This local blogger finally does it and totally shreds the candidates in a tirade that is monumental and in a way you have never seen before in this lifetime. You just aren't going to believe it.
Here it goes!!!!!! I eviscerate Donald Trump and Shred Hillary Clinton in one sentence. I did it. Thank you for participating in my very own clickbait experiment. I promise this is neither political nor will it make fun of anyone, but I'm sure someone will be offended. Please share with friends and write "must read!" I just want to see how far this goes and get the data for free. I'm cheap like that. I also promise you there will be a follow up article, once again not political. Thanks for the help!
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Sunday, October 30, 2016
The Great Hunt
He shuffled to and fro every day. He was a nondescript man in a nondescript neighborhood. It was his last year. He was withered with the years of loneliness and longing. He hung on though, inexplicably to many, except himself. This year, this year would be his last. Life had been full. Fuller than most were so lucky to have, and longer than any had a right to. It was the end of October, complete with the collusion of heat and cold in messing with the daily dress of the population. The day starting out in heavy sweatshirts and vests ending with all extra layers tucked away, sweatshirts wrapped around waists. People would scurry a little faster, now that summer was over, as they try to complete all of their tasks prior to sundown. Mankind still afraid of the dark. It always seemed hazy this time of year. The sunlight shining at the odd angles of late afternoons, the brightness of the sides of the neatly spaced houses contrasted by the shadows coming down from the rooftops. It is a season of golden orange and banana yellow leaves, waiting to dry into the crunchy carpet on the lawns, and be swept up by purposeful homeowners.
It was a lonely place of dying he had found himself in. He loved the neighborhood, but had enjoyed it alone for so many years with the intermittent visits from relatives. He was a man of immense age that had hijacked the norm. In his youth he had been a man of leadership quality, circumstance had made him a gambler and a dealmaker. It was Hallow's eve. Oh how had it changed. A time for the dead to return and talk to the living. It was the time of the Great Hunt, the Wild Hunt. Yet....the days of the Great Hunt were over, as a reminder a car honked at him as it passed by, someone maybe-familiar waved. And the dead? Well, they talked to no one. Yes, the days of the past were long gone and here he shuffled as much towards nothing, just as much to the end of things.
He continued down the street, his plastic bag from the corner store full of candy and a lighter. He loved to hand sweets out every year. It reminded him of so many children and grandchildren over the years he had known. He had outlived them all, a part of the bargain he had written in his own blood. The curse was simple: he would outlive every blood relative he had. At first he felt immortal, but after a couple centuries he had had enough. He wanted the eternal sleep so many had earned before him. However, by the time he had made this decision his kin had spread across the earth and would continue to grow in population. He would take matters into his own hands eventually, he had to or he would walk this plane until the sun ate it.
He passed an old purple painted house with tan shutters. It was a beautiful old house, he had always thought. It had stood there for years even before he had moved here, in the early parts of the last century. It rose in all angles from the center of it's lot. A great many turrets crowned it and offered it's owner a multitude of views of the outside world. He had been in it several times through the years visits with whoever lived there. It was the kind of house kids would make up stories about and all the bad things that could happen to you if you weren't wary and found yourself inside. Chuckling at the irony of it, nothing bad had ever happened to him in there. He moved along and looked about, he could already see the groups of kids coagulating along the sidewalks. Mini-ghouls, super heroes, witches, princesses, animals and clowns all giggling at each other with talks of great hauls of candy of years gone, with promises of full bags tonight. A few costumed kids recognized him waved and went about their business.
He eventually made it to his home a nondescript little house. very pristine and immaculate though except for his yard. The trees had shed all over his lawn leaving a thick blanket of maple and buckeye leaves. He always left the leaves until at least November and every one had finally fallen. They would crunch underfoot louder each passing day until he finally gathered them up and placed them in bags to be hauled off. He enjoyed the crisp sounds as he made it up his walk, produced a key and walked in. His house smelled of cedar and pine and the must of the depths of very old forests. he inhaled it. Turned to the small table beside the wall on the entryway took a bag of candy from his shopping bag, with a quick rip he emptied the contents into a great bowl. He looked up in the mirror and saw his face as it was now, but as always he daydreamed of what it once was........
Then. He knew it was hopeless, it was a war that he had led the men of his tribe up and against the Romans. The odds were impossible, really stupid if he had allowed himself that thought. A battle during the days of Samhain, a time no one of his tribe would have surely chosen, but the Legions cared little for the tradition of the folk they conquered. Still, the tribesman fought with valor and cunning, they did not line up as fodder outflanking and harassing the enemy. In the end the ability of the Legions to throw endless armored manpower at them wore them down. It was in that battle he was struck down last, taking the his final enemy with him. He was ready to die with the bravest of his warriors, atop a mound of the invading butchered enemies. Something that would be sung about through the ages. He laid there for hours unable to move, just slowly dying atop the dead, staring as the sun moved quickly across the sky, blue gave way to dull oranges and reds then to deep twilight, the mists and darkness encroached.. It was then the phantasms of a thousand hunters came upon him, they hung translucent and pale. The lead hunter had the visage of either man or beast and shimmered and changed in the moonlight, but always a set of antlers pierced the sky from it's brow. It reached a hand out to him and he took it. With a touch he knew the rules of his bargain, gladly he accepted. Joining the hunt that night, riding through the hills and vales atop a horse made of shadows and whispers. He drank with gods and ancestors and slayed the beasts that haunted the lowlands with great spears.
When he woke in the morning he was still covered in the blood of his enemies but his wounds were completely healed. he left the Old World and began travelling with his new gift of life.
.....He snapped to with a ringing of the doorbell. He opened the door to find a skeleton, a pumpkin and a witch with outstretched bags. He laughed and threw candy in their bags. They flittered like bats into the darkness. He smiled, put the bowl down and grabbed the lighter from his bag. He quickly lit the 3 pumpkins he had carved outside, said a silent prayer, stepped back inside and closed the door. He ripped open a piece of candy from the bowl and chewed thoughtfully on the caramel and peanut delight inside the wrapper. Of all things he probably would miss, that sweet taste would be one of them. For the rest of the night he was content to putter around finding items he needed and put into a canvas bag he had always used for travelling. Interruptions from Trick or Treaters helped him either pass the time or forget what he was looking for in the house. The moon was hanging thinly in the night, it always made him forget so many things, made it hard to concentrate. He had made himself colcannon for dinner, he chewed at it wistfully, a last meal fit for a kindly king. Eventually he was looking at the empty bowl with a melancholy grin. The night wore on, the doorbell ceased ringing. He collected his canvas bag, now almost bursting at the seams and barely zipped shut. He strode out the house now, had you seen him walking earlier that day, you would not have guessed him to be so tall. He no longer walked with a hunch or stoop. His gait was young and full of life as he quickly walked back the way he had come from the store earlier that day. His path took him to the grand house he had always loved so much. It truly was mesmerizing and almost impossible for anyone to resist. He walked up to the door produced his key and walked inside, striding quickly to the basement door. Through little effort he had memorized the path for many years, never turning on a light. Quickly opening the door and stepping through, then shutting it again. He flipped the switch so the light would reveal the steps leading downstairs. His footsteps were light and brisk as went down the staircase, turning the corner and there he saw his last descendant chained to the floor in the prepared circle. The man was in his late 80's, it hadn't been hard to get him to move here. Just like the rest, a free house bequeathed by a long lost relative who had died. It was quite the lure for just about any senior citizen, many would at least visit which was easy enough for him to track, or at least take care of them before they left the small city. This was the last one. It had to be. He began to reveal the items from his canvas bag, candles, knives, various offerings, bowls and all of the other entrapments of this final sacrifice. The man who was probably his great great great great great....well a lot of greats, moaned softly but he was too old and perhaps a little to drugged to speak. It reminded him of the first ancestor who had owned this home originally when he had tracked them down so long ago. It was exactly a night like this he had come up with this method of finding his progeny. He knelt down beside the man splayed and chained in the center of the room. Then he spoke. A final speech upon this night before he found his final breaths in the mortal realm. He felt he owed this man that much.
"It's not you. Really. It's just that you are the last one. I've herded you all here one by one, I've gone to the ends of the earth to find even the smallest measure of my blood. The awful things I've done over the years. I've lost so many. I cultivated and pruned the tree, arranged the accidents that would sterilize or cause miscarriages. I am awful I know, I never have disparaged the point. I let you live. All the way to this point because I knew you were last." He arranged the knives and said the prayers he always had in the past. He lifted the knife it glinted and reflected. He could hear the sound of hooves and the shadowy neighs of horses floating outside the house. Time would finally catch up. He allowed himself a smile with the first cut.
It was a lonely place of dying he had found himself in. He loved the neighborhood, but had enjoyed it alone for so many years with the intermittent visits from relatives. He was a man of immense age that had hijacked the norm. In his youth he had been a man of leadership quality, circumstance had made him a gambler and a dealmaker. It was Hallow's eve. Oh how had it changed. A time for the dead to return and talk to the living. It was the time of the Great Hunt, the Wild Hunt. Yet....the days of the Great Hunt were over, as a reminder a car honked at him as it passed by, someone maybe-familiar waved. And the dead? Well, they talked to no one. Yes, the days of the past were long gone and here he shuffled as much towards nothing, just as much to the end of things.
He continued down the street, his plastic bag from the corner store full of candy and a lighter. He loved to hand sweets out every year. It reminded him of so many children and grandchildren over the years he had known. He had outlived them all, a part of the bargain he had written in his own blood. The curse was simple: he would outlive every blood relative he had. At first he felt immortal, but after a couple centuries he had had enough. He wanted the eternal sleep so many had earned before him. However, by the time he had made this decision his kin had spread across the earth and would continue to grow in population. He would take matters into his own hands eventually, he had to or he would walk this plane until the sun ate it.
He passed an old purple painted house with tan shutters. It was a beautiful old house, he had always thought. It had stood there for years even before he had moved here, in the early parts of the last century. It rose in all angles from the center of it's lot. A great many turrets crowned it and offered it's owner a multitude of views of the outside world. He had been in it several times through the years visits with whoever lived there. It was the kind of house kids would make up stories about and all the bad things that could happen to you if you weren't wary and found yourself inside. Chuckling at the irony of it, nothing bad had ever happened to him in there. He moved along and looked about, he could already see the groups of kids coagulating along the sidewalks. Mini-ghouls, super heroes, witches, princesses, animals and clowns all giggling at each other with talks of great hauls of candy of years gone, with promises of full bags tonight. A few costumed kids recognized him waved and went about their business.
He eventually made it to his home a nondescript little house. very pristine and immaculate though except for his yard. The trees had shed all over his lawn leaving a thick blanket of maple and buckeye leaves. He always left the leaves until at least November and every one had finally fallen. They would crunch underfoot louder each passing day until he finally gathered them up and placed them in bags to be hauled off. He enjoyed the crisp sounds as he made it up his walk, produced a key and walked in. His house smelled of cedar and pine and the must of the depths of very old forests. he inhaled it. Turned to the small table beside the wall on the entryway took a bag of candy from his shopping bag, with a quick rip he emptied the contents into a great bowl. He looked up in the mirror and saw his face as it was now, but as always he daydreamed of what it once was........
Then. He knew it was hopeless, it was a war that he had led the men of his tribe up and against the Romans. The odds were impossible, really stupid if he had allowed himself that thought. A battle during the days of Samhain, a time no one of his tribe would have surely chosen, but the Legions cared little for the tradition of the folk they conquered. Still, the tribesman fought with valor and cunning, they did not line up as fodder outflanking and harassing the enemy. In the end the ability of the Legions to throw endless armored manpower at them wore them down. It was in that battle he was struck down last, taking the his final enemy with him. He was ready to die with the bravest of his warriors, atop a mound of the invading butchered enemies. Something that would be sung about through the ages. He laid there for hours unable to move, just slowly dying atop the dead, staring as the sun moved quickly across the sky, blue gave way to dull oranges and reds then to deep twilight, the mists and darkness encroached.. It was then the phantasms of a thousand hunters came upon him, they hung translucent and pale. The lead hunter had the visage of either man or beast and shimmered and changed in the moonlight, but always a set of antlers pierced the sky from it's brow. It reached a hand out to him and he took it. With a touch he knew the rules of his bargain, gladly he accepted. Joining the hunt that night, riding through the hills and vales atop a horse made of shadows and whispers. He drank with gods and ancestors and slayed the beasts that haunted the lowlands with great spears.
When he woke in the morning he was still covered in the blood of his enemies but his wounds were completely healed. he left the Old World and began travelling with his new gift of life.
.....He snapped to with a ringing of the doorbell. He opened the door to find a skeleton, a pumpkin and a witch with outstretched bags. He laughed and threw candy in their bags. They flittered like bats into the darkness. He smiled, put the bowl down and grabbed the lighter from his bag. He quickly lit the 3 pumpkins he had carved outside, said a silent prayer, stepped back inside and closed the door. He ripped open a piece of candy from the bowl and chewed thoughtfully on the caramel and peanut delight inside the wrapper. Of all things he probably would miss, that sweet taste would be one of them. For the rest of the night he was content to putter around finding items he needed and put into a canvas bag he had always used for travelling. Interruptions from Trick or Treaters helped him either pass the time or forget what he was looking for in the house. The moon was hanging thinly in the night, it always made him forget so many things, made it hard to concentrate. He had made himself colcannon for dinner, he chewed at it wistfully, a last meal fit for a kindly king. Eventually he was looking at the empty bowl with a melancholy grin. The night wore on, the doorbell ceased ringing. He collected his canvas bag, now almost bursting at the seams and barely zipped shut. He strode out the house now, had you seen him walking earlier that day, you would not have guessed him to be so tall. He no longer walked with a hunch or stoop. His gait was young and full of life as he quickly walked back the way he had come from the store earlier that day. His path took him to the grand house he had always loved so much. It truly was mesmerizing and almost impossible for anyone to resist. He walked up to the door produced his key and walked inside, striding quickly to the basement door. Through little effort he had memorized the path for many years, never turning on a light. Quickly opening the door and stepping through, then shutting it again. He flipped the switch so the light would reveal the steps leading downstairs. His footsteps were light and brisk as went down the staircase, turning the corner and there he saw his last descendant chained to the floor in the prepared circle. The man was in his late 80's, it hadn't been hard to get him to move here. Just like the rest, a free house bequeathed by a long lost relative who had died. It was quite the lure for just about any senior citizen, many would at least visit which was easy enough for him to track, or at least take care of them before they left the small city. This was the last one. It had to be. He began to reveal the items from his canvas bag, candles, knives, various offerings, bowls and all of the other entrapments of this final sacrifice. The man who was probably his great great great great great....well a lot of greats, moaned softly but he was too old and perhaps a little to drugged to speak. It reminded him of the first ancestor who had owned this home originally when he had tracked them down so long ago. It was exactly a night like this he had come up with this method of finding his progeny. He knelt down beside the man splayed and chained in the center of the room. Then he spoke. A final speech upon this night before he found his final breaths in the mortal realm. He felt he owed this man that much.
"It's not you. Really. It's just that you are the last one. I've herded you all here one by one, I've gone to the ends of the earth to find even the smallest measure of my blood. The awful things I've done over the years. I've lost so many. I cultivated and pruned the tree, arranged the accidents that would sterilize or cause miscarriages. I am awful I know, I never have disparaged the point. I let you live. All the way to this point because I knew you were last." He arranged the knives and said the prayers he always had in the past. He lifted the knife it glinted and reflected. He could hear the sound of hooves and the shadowy neighs of horses floating outside the house. Time would finally catch up. He allowed himself a smile with the first cut.
Monday, August 22, 2016
It's happening again. Junior Football season in all of it's glory. Huge helmets mounted on little heads, smacking against each other. The running of agonizingly slow developing plays where at some point nobody on the field or on the sidelines knows what's going on. Lots of false starts and miscues. The screams of parents and out of control coaches! Junior Football, a sport all on it's own. Thunderdome!
It is always a lot of fun to go out to the fields and watch the games every week. Sadly, we had to miss our son's game this weekend due to work, but it sounded like he had lots of fun (shout out to Grandma and Grandpa for taking him and getting him there on time). Everybody gets pretty excited about their special little guys(or girls) hitting the grid iron in their cute little uniforms with matching socks. As always, some gentle reminders to everyone involved with the process of these Junior football games.
1. You are not the coach(unless you are the coach). That guy has the toughest job on the field. Herding young minds like cats into understanding different parts of the game and hopefully coming out of practices with a semblance of a team. The good news is most all of the coaches are dealing with the same issues on their respective teams. Hilarity usually ensues.
2. Referees are people. They may seem like heartless zebra spawn, but they aren't, they are bunch of nice guys taking time out of their lives to help your kids enjoy the sport of football. The refs are always right even when they are wrong. Don't argue with the refs. You will look like an idiot(trust me, I've looked like an idiot in other sports, so now you don't have to)
3. Have your child show up for practice on time and in proper uniform. Don't know the proper uniform? Ask the coach. Ask another parent. Ask your kid. If your child is not in the proper uniform more than likely they can not practice or play simply because that coach is not going to put your child in situations to get hurt simply because of your negligence.
4. Tell the coach whether or not your child will be there for practices or games. Believe it or not, coaches have your child written into their game plan. They will need to rework something if your child is not there. Also realize you have made a commitment to have your child at practices and games(i.e. sometimes Gma and Gpa get asked to step in) . It will teach your children....well....commitment. Your time is not more special than anyone else's time. If you don't want people wasting your time, don't waste their time, Spiccoli(Millenials can google that reference).
5. Your son(or daughter, I haven't seen any girls but I'm sure they are out there) is not the only one on the team. It seems this escapes people that feel somehow their son is the hero and should be handed the ball every chance they can get it. This generally does not happen. Do not tell your child to be the hero. You are undermining the coach, you know, the guy who essentially agreed to babysit your kid for 2 hours a night.
6. In some of the younger ages, it is more about learning the game and playing, this is true. However, in some of the older age groups it is a little more about winning(GASP). Learning the game is done at practice. This is where the kids learn to play and grow in the sport. Yes, they will all get minutes and playing time, but positions will generally be handed out by the coach. Deal with it. They also will keep score in games and, yes, your child's team may lose. Heck, their team might not even score a point. Deal with that as well.
7. Yes. The coach may put their own kid in a skill position and you may grumble about this. My personal opinion is this is the coach's prerogative. Coach's sacrifice a lot of the time and energy volunteering to teach children the game of football while most parents just drop off and pick up. If they want to plug their kid in at QB. I say let them. My suggestion is if you want your child to play a specific position, then you should volunteer coach.
8. If you are wondering why little Johnny isn't getting a lot of playing time. Maybe show up at practice and watch how your child practices. Coaches judge kids a lot on how they practice. Is your kid paying attention? Are they trying their hardest at drill? Are they sitting out a lot? Are they as fast as the other players? Are they enthusiastic about the game? Are they prone to picking dandelions, chasing squirrels or picking noses(their own or a friends)? All good signs that if the child is not a good practice player they are not, currently, a good game player. It is ok to get on your kid for dogging it in practice. Another tactic is wait until they get done with a game, if they complain about their lack of playing time, then strike up a conversation about putting forth more work ethic in practice. This will teach your children...well....a work ethic.
9. Have an honest conversation with your child about how they feel about the game of football(Probably even before you sign them up.). While this may not be the easiest conversation, remember at some point you will explain one of the following: How babies are made, what racism is and why some people you love are, why two guys are kissing(I could care less but the conversation will be awkward, don't pretend it won't be), or how Magic Johnson continues to gain weight, and why do the Vikings continue to have fans. Some kids are not ready for full contact sports and that's ok. Telling the difference between an actual injury and bumps and bruises at the younger ages can be difficult. Don't make them hate the game before they even get a chance to like it, so if they don't want to play don't make them join. However once they've joined you are pretty much committed, so be committed. Talk to the coach and ask them how they feel your son(or daughter) is doing and what they can do to improve. More than likely the answer will be "Pay attention and try".
10. My biggest golden rule again with my own kids in activities: No matter what, tell your kids you enjoyed watching them play. Tell them you enjoyed watching them practice. This is a game about winning and losing, but they also make a lot of friends and learn a lot of life skills along the way. They learn about setting goals and setting up ways of attaining those goals. Don't take that away from them by demanding fairness and equal playing time.
(Edit: While I wanted this to remain a clean "Top 10" list. I will add an 11. although it should be probably be #1. Safety! Safety! Safety!. Nothing in 2nd Grade through the Pros is greater than the safety of these players. If they get hit take them out. This is why Parents should hang around most Junior Football practices. If somehow your child is hurt where added care is needed, be there so you can make that decision and transport your child. The football coaches and other parents there are not going to make that call for you. Instead they will have to contact you and little Johnny will more than likely writhe in agony on the ground. Don't make little Johnny writhe in agony because you wanted to go grab some groceries quick. This would be the number 1 reason parents attend practice in my book, the only other reason is if the coach needs assistance in running drills.)
(I am in no way, shape, or form some sort of child development professional. These are all observational. Take them for what they are worth and use them as you see fit. A lot of this is written in a humorous tone, but if you do have tips on explaining to a 3rd grader why two dudes are kissing I'm all ears, because "they are sinners" is not an acceptable answer and you know it.)
It is always a lot of fun to go out to the fields and watch the games every week. Sadly, we had to miss our son's game this weekend due to work, but it sounded like he had lots of fun (shout out to Grandma and Grandpa for taking him and getting him there on time). Everybody gets pretty excited about their special little guys(or girls) hitting the grid iron in their cute little uniforms with matching socks. As always, some gentle reminders to everyone involved with the process of these Junior football games.
1. You are not the coach(unless you are the coach). That guy has the toughest job on the field. Herding young minds like cats into understanding different parts of the game and hopefully coming out of practices with a semblance of a team. The good news is most all of the coaches are dealing with the same issues on their respective teams. Hilarity usually ensues.
2. Referees are people. They may seem like heartless zebra spawn, but they aren't, they are bunch of nice guys taking time out of their lives to help your kids enjoy the sport of football. The refs are always right even when they are wrong. Don't argue with the refs. You will look like an idiot(trust me, I've looked like an idiot in other sports, so now you don't have to)
3. Have your child show up for practice on time and in proper uniform. Don't know the proper uniform? Ask the coach. Ask another parent. Ask your kid. If your child is not in the proper uniform more than likely they can not practice or play simply because that coach is not going to put your child in situations to get hurt simply because of your negligence.
4. Tell the coach whether or not your child will be there for practices or games. Believe it or not, coaches have your child written into their game plan. They will need to rework something if your child is not there. Also realize you have made a commitment to have your child at practices and games(i.e. sometimes Gma and Gpa get asked to step in) . It will teach your children....well....commitment. Your time is not more special than anyone else's time. If you don't want people wasting your time, don't waste their time, Spiccoli(Millenials can google that reference).
5. Your son(or daughter, I haven't seen any girls but I'm sure they are out there) is not the only one on the team. It seems this escapes people that feel somehow their son is the hero and should be handed the ball every chance they can get it. This generally does not happen. Do not tell your child to be the hero. You are undermining the coach, you know, the guy who essentially agreed to babysit your kid for 2 hours a night.
6. In some of the younger ages, it is more about learning the game and playing, this is true. However, in some of the older age groups it is a little more about winning(GASP). Learning the game is done at practice. This is where the kids learn to play and grow in the sport. Yes, they will all get minutes and playing time, but positions will generally be handed out by the coach. Deal with it. They also will keep score in games and, yes, your child's team may lose. Heck, their team might not even score a point. Deal with that as well.
7. Yes. The coach may put their own kid in a skill position and you may grumble about this. My personal opinion is this is the coach's prerogative. Coach's sacrifice a lot of the time and energy volunteering to teach children the game of football while most parents just drop off and pick up. If they want to plug their kid in at QB. I say let them. My suggestion is if you want your child to play a specific position, then you should volunteer coach.
8. If you are wondering why little Johnny isn't getting a lot of playing time. Maybe show up at practice and watch how your child practices. Coaches judge kids a lot on how they practice. Is your kid paying attention? Are they trying their hardest at drill? Are they sitting out a lot? Are they as fast as the other players? Are they enthusiastic about the game? Are they prone to picking dandelions, chasing squirrels or picking noses(their own or a friends)? All good signs that if the child is not a good practice player they are not, currently, a good game player. It is ok to get on your kid for dogging it in practice. Another tactic is wait until they get done with a game, if they complain about their lack of playing time, then strike up a conversation about putting forth more work ethic in practice. This will teach your children...well....a work ethic.
9. Have an honest conversation with your child about how they feel about the game of football(Probably even before you sign them up.). While this may not be the easiest conversation, remember at some point you will explain one of the following: How babies are made, what racism is and why some people you love are, why two guys are kissing(I could care less but the conversation will be awkward, don't pretend it won't be), or how Magic Johnson continues to gain weight, and why do the Vikings continue to have fans. Some kids are not ready for full contact sports and that's ok. Telling the difference between an actual injury and bumps and bruises at the younger ages can be difficult. Don't make them hate the game before they even get a chance to like it, so if they don't want to play don't make them join. However once they've joined you are pretty much committed, so be committed. Talk to the coach and ask them how they feel your son(or daughter) is doing and what they can do to improve. More than likely the answer will be "Pay attention and try".
10. My biggest golden rule again with my own kids in activities: No matter what, tell your kids you enjoyed watching them play. Tell them you enjoyed watching them practice. This is a game about winning and losing, but they also make a lot of friends and learn a lot of life skills along the way. They learn about setting goals and setting up ways of attaining those goals. Don't take that away from them by demanding fairness and equal playing time.
(Edit: While I wanted this to remain a clean "Top 10" list. I will add an 11. although it should be probably be #1. Safety! Safety! Safety!. Nothing in 2nd Grade through the Pros is greater than the safety of these players. If they get hit take them out. This is why Parents should hang around most Junior Football practices. If somehow your child is hurt where added care is needed, be there so you can make that decision and transport your child. The football coaches and other parents there are not going to make that call for you. Instead they will have to contact you and little Johnny will more than likely writhe in agony on the ground. Don't make little Johnny writhe in agony because you wanted to go grab some groceries quick. This would be the number 1 reason parents attend practice in my book, the only other reason is if the coach needs assistance in running drills.)
(I am in no way, shape, or form some sort of child development professional. These are all observational. Take them for what they are worth and use them as you see fit. A lot of this is written in a humorous tone, but if you do have tips on explaining to a 3rd grader why two dudes are kissing I'm all ears, because "they are sinners" is not an acceptable answer and you know it.)
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Seems I have something to confess. I....am......left-handed. I write with my left-hand. This might be a shock to some people. I thought I would get it off my chest it's been weighing on me for about 40 years. Every time I pick up a pen and write something down and some reason people feel the need to comment on it. It's a lame conversation. I've never really understood these conversations ever since I was a kid, these odd forced unnecessary interactions that go as follows:
Person I've never met before, but feels they want to call me out as I write down something on paper for them: "Oh a lefty."
My initial rebuff, signaling this conversation is dumb and I've heard it before, I say it with overwhelming disinterest: "Yep"
Person wanting to continue the conversation despite my initial indicators I do not want to talk about it: "I suppose that's alright. I think I can trust you anyways."
I then apply a general coup de grace statement that signals the end of our conversation about which hand I tend to use when I write and switch the conversation to which hand I use when I am alone: "I suppose. I masturbate with my right though."
End of conversation. Then it gets kind of awkward as we look at each other. I can now see the regret in their eyes that they decided to start and try to continue the unwanted conversation. I usually wave goodbye to that person with my right so they can feel comfortable, or uncomfortable(their choice). It's a conversation style that doesn't make many friends, but leaves me with some satisfaction. I figure that person must be a rabid Anti-Leftite.
I have always found it fascinating that such a small and irrelevant difference causes people to feel they need to talk about it. It is inherently human to focus on anything that is considered not normal. It seems so insignificant.Yet at one time it was a pretty big deal to be left-handed. People tried to change the hands their children used to write. Some cultures looked at it as evil, some looked at it as good luck(it's neither, for I am neither wholly evil or lucky). Yet it's a small insignificance that is a part of me that I would not change for anything, even to be able to use one of those stupid mounted classroom pencil sharpeners without looking like I am trying to start an early 1900's automobile(Younger readers will have to probably google both of those things to figure out what I am talking about). My brothers are both left-handed, my mother is left-handed. It's the one thing we all have in common besides our stunning good looks. Yet, it still bothers me when for some reason people point it out. Especially in front of other people. kind of like a "Hey look this idiot doesn't write like you or me". Why is that? To me it's the one thing where I am truly different, or even fall into a different category or even am stereotyped as not being normal. Such a little thing. When I think about it, is it no wonder it's so hard for other people to stand up and say they are different than what is called the "norm" in our society? If we can't even treat left handed and red headed people as being normal(don't even think about being a red-headed left-hander, throw step-child on top of that, you just might be screwed in this society), no wonder so many people are afraid to voice they are different in major ways. If we can't even let a little thing like being left-handed go unnoticed or questioned, why would someone want to talk about the depression they feel? Why would someone want to talk about how hard some area of their life is currently? If we judge so harshly on the mundane differences, what chance do we have with airing out our insecurities over perceived greater weaknesses?
I remember my own relatives talking about us being left handed like it wasn't right(no pun intended), they were just joking around but subconsciously it probably sent signals to other relatives "We can accept left handed alright, but nobody better be any more different than that". A society that keeps us conforming and wants to point out that we are different rather than pointing out why we are all the same. The answer is we're all human by the way, that's what we have in common. We're all human. We're all in this together and we need to make it work. Unfortunately, there is no power in working completely together. There is no one with the upper hand when we embrace our differences and work together for us all to get along. It's easier to point out the people that are different in order to curry favor and grace with the larger group or even control the larger group. Such a little thing, yet nearly impossible to attain to be accepted as equal despite our differences. Maybe to look at our fellow human being and just say "Hey I accept you are different. We don't have to talk about it, and I'm not going to be an asshole about it. We can talk and disagree on certain things that are personal choices but not worry about the way we were born." It seems so simple, yet, if we can't get by the little things that should be old hat like left-handed, red-hair(you know: Gingers), skin color, or yes even the "dreaded gay people", how are we going to bypass the deep rooted divisive things like religion, science, politics and public restrooms? I'm not perfect. There are a lot of things I can't get right when it comes to dealing with other people. I try though. I try to be a good person and accept people for the way they are born and some of the problems they may have. We all struggle with it in some form, the simple answer is if it doesn't directly impact your life it isn't your business, in the words of some famous guy: let it be. I know being left-handed is the absolute smallest, lamest stereotype I can possibly fall into with prejudices so minor it's relevancy is barely a blip in general, yet it's there. It gives me a very small perspective, in that if it feels somewhat distasteful for me when something so tiny is brought up, how can it feel for people who are truly ostracized and singled out for their differences? People that are bullied for stuttering. People that can't get keep jobs because they can't get out of bed because of chemical malfunctions in their brains. People that kill themselves because they can't talk to anybody about their problems or are too scared of being ostracized for seeking help. People that simply want to wake up go to work, marry the person they love and come home without someone protesting them. And yes, even people with celiacs that just want to go to a restaurant and order something fully knowing the server and the kitchen staff are laughing at them in the back.
Which begs the question: How are we going to get eye to eye on the big things, when we can't even seem to overlook left or right?
(No left handed people were harmed in the making of this blog. For the record: I don't dislike Gingers. many of my best friends are Gingers. I have many Ginger friends. I realize I have Blonde-privilege and I am ok with it. Einstein was left handed, still doesn't mean anything. If you think I am whining about being left handed then you didn't get the point of the blog, and might want to look at that. I very much enjoy being left handed.)
Person I've never met before, but feels they want to call me out as I write down something on paper for them: "Oh a lefty."
My initial rebuff, signaling this conversation is dumb and I've heard it before, I say it with overwhelming disinterest: "Yep"
Person wanting to continue the conversation despite my initial indicators I do not want to talk about it: "I suppose that's alright. I think I can trust you anyways."
I then apply a general coup de grace statement that signals the end of our conversation about which hand I tend to use when I write and switch the conversation to which hand I use when I am alone: "I suppose. I masturbate with my right though."
End of conversation. Then it gets kind of awkward as we look at each other. I can now see the regret in their eyes that they decided to start and try to continue the unwanted conversation. I usually wave goodbye to that person with my right so they can feel comfortable, or uncomfortable(their choice). It's a conversation style that doesn't make many friends, but leaves me with some satisfaction. I figure that person must be a rabid Anti-Leftite.
I have always found it fascinating that such a small and irrelevant difference causes people to feel they need to talk about it. It is inherently human to focus on anything that is considered not normal. It seems so insignificant.Yet at one time it was a pretty big deal to be left-handed. People tried to change the hands their children used to write. Some cultures looked at it as evil, some looked at it as good luck(it's neither, for I am neither wholly evil or lucky). Yet it's a small insignificance that is a part of me that I would not change for anything, even to be able to use one of those stupid mounted classroom pencil sharpeners without looking like I am trying to start an early 1900's automobile(Younger readers will have to probably google both of those things to figure out what I am talking about). My brothers are both left-handed, my mother is left-handed. It's the one thing we all have in common besides our stunning good looks. Yet, it still bothers me when for some reason people point it out. Especially in front of other people. kind of like a "Hey look this idiot doesn't write like you or me". Why is that? To me it's the one thing where I am truly different, or even fall into a different category or even am stereotyped as not being normal. Such a little thing. When I think about it, is it no wonder it's so hard for other people to stand up and say they are different than what is called the "norm" in our society? If we can't even treat left handed and red headed people as being normal(don't even think about being a red-headed left-hander, throw step-child on top of that, you just might be screwed in this society), no wonder so many people are afraid to voice they are different in major ways. If we can't even let a little thing like being left-handed go unnoticed or questioned, why would someone want to talk about the depression they feel? Why would someone want to talk about how hard some area of their life is currently? If we judge so harshly on the mundane differences, what chance do we have with airing out our insecurities over perceived greater weaknesses?
I remember my own relatives talking about us being left handed like it wasn't right(no pun intended), they were just joking around but subconsciously it probably sent signals to other relatives "We can accept left handed alright, but nobody better be any more different than that". A society that keeps us conforming and wants to point out that we are different rather than pointing out why we are all the same. The answer is we're all human by the way, that's what we have in common. We're all human. We're all in this together and we need to make it work. Unfortunately, there is no power in working completely together. There is no one with the upper hand when we embrace our differences and work together for us all to get along. It's easier to point out the people that are different in order to curry favor and grace with the larger group or even control the larger group. Such a little thing, yet nearly impossible to attain to be accepted as equal despite our differences. Maybe to look at our fellow human being and just say "Hey I accept you are different. We don't have to talk about it, and I'm not going to be an asshole about it. We can talk and disagree on certain things that are personal choices but not worry about the way we were born." It seems so simple, yet, if we can't get by the little things that should be old hat like left-handed, red-hair(you know: Gingers), skin color, or yes even the "dreaded gay people", how are we going to bypass the deep rooted divisive things like religion, science, politics and public restrooms? I'm not perfect. There are a lot of things I can't get right when it comes to dealing with other people. I try though. I try to be a good person and accept people for the way they are born and some of the problems they may have. We all struggle with it in some form, the simple answer is if it doesn't directly impact your life it isn't your business, in the words of some famous guy: let it be. I know being left-handed is the absolute smallest, lamest stereotype I can possibly fall into with prejudices so minor it's relevancy is barely a blip in general, yet it's there. It gives me a very small perspective, in that if it feels somewhat distasteful for me when something so tiny is brought up, how can it feel for people who are truly ostracized and singled out for their differences? People that are bullied for stuttering. People that can't get keep jobs because they can't get out of bed because of chemical malfunctions in their brains. People that kill themselves because they can't talk to anybody about their problems or are too scared of being ostracized for seeking help. People that simply want to wake up go to work, marry the person they love and come home without someone protesting them. And yes, even people with celiacs that just want to go to a restaurant and order something fully knowing the server and the kitchen staff are laughing at them in the back.
Which begs the question: How are we going to get eye to eye on the big things, when we can't even seem to overlook left or right?
(No left handed people were harmed in the making of this blog. For the record: I don't dislike Gingers. many of my best friends are Gingers. I have many Ginger friends. I realize I have Blonde-privilege and I am ok with it. Einstein was left handed, still doesn't mean anything. If you think I am whining about being left handed then you didn't get the point of the blog, and might want to look at that. I very much enjoy being left handed.)
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
"I'll have the lobster." I didn't say it with conviction. I said it with the same trepidation you ask your parents for a machine gun. With a grim conviction they will probably say no. At first he didn't believe me that they had such a dish. It was there though. Right in the center of the menu described black and white. I can't remember what year it was, or what grade I was in at the time. I had just made weight and we were out for dinner in one of the biggest towns in South Dakota, which is to say not very big at all. It was the State tournament for AAU wrestling. It was one of a handful of times it was just my Dad and me. No brothers, no Mom, no girlfriend, no nothing, just us. He smiled a look that said "no way do I believe you will eat a lobster, and I probably don't want to pay for the opportunity". At that age I think I was 9 or 10, so maybe fourth grade. My parents had been divorced for years, so road trips with them both together never happened. He had offered to take me, my Mom relented. Off in the old pickup truck to lay smack on the mats of the Corn Palace, the mecca to all youth wrestling at one time in the Rushmore State(although at the time I think we might have been the Sunshine State, which is true. It can be sunny even when it's -30.). So there we sat a monumental question of trying something new for what was probably quite a bit of money. Lobster in South Dakota in the 80's was about as common as really seeing a jackalope, I'd imagine. They sure didn't serve it around Brookings that I knew. All I knew about lobster was it was what rich people ate on Dynasty and Dallas, and I wanted to try it. Why couldn't I be like J.R. or even Bobby?
"Ok, you can have it"
My eyes must have bulged out of their sockets. Who knows what made him say yes, probably his 3rd beer, a tactic I would use in years to come, sometimes waiting until the 5th or 6th for really difficult questions and/or apologies. How that waitress must have giggled handing that order in to the kitchen. This 50 pound soaking wet kid was going to eat a lobster. It is one of my fondest memories. In a time before selfies, and taking pictures of every meal it entirely belongs to me to keep it alive to this day. They brought the little metal wire rack holding the candle with the tin dish of butter suspended above it. The server lit the candle and I sat watching the butter melt in the glow. I asked what this was for, Dad explained. The big red lobster arriving at the table and we made jokes at it's expense. I cracked into it as best I could and my Dad helped me get to it using his slightly higher lobster knowledge. It was awesome. Not just the lobster, but the whole event of it, being somewhere new(yes, I know it's Mitchell, but I wasn't well travelled, having only been to maybe 3 or 4 states at the time), hanging out with someone I saw only on weekends and every-so-often weekdays and trying to eat this red alien on a plate with some lemon and butter.
Fast forward to this year for my own son at the AAU State wrestling circa 2016. I was focused on his competition his abilities and his desire to medal. All good goals for kids, but he still is 8. Granted he loves to win and keeps a tab on a lot of things sports related more than I do. His first match was against a wrestler he had never beaten before, but also someone he considered a tournament buddy. He was determined to win. At the tournament I saw many shirts with the "2 wrestlers 1 dream, my goal is to take away your dream!" while a fairly true statement, I was pretty sure most kids don't look at it that way and once again overcompetitive parenting was the culprit. My son was ready to go he shook hands and the match began. I perched nervously to the side away from the mat. Why was I nervous? Who the hell knows, another weird thing about parenting little athletes. His Coach kneeled in the corner urging him on and yelling advice. He wrestled better than I had ever seen him perform. He came out on top 7-5 against a really tough opponent. Just showing how a year of his hard work had paid off, a year ago I don't know if he would have won that match. He shook hands and the ref raised his, he stepped up and gave his friend a hug, then went and shook coach's hands. He was excited as he walked off the mat and gave me a hug. The rest of the tournament went well, he wrestled hard and came up a few points short to medal, and was beat out of the bracket. He was angry, but eventually shook it off, quicker than last year and I didn't have to dodge any kicks and no kneepads were thrown in the garbage.
Later in the day, as a keepsake we purchased a picture collage where they actually take photos of the wrestlers during the match as long as you know the time of the match. As he browsed through the pictures of his lone victory. One stood out at him. Not the one of a takedown, an escape or a reversal, or of his hand being raised after the win. He wanted the one of them shaking hands. This was what was important to him a precursor to his match, him and someone he considers a friend stepping to challenge one another in an activity they both love. Or them shaking at the end where the match is done and they remain friends after the competition. Truly, a beautiful moment to have raised a kid to think in that manner, a job well done.
So of course we(the parents) purchased another picture where he was having his arm raised, because parents are twits. Guilty as charged.
Which hopefully brings me to the point of all this and ties it together somewhat. We often ignore the desires and goals of our children to be favorable with our own or what we think they "will appreciate more". In hindsight I feel bad about this in that we denied the memory he wanted to keep. For my own experience, I don't remember if I placed that year at state, I don't remember one person I wrestled, but I remember doing something completely new with my Dad. A lot of time this is where we fail as parents in sports. So caught up in the wins and losses at every level. We forget all of the events and good times and memories to be had around the sports themselves. By not living in the moment we are letting a lot of the good stuff slide by in order to get to the final score. We need to open our ears, live in the moment and listen to what our kids are telling us. When we do this it will create something far greater than scores and medals.
(I'll dedicate this one to my Dad. Happy Birthday, Jerry and thanks for all the fishes!)
Monday, January 4, 2016
Sports, sports, sports, sports, sports!
"I hope you get your ass kicked the next time too!"
Those are shocking words when you hear a mom say them to her son, especially after he just got beat out on the mat. I didn't say anything, somewhat digesting what I'd just heard. I felt sorry for the kid of course. I'm not sure why a parent would say that to their kid over anything, especially an early season wrestling match that really doesn't mean anything long term as far as....well...anything. I couldn't think of anything more unimportant than any of these early season matches really. They are good early practice and they show wrestlers what they need to work on as the season progresses. I have been to about 3 tournaments so far and have seen just about the same amount of incidents that crossed lines and into the realm of verbal abuse. Just stupid. I find these incidents unbearable, and I know they do nothing for the children except get them to not want to participate in sports. I know interacting with the parents in question more than likely will get me in some sort of hand to hand combat, I don't care to be part of either. Also, fighting a bitchy mom holding a baby swearing at her 10 year old son probably will get me thrown out in a weird twist of fate known only to sitcoms. Still, I feel I need to say something, at least maybe someone who is closer to these people may read this and say, "I know someone like that!" Maybe they will pass it along. I also know wrestling is not the only sport with over the top parents, this applies to all.
So far individual sports take a little bit more deft parenting than team sports. When a kid loses in an individual sport they do tend to take it all on themselves. Emotions(and what to do with them)is a little bit different. The young athlete just lost, sometimes in a painful manner, in front of a lot of people they know and love. That can be very difficult for kids to digest for a little bit. As a team there is safety in numbers when losing. In the end, they are very resilient and have short term memories concerning the loss. So here is my list of Do's and Don'ts, applicable to about every sport:
Those are shocking words when you hear a mom say them to her son, especially after he just got beat out on the mat. I didn't say anything, somewhat digesting what I'd just heard. I felt sorry for the kid of course. I'm not sure why a parent would say that to their kid over anything, especially an early season wrestling match that really doesn't mean anything long term as far as....well...anything. I couldn't think of anything more unimportant than any of these early season matches really. They are good early practice and they show wrestlers what they need to work on as the season progresses. I have been to about 3 tournaments so far and have seen just about the same amount of incidents that crossed lines and into the realm of verbal abuse. Just stupid. I find these incidents unbearable, and I know they do nothing for the children except get them to not want to participate in sports. I know interacting with the parents in question more than likely will get me in some sort of hand to hand combat, I don't care to be part of either. Also, fighting a bitchy mom holding a baby swearing at her 10 year old son probably will get me thrown out in a weird twist of fate known only to sitcoms. Still, I feel I need to say something, at least maybe someone who is closer to these people may read this and say, "I know someone like that!" Maybe they will pass it along. I also know wrestling is not the only sport with over the top parents, this applies to all.
So far individual sports take a little bit more deft parenting than team sports. When a kid loses in an individual sport they do tend to take it all on themselves. Emotions(and what to do with them)is a little bit different. The young athlete just lost, sometimes in a painful manner, in front of a lot of people they know and love. That can be very difficult for kids to digest for a little bit. As a team there is safety in numbers when losing. In the end, they are very resilient and have short term memories concerning the loss. So here is my list of Do's and Don'ts, applicable to about every sport:
- Be excited about your child's performance. Win or lose. I've seen my son lose and in my heart I know he wrestled one of his best matches, I tell him right away. It's ok to let them know they gave 100% and it didn't go their way. Be proud of all their accomplishments.
- Don't berate your child's performance. It may come to a point I might get in a fight with a parent over this, we'll see. How you can cut down your child over their effort in a public manner? It doesn't make you a monster....quite.
- Ask them how they feel about their performance. This is where you can help them improve if you are somewhat knowledgeable in the sport. It's here more times than not, you can coach them with what you know and really bond.
- Try not to yell over the coaches(I even have problems with that one). The coaches are there for a reason. You want to coach? Then coach. Otherwise let the guys who volunteered or are paid to do it. One enjoyable aspect of volunteering to coach is seeing how your athletes are improving and what you can do to help them improve.
- For the Coaches: 3 coaches yelling at 1 athlete does not work, I have seen this, I can only imagine how confused the kid was at the time. Stop.
- Coach positively. My own son asked me one time why another kid's dad yelled at his son during a match that didn't seem very nice(it wasn't). Think about that while wrestling my kid was able to notice the poor behavior(and it was poor) of another parent coaching his kid. Think how that kid felt.
- Let your child make a lot of decisions about their participation. Sometimes a bunch of extra tournaments can lead to burn out and dislike of a sport they used to be excited about. Our daughter enjoys a dance season that ends. She does not want to dance year round and every other night. Done.
- If you don't know the rules don't yell at the refs. If you don't know the rules, learn the rules.
- Sometimes your child isn't the best. A harsh reality: There are kids working harder than them to get better at the sport. When your child commits to more work at a sport it will mean a hundred times more than you committing them to a sport.
- Winning is not everything. It's just not. Yes we all want our children to be successful. We all want them to do well. Sports definitely has winning, but it has a lot of losing too. Be ready for that and once again there usually will be children better at sports than your own kids.
- Sports builds teamwork, self-determination, confidence, goal setting and too many other skills to mention. This is pretty basic, and I think I lifted it from 6th grade P.E. class. Funny thing is how so many of us forget the very basics.
- Sports are Darwinism at it's finest. It is. It will slowly filter your children out as they grow older. Be ready for it. Eventually there will be a team they don't make, some may go onto college sports. Will they end up being Olympic or Professional Athletes? Not likely, maybe, but maybe, please don't mortgage your house on the likelihood of it. So, just enjoy the moments, don't let visions of scholarships and your own "goals" muddy up just living in the moment and watching your child succeed at something they enjoy.
- Do not get so wrapped up in your child being in sports, that you forget to ask them if they are having fun or are just doing it because it is what's expected of them. I'm not saying they should be able to quit any old time they want, conversations about finishing what they started should be brought up prior to even signing up for a sport.
- Be excited. it's ok to be excited for your child while they are playing. It's fun, it's fun to watch your kids having fun. Personally some of the best matches to watch were ones where Graham walked off the mat not winning. I knew he had given it a 100% and that's sports. (I also know when he walks off that mat he wants a rematch of any one he loses to. He wanted me to offer one kid $5 for a rematch. I told him that's not how it works).
- When your kid is the best athlete on the team do not speak poorly about other players on a team or athletes in the same sport. Quick answers: "They are learning just like you.""If they weren't on your team you wouldn't have a team." "Even the professionals make mistakes" "It's just a game" "Maybe you can help them"
- The refs are right. The refs are right. The refs are right. Face it, I have problem with this(and so does every football fan), but I always try to remind kids that the refs have the best view and have to make it in a split second on most occasions. The refs are right.
- LAST RULE: Before we start driving away from a finished sporting event we have an airing of questions. The kids can ask any questions that they would like about the event and what occurred good or bad. In turn we can offer our coaching, support and encouragement. Then we make sure the participant thanks their sibling for attending and their parents for bringing them. In turn we always tell the participant how much we enjoyed watching their event pointing out a highlight or two.
Sunday, December 27, 2015
In a theater near you......(no spoilers)
A long line wrapped around the theater. It was the longest line I had ever seen. I was so excited as I stood there with my brother. We had seen Star Wars an endless amount of times and while I was now 7 years old, I was wiser and thought I knew everything there was to know. It was the summer of 1980, and the line was out front the State Theater in my hometown. It doesn't get anymore Americana than that. A single screen theater, 1 of 2 in the little town that wasn't quite baking like it would in the coming July and August. No parents, just us two and maybe a neighbor kid, talking about the glory to come in the screeching of fighters and the blaring of blasters. There were no deep meanings of the Force and everything else to us, just seeing our heroes lit up once again on a screen in their quest to save the galaxy. They would have to do a lot to impress me, I was 7 after all. Of course they did impress us, whoever they were, kids didn't know or care about George Lucas. We just knew we wanted more Star Wars and they had delivered it again. We had went as a family to it in Drive-ins, and theaters with friends and cousins and Aunts. We travelled like mercenaries to any house that had a fabled Laser Disc(Google it, like the way of the Jedi it's time had passed it by with a remnant of it surviving in new technology). We owned all the figures we could get our hands on. It was not without controversy, like the now infamous R2D2-Chewbacca incident of '78, forgiveness is hard in these matters, but time heals most wounds. We spent endless hours in rooms and backyards in epic space battles, even crashing a TIE fighter complete with a carefully placed blue smoke bomb inside it's cockpit. First rule of Star Wars toys was find a kid who owned a Millenium Falcon and make friends with him. That glorious bucket of bolts that made a miraculous run in 12 Parsecs. We had no idea what the Kessel Run was or what a parsec was,(we didn't have google, and I don't think it was in the beautiful faux-looking leather binding of our World Book Encyclopedia's circa 1974) we just knew we had to make that infamous run. We made it in the Theater that night. I'm sure some folks further down the line behind us did not, I bet someone in a line like that went on to invent Fandango, so they would never miss a show of such importance again. This was Empire Strikes Back opening weekend there would be casualties and good men left behind in order to see it. We sat enthralled for the entire duration of that movie until the final end when Darth Vader reveals the true nature of his relationship to Luke. Did he just say that? He's lying, and it had to be a trick of the Dark Side, even I could see that. We had new heroes and villains that filled the canon of what we had already known about Star Wars. The theater erupted with applause at the end. I've been to a few movies on my life and I know there has been very few where clapping was involved. We walked out into the still warm night that drove the chill of the movie theater AC from us. If you've never been on the prairie when the sun is falling and stars begin to pierce the thin veil of wispy clouds and the slow turning of blue to soft purples to black velvet pin pointed by the lights of endless stars, well I might just feel sorry for you a little bit. This was one of those nights and one of those hours. We waited for the station wagon to come pick us up and we went home with thoughts of new battles and new adventure. As time wore on and we began to outgrow some of the magic the movies held over us(have to admit Return of the Jedi helped dissipate some of that enthusiasm, also the whole Luke kissing his sister thing was somewhat confusing for a 10 year old, for some people the controversy continues).
So, here we sat in another line decades later. 3 brothers waiting to see Star Wars again. The movie would be a continuation of our heroes' adventures. A renewing of the infamous Chewbacca-R2D2 controversy and bitterness pushed down in favor of keeping a good mood on the occasion. Once again I was older and wiser and they, as in Hollywood, couldn't show me much I hadn't seen or knew about. One brother had already seen it, but he kept his mouth shut, avoiding any new controversy. A nephew accidentally read something out loud from pinterest, so he ruined a few things for the oldest brother. I remained fresh going in. I had my thoughts and speculations, but I pushed them aside in favor of surprise. We were standing directly in front of one of the movie posters, the poster has all the elements we had come to know and love, characters standing in action poses, ominous enemies lurking over them and a gigantic planet-killing device that surely would destroy everything you knew and loved. Each of us had brought our children with us, ranging in ages from elementary to high school, there was 8 of us in all. It seemed like it should be a normal moment. It wasn't. Star Wars had been along for the ride with us since we were kids. Toys, Halloween costumes, family outings in Omaha, birthday and Christmas presents. Star Wars has always been common ground between kids, teenagers and adults since I was 4 years old. How could this be a normal moment including something we all had enjoyed for so long? It wasn't a nice warm summer evening though, it was the darkest of nights near the shortest of days in the year. Luckily we all fit inside the theater lobby. When they finally opened the theater door, we filed in with subdued excitement(fool me once Phantom Menace). No need to worry about tickets, thanks Fandango! We found a nice row of seats that would keep us all connected. We settled in and with little wait the theater screen lit up and the story began(after an hour of Preview Trailers). Much like life, our heroes had aged, they had gained responsibilities and had setbacks. I could draw the parallels of torches being passed between the old generation and the new characters and actors handing off batons. I thought about the collective memories our kids would have going to this movie with their Dad's, siblings and cousins. Then maybe the next movie that comes out, we'll all attend again. I have to admit, it made my 3D glasses go a little misty, of course it also might have been certain scenes in the movie, who knows. Much like things in Star Wars and life there will be myths and legends like the Kessel Run and the Chewbacca-R2D2 controversy, or even foggy 3D glasses. What really happened and where the truth appears is always somewhere in the middle. What we usually always remember is the people we shared those memories with and how it makes us feel when we think about them. I will hear the laughter of the kids at the funny parts and the quiet whispers as they tried to figure out what was going on in parts or predict what was going to happen. It's a good memory, one I hope to hold on to until the reboot 30 years from now when I hopefully get an invite to go to a Star Wars movie with my kids and grandkids and maybe some nieces and nephews. As the movie came to a close, much like at the end of Empire decades ago, people in the theater began to applaud, I smiled. As we left the megasuperawesomeplexin3D I could almost feel the echoes of that summer night so many years ago,a couple of bushy haired kids in high tube socks, terrible tank shirts and awful shorts not knowing how something so simple as the memory of a movie would still hold so much magic. I hope I helped create a similar memory for my kids, not just with me but with the rest of their family. Those are the kinds of memories that only come around every so often.They can stick with you for the rest of your life. Memories can fade into family lore or burn bright, like ancient squabbles about how an older brother used his careful manipulation to trick a sweet innocent 4 yr old boy into picking the R2D2 action figure over Chewbacca, just so he could get Chewbacca instead of his little brother. Leaving the poor little boy crying all the way home from White Mart pissed off at a seemingly useless toy droid, I mean come on, he didn't even have a laser pistol. Sonnuvabitch.
(SPOILER: Personally I enjoyed every second of the movie, and I believe it got a full 8 Wilde approval rating from the entire crew. I understand some people didn't like it, I just don't understand that some people didn't like it.)
So, here we sat in another line decades later. 3 brothers waiting to see Star Wars again. The movie would be a continuation of our heroes' adventures. A renewing of the infamous Chewbacca-R2D2 controversy and bitterness pushed down in favor of keeping a good mood on the occasion. Once again I was older and wiser and they, as in Hollywood, couldn't show me much I hadn't seen or knew about. One brother had already seen it, but he kept his mouth shut, avoiding any new controversy. A nephew accidentally read something out loud from pinterest, so he ruined a few things for the oldest brother. I remained fresh going in. I had my thoughts and speculations, but I pushed them aside in favor of surprise. We were standing directly in front of one of the movie posters, the poster has all the elements we had come to know and love, characters standing in action poses, ominous enemies lurking over them and a gigantic planet-killing device that surely would destroy everything you knew and loved. Each of us had brought our children with us, ranging in ages from elementary to high school, there was 8 of us in all. It seemed like it should be a normal moment. It wasn't. Star Wars had been along for the ride with us since we were kids. Toys, Halloween costumes, family outings in Omaha, birthday and Christmas presents. Star Wars has always been common ground between kids, teenagers and adults since I was 4 years old. How could this be a normal moment including something we all had enjoyed for so long? It wasn't a nice warm summer evening though, it was the darkest of nights near the shortest of days in the year. Luckily we all fit inside the theater lobby. When they finally opened the theater door, we filed in with subdued excitement(fool me once Phantom Menace). No need to worry about tickets, thanks Fandango! We found a nice row of seats that would keep us all connected. We settled in and with little wait the theater screen lit up and the story began(after an hour of Preview Trailers). Much like life, our heroes had aged, they had gained responsibilities and had setbacks. I could draw the parallels of torches being passed between the old generation and the new characters and actors handing off batons. I thought about the collective memories our kids would have going to this movie with their Dad's, siblings and cousins. Then maybe the next movie that comes out, we'll all attend again. I have to admit, it made my 3D glasses go a little misty, of course it also might have been certain scenes in the movie, who knows. Much like things in Star Wars and life there will be myths and legends like the Kessel Run and the Chewbacca-R2D2 controversy, or even foggy 3D glasses. What really happened and where the truth appears is always somewhere in the middle. What we usually always remember is the people we shared those memories with and how it makes us feel when we think about them. I will hear the laughter of the kids at the funny parts and the quiet whispers as they tried to figure out what was going on in parts or predict what was going to happen. It's a good memory, one I hope to hold on to until the reboot 30 years from now when I hopefully get an invite to go to a Star Wars movie with my kids and grandkids and maybe some nieces and nephews. As the movie came to a close, much like at the end of Empire decades ago, people in the theater began to applaud, I smiled. As we left the megasuperawesomeplexin3D I could almost feel the echoes of that summer night so many years ago,a couple of bushy haired kids in high tube socks, terrible tank shirts and awful shorts not knowing how something so simple as the memory of a movie would still hold so much magic. I hope I helped create a similar memory for my kids, not just with me but with the rest of their family. Those are the kinds of memories that only come around every so often.They can stick with you for the rest of your life. Memories can fade into family lore or burn bright, like ancient squabbles about how an older brother used his careful manipulation to trick a sweet innocent 4 yr old boy into picking the R2D2 action figure over Chewbacca, just so he could get Chewbacca instead of his little brother. Leaving the poor little boy crying all the way home from White Mart pissed off at a seemingly useless toy droid, I mean come on, he didn't even have a laser pistol. Sonnuvabitch.
(SPOILER: Personally I enjoyed every second of the movie, and I believe it got a full 8 Wilde approval rating from the entire crew. I understand some people didn't like it, I just don't understand that some people didn't like it.)
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