Southern women know their summer weather report:
Humidity, Humidity, Humidity
Southern women know their vacation spots:
The beach,The rivuh,The crick
Southern women know everybody's first name:
Honey, Darlin', Shugah
Southern women know the movies that speak to their hearts:
Fried Green Tomatoes, Driving Miss Daisy, Steel Magnolias, Gone With The Wind
Southern women know their religions:
Baptist, Methodist, Football
Southern women know their cities dripping with Southern charm:
Chawl'stn, S'vanah, Foat Wuth, N'awlins, Addlanna
Southern women know their elegant gentlemen:
Men in uniform, Men in tuxedos, Rhett Butler
Southern girls know their prime real estate:
The Mall, The Country Club, The Beauty Salon
Southern girls know the 3 deadly sins:Having bad hair and nails, Having bad manners, Cooking bad food
More Suthen-ism's:
Only a Southerner knows the difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit, and that you don't "HAVE" them, you "PITCH" them._____
Only a Southerner knows how many fish, collard greens, turnip greens, peas, beans, etc., make up "a mess."
Only a Southerner can show or point out to you the general direction of "yonder."
Only a Southerner knows exactly how long "directly" is, as in: "Going to town, be back directly."
Even Southern babies know that "Gimme some sugar" is not a request for the white, granular sweet substance that sits in a pretty little bowl in the middle of the table.
All Southerners know exactly when "by and by" is. They might not use the term, but they know the concept well.
Only a Southerner knows instinctively that the best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of hot fried chicken and a big bowl of cold potato salad. If the neighbor's trouble is a real crisis, they also know to add a large banana puddin!
Only Southerners grow up knowing the difference between "right near" and "a right far piece.."
hey also know that "just down the road" can be 1 mile or 20
Only a Southerner, both knows and understands, the difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy, and po' white trash.
No true Southerner would ever assume that the car with the flashing turn signal is actually going to make a turn.
A Southerner knows that "fixin" can be used as a noun, a verb, or an adverb.
Only Southerners make friends while standing in lines, ... and when we're "in line,"... we talk to everybody! Put 100 Southerners in a room and half of them will discover they're related, even if only by marriage.
In the South, y'all is singular, all y'all is plural.
Southerners know grits come from corn and how to eat them.
Every Southerner knows tomatoes with eggs, bacon, grits, and coffee are perfectly wonderful; that red eye gravy is also a breakfast food; and that fried green tomatoes are not a breakfast food.
When you hear someone say, "Well, I caught myself lookin'," you know you are in the presence of a genuine Southerner!
Only true Southerners say "sweet tea" and "sweet milk." Sweet tea indicates the need for sugar and lots of it -- we do not like our tea unsweetened. "Sweet milk" means you don't want buttermilk.
And a true Southerner knows you don't scream obscenities at little old ladies who drive 30 MPH on the freeway. You just say,"Bless her heart" ... and go your own way.
To those of you who are still a little embarrassed by your Southerness:
Take two tent revivals and a dose of sausage gravy and call me in the morning. Bless your heart!And to those of you who are still having a hard time understanding all this Southern stuff, ... bless your hearts, I hear they are fixin' to have classes on Southernness as a second language!
And for those that are not from the South but have lived here for a long time, all y'all need a sign to hang on y'alls front porch that reads "I ain't from the South, but I got here as fast as I could."
Southern girls know men may come and go, but friends are fahevah!
Now...... Shugah, if you enjoyed this post, tell your friends about it, particularly if they were raised in The South - or wish they had been! If you're a Northern transplant, bless your little heart, fake it 'cause we know you got here as fast as you could - Oh Lawdee!!
For your edification, I included a link to those most Southern of all women - The Sweet Potato Queens!!!!!
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Leviticus says what?
The dangers of quoting from the Bible Monday, June 28, 2010 at 2:29pm
In her radio show, Dr Laura Schlesinger said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following response is an open letter to Dr. Laura, penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:
Dear Dr. Laura: Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination ... End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.
1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?
2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of Menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?
6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?
7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?
8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?
9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I'm confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Your adoring fan, James M. Kauffman, Ed.D. Professor Emeritus, Dept. Of Curriculum, Instruction, and Special Education University of Virginia
(It would be a damn shame if we couldn't own a Canadian :)
In her radio show, Dr Laura Schlesinger said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22, and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following response is an open letter to Dr. Laura, penned by a US resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:
Dear Dr. Laura: Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination ... End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.
1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?
2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of Menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?
6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?
7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?
8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?
9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I'm confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Your adoring fan, James M. Kauffman, Ed.D. Professor Emeritus, Dept. Of Curriculum, Instruction, and Special Education University of Virginia
(It would be a damn shame if we couldn't own a Canadian :)
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A Young Boy in the South
Note from the poster: For all men (or ladies, I guess!) who have an uncle or "truthful" father or older male relative who grew up in The South. I can see my Uncle We and my Grandad Dyess in this scenario...
Growing up in Mississippi - Life as a child...
Around age 10 my dad got me one of those little badass compound bow beginner kits. Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow. Did you know that a 1955 40 horse Farmall tractor will take 6 rounds before it goes down?Tough sumbich.That got boring, so being the 10 yr. old Dukes of Hazard fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over the place. Keep in mind this was 99.999% humidity swampland so there really wasn't any fire danger. I'll put it this way- a set of post hole diggers and a 3 ft.. hole and you had yourself a well.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and see a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether). The light bulb went off.I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing manner...lets face it to a 10 yr old mouth-breather like myself, ether really doesn't "sound" flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles).At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around the ether can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie... 1 lb pyrodex and 16 oz ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker you know?You know what? Screw that I'm going back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it too. Now we're cookin'.
I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time frame, I turned to see my dad getting out of the truck...OH SHIT! he just got home from work. So help me God it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a WTF look in his eyes. I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of pyrodex and into the can.
Oh Shit!!
When the shock wave hit it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just reflex jerk back from 235 fricking decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering 1 ft above the ground as far as I could see. It was like a little low to the ground layer of dust fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and a crawfish or two.
The daylight turned purple.Let me repeat this...THE FRICKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE.There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into the pasture.Notice I said "was". That son-of-a-bitch got up and ran off.
So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my thundercats T-Shirt shredded, my dad is on the other side of the carport having what I can only assume is a Vietnam flashback:ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOUR BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. GODDAMNIT CEASE FIRE!!!!!His hat has blown off and is 30 ft behind him in the driveway. All windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 ft over our backyard.
There is a Honda 185s 3 wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I don't know- I know I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I don't remember much from this point on.
I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke later....repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR so dad could beat me some more.Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again. Thanks Mom.
One thing is for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again, Mom had been bitching about that thing for years and dad never did anything about it. I stepped up to the plate and handled business.
Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later. And I still have some sort of bone growth abnormality either from the blast or the beating.Or both.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery.It's good discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
Author Unknown
Growing up in Mississippi - Life as a child...
Around age 10 my dad got me one of those little badass compound bow beginner kits. Of course, the first month I went around our land sticking arrows in anything that could get stuck by an arrow. Did you know that a 1955 40 horse Farmall tractor will take 6 rounds before it goes down?Tough sumbich.That got boring, so being the 10 yr. old Dukes of Hazard fan that I was, I quickly advanced to taking strips of cut up T-shirt doused in chainsaw gas tied around the end and was sending flaming arrows all over the place. Keep in mind this was 99.999% humidity swampland so there really wasn't any fire danger. I'll put it this way- a set of post hole diggers and a 3 ft.. hole and you had yourself a well.
One summer afternoon, I was shooting flaming arrows into a large rotten oak stump in our backyard. I looked over under the carport and see a shiny brand new can of starting fluid (ether). The light bulb went off.I grabbed the can and set it on the stump. I thought that it would probably just spray out in a disappointing manner...lets face it to a 10 yr old mouth-breather like myself, ether really doesn't "sound" flammable. So, I went back into the house and got a 1 pound can of pyrodex (black powder for muzzle loader rifles).At this point, I set the can of ether on the stump and opened up the can of black powder. My intentions were to sprinkle a little bit around the ether can but it all sorta dumped out on me. No biggie... 1 lb pyrodex and 16 oz ether should make a loud pop, kinda like a firecracker you know?You know what? Screw that I'm going back in the house for the other can. Yes, I got a second can of pyrodex and dumped it too. Now we're cookin'.
I stepped back about 15 ft and lit the 2 stroke arrow. I drew the nock to my cheek and took aim. As I released I heard a clunk as the arrow launched from my bow. In a slow motion time frame, I turned to see my dad getting out of the truck...OH SHIT! he just got home from work. So help me God it took 10 minutes for that arrow to go from my bow to the can. My dad was walking towards me in slow motion with a WTF look in his eyes. I turned back towards my target just in time to see the arrow pierce the starting fluid can right at the bottom. Right through the main pile of pyrodex and into the can.
Oh Shit!!
When the shock wave hit it knocked me off my feet. I don't know if it was the actual compression wave that threw me back or just reflex jerk back from 235 fricking decibels of sound. I caught a half a millisecond glimpse of the violence during the initial explosion and I will tell you there was dust, grass, and bugs all hovering 1 ft above the ground as far as I could see. It was like a little low to the ground layer of dust fog full of grasshoppers, spiders, and a crawfish or two.
The daylight turned purple.Let me repeat this...THE FRICKING DAYLIGHT TURNED PURPLE.There was a big sweetgum tree out by the gate going into the pasture.Notice I said "was". That son-of-a-bitch got up and ran off.
So here I am, on the ground blown completely out of my shoes with my thundercats T-Shirt shredded, my dad is on the other side of the carport having what I can only assume is a Vietnam flashback:ECHO BRAVO CHARLIE YOUR BRINGIN' EM IN TOO CLOSE!! CEASE FIRE. GODDAMNIT CEASE FIRE!!!!!His hat has blown off and is 30 ft behind him in the driveway. All windows on the north side of the house are blown out and there is a slow rolling mushroom cloud about 2000 ft over our backyard.
There is a Honda 185s 3 wheeler parked on the other side of the yard and the fenders are drooped down and are now touching the tires.
I wish I knew what I said to my dad at this moment. I don't know- I know I said something. I couldn't hear. I couldn't hear inside my own head. I don't think he heard me either... not that it would really matter. I don't remember much from this point on.
I said something, felt a sharp pain, and then woke up later. I felt a sharp pain, blacked out, woke later....repeat this process for an hour or so and you get the idea. I remember at one point my mom had to give me CPR so dad could beat me some more.Bring him back to life so dad can kill him again. Thanks Mom.
One thing is for sure... I never had to mow around that stump again, Mom had been bitching about that thing for years and dad never did anything about it. I stepped up to the plate and handled business.
Dad sold his muzzle loader a week or so later. And I still have some sort of bone growth abnormality either from the blast or the beating.Or both.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, get your kids into archery.It's good discipline and will teach them skills they can use later on in life.
Author Unknown
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Rape Identity Protection - It Should Work Both Ways
I am not a criminal. I have never been charged with a crime. I fully support shielding of the identity of rape victims. The "public's right to know" is NOT sacrosanct. It applies to public meetings, the expenditure of public funds, government records and government in general, etc. I DOES NOT apply to private lives. I have no right to know anything about your life, if you are a private citizen. I too often hear fourth estate human megaphones spouting about "the public's right to know" when they should be shouting about "my right to produce scintillating garbage in order to sell more newspapers in order to generate more income for my employer".
Back to my original rant. Rape victims should not be identified. Neither should the ALLEGED attackers. I have no right to know that someone is ACCUSED of committing a crime. This benefits the public in no discernible way, shape or fashion.
I was motivated to blog about this topic because of a small blurb on page 2 of the sports section in this morning's newspaper. In three paragraphs, it detailed how a special prosecutor "has decided not to file charges against three...basketball players accused of rape, citing insufficient evidence". The article then proceeds to name "The players in question..." and "that DNA testing showed the three didn't commit the acts they were accused of (sic)".
OK. Now what? An accused rapist or rapists are still at large. The public in the area of the alleged rape is no better off than they were prior to the names of the three alleged attackers being released. Neither is the victim in a better position. The prosecutor has opened the door to reasonable doubt if the actual perpetrator(s) is/are apprehended. Seems as if the only ones in a position differing from the position they held prior to the arrest are the now-released defendants. And their position is in no way better than it was prior to the arrest.
My suggestion won't be adopted by the fourth estate since it would limit the titillating aspect of an article detailing the arrest of alleged perpetrators allegedly involved in an alleged sexual attack.
So...The victim is protected. This is a wonderful thing. The alleged perpetrators are identified and photographed for local and/or national news outlets. ALLEGED perpetrators. And, when the charges are dropped or they are found "not guilty", the news outlets release a minor "mea culpa". Just as you can't take back a hateful utterance, you can't "unaccuse" an innocent person.
Back to my original rant. Rape victims should not be identified. Neither should the ALLEGED attackers. I have no right to know that someone is ACCUSED of committing a crime. This benefits the public in no discernible way, shape or fashion.
I was motivated to blog about this topic because of a small blurb on page 2 of the sports section in this morning's newspaper. In three paragraphs, it detailed how a special prosecutor "has decided not to file charges against three...basketball players accused of rape, citing insufficient evidence". The article then proceeds to name "The players in question..." and "that DNA testing showed the three didn't commit the acts they were accused of (sic)".
OK. Now what? An accused rapist or rapists are still at large. The public in the area of the alleged rape is no better off than they were prior to the names of the three alleged attackers being released. Neither is the victim in a better position. The prosecutor has opened the door to reasonable doubt if the actual perpetrator(s) is/are apprehended. Seems as if the only ones in a position differing from the position they held prior to the arrest are the now-released defendants. And their position is in no way better than it was prior to the arrest.
My suggestion won't be adopted by the fourth estate since it would limit the titillating aspect of an article detailing the arrest of alleged perpetrators allegedly involved in an alleged sexual attack.
So...The victim is protected. This is a wonderful thing. The alleged perpetrators are identified and photographed for local and/or national news outlets. ALLEGED perpetrators. And, when the charges are dropped or they are found "not guilty", the news outlets release a minor "mea culpa". Just as you can't take back a hateful utterance, you can't "unaccuse" an innocent person.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Who to believe - The James Gang or a Leach?
Mike Leach vs. Craig & Adam James. Texas Tech. Concussion. What is fact in this fiasco? As far as I can see, there is only one verifiable fact. Mike Leach was fired as the football coach at Texas Tech. Other than that; squadouche. The Family James says many things. Leach and members of his staff counter. There is probably some truth and some lies on both sides. I won't pass judgement...for several reasons. Most people don't care what I think. My judgement won't have any effect on the situation. Most important, I don't care who is telling the truth. It has no effect on my life or my family, so it does not matter to me. The resolution of the situation is not my reason for blogging this morning. I just don't care.
Why I am sitting down is because I have seen parents like the elder James and children like the younger James. I have dealt with them as a youth coach, volunteer high school coach, sports official and fellow parent. I have shook my head in wonder at the arrogance of some parents. I have marvelled at their stupidity. I have wondered if they could be so blind to the damage they were doing to their children.
I do not claim to have been a perfect father. I'm sure my sons could regale you with tales of my ineptness. I know they have cussed me under their breath. I accept this. It's part of being a father. My sons are all good athletes. They played, and I coached, youth baseball, soccer and basketball. They played on school sports teams and were very good at what they did. What I NEVER did was to lobby a coach for playing time for them. If they wanted more playing time, they had to follow my instructions. I explained that you earn playing time during practice much more than during the actual game. If you don't like your position in the pecking order, work harder. That will enable you to reach your maximum potential. This potential may not be a career in professional sports, but it will be YOUR level of ability.
I, like my sons, realized in my teens that I was not going to be a professional athlete, or even play D1 sports. Sports were enjoyment. Testing personal limits. The fact that we may not have been the best on the team did not matter because we gave it our all. I won't speak for them, but I think they enjoyed the sports experience. They still play various sports and derive the enjoyment from the experience. All are professionals in their fields of expertise. Sports provides a necessary distraction.
I remember one particular exchange with the mother of a Little James who was a member of the baseball team I coached. She constantly yelled at her son from the bleachers. At times, she countermanded what I and the other coaches had told the child. After what was probably a bad day at work, I had reached my breaking point. While the practice continued, I calmly (if you knew my temper during that period of my life, you would have applauded my restraint) walked over to the first base bleachers and told her that she needed to stop yelling at her son. That, once he crossed the chain link fence, we (the coaches) were in charge. I said all this in a voice that could not be heard by the ballplayers. They were on the third base side of the field with the other coaches. Some other parents in the bleachers could hear, but I didn't give a rat's ass. She told me that she was only helping him and that she would continue. I made her an offer. Become a coach. I told her that I would give her my coaches T-shirt and let her cross the fence and coach her heart out. She told me that she probably could do a better job. Again, I made the offer. I then hit her with the knockout punch. I told her that, as a coach, I was responsible for more than a dozen children, including her little one. I would love to trade places with her so that I could concentrate solely on MY son and not have to be worried with the other children and their parents. It was something I had never experienced at the youth level since I always coached my sons' teams. She huffed, climbed down from the bleachers and walked across to the park. I wish I could say that she toned down, but she did not. But several parents thanked me for calling her out. And her son? The kid was a wreck. Nervous. Jittery. Shy. Withdrawn. A really good kid who happened to have a she wolf for a mother.
One rule I always followed: never say anything disrespectful (and doesn't that sound better than "don't be disrespecting"?) about an adult in the presence of my sons. Children are impressionable. When you degrade an adult in their presence, you undermine all adults. And you give your child a false sense of superiority and power. Children don't need that much power because they don't know what to do with it. I believe that you should support your child, but you must recognize that they are not perfect. They will transgress. When they do, they must pay the price. As a parent, you can be supportive, but you can't be blind.
If mommy and daddy verbalize that Mr. Smith is a stupid teacher or coach, then Little James has carte blanche to neither listen to nor respect Mr. Smith. In fact, Mr. Smith may indeed BE a stupid teacher or coach, but the is not Little James' business. This discussion should take place between mommy and daddy and Little James should not be within earshot. It's a small step from Mr. Smith being stupid to ANY adult with whom Little James has a problem being stupid. And if mommy and daddy always coddle Little James and make excuses for him, he's going to grow up believing he is without fault. There will be no cause and effect in his life. His sense of superiority will mean that he does not have to exert himself to, in his mind, get the starting position or more playing time or make the all-star team. He will never be a team player. He will always forsake the success of the team in favor of his personal aggrandizement. And, when he fails, which all of us do from time to time, mommy and daddy have implanted a numbing and dangerous rationalization in his psyche. "It's not your fault."
Why I am sitting down is because I have seen parents like the elder James and children like the younger James. I have dealt with them as a youth coach, volunteer high school coach, sports official and fellow parent. I have shook my head in wonder at the arrogance of some parents. I have marvelled at their stupidity. I have wondered if they could be so blind to the damage they were doing to their children.
I do not claim to have been a perfect father. I'm sure my sons could regale you with tales of my ineptness. I know they have cussed me under their breath. I accept this. It's part of being a father. My sons are all good athletes. They played, and I coached, youth baseball, soccer and basketball. They played on school sports teams and were very good at what they did. What I NEVER did was to lobby a coach for playing time for them. If they wanted more playing time, they had to follow my instructions. I explained that you earn playing time during practice much more than during the actual game. If you don't like your position in the pecking order, work harder. That will enable you to reach your maximum potential. This potential may not be a career in professional sports, but it will be YOUR level of ability.
I, like my sons, realized in my teens that I was not going to be a professional athlete, or even play D1 sports. Sports were enjoyment. Testing personal limits. The fact that we may not have been the best on the team did not matter because we gave it our all. I won't speak for them, but I think they enjoyed the sports experience. They still play various sports and derive the enjoyment from the experience. All are professionals in their fields of expertise. Sports provides a necessary distraction.
I remember one particular exchange with the mother of a Little James who was a member of the baseball team I coached. She constantly yelled at her son from the bleachers. At times, she countermanded what I and the other coaches had told the child. After what was probably a bad day at work, I had reached my breaking point. While the practice continued, I calmly (if you knew my temper during that period of my life, you would have applauded my restraint) walked over to the first base bleachers and told her that she needed to stop yelling at her son. That, once he crossed the chain link fence, we (the coaches) were in charge. I said all this in a voice that could not be heard by the ballplayers. They were on the third base side of the field with the other coaches. Some other parents in the bleachers could hear, but I didn't give a rat's ass. She told me that she was only helping him and that she would continue. I made her an offer. Become a coach. I told her that I would give her my coaches T-shirt and let her cross the fence and coach her heart out. She told me that she probably could do a better job. Again, I made the offer. I then hit her with the knockout punch. I told her that, as a coach, I was responsible for more than a dozen children, including her little one. I would love to trade places with her so that I could concentrate solely on MY son and not have to be worried with the other children and their parents. It was something I had never experienced at the youth level since I always coached my sons' teams. She huffed, climbed down from the bleachers and walked across to the park. I wish I could say that she toned down, but she did not. But several parents thanked me for calling her out. And her son? The kid was a wreck. Nervous. Jittery. Shy. Withdrawn. A really good kid who happened to have a she wolf for a mother.
One rule I always followed: never say anything disrespectful (and doesn't that sound better than "don't be disrespecting"?) about an adult in the presence of my sons. Children are impressionable. When you degrade an adult in their presence, you undermine all adults. And you give your child a false sense of superiority and power. Children don't need that much power because they don't know what to do with it. I believe that you should support your child, but you must recognize that they are not perfect. They will transgress. When they do, they must pay the price. As a parent, you can be supportive, but you can't be blind.
If mommy and daddy verbalize that Mr. Smith is a stupid teacher or coach, then Little James has carte blanche to neither listen to nor respect Mr. Smith. In fact, Mr. Smith may indeed BE a stupid teacher or coach, but the is not Little James' business. This discussion should take place between mommy and daddy and Little James should not be within earshot. It's a small step from Mr. Smith being stupid to ANY adult with whom Little James has a problem being stupid. And if mommy and daddy always coddle Little James and make excuses for him, he's going to grow up believing he is without fault. There will be no cause and effect in his life. His sense of superiority will mean that he does not have to exert himself to, in his mind, get the starting position or more playing time or make the all-star team. He will never be a team player. He will always forsake the success of the team in favor of his personal aggrandizement. And, when he fails, which all of us do from time to time, mommy and daddy have implanted a numbing and dangerous rationalization in his psyche. "It's not your fault."
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Veterans Day - 2009
A memorable one. Too much cold beer and good companionship and too little time to thoroughly enjoy the day. Melford hit town and we spent the day at the fish farm. After another teardown of the beaver dam, we took a walk around the place. Peaceful. We fed the Dorito cat. She does not have a name, but she loves Black Pepperjack Doritos. Could not get enough of them. I think the cat has dain bramage!
Sitting and talking. Two aging vets reminiscing about the happy times. Mostly about the college days at Millsaps. Melford's a swabbie, but not too bad, as they go. We laughed throughout the day. Caught and grilled some catfish. Dorito cat was not interested. I guess she filled up on her namesake.
Let me assure any of our friends who might read this post - NOTHING negative was spoken about any of you. ALL of you were fondly remembered on Veterans Day 2009. And some of you are even veterans!
Floy, Cindy, Bread, Shellie, Darrelyn, Rusty, Martha, Jane, Diane, Kathy, Mary, Joe Pat, Cossack, Boo, Richie, Gorgo, Jack, Geno, Sabu, Dupee, Janice, The Archbishop, Skybird, multiple Johns, Stan the Man, Debbies, Marla, Mikes, Donna, Schulte, Rowan, Bobby, Patti, Tube Jockey, and many others. I could go on and on. It seemed like we laughed about all our friends and how much they meant to us.
Then we spent some time remembering the good things about those who are no longer with us: Brett, House Mouse (aka: The Poster Poster), Dwight, and Lance, and Dr. Priddy. And those with whom we have lost touch, and know not if they are still with us or gone: Ronnie, Bret, and Jersey come to mind.
After spending the day, and with night falling, I headed home. The guilt started. I had spent an entire day with a good friend, fellow thespian and former housemate. We laughed and talked and discussed and fondly remembered our Millsaps friends and lovers. Two veterans on Veterans Day. And we had not spent one moment remembering our service friends - those who are still with us and those who are not. I know he agrees with me...our service buddies won't mind. Not at all. This is how we chose to spend Veterans Day 2009.
As I lay in the bed. In the dark. No sounds except those wafting through my open windows. The sounds of night. A quiet night. Then I thought of those who are no longer with me. Larry and Niv and Paul and The Nose. I'm going to visit them at The Wall online in just a minute. I know they will heartily approve of how I spent Veterans Day 2009. I only with they could have been with the two of us...
Sitting and talking. Two aging vets reminiscing about the happy times. Mostly about the college days at Millsaps. Melford's a swabbie, but not too bad, as they go. We laughed throughout the day. Caught and grilled some catfish. Dorito cat was not interested. I guess she filled up on her namesake.
Let me assure any of our friends who might read this post - NOTHING negative was spoken about any of you. ALL of you were fondly remembered on Veterans Day 2009. And some of you are even veterans!
Floy, Cindy, Bread, Shellie, Darrelyn, Rusty, Martha, Jane, Diane, Kathy, Mary, Joe Pat, Cossack, Boo, Richie, Gorgo, Jack, Geno, Sabu, Dupee, Janice, The Archbishop, Skybird, multiple Johns, Stan the Man, Debbies, Marla, Mikes, Donna, Schulte, Rowan, Bobby, Patti, Tube Jockey, and many others. I could go on and on. It seemed like we laughed about all our friends and how much they meant to us.
Then we spent some time remembering the good things about those who are no longer with us: Brett, House Mouse (aka: The Poster Poster), Dwight, and Lance, and Dr. Priddy. And those with whom we have lost touch, and know not if they are still with us or gone: Ronnie, Bret, and Jersey come to mind.
After spending the day, and with night falling, I headed home. The guilt started. I had spent an entire day with a good friend, fellow thespian and former housemate. We laughed and talked and discussed and fondly remembered our Millsaps friends and lovers. Two veterans on Veterans Day. And we had not spent one moment remembering our service friends - those who are still with us and those who are not. I know he agrees with me...our service buddies won't mind. Not at all. This is how we chose to spend Veterans Day 2009.
As I lay in the bed. In the dark. No sounds except those wafting through my open windows. The sounds of night. A quiet night. Then I thought of those who are no longer with me. Larry and Niv and Paul and The Nose. I'm going to visit them at The Wall online in just a minute. I know they will heartily approve of how I spent Veterans Day 2009. I only with they could have been with the two of us...
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Not Just The Black, But ALL Women
Leonard Pitts, Jr. is a columnist whose ramblings appear on Sunday and Wednesday in the Miami Herald. He seems to carry a chip on his shoulder, but I still find some of his writings to be quite interesting...and thought provoking. This being the case, I'm sure he would be pleased.
Today's (11/1/09) entry concerned black women who whiten themselves up. If you click on the link above, you can read his entire column. I found it interesting, but I see the same instances of appearance-changing in all races. I do see his point about black women straightening or weaving their hair and how they, and others, spend $9 billion (yep! that's what Chris Rock says) yearly on stuff to affect the change. And how "black folks" own very little of the industry. Seems like a huge waste.
I am a fan of women. All women. I find them fascinating. They are much better than my sex. They have so much more to offer the world. I love most aspects of women. They are the nurturers. The givers. Most ask for so little in return. Many ask for nothing. But they also seem, and I know I should not deal with generalities, to be insecure. And none of them should be.
I was particularly moved by the end of Pitts' column. So much that I left a Sunday PM football game on TV to sit down and blog. As I said earlier, I find some of his writings very interesting. He is a gifted wordsmith. I close with the portion that caught my attention...and caused me to reread it three times. I can't think of anyone who has ever stated this truth more eloquently:
"I am your brother, your father, your husband and your son. I've seen you in church with big hats on, giving children the evil eye. And at the jail on visiting day, shoring up that wayward man. And at the bus stop in the rain on your way to work. And at the dining table with pen and paper, working miracles of money. When I was a baby, you nursed me, when we were children, I chased you through the house; when we were dating, I missed half the movie, stealing sugar from you. I saw you born; I took you to your prom; I glowed with pride when you went off to school. I have married you and buried you. I love your smile. A million times, you took my breath away.
You are the rock and salvation of our people, the faith that remains when all hope is gone. So if it's about the need to be beautiful, maybe it's time somebody told you:
You already are. You always were. "
Today's (11/1/09) entry concerned black women who whiten themselves up. If you click on the link above, you can read his entire column. I found it interesting, but I see the same instances of appearance-changing in all races. I do see his point about black women straightening or weaving their hair and how they, and others, spend $9 billion (yep! that's what Chris Rock says) yearly on stuff to affect the change. And how "black folks" own very little of the industry. Seems like a huge waste.
I am a fan of women. All women. I find them fascinating. They are much better than my sex. They have so much more to offer the world. I love most aspects of women. They are the nurturers. The givers. Most ask for so little in return. Many ask for nothing. But they also seem, and I know I should not deal with generalities, to be insecure. And none of them should be.
I was particularly moved by the end of Pitts' column. So much that I left a Sunday PM football game on TV to sit down and blog. As I said earlier, I find some of his writings very interesting. He is a gifted wordsmith. I close with the portion that caught my attention...and caused me to reread it three times. I can't think of anyone who has ever stated this truth more eloquently:
"I am your brother, your father, your husband and your son. I've seen you in church with big hats on, giving children the evil eye. And at the jail on visiting day, shoring up that wayward man. And at the bus stop in the rain on your way to work. And at the dining table with pen and paper, working miracles of money. When I was a baby, you nursed me, when we were children, I chased you through the house; when we were dating, I missed half the movie, stealing sugar from you. I saw you born; I took you to your prom; I glowed with pride when you went off to school. I have married you and buried you. I love your smile. A million times, you took my breath away.
You are the rock and salvation of our people, the faith that remains when all hope is gone. So if it's about the need to be beautiful, maybe it's time somebody told you:
You already are. You always were. "
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