt that we had to help this kid out. We couldn't handle all three of the children, but we felt that surely one more would be ok. He didn't want to talk about anything, especially to me. I was a man so that meant that I was probably mean and nasty like the last man he knew. He was much closer to his aunt. She had been around him when he was a baby, back before it was totally terrible at that house. She was only 10 years older than him, so there was a closer bond than between he and I. I figured he could use some team activities to get him to connect with some other kids so we signed him up for baseball. I was coaching and figured this might be a good way for us to bond. We had a great season and he really took to baseball. We won our city championship that year for the minor leagues and you couldn't have asked for a better ending. He hit a single that scored the go ahead run. I felt that maybe we had made some progress.

After baseball it was cubscouts, but that didn't work so well for him. We then tried bowling. That was a hit and he did better than average at that as well. The kid is a fairly decent athlete. He just had zero self confidence. We worked on that and tried to keep him active and connected. It seemed to work for a while. There were a few calls from school, but for the most part he did his work and everything was going ok.

The teen years came and he became a little bit rebellious. He wanted to live with his grandparents. My wife and I didn't like that idea, but we figure that maybe it could be good. It turned out to be a bad thing. There was no discipline in that house. They pretty much let him do as he wished. Stay up late, pretend he was sick and stay home. Don't bother finishing homework, no problem he wouldn't get in trouble for that.

It lasted his sophmore year and then he wanted to come back. There were other things that led him to going to his grandparents. He and my wife fought often ( they were almost like siblings). It was becoming a real problem for her especially with our small child. We didn't feel that it was healthy for him to see all the conflict going on. But I was promised that things would be different. Things had changed and he was going to walk the straight and narrow. It lasted for a while. Don't get me wrong there were little hiccups in the road. He got drunk one night with some friends (I wish I only did that once as a teen). Regardless of all the little and sometimes not so little stuff. We got him through high school. The one other thing he had developed on his own was a love for the guitar and I must say he's good.

So high school is over and he finds a little job, telling us that he didn't really see college in his future. I explained that I understood, but some form of higher learnig could only do good for him. He decided against it and at 19 he was out on his own, with a couple of friends. They had jobs and were renting a house together. I was happy for him, and felt that considering his start he was gonna be ok.

He lost his job and mooched off his friends for a while. Couldn't find another job (I know it's hard) and ended up moving to another town with some other friends to look there. Got in a little trouble and came back to town and here he is again.

I must say that I feel the failure. I honestly thought that he had a shot, but I can't put the drive and determination into him. I have come to the realization that he thinks the world owes him something. And while deep down inside I might agree, because nobody deserves the hand he was dealt. I also get angry, because not everybody gets the second chance he got.

My obligation to him ended when I saw him through high school healthy and graduated. I feel now that his obligation is to me. He needs to show me that he learned something from his 8 years with this family. We are far from perfect, but we did everything we could to help him become a young adult with some hope for the future. I might have failed him at some level by not being there everytime, but he has failed me by not being determined and driven.

It's a sad time for me, but I have come to the conclusion that there isn't much else I can do. He has a little time left and he will have to find other ways besides my wife and I for his living arrangements. He is like a son to me in many regards, but he has never shown me that level of respect that my other children do. I am hoping that he clears his head and realizes that we are here for support not To support him.

Family is great and the most important thing in my life, but sometimes it just hurts too damned much....

Well I'm a little conflicted. After I graduated High School, I worked for about a year and decided that if I wasn't going to college I better figure out what I was gonna do.

Enter the Marine Corps. A friend of mine had joined right out of school, and he asked me if I would mind talking to the recruiter. I figured what do I have to lose, so I had them come on over and the recruiter gave me his pitch. It sounded pretty good. I was being told about the reserves and according to the recruiter I would get my schooling paid for, and I could get a loan for a house, and all sorts of other cool stuff after I did my time. Needless to say my parents were pretty against the whole idea. They were aware that we had not had a war in some time, and we were overdue for some sort of conflict. I figured I knew better and at least it was a direction so I signed up for a 6x2 contract (6 years of active some of it reserve and 2 years of inactive reserve).

Boot Camp was 13 weeks long. This was in 1986 and they were just getting away from the whole physical approach to boot camp. In other words, Drill Instructors weren't supposed to hit recruits, but it still happened. I was not even remotely ready for boot camp. They screamed and hollered at us from the time we got off the bus. If I got 4 hours of sleep in any given night it was a blessing. I went to boot camp at 5'10" and 181 lbs. I left boot camp at 5'11" 161 lbs. I was lean, mean and ready to kill anything I was told to kill. They seriously brainwash you while you are in boot camp. Don't get me wrong, it is absolutely necessary. You have to be broken down to be built back up. I went in a confused unruly teen, and came out a lean single minded, focused Marine. I learned skills in a number of different fields (not all of them were related to killing). Close order drills, a great deal of military history, communications. The most important thing I learned in the USMC was how to work as a team. I learned what it means to be a part of something bigger than myself. To be counted on and to count on someone else for my very life.

My reserve time ended up being less than I had expected. I was sent to school immediately after boot camp. My school was a bit on the technical side. I was involved in a form of High Frequency communications. The school was in the middle of the desert and it lasted a total of 13 months. I went from 29 palms to Yuma, AZ. Desert to Desert so it was no big deal acclimating. I spent a short time there and then was sent to North Carolina. Now that was some culture shock. From dry and extremely hot, to humid and moderately hot. By the way I will take the desert and scorpions over that jungle heat and ticks. I left Cherry Point after a fairly brief stay (about 6 months) and ended up in my reserve base in Fresno. I was thinking to myself "OK let the reserve time begin". Unfortunately it was the beginning of Desert Shield, and our unit was activated. So I go shipped right back to Yuma AZ, and then guess where? Yep Cherry Point. It turned out that we were just cycling around the bases and covering for those troops that were already in country.

Six years went by fairly fast and I got out of the military. My parents were happy that I was not shot or stabbed or blown up (although my little brother was hoping I would have a battle scar). I am to this day sure of the fact that this was the reason I grew up. The military gave me direction when I had none.

Fast Forward to now. My 17 year old son has told me that he wishes to speak with the Marine recruiter about possibly joining the military. Now it's my turn to be on the parent end of things. i find that I much prefer when the decision is in my hands. I am scared to death that my child would consider joining the military. I dread the idea of him being shipped off to some foreign land and possibly being injured or killed in the name of freedom.

I say this, and at the same time I am so proud of my son for considering it, that I am almost brought to tears. This is the first time that he has come to me about something that could profoundly impact his life. He has thought about this more than I imagined. He has even given me some of his reasons why he has considered this path. I still have more talking to do with him and the recruiter before he will get my blessing.

As much as I want to tell him that this is the worst thing he can do. I don't want to lie to him. This very well might be the best thing for him, and I feel like I do him a great disservice by misleading him that way. My Mother and Father (and Sister) tell me I should try my best to talk him out of it. I just don't know that I will. I'm going to hear him out and I am going to give him the honest truth about my experience in the USMC.

Being a parent is one of the greatest things to ever happen to me, but I have to say I wish that this was one of those times I didn't have to make the grown up decision...

So this morning my middle son Cameron is complaining to my wife that his leg hurts. It's not that uncommon for somebody to have some sort of ailment prior to school. (somebody always trying to work their way out of going to school.) My wife told him that maybe he was having some growing pains. He agreed that it was possible and went about his morning routine of getting dressed and combing his hair.

Now Cameron is 11 and he is a bit (quite a bit) small for his age. He has been irritated about it at different times in his life. Mostly because my oldest son Andrew is pretty big for his age. Andrew just turned 17 and he is about 6'4" and about 215 lbs. So Cameron has always asked why he can't be as big as his brother. I told him that everybody grows at their own pace, and he should just give it a bit of time and things will be fine. After all I didn't grow much till the summer before my junior year in high school. I left my sophomore year at 5'2" and came back a junior at 5'9".

Fortunately for Cameron his height is one of the few places that he doesn't excel. He is one of the smartest children I have encountered. Now I know that all parents like to dote on their children and what they accomplish, but with Cameron it's just true. He has been reading since he was about 3 1/2. He was already adding and reading in preschool. He won the spelling bee in 2nd grade and now in the 6th grade, he reads at about 11th grade level. He reads the newspaper and likes to argue politics with his father (sometimes quite effectively). He can sing really well, he is a bowler, and generally whatever he decides to try, he does. Unfortunately for him, he has a bit of a temper for a nerd. Kids have teased him from time to time in school, and found out rather quickly that this is one nerd that can and will fight back (did I mention he watches a lot of MMA fighting). So the occasional suspension has been encountered by us in his short tenure at school.

Lately he has encountered a bully at school, and this is one of those times that he has been a little unsure how to handle it. I have always told him to try and handle problems without violence, but I remember school, and how hateful kids can be when they want to. I've told him over and over to try talking first, but sooner or later there will come a time when talking is pointless. Some kids (and adults) don't understand dialogue. When that time comes strike first and strike hard. He knows that I will back him up to the hilt. I'll be in the principals office with the familiar argument. "If your yard monitors would have taken care of it, Cameron wouldn't have had to hit the kid." So this big kid grabbed Cameron and dragged him into the bathroom and punched him in the arm. I asked him what he did about it and he told me that he told the kid to leave him alone, but it wasn't working. Well we have the 3 times rule. Tell them 3 times and then you defend yourself. Well a couple days ago, he reached the end of the 3 times rule.

I go pick my boys up from school that afternoon, and Cameron is acting sorta weird. So I ask him what's wrong? He explained to me that he had more trouble with this kid and this kid had passed the 3 times rule. The problem for Cameron was that this kid was really really big and Cameron didn't know if fighting back would do any good. I explained that he didn't have to beat anybody up, but he has to stand up for himself. Usually with a bully if you face up, he moves on to find easier prey.

So the very next day Cameron had the encounter. I guess that he decided to even things up a bit. So the kid made some comment, and then slugged Cameron again. This time my little boy, faced him kicked him square in the gonads and punched him in the stomach, he then made a point of yelling to the kid that he was tired of his crap and that this is what would happen from now on every time the big kid picked on him. Well I was excited for my boy (as many fathers would be) and asked him what happened. Evidently the kid was sitting down crying, and didn't do anything. I waited for the phone call from the school, telling me that we needed to have a talk about Cameron's attitude or something. Nothing has come and this has been a week now.

So take us back to tonight, with my sons sore leg. I asked him after dinner this evening how his leg was feeling, since he had complained about it a few times over the course of the evening.
He explained to me that it was sore. I figured we would make it through without too much argument since he left it at that. But right before bed he explained to me that he had been thinking, (always makes me a little nervous). He said that he decided that his leg pain was no different than his bully problem and I was lost. So my soon to be 12 year old had to explain to me, that what he meant was they were probably both just growing pains.

So once again, I am sitting here wondering where in the hell this kid came from, cause I would have not thought about it like that as an 11 year old or for that matter as a 20 year old. But it made me feel pretty good to realize that some of those times that I'm trying to make a point to my kid about something that is going on in his life he is actually listening and not watching tv, or listening to that dang Ipod. I might not be a great parent, but I sure do have great kids.