A Tribute

I recently had the opportunity to take my family back to Paradox. It had been too long since our last visit. My two youngest had never been there. While we were there, a very memorable event happened.

This year my dad will turn 77. You make ask what is so significant about that? A lot of people live to be 77 in this day and age. But not every one lives that long before they finally lose the crown they have been wearing for over 50 years. What crown am I referring to? The crown that belongs to the King of Hayes Horseshoes. My father had never lost a game of horseshoes to any of his posterity until last week. That my friends is a long time to reign.

I once recall hearing a story of a latter-day prophet who was well into his 70's before any of his children (or grand-children) could outdo him when it came to working in the fields.

So my reason for sharing this story is not to brag about beating my father, but to commend him for ruling the roost for so long.

Thank you for helping teach me perseverance. And thank you for being a good enough sport to not ban me from Paradox.

  

Venturing into the Absurd

And so we enter another chapter where the minds of my children are being subjected to the absurd… in Cub Scout Day Camp of all places. This isn’t the first time and it’s sure to not be the last either. This week has been the week-long annual Cub Scout Day Camp and I had the opportunity to attend the first two days with my third oldest boy. On Monday, one of the instructors as giving her spiel about flag ceremonies and asked the question, what do you do if you are having a flag ceremony and you don’t have a flag to salute or even the flag patch on a uniform to salute. . She responded, “You can salute the moon because there was a flag planted on the moon”. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to salute the moon. Guess what? If ever I am in the situation where someone is expecting a flag ceremony and we don’t have a flag… or a flag patch on a uniform to salute, I’m not saluting the moon.


Then on Tuesday, the boys were learning about the solar system when the instructor asked what the name was for the third planet from the sun. Earth! was the unanimous response by the boys. Whereupon we learned that “Earth” is incorrect. The name “Earth” just means dirt and can apply to any planet in the universe that has dirt. The real name is “Tera” and we aren’t Earthlings. We are Terans.


And because it was 2-for-Tuesday, she asked what do we call the “moon” that orbits our planet? Luna! she replied.

 
In departing from the reality tour, I will continue the apology tour by once again saying “I’m sorry”. I refuse to refer to the Earth as Tera. I will continue to use the word Earthlings and I will not call the moon Luna.

Conversation Killer

After three non-university-backed studies and nearly twenty interviews, linguists from the farthest reaches of Nevada, North Dakota and  Mississippi  have come to the conclusion that I ought to be officially categorized into the online/social media "conversation killer" group. I seem to have a knack for posting comments on blogs and Facebook that have a habit of becoming the last comment. Dead last, hence the term conversation killer. What remains a mystery, is why? It's not like I'm always making comments about death, illness, hygiene, taxes, meatloaf, or Justin Bieber.  For anyone interested in proving me wrong, feel free to review any of the post you have made and see how many times other people have posted after me. It's quite impressive, from a pessimistic point of view.

February 28, 2013

Apparently Big Bird is the latest victim of the recession. Proving that the economy is no respecter of persons. Big Bird was seen patiently waiting for his number to be called at the local unemployment office in downtown New York City. Our news team caught up with Big Bird as he was leaving the building.

 
So Big Bird, any luck in finding a new job?


No Bob. It seems like I am unemployable. My case worker asked what work experience I had. I told him I had spent the last 37 years talking to an imaginary shaggy elephant and some grouchy hand puppet that lives in a garbage can. I showed her that I could count to 12, rattled off my ABCs... the works. I also mentioned that I like to nap. Apparently that didn’t equate into any real life skills.


Have you looked into becoming a mascot for a professional athletic team?


Of course, but folks don’t seem to think of a giant sized yellow bird as intimidating enough. They said I would need an extreme makeover, like dying my features red or shaving my head, or getting a pedi to turn these chicken feet into “talons”. How could I ever look at myself in the mirror and like what I see when I’m pretending to be something I am not?



What about running for some political office?



Bob, that’s not a bad idea. You could to be my campaign manager!



Could you introduce me to Mr. Snuffleupagus?



Of course. He’s standing right next to you.

Living in a Proverbial Leper Colony

A few months ago some of the members of my family started getting bit by some sort of bug/creepy crawly in the middle of the night. One of our first thoughts was maybe we were being eaten by bedbugs. We began searching our bedding and mattresses and what not for the telltale signs. We couldn't find any. Weeks went by and we continued to be clueless. We searched online and couldn't identify anything that seemed to match what we were experiencing.

About four weeks ago, one of my sons spotted a little bug crawling on our bed skirt. We captured it and compared it with some online images: Bedbug!
So once again we tore apart our bedrooms, looking for signs. Lo and behold, we found the standard signs on our bed, a crib, two other beds, a couch and a rocker-glider. We've been trying to treat the problem on our own because we don't have $500-700 to pay a professional. I think we are slowly winning the battle. There are fewer bites and they are more sporadic.

Once word leaked out that we did indeed have bedbugs, people started steering clear of us, particularly our home. We haven't had visitors inside our home in a month. People don't want us to be where they are. Some people are concerned about us going to church and spreading the bedbugs around. It’s not the plague! Part of me understands their fear. Part of me thinks they are overreacting. I’d like to think that from this experience, if anything, I can be more empathetic towards those in similar circumstances.

Undeserving a Name

The other day I noticed an unusaul message printed on a water bottle: New smaller cap - uses less plastic. As a consumer, I was insulted. Inferring that a smaller cap is a "greener" water bottle is like telling me that a [fill in the name of a car model] now gets 25.00025 miles per gallon instead of 25 mpg. The company touting this new advertisement shall remain nameless and are undeserving of a name in my blogisphere. Grasping at straws has never been a good marketing ploy.

I Understand What it Means to be Blonde.

For the past six years, we've heard from all sorts of people how bad we are as parents for home schooling our children. Home school kids are freaks of nature. They don't really learn anything. They don't know how to socialize. They won't ever make it into college. They won't ever get to be like normal kids that play sports, participate in choirs, bands, or orchestras. They won't ever go to Prom, Home Coming or Sadie Hawkins. Their childhood will be incomplete.




It's this same form of logic that leads to statements such as:


• All southerners are hicks


• All Muslims are terrorists


• Chiropractors are quacks


• The Earth is flat


• Blondes are dumb



The hard part is, that no amount of explaining about what we do as home schooling parents and how it works ever seems to be enough to bring comprehension, understanding and empathy. I imagine it's like being Jewish and trying to explain to a Christian what it means to be a Jew. Unless you've actually experienced that lifestyle, you'll always be more in the dark than in the light.