Mitchell The House Rabbit (2008-2014)

An obituary of our rabbit, Mitchell:

RIP MITCHELL

Mitchell passed from this Earth on July 2, 2014 after a brief illness. He is survived by his friend and master, Max Williams (age 12) and Max’s family—parents John and Sherry; and brothers Adam (age 21) and Lucas (age 19). He is also survived by his longtime companion, Mollie, and his special friend, Charlie The Cat.

Mitchell was born on March 22, 2008 in Scott County, Kentucky at the home of Rick and Lisa True. At the time of his passing, he was the only known survivor of his litter. Mitchell was a pure bred New Zealand rabbit, known for albinism and propensity for weight gain.

Eating was the primary focus of Mitchell’s life. He enjoyed nothing more than his morning banana and snack of grapes right before bed. Timothy hay, rabbit food and cilantro were also among his favorites. He was no snob, though, as he was known to occasionally enjoy a piece of cardboard or perhaps newspaper. His own excrement was often his snack of choice. He also enjoyed a good book but only if he could eat the pages.

When not eating, Mitchell was often found staring blankly off into space. Being nocturnal, he enjoyed napping during the day, which he could do with his eyes open. As prey for larger animals, Mitchell was always aware of his surroundings looking about for predators. A cardboard box was his shelter or hutch of choice.

Mitchell brightened the lives of those who knew him with his entertaining “happy hops” and general mischief. While many carry scars from his bites, they are now permanent reminders of our friend.
In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to Kentucky Rabbit Rescue at http://rabbit.rescueme.org/Kentucky.

Mitchell, back in his youth.

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Five Parenting Myths–or Lies (According to Me)

I’ve been a parent for over 20 years now. I’ve also been a child for 51 years. So, I know a thing or two about parents and children. Experience is, after all, the best teacher.

I don’t listen to parenting advice, because most of it is useless. I also haven’t done any research on parenting, except for my own hands-on research with three sons. As a result, anything you read here should be taken with a grain of salt. It’s unlikely that I know any more than you do, unless you don’t have children. In that case, I know more about parenting than you will EVER know, unless you end up having kids. As an aside, if you have dogs, I’m fine with that, but it doesn’t count unless you have to send your dog to college or it learns to drive a car.

Over the years, I’ve heard a lot of stuff about parenting. Most of it is wrong, at least for me. As a service to my fellow parents and future members of the club, here are the Five Myths of Parenting:

1. PARENTING IS THE HARDEST JOB YOU’LL EVER HAVE

I guess this is possible, depending on what kind of job you have. I’m a lawyer, and it’s a pretty hard job. I’ve worked long hours under tremendous stress. Parenting isn’t nearly that stressful.

Have you ever heard of a “belt mucker?” That’s a job in a coal mine where you clean up coal spills on the conveyor belt line. You use a shovel. Often, you work bent over or on your knees because there isn’t room to stand up. Sometimes, the mine floor is so wet that you have to use buckets to clean up the coal and muck. It’s a hard, hard job–much harder than being a lawyer and a hell of a lot harder than taking care of children.

Watch the film The Hurt Locker. Think about being on a bomb squad in Iraq. Helping Johnny with his homework doesn’t seem so tough, does it?

I saw a guy pumping out a port-a-potty the other day. I bet he wouldn’t mind doing your kid’s laundry.

None of this means being a parent is easy. Nothing worthwhile is easy. Nevertheless, there’s a huge gulf between easy and the most difficult thing on Earth. If parenting is the hardest job you’ve ever done, chances are you’re doing it all wrong.

2. YOU MUST DO THE BEST YOU KNOW HOW TO DO

We all like to think we’re doing our very best in raising our children. That’s a lofty goal, but it’s not true nor is it necessary. Is there anything you do that you always do the best you know how to do? How about your job? C’mon. Everyone slacks off at work. You take vacations don’t you?

The thing about parenting is that you’re always on the clock. We all take breaks on occasion, and that’s okay. Ever park your kid in front of the television? I have. My oldest son used to be hypnotized by Barney. We need that sometimes. Who among hasn’t sent one of the kids to a neighbor’s house just for some peace and quiet? Again, it’s okay.

Here’s what we should do all the time: Stuff. Something. Anything (assuming it’s not harmful). Make your kids dinner, even if it’s crappy. Ask them about school, even if you really don’t give a damn at the moment. Feign interest in what they’re doing, even when you are much more concerned about yourself. Go to their ball games despite them being poorly played or your kid not being any good. Act like you’re interested. Maybe this is the best we can do, but that’s doubtful.

Just do stuff. Half-ass is okay. Often, you’ll be totally on your parenting game and fully engaged. When you’re not, just do stuff.

3. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR CHILD’S SUCCESS

This is a double-edged lie–that you are responsible for the success of your children and the converse that you are to blame for their failures. Although you can make substantial contributions to either outcome, you can’t truthfully claim credit.

Your kids are people–human beings even. They make decisions. They don’t listen well. Some of them, despite being otherwise fine children, rebel against your advice. I was like that. If told to do something, I spent all my energy on finding another way to do it. The older they get, the worse it gets, too. Have you ever tried to force someone to do something? It’s not easy.

Maybe your kid does well, because you’re the greatest parent on Earth. Then again, maybe your kid has certain natural strengths and exploits them. I have two sons who are excellent athletes. Why? They were born that way. Another of my sons is as smart as anyone I’ve ever met. It’s just how he is. I didn’t train him to be that way.

Let’s say you send your kid to only the best schools. Here’s a little secret that your kid probably hasn’t shared with you. Kids at the best schools drink, take drugs and have sex with each other. They do. If your kid wants to find a bad crowd, it’s right there. You can provide opportunities for your son or daughter, but if he or she does well, give credit where credit is due–and it ain’t to you!

If you are fortunate enough to be able to provide the best for your kids–schools, clothes, houses, etc.–consider that your kids have many advantages. In fact, they should do well under those conditions. If you’re born on third base, you didn’t hit a triple.

The other side is that your kid may do very poorly. Do you want the blame for that? I sure wouldn’t. The good news is that it’s probably not your fault. Oh, you may play a part, just like with the successes. You may be one of those despicable parents who do nothing for their kids. If so, you’ve laid the groundwork. Ultimately, though, your kid gets to own his or her failures.

Another reminder–here’s what you can do: Something. Just do something. Try. Give them some direction. Set a good example. Help them when they need help. Be sure they go to the doctor. Feed them. Clothe them. Just put forth a little effort. Something is better than nothing.

4. YOU MUST PROTECT YOUR CHILDREN

I’m not suggesting that you ignore your children. Of course, we all should try to shield our children from harm and do no harm to them ourselves. That’s not the same as insulating them from the world. That just can’t be done.

Nowadays, we’re bombarded with terrifying scenarios: drug abuse, pedophiles, bullies, Internet stalkers, ungodly schools and general evil. It would be nice to just spare our kids all of this. You can’t. I can’t. We can’t. The world has a lot of rough edges. And that is where we all have to live. Sorry, but that’s how it is. If your kid gets bullied or just does something disappointing, it’s not because of bad parenting. It’s what happens in the world. Deal with the consequences, but don’t delude yourself into thinking you can smooth off all those rough edges.

We can’t hide our kids. Bad things can happen to kids, just like adults. Illness, accidents–even death befall kids. Everyone who dies is someone’s child, you know. Now, I realize this will step on toes, but even God won’t protect your kids from the world. What makes you think you can?

If something bad befalls your kids, it’s not your fault–unless you did it. The world is a tough place.

Again, do stuff. You won’t always do the best you can, but do stuff. Every little bit helps.

5. YOUR CHILDREN MUST BE YOUR NO. 1 PRIORITY

This is another lofty goal, but unrealistic for all but the truly deranged. Think about it. If your kids really are your Number 1 priority, that means they rank ahead of you; your spouse, faith and job; and everything else. If you have more than one child, you have to spread this maniacal devotion among multiple targets. That’s a tall order.

I’ve heard many people say “My children come first.” I doubt that’s true or even should be. For example, I have a job and need it to feed, clothe and shelter my kids. If I always put them before my job, I’ll soon be unemployed and spending ALL my time with them.

Are you married? If so, you might think about making your spouse a top priority. Here’s a radical thought for many: Sometimes, your spouse should be your top priority. If your kids rank ahead of your spouse, you probably have a fairly toxic relationship going on there. Good luck.

There’s also a fine line between prioritizing your kids and making them think they are the most important people on Earth. The latter is not good. Kids are already self-centered ego maniacs. They believe that the world exists for their entertainment. Reinforce that for them, and pretty soon you’ll have little monsters.

Try this for a more realistic ideal. Your kids should be a top priority. Keep them in mind. Just don’t let them choose the dinner menu or decide what time they go to bed or what the family watches on TV. Just pay some attention to them. My kids want my time–not all my time. Just some of it.

So, I can sum up all I know about parenting with this: Do stuff. Some of it will be really good and pay off. Some of it won’t. One day, your kids will have kids and know just as little you do. Then, they’ll think you’re a genius and may even seek your advice. Do stuff.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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My Kindergarten Commencement Address

I have already tackled the difficult task of preparing a high school commencement speech. Not surprisingly, no one took me up on my offer to speak at any high school commencement. High school, though, is not the only ground upon which to impart my wisdom.

Perhaps I should speak to a college or university. Public figures and captains of industry often do that. Alas, I am neither. That goal simply isn’t realistic.

What about elementary or middle school grads? I didn’t go to a middle school, so I don’t know anything about that. As far as those entering high school, most of them are morons and won’t listen anyway.

This leaves me with kindergarten, that Petri dish of preschoolers ready to take on real school. I graduated from kindergarten as part of the Harlan Kindergarten Class of 1968. It was my only foray into private school, as there was no public kindergarten in those days. I graduated with a haughty sense of entitlement.

Your author’s natty attire belied his naiveté as a kindergartener.

I would have benefited from wise counsel in those days. I now stand ready to educate kindergarteners on what lies before them. To paraphrase the late, great drummer, Buddy Rich: These people. They are my kind of people. So, here goes:

Hello, kids! Thank you for allowing me to speak to you today. Today is an important moment in your young lives. After today, you are no longer preschoolers. You are students and shall remain so for many years to come.

As you are no doubt aware, “kindergarten” is from the German, meaning “children’s garden.” It was created by a German named Friederich Frobel in the village of Bad Blankenburg. Stop giggling! That’s the name! You’ll be calling the world ahead of you blankin’-burg soon enough.

Up to this point, many of you have gotten by on your appearance. You are, as we say, cute. That will rapidly fade in elementary school. We will lose teeth and become awkward as you grow. Being cute means nothing. Every misanthrope and human monster was once your age. Look at this darling child [I hold this up for the audience]:

$Adolf_Hitler_Childhood_Photos-{1}$

His name? Adolf Hitler. Cute, isn’t he?

Many–if not most–of you are unprepared for school. A great number of you are complete illiterates, unable to so much as correctly spell your full name. Others are only functionally illiterate. You cannot read even at the 1st grade level. Your ability to understand or complete even a simple job application is nil. Even rudimentary math is beyond your comprehension at this point. As a result of these limitations, you are unable to function in modern society. These handicaps, daunting as they may be, can and will be remedied in the coming years–at least to some extent.

Some of you now begin your long, slow trudge to failure–sad but true. You will annoy your teachers. You will gravitate to the worst of your lot and mimic their behavior. Perhaps you will be the ring leader of a group of miscreants. If so, make no mistake: You can and will be written off at a young age. The good news is that–for the only time in your life–time is on your side. As unlikely as it may be, you can change your behavior for the better.

Many of you are angels or so your parents have led you to believe. You are sweet and when you aren’t, you are simply misunderstood. Your failures and shortcomings are not your own. They are the product of misinformed individuals or society as a whole. Your parents are failing you daily, but I do not expect you to understand. Being egocentric as you are, you are comfortable with this arrangement. This comfort sows the seeds of your ultimate downfall. When you fall short of expectations at school, your parents will harangue your teachers, blaming them for your sloth and intellectual shortcomings. Only when you are much older will you realize that your house stands upon sand. Then, it will be too late.

Some of you are tethered to your parents like pets. You never leave their sight. They are determined to protect you from the evils of the world and the world itself. They will often lunch with you at school. Perhaps they will volunteer in your classroom. Some may even seek gainful employment at your school. They seek to smother you with their attention. And they will succeed.

A few–and I hope very few–of you are little more than street urchins deposited at school by uncaring parents who neither deserve to have children nor any other human relationship. There is good news for you. It is possible–not likely, but possible–that you will encounter someone who can exert a positive influence upon you outside your home. School is the most likely place to find such a person.

You may be an only child. By that, of course, I mean you are the only child in your immediate family. YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY CHILD ON EARTH! Just remember that.

Of course, you will encounter teachers. In my experience, the good far outnumber the bad. The good ones will care about you like no one outside your own family. The bad ones will want to herd you on the next grade while they detest you almost as much as they do their dead-end jobs. Most of your teachers do the best they can. Your cooperation will help.

Your teachers may occasionally criticize or correct you. That is their job. That is how you learn. This may be foreign to you. Your parents may be the type who praise everything you do from feeding yourself to basic hygiene. Your teachers shall prepare you for the real world where such tasks are not viewed as accomplishments at all. In fact, society fairly demands you master them.

Your teachers also cannot praise your every move. I have no doubt that all of you have drawn pictures for your parents. Let’s say you draw what you called a “horsey.” In reality, this horse resembles nothing so much as random scrawling with no form. It is, in fact, completely unrecognizable as a horse or any other living creature. When you present this picture to your parents they exclaim “Oh, what a pretty horsey! It’s beautiful!” Such lies are meant to boost your self-esteem by lauding your crude art work. If an adult produced such a drawing and insisted that it was horse, he or she would branded as mentally deranged. Institutions and unemployment would be their future.

A decent parent would look at your drawing and ask “What exactly about that looks like a horse?” or “Why don’t we just call it a wildebeest or a fire hydrant? Makes as much sense.” I doubt that you have ever received such constructive criticism. Those days are done.

No teacher worth his or her salt can engage in such foolishness. If you declare that 2 + 2 equals 11, you cannot be praised. You are not praiseworthy.

Despite what your parents think, there is almost no chance that you are a genius. That you are able to distinguish letters of the alphabet means little. It is axiomatic that most of you are average. That’s not to say that there aren’t exceptions. Some of you are far, far smarter than your peers. That will not change, although you shall be witness to many years of people trying to bring your peers up to your level or you down to theirs. But you are smarter than these people, too, and they will fail.

You are now headed to a world where failure is, in fact, an option. The good news is that the educational system is designed to prevent failure. In addition to your teachers, there are counselors, tutors, study plans and even medication at your disposal. Perhaps you are now addicted to amphetamines in an effort to help you pay better attention in school. That might help. Of course, the downside to living as a speed freak is well-known but better discussed at your middle school graduation.

No doubt you reflect today that time flies. It seems like only yesterday that you soiled yourself simply because you knew no better. For a few of you, it literally may have been yesterday. In any event, those days are behind you now–hopefully. A new day dawns.

You now leave the garden and head straight into the jungle. Knowing your penchant for distraction, I have kept my words brief. Some of you have picked your noses throughout my talk while others have squirmed with annoyance. Welcome to the rest of your life.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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The Ultimate Facebook User’s Guide

It’s 2013, and I guess everyone on Earth is on Facebook now–maybe not everyone but a lot of people for sure. I first joined Facebook in 2008 as a way to snoop on my kids. That didn’t last long as I became intrigued, then fascinated and then addicted to its wonders.

In 2008, most people were playing games on Facebook. Mafia Wars dominated as your FB friends asked you to join their “mafia.” I never did. That gave way to Farmville, and Facebookers became virtual Oliver Wendall Douglases. They needed help building fences and barns and rounding up animals. It was like everyone was Amish after they logged on. Then came Words With Friends, CityVille, Poker and many more games. Now, there is a Farmville 2. We’ve come full circle.

A lot of people who know me well are surprised that I like Facebook. I’m not the most social person. In fact, I’m an intensely private person. Why do I like FB? First, I’ve caught up with dozens of people I would never have heard from again nor made any effort to do so. I know about their families and lives now. Second, I would never have contact with most of these folks otherwise. I don’t do a good job of keeping track of folks. FB fixed that. Third, it helps me to hear opinions of others and the good and bad in other folks’ lives. It’s good to be plugged into to the human race, even if it’s just by a PC or smart phone. Finally, it’s a way to interact with people without really having to fool with them. Perfect for me.

Even people who aren’t on Facebook know about it. They have co-workers, friends and family on FB. They’ll look at others’ pages and secretly pine to belong. Why don’t they? Usually, these folks are men who have deemed themselves either too busy or cool to be bothered with it. They’ll say things like “I’d never do that. I don’t have the time.” Translation: “I’m more important you are. Blah, blah, blah.” These are the same people who will join LinkedIn and make 2,000 connections, because they think it’s important. Look, I know housewives, doctors, lawyers, teachers, kids, CEOs, factory workers, journalists, accountants and unemployed folks on FB. You ain’t that important. Of course, there are the Luddites of the world for whom the whole thing is overwhelming. These are the folks still trying to figure out if they should get into texting. Don’t let any of these killjoys drag you down. If you want to live in the FB world, join us.

If you’ve never been on FB or if you are but you only log on every few weeks or months, there are some basic rules or guidelines which will help you enjoy the experience.

NO ONE LIKES A CREEPER

Imagine if your next door neighbor rarely left his house and, when he did, he didn’t speak to you. Yet, he would read your mail and stare in your windows. Sometimes, he would just stand in your yard. Even if you thought he was harmless, you’d get tired of this behavior. FB works the same way.

Don’t just go on FB to creep on other people. We’re not a shy lot, but we like some interaction. I’m not saying you have to post something every time you log on, but you can “like” a status or even comment on one sometimes. We won’t think less of you. In fact, we might “like” you right back. Even if we don’t, we’re unlikely to say anything. There is no “dislike” button. You might even get “poked.”

When you creep, I call it going Rondo:

Don’t go all Rondo on your friends.

Naturally, you might wonder: “If I post something, what should it be?”

WHAT SHOULD I SAY?

The good news is that there really are no rules beyond a certain unspoken PG-13 standard. Posters fall into several categories:

The Lamenter: This is a person for whom the world is a difficult and troubled place. He or she is ill, has ill family members, job and money woes and usually doesn’t sleep well. We on FB like these folks. They’re part of our virtual family. Plus, they make us feel a little better about ourselves. Vent all you want. We won’t judge you and, if we do, we’ll probably do it quietly.

The Prayer Warrior: This person is seeking or sending prayers for many things: the country, sick children, sick adults, the dead, the living and the unborn. He or she will post Bible verses and inspirational quotes from a variety of sources. If you have a problem, these folks will step up. Most people are like I am–we’ll take prayers where we can get them. It can’t hurt.

The Politico: This man or woman occupies either the far left or right of the political spectrum. He will post a long string of gifs and memes assailing his political opponents. Some of these will even be factually accurate. Many will be libelous. He also likes to quote people like Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, George Washington, James Monroe, Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Calvin Coolidge, and Ronald Reagan. Oddly enough, these sources are quoted equally by both sides. You, too, can join in. Now, please understand that none of us change our opinions based on your posts, but we will be entertained, at least to some extent. If we’re not, we can always block you. You’ll never know.

Just like at the Thanksgiving dinner table or your local bar, droning on about politics will eventually offend someone. The good news about FB is that you can just log off and let other vent at you.

Sports Guy: Based on his posts, he lives for sports, not playing them but watching other people play them. If “his” team wins, he will gloat and insult other teams and their fans, not just the one “his” team beat, either. His very worth as a human being is tied to whether a team of people he doesn’t know beats another team of people he doesn’t know. These victories fill him with joy and make him superior to fans of other teams. He won’t post about anything else. The flip side is that when his team loses, his posts become disturbing and deranged. He is a lesser person, and he knows it.

The Worker: This guy uses FB to promote his job, whatever it might be. He’s usually selling something. That’s cool. I might want to buy whatever it is he sells someday. I’d rather buy from a virtual friend than a total stranger.

Music Man: This guys rarely posts, and it’s almost always music videos. Why? I don’t know. I’ll check one out every now and then. It’s harmless.

Animal Farmers: These are folks who like animals. Well, maybe they love animals. Almost all their posts are about animals. There is an endless supply of comical photos of dogs and cats on the Internet. All of them have been posted on FB. If, like me, you don’t find animals particularly entertaining, you can scroll through these posts. Besides, if you don’t love animals these folks probably aren’t targeting you anyway.

Crusaders: These folks are against bad stuff. Oddly, the bad stuff they are against is the kind of stuff everyone is against. They want you to “like” their posts if you’re against such things as child abuse, cancer, child pornography, violence against women and animal abuse. These are good things to be against. Post all you want about them but don’t expect any spirited debates.

Family Affair: These folks post only about their families, usually their kids. Their kids are uniformly wonderful and blessings from God. We all like to hear about kids, so join in. One word of advice–don’t get too real. If your kid caught the basement on fire with his meth lab or got stabbed by a hooker, you probably should keep that to yourself, unless you need prayers.

They also will ask you to “like” or “share” posts that say things like:

If your mother is a saint, your best friend and greatest person who ever lived, share this status.

They never post things like this:

If your mother was a crack whore who brought home a new “daddy” every week and burned down your trailer while smoking, share this status.

So, if, as is the case with too many folks, your parents or siblings were or are vile monsters, you probably shouldn’t post anything about them.

Tin Foil Hatters: They like to post links to various conspiracies, usually involving President Obama. Such things as implanted computer chips, Kenyan birth certificates and Muslim wedding bands are frequent topics. They never check Snopes.com, and if you tell them to do so, they’ll tell you that George Soros owns Snopes. You, then, will become part of the conspiracy. Try to not to become one of these folks. Then again, if you’re so inclined, the fact that I suggest you not do so will only strengthen your resolve to do so. The good news is that FB gives you a platform. If you carry on like that at work, you’ll probably have to see a doctor. On FB, we just scroll by you like people on the street probably do.

These folks also tend to think Facebook is evil. It’s sharing your profile and personal information and photos. It’s signing you up in Al-Qaeda. It’s garnishing your wages. They never explain why they want to be on Facebook, but they love to warn you about it.

Suckers: Facebook is a hoaxer’s playground. Folks on FB will believe anything. Follow the same rules you follow in real life. If it sounds too good to be true, it is. For example, Bill Gates, despite his vast fortune and philanthropy, is NOT giving away $5000 if you share a picture of him, even this one:

Also, no one won the PowerBall and wants to give you a million or even a thousand bucks. No beautiful women want to be your FB friends. If it doesn’t happen in real life, it won’t on FB, either.

Newsies: These posters assume that none of us watch or read any news, so they post links to news stories. Some are also Politicos, and their posts only reflect their personal views. Just like with music videos, it’s all pretty benign. Who knows? We might even learn something from you.

Posting Tourette’s: This is me–a person who just posts various and sundry things that pop into his head. We can’t control it. It just happens. It’s almost like we’ve allowed FB to replace actually thought. Think it–post it is our mantra. We’ll post anything–family photos, videos, gifs, memes, jokes, rants, links. We’ll tell you about last night’s dream, our meals, illnesses and travel plans. We’ll complain about work and our families. We’ll brag and moan about things. In short, we combine all the best and worst of the other posters into one, manic posting monster. We post so often that if you were to read all our posts in sequence you’d be privy to the inner workings of our minds. We’ll wear you out on any given day, but we tend to be entertaining–or annoying. But, we’re never boring.

WHAT SHOULDN’T I SAY?

Facebook is a free speech zone, but all freedoms carry with them responsibilities. There are, of course, things you shouldn’t do:

Keep it clean: This should go without saying, but keep it clean, folks. Foul language, nudity (especially your own) and links to pornography are all beyond the pale. Hey, I’ve got no problem with any of that, but there are plenty of Internet forums out there for that stuff. At least that’s what I’ve heard.

Good taste: I am vehemently against child abuse. Honestly, I don’t anyone who isn’t. But, on the off-chance that you have FB friends who need persuading, photos of beat up or dead children won’t help. And they gross out the rest of us. Same goes for dogs that have been abused and killed. We know that’s bad.

It’s Not All About Politics: If you’re a Politico, that’s fine, but remember: Not everything is about politics. Don’t screw up someone’s post by trying to twist into a political statement. Example:

Post: We just had a great dinner-Steak on the grill, green beans, mashed potatoes and homemade yeast rolls! Thanks to my beautiful wife!

Politico’s Comment: Be thankful that Michelle Obummer isn’t your wife! She’d have you eating sprouts!

The Politico has now invited others of his or her ilk to make similar comments and hijack your wall. Bad form.

No Jesus Jukes: The Prayer Warriors will do the same thing with the infamous “Jesus Juke.” It goes like this:

Post: We had a great time at the game! 23,000 people rocked the place!

Comment: I wonder how many people would show up if Jesus was there and no game.

Your well-meaning friend has just brought you down and made you feel evil for enjoying the game. Don’t do that.

SPELING

You may be like me and be a spellcheck illiterate. Years of word processing have eroded my spelling skills. I am far-removed from the brash young lad who finished second in the Loyall Junior High Spelling Bee in 1976. Facebook won’t help you.

Its and it’s have different meanings. Same with there, they’re and their. To, two and too are not the same. Facebook won’t help with these issues. You have to step up and take responsibility.

THE UNFRIENDLY

There may be occasions when you must unfriend someone or, God forbid, you are unfriended. It’s happened to me. Yes, me. A girl I dated in college unfriended me. I think it’s because it took just a few months for her to remember that she hated me.

Unfriending is a drastic step. It is the Internet equivalent of a slap in the face. You aren’t even worthy of being a pretend friend. Think about that. In real life, of course, we unfriend people all the time. We just quit talking to them. If it required some affirmative act, we’d be less likely to do it.

Now, Facebook won’t tell you that you’ve been unfriended. You have to be paranoid enough to notice. Let’s just say that some of us notice these things. And we don’t like it.

EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY

Post a few pictures of yourself. Maybe we haven’t seen you in years. We’re curious. “But,” you say, “I’m not a handsome person. It shames me.” Relax, my ghoulish friend. Most of us are quite unattractive, especially those of us with a few years on us. We’ve gone bald (mostly men), gained weight, grayed, sagged and generally decayed. It’s okay.

I’m a good example. I was never what you’d call a handsome man. Now, my hair is gray and I have numerous wrinkles. Yet, I’ll post many photos of myself. Why? Well, for one thing, I’m a narcissist. Two, I’m not bald. See? You look better than someone–hopefully.

Perhaps you’ve improved with age, which happens. If so, by all means, post photos. Of course, if you really have improved, I don’t have to tell you to post photos.

One thing to watch is posting pictures of other people. They might not like it. For instance, I posted this photo of my wife:

This made her angry because–she claimed–the lighting made her look pale. I should have cleared this with her first.

Please feel free to post as many photos of your kids and grand kids as you wish. God knows I do. They’re yours, and you should be proud of them. Even if they’re as homely as sin, we’ll still “like” them. Same goes for your pets. I have two rabbits and don’t hesitate to post about them, even though they are boring, do-nothing pets. Yet, people always “like” them. Go figure.

CONCLUSION

Come join us! If you’re already on board, get in the deep end of the pool! Join for real, too. Do not share your Facebook page with your spouse. This will only show that you have trust issues, and we want to trust you.

It’s out there waiting for you, and there’s no time like the present. In fact, I’m linking this post to Facebook as soon as it’s published.

You can even send me a friend request, and I’ll probably accept it. I’m waiting.

©thetrivialtroll.wordpress.com 2013

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Confessions of a Baseball Dad

I loved baseball as a kid. Loved it. Loved watching it, listening to it on the radio, playing it, reading about it. Before there were girls, there was baseball. After girls, there was still baseball.

I’ve been watching youth baseball since 1998 when my first son started playing t-ball. Two more sons followed. My middle son has continued to high school and Summer travel teams. I don’t know how many games I’ve seen, but it’s somewhere north of 1000. My youngest, 10 years old at this writing, is just getting cranked up in the baseball world. This year alone–among high school, Little League, all-stars and American Legion–I’ll probably watch over 100 games.

Why do I write this? Because I’ve learned a few things. Some by watching others, some by my own stumbles. I’ve always thought the best way to learn is through the mistakes of others, but life isn’t always that tidy.

I played baseball but not particularly well. I was fast, but that’s about it. I also had a stubborn unwillingness to work hard or take instruction. Couple that with limited natural ability, and athletic success was not within my grasp. One day I might have kids. Boys even. They would play. I did have boys, three of them.

Like a lot of first loves, my baseball love faded over time but never died out. I wanted my boys to play. I wanted them to be good. I wanted them to love it. Baseball rattles, tiny uniforms and little bats were the baby gear I favored. I wanted my boys to play baseball–and any other sport they wanted to try. Sports build character. Teaches life lessons. I found out that all that is true, but I’m the one who may have learned the most.

Three Teachers

My oldest son didn’t love baseball. He liked it. When he played t-ball, he figured out that if you threw the ball from the outfield, play would stop. So, he’d picked the ball up and toss it maybe 3 feet. Dead ball! It was one of many early signs that he was smarter than we were. But, he liked playing and seemed to have fun in his distinctive low-key style.

I knew early on that my oldest son wasn’t going to be a ballplayer forever. Now, I suppose the dramatic story would be that I struggled with this and it tortured me. It didn’t, but he taught me. He was supposed to love it, because I did. But, he didn’t. Now, I don’t think he played in order to please me. It’s just something he did, like going to school.

He taught me that my kids can find their own way without me mapping out their every step. He found his interests without much help from me. No, it wasn’t baseball, although he played until he was 15. I enjoyed it, and I think he did, too. But the things he loved were different. He could draw. He loved to read. He taught himself to play the piano (I certainly was no help with that). He loves math. Again, I’m pretty useless with that, too. He taught me what my Dad told me long ago about my kids: “Find out what they like and learn to like it, too.”

In his last season of baseball, my oldest was used mostly as a pinchrunner. I didn’t like that one bit. I suspect he didn’t, either. He showed up to every practice, every game and rarely complained. He pinch ran, stole bases and scored runs. For the first time, I admired one of my children. He showed up and did his job.

My second–and middle son–was different. He loved baseball. He made me throw him grounders when he was 3 years old until my arm ached. He made up a game called “cool scenes,” which required me to give him increasingly difficult plays to make. He wanted to be catcher–the BEST catcher. So, we worked on it. He put on full catcher’s gear and I would bounce baseballs to him. Oh, yeah, he kept his hands behind his back and stopped them with his body. And he was 6 years old. He became a helluva catcher, starting as an 8 year old catching 12 year old Little Leaguers. When he was 12, he was a one man wrecking crew.

If throwing baseballs at a six year old sounds extreme, it is. It’s also extreme to tell a 5 year old before his games: “Remember: You’re the best there is. Prove it. Kick their butts!” I did that, too. He ate it up and believed it. He also played like it. I was from the Marv Marinovich School of Parenting.

With me, there was a problem with this approach. It’s hard to reign it in. If you do that before the game and after the game, it’s hard not to demand it during the game. That’s problematic. I would yell. I would rage. I would want to strangle coaches, parents and opposing players. In short order, I started to become Monster Dad.

You’ve seen this guy. He yells. He paces. His face is red. He barks instructions or criticism between each pitch. His kid’s success is his success. Failure is an indictment of his parenting and, indeed, worth as human being.

I will say one thing for Monster Dad: This approach can be quite effective. Sadly, it’s downside is the creation of Monster Kid. At least–to some extent–that’s what I got. My son would fume, throw things and curse. Or he would exalt in his accomplishments far beyond their real worth. In other words, he acted just like I did. Of course, I attributed none of this to me. It was just his personality.

So, I had this kid who played ball the way I always wanted to. Hit the snot out of the ball; strong arm; fast; played all out. He also preened at home plate after home runs; threw helmets; and punched walls. Hmmm. How do I get him to stop this? What will people think of me?

Well, in my case, I had to stop my behavior first. And I did. I shut my mouth. I stopped blowing up every good game into the greatest event I ever witnessed. I stopped critiquing his every move. Turns out that some of it was his personality, but a big part of it was mine. I had to change before he did. I’m now the dad you rarely hear at the games and never hear yelling AT his kid. If he has behavior issues (which is rare now), his coach will handle it on the field. My job is after the game–in the car or at home. I’m not perfect, either. He could tell you that. I still have my flare ups, too, but all in all I keep my mouth shut.

What have I gotten in return? A kid who matured into a young man. He’s still too demanding of himself but goes about his business on the field. Oh, occasionally, I’ll hear a helmet placed down none-too-gently or hear him muttering expletives on his way back to the dugout. That’s okay. Striking out is not the same as getting a hit. I’ve matured along with him, and we both enjoy the experience. The only time he’ll ever get criticized by me is if I see behavior that has no place on the field. Then, he’ll hear about it from me, but it will be between us. He still wants to be the best and works hard to be just that. He’s more intense than I’ve ever dreamed of being. I admire that.

My youngest found his own way. He is almost 7 years younger than my middle one. He watched his brothers play. He started swinging anything that looked like a bat from the time he could stand up. Left handed, too. Sweet swinging. He’d throw anything that resembled a ball.

My youngest never met Monster Dad. I just let him play. He’s good, too. Same physical attributes as his brother but little of the attitude. He’s egocentric, but all decent ballplayers are. When he steps on the field, he believes he’s the best player. He has fun, smiles a lot and rarely hears his Dad’s voice during games. He has his moments. We’ve had tears and tantrums, but very rarely. He plays hard and always has fun. I admire that, too.

I used to attribute these differences among my kids to their personalities–which are very different, by the way. That was until I took a look at my own actions. Each child reflects–to at least some extent–my attitude toward him. I learned something from each of them. I can’t take credit for their athletic ability, though I’d like to do so. My influence came through how I dealt with each of them. While I was dealing with them, they were teaching me.

Teaching Moments

I’ve seen towering home runs and lock down pitching. Slick fielding and laser-like throws. I remember my 10 year old coming in to pitch against the best team in his league and striking out the side on 10 pitches. And an 8 year old catching a cut off in the outfield, spinning and nailing a runner at the plate. There have been many, many others. These are easy.

Now, for the hard parts. Strikeouts, game-killing errors, injuries, pitching meltdowns and countless others. Hey, you gotta be there for those, too. How about your kid dropping the F Bomb on his way to the dugout? That’s happened. Ejected from a game? Been there. Benched for throwing a fit? Yep. We’ve learned to say: “Hey, that sucks, but it’s over. Time to move on.” No one enjoys these moments, but they happen. Suck it up.

It took me awhile to figure out something and apply it to my kids. I don’t like being yelled at. Ever. For any reason. If you yell, I don’t listen. I just want to yell back. It’s no surprise that my kids are pretty much the same way. Honestly, aren’t most people? I see the parents who yell and rage at their kids. If you do that, take a look at your kid after you do it. You won’t see a look of affection, I’ll guarantee that.

The highs are never as high as I think they are nor are the lows that bad. I learned that watching my kids play baseball. A clutch hit is great, but it doesn’t cure cancer. A critical error is bad, but we still have everything we had before. Relax. Enjoy. It’s just a game. So is life.

What Have I Learned?

Left on their own, kids will play ball and have fun. Do you learn anything else? Do sports really build character? Maybe. Oh, there are kids from such bad backgrounds that any type of structure probably helps, but there aren’t a lot of those. The older they get, the more they see that working hard and being good at what you do pay dividends. There are certainly benefits to that, but the sports world is not the exclusive proving ground for those lessons.

Everything isn’t a matter of life and death. My kids aren’t the center of the universe. I go to games to watch my kids. Other parents show up to watch theirs. If my kid has a bad game, I’m no better or worse parent than I was when the game started. Simply put, we’re not all that important. I’ve never seen a really good athlete who wasn’t a bit of a narcissist. Would a star player really be okay with going hitless just because his team won? Nope. It’s just not reality. Youth sports feeds this. People slap your kid on the back and tell him he’s great. You do, too. That’s why some of those bad moments are okay. A little ego deflation never hurts

So, my kids have learned a few things, but the real student has been me. Most of my life, I have been relentlessly critical of myself. In my mind, a good day was fluke, and bad day would last forever. No matter well I did something, it could always have been better. The world, it seemed to me, was focused on what I was doing. One slip up, and failure was sure to follow.

Turns out that I was wrong about all that. If you strikeout, you get to bat again. If you lose, you can play again. Preaching to my kids to let things go and play the next game has had a positive impact on me, if not them. I can’t tell someone something over and over without applying it to myself. Bad days, like bad games, don’t last forever. There’s a next day, just like there’s a next at bat–even a next pitch.

In my case being a parent has built my character. Taught me discipline. Taught me patience, understanding, even empathy. While I was trying to teach my kids these valuable life lessons, I was the one learning. They were clean slates. They didn’t have a lifetime of bad habits and ego-centric behavior to deal with. I did.

So, here it is–what I’ve learned:

Play to your strengths and don’t let anyone else tell you what those strengths are.
Whatever your role, go hard.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the best if you follow the first two rules.
While you’re following the first three rules, have fun.

If I do these everyday, they’re all good days. Thanks, boys. Well, I’m done. I have to pack for a trip to Georgia–baseball tournament this weekend.

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How To Raise Your Children…or Not

Nothing generates more unsolicited advice than children. Or, I should say “raising” children. “Raising” connotes that this is a relatively simple task similar to growing tomatoes. If you’ve ever grown tomatoes you know that they can turn out all kinds of different ways. Some are big and beautiful and you beam with pride when your neighbors see them. Others wither on the vine. The neighbors see those, too, but you’re not so proud of those. Most are just kind of average. You did your best. Oh, well.

I have children–three of them, in fact. All boys. I was present at their births. I’ve stayed up with them at night, fed them bottles, changed their diapers and read books to them. I’ve played with them outside. I’ve talked to them and paid great attention to them throughout their lives. I notice when they grow. I love them and I think they love me. All of this qualifies me to advise anyone on how to raise THEIR children. What? It doesn’t? Wait a second. People have given me all kinds of advice about school, discipline, good manners, sports, and all other aspects of parenting. You mean they are NOT experts? Good Lord, why would they feel so free to impose their views on me? It’s because they have children, and they know what to do. Or so they say.

I can understand why parents might seek advice. We all want to raise scholars, saints, athletes and world leaders. No one intends to end up with Levi Johnston or Snookie. Also, some children have such profound physical, mental and emotional problems that advice must be sought. It is those that offer advice that must be ignored, at least by me.

This post will tell you everything you need to know about parenting or, more accurately, parenting advice. It’s likely to be offensive, but so are my children on many occasions. What do I know? As much as you do, it turns out.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have a child! It’s a miracle. It’s a blessing. It’s a gift from God. These and many other platitudes are sure to be thrown your way. We’re all happy for you. Really. Good job.

Here’s the deal. Procreation is not that impressive. Sorry, but that’s a fact. Take a look around, folks. All these people you see got here through roughly the same process. Oh, now some of us had to work at a little harder and spent time wondering why we had such difficulty doing something which countless teenagers accidentally accomplish everyday. But, by and large, it’s just biology. Dogs, cats, wolverines, chimps, etc., all reproduce. Maybe that’s miraculous, too. Possibly, it’s a miracle than anyone reproduced with ME. I’ll grant you that one. Overall, it’s just not that big a deal.

Octo-Mom has 14 children. FOURTEEN! I don’t call that a miracle. I call that science gone horribly wrong. Charles Manson’s parents reproduced. Good job. So did Charles Manson. Let’s don’t wear ourselves out patting ourselves on the back.

NOW WHAT?

If you have kids, you know the thrill of a new baby. It’s just great. Really. They’re cute and funny and you just love them. At some point, though, the work starts. Usually, right after someone hands you the baby.

We took our first child home and laid him in the floor and just looked at him. What do we do now? It’s not a like a car. They don’t give you an owner’s manual or an 800 number to call if something goes wrong. They just say: “Here’s your baby! It’s a miracle! Good luck to you.”

One good thing is that babies are tough–a lot tougher than they look. You can drop them, although I don’t advise testing that theory. (The second day my oldest son was home I dropped him but caught him by the neck before he hit the floor. Tough little booger). You can, like we did, fail to realize that even wet diapers must be promptly changed. A horrible case of diaper rash will draw your attention to your negligence. They won’t starve quietly. So, you’re bound to feed them often. These basic maintenance issues are much like caring for a pet. You quickly learned just enough to keep the baby going. That’s a great first step.

This phase passes quickly. Baby isn’t an “it.” Baby is a him or her. Baby has a name. Baby has a personality. Baby is a little person. With a big personality. He can talk. He has opinions. He schemes. He manipulates. He charms. He lies. He’s a human. Now, the hard part starts…and never ends. This is also when the advice starts. Good luck with that.

IMAGINARY CHILDREN

“If I had a kid…” Say no more. You don’t have a kid. You don’t know what you’d do. Might as well say “If I owned a camel …” or “If I were an astronaut…” You don’t and you’re not. Shut the hell up.

Similar is “If he were my son…” This comes from someone who has a kid and presumes he knows what would help your son. Here’s the deal. He’s NOT your son. You haven’t seen his best and worst. Good days and bad days. You don’t know his strengths and weaknesses. Clearly, if he were YOUR son, he’d be like you and know everything. Plus, if he were your son, he’d be your problem, and I wouldn’t need to hear about it.

LITTLE ANGELS

I love my kids. I also like them. They’re fun and funny. I like talking to them and hearing about what they’re up to. They often impress me, but they’re not perfect. They’re not angels nor do I expect them to be.

Some folks have kids who ARE little angels. They are perfect, at least that’s what their parents say. That may well be true. If so, you can’t help me. My kids are human. They are capable of great things. They can also disappoint me. They don’t take all my advice. They don’t listen. Their judgment is often very poor. In other words, they are like me.

I suppose some children never disappoint. That’s probably because their parents have no expectations of them and don’t give a damn about what they do. The rest of us get frequent reality checks.

Perfect kids don’t do things like back talk, lie, break things, drink alcohol, smoke, curse, have sex, take drugs or just generally annoy their parents. Their parents will tell you that. They are the ideal. They also have parents who apparently aren’t paying much attention to what they are doing. Lucky dogs.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS

Some folks want things the way they were. “Back in my day….” Things are better now. They just are.

If you are fond of social media as I am, you’ll see posts like this:

Growing up, I had only one toy, and it was a rock. I wasn’t allowed in the house and had to play outside all day. If I spoke at the dinner table, I had to eat with the dogs. I said “Yes, sir” and “No, sir.” I was hit in the face if I back talked. I didn’t make eye contact with adults. I grew up respectful of everyone and did no wrong ever. If you had great parents like mine, repost.

Wow. It sucks to be you. Oliver Twist had it better. These kinds of posts are based upon nostalgia. Webster’s Dictionary defines nostalgia as an “excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.” We all believe, on some level, that things were better in the past. In the parenting advice world, it translates into: “This is how things used to be. And they were just better. If we all acted like this, everything would be better.”

Boy, oh, boy. This is wrong in so many ways, I don’t know where to start. First, if all our parents were so good at raising kids, why have so many of us done so poorly? Didn’t we learn anything? With such great parents, why do we need any advice at all? Second, some people have horrible parents. Maybe you did. You probably don’t know that because they were the only parents you had. Third, how’d you turn out?

Folks of my generation largely live in a fantasy world where everyone was raised by Ward and June Cleaver. Hey, I knew people who had HORRIBLE parents. Awful people. These scumbags don’t deserve Father’s Day, Mother’s Day or even their next birthdays. Here’s some advice that might be helpful: Tell me how awful your parents were and how you learned from it. THAT would be impressive.

SPARE THE ROD, PLEASE

If you hit your kids, I guess it’s none of my business unless you hurt them. In that case, it’s everyone’s business. It wasn’t always that way, but it is now. That’s a good thing. If you hit your kids, just don’t tell me that I need to do that, too.

I’m not perfect. I’ve swatted my kids on the rear end. I’ve thought about strangling them…just a little bit. I think that’s why babies are so cute. Even when I’m enraged at my kids, I remember those little babies. I wouldn’t strangle them. I’ve just reached the point that I’m sure that hitting my kids will help my relationship with them as much as hitting my wife will help my marriage. Readers of this blog know that I have, in fact, fought a woman, but that wasn’t a domestic dispute.

The few times I’ve spanked my kids I was mad. This bothers me. Why? Because I was mad. I get mad at many adults and hitting them often seems like a good idea, but I won’t do it. One, I fear that I’ll be hit back. Two, I fear I’ll get in trouble. With kids, I don’t fear that. That’s nice. So, it’s okay to hit someone too small to defend himself and too much under my control to get me in trouble? This isn’t a lesson I want my kids to learn.

“Spare the rod and spoil the child.” That’s not a Bible verse. Sorry, but it’s not. It comes from a 17th century poem called Hudibras. The Bible actually says “Whoever spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him.” Proverbs 13:24. At best, it’s a metaphor. It doesn’t say to beat the crap out of your kid with a rod. Discipline your children. Simple stuff. By the way, the Bible also says that if your son is disrespectful you should have him stoned to death. Let’s take it easy on the ancient parenting suggestions.

We grew up with a kid who was raised by animals. One day he comes to the house, and his back is covered in bloody welts. He was beaten with a stick. I’ll never forget what it looked like. Now, would it be okay if it didn’t draw blood? I’d say not. I’d like to tell you that his story turned out okay, but it didn’t. You don’t get to choose your parents.

I got spankings and whippings with a belt and a switch. Why? Because that’s how my parents were raised, I guess. Never anything abusive, but it happened. I guess I don’t trust myself enough to come at a kid with a weapon. If you do, fine with me. Just don’t tell me that’s what I need to do.

THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT

When I was a kid, here is what I thought of adults: Most of them seemed unhappy and bitter. They were overly critical and suspicious and wanted to put an end to any fun I might be having. Now that I’m 50 and my generation is now the ruling class, here is what I think of adults: Most of them seem unhappy and bitter. They are overly critical and suspicious and want to put an end to any fun I might be having. My friends and I vowed to never by like the adults, but we that’s exactly what happened.

Kids today. Whew. Listening that awful music. Look at their clothes! I wouldn’t have been allowed out of the house like that. They’re disrespectful, too. My parents wouldn’t have put with all that back talk. Irresponsible, too. We had chores and work to do. Look at how lazy they are! Does any of this sound familiar? Of course, it does. It’s what we all say now. It’s also what our parents said about us.

Here’s a little test. Did you, at any time before adulthood, do any of the following? Smoke; drink; have sex; curse; lie; cheat; steal; take drugs; skip school. If so, you were part of the problem. Consider, too, that you listened to terrible music, dressed like an idiot and were generally a pain in the ass to your parents. If you didn’t do any of that stuff, congratulations. I hope you enjoyed those years being chained in your parents’ basement.

Here’s the point. If any of your advice is founded upon a belief that kids today are so much worse than we were, you’re wrong. Even my generation, raised by superior parents in superior times did the same stupid things that kids are doing now. Lighten up.

WHAT NOW?

If you really are a parenting expert, write a book. Better yet, write a book about my kids. I might even read that one. It could contain helpful advice. My sons are three different people with three different personalities. Different strengths and weaknesses. They were all raised the same but didn’t turn out the same. Chances are your book wouldn’t give me a different result.

Here’s MY parenting advice. Do the best you know how to do at the moment. Kids and their issues come at you at the speed of light. Just do something. Parents are great at acting put upon. “It’s the toughest job in the world.” I really doubt that. Crab fishing looks a lot worse than parenting. How about the guy who empties porta-potties? Those jobs would suck. Parenting is snap compared to that.

I think I had really good parents. They weren’t saints, but they did the best they knew how to do. My Dad once told me: “Forget all these father-son fantasies. Find out what your kids like and learn to like it yourself.” THAT was good advice.

What about my kids? They’re alright. The good has far, far outweighed the bad so far. They say I sound just like my Dad, which I guess is good. They can aggravate me and disappoint me sometimes. I’m sure I do the same to them.

So, everyone can (and will) continue to give parenting advice. I’ll just nod and go on. Gotta go now. I’m sure one of my kids is doing something I need to deal with. I’ll check back if I need any advice.

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