Good Morning Dad ...

Ever have one of those days that just starts out wrong?

Picture a normal day, get up, shower, shave, brush your teeth. Normal. What is that odd taste? Its not minty or fresh. My gums are going numb. This is not 'Sensodyne', the tube is the same size, it is the right place, it has the same flip top, it is 10% Cortisone cream. That wasn't in my medicine cabinet, really it wasn't, and the toothpaste is nowhere to be seen.

Yuck!

You can't tell me he didn't know exactly what he was doing, Down Syndrome, Autism, OCD my ass, he's been faking it for the last 21 years just to get me with this gag. And I do mean gag.  

Turning Money into Noise

I just spent two beautiful days in lovely Parump Nevada. For those of you who do not know Parump it is North West of Las Vegas. Imagine Vegas without any glamour or water and very few people. That is Parump. The main draw in Parump FrontSight shooting range. My brother Bob, his son Avery and I shot a two day course there this week. 

 Now before you put me in the box with all of the Preppers and Right Wing Nuts, let me just say that making things go boom is fun. Firecrackers, toy cannons, paper bags are nothing compared with a good .45 handgun. And if you think a .45 is fun, try a full auto machine gun! Yes, I did. I paid forty dollars to shoot one, count it one magazine of 9mm in an MP5. I still have that silly grin on my face. Really, the laws must be wrong when something that fun is illegal to buy. I would register my fingerprints, DNA and retinal scan to buy one of those. In fact I'd register my rectal scan to buy one. I know I would never need it, it would be like a Ferrari, but safer and one twentieth the cost. *sigh* Oh, well.

We finished the course in a shoot house. It is a scenario simulating a threat in your home. You take your position and pictures pop out (paper posters on frames). You have to decide to shoot or not shoot. In this case a wall fell open revealing a bad looking man with a big gun pointed at me while my instructor yelled insults to increase the stress, realism or fun, depending on your take. Something like, "YOU STUPID DOGFUNKED OYSTER SODDED MOTHERLESS STENCH WEASEL!" I may have forgotten the exact phrase, as I was busy drawing a gun and putting a single bullet right between his eyes. I actually hit the bridge of his nose. I was suppose to put a controlled pair of bullets into the center of the chest, but I was looking down the barrel of a really big gun. The nose seemed like a good idea at the time. 

The rest of the scenario went well, except when I ran out of bullets at the end facing a hostage situation. I pulled the trigger and no boom. A very loud silence indeed. A quick, or rather an emergency reload and another head shot and all was good in the world.

I have a stressful job, at times a stressful home with a special needs child. We all face money and health issues now and then. Odd that going somewhere and playing with the most stressful situations I can imaging could be so relaxing. I guess it like Halloween, a chance to face or even make fun of your fears in a safe way. I think the sudden rush of adrenalin, the quick excitement and the chance to learn and review is very different from the daily grind where as soon as I finish one challenge another takes its place. It was also fun to do something completely different. Basically, this is like golf with noise. Besides, I can hit the target with a gun, have you ever seen me golf, now that is scary and dangerous!

Bad Mother

You’re A Bad Mother!

We live in a very judgmental society and internet has made us more so. Sending a flaming condemnation about someone you don’t know is easily done with just a touch of a button. My niece Amy writes a blog about living in the country with a brood of children. Being a conscientious mother, and concerned with nutrition she whips up daily smoothies, and being human sometimes things go amiss, which makes one of the best stories ever! Go here to read it for yourself.  After posting her blog she got some very strong comments, on the order of “You are the worst mother ever.” Before we start throwing stones, consider, we are all bad parents.

If you work hard long hours to provide for your children then you are a bad mother because they really need your time, not the physical things.

If you spend all of your waking hours cooking and cleaning and caring for your children then you are a bad mother. How will they ever learn to do for themselves? Will they be momma’s boys and girls who expect everyone and everything to be focused on them? Will they still be living in your basement at age forty-two?

If you are a peacemaker and help your child resolve conflict or make sure everything is always fair in their dealings with friends and siblings then you are a bad mother as all of your hovering will never prepare them for a world that is unfair, has bullies, and cares as much about their feelings as a lion does about a zebra’s.

If you buy your children fun toys then you are spoiling them.

If you don’t buy your children fun toys then you are neglecting them.

You cannot win. We are all bad mothers and fathers. Just ask the kids, they will tell you.

My father was one of nine children raised by a stepmother. She was married to my grandfather for six months or so when he died, leaving her three months pregnant and with eight children. They lived in a two bedroom home with a converted “Sleeping Porch”. It was heated by a wood/coal burning stove in the kitchen. Oh, and it was in the Depression. He recalled at age twelve everything he owned he had bought himself with money he earned hoeing sugar beets. Was she a bad mother? Neglectful? Aunts and uncles probably thought so. They were willing to farm out the kids and provide for them. Eunice prayerfully considered the options and followed the spirit.  

We all make mistakes. Out of those mistakes our children learn. God is perfect. He has perfect genes, he lives in a perfect world, and 1/3 of his children rebelled. Eunice looks pretty good compared to that statistic. (Yes, did I just presume to judge God? I must be a bad mother, er father.) 

My mother had six children and, really, two lives. In one life she was fun, active, involved. And the other she was sick, tired, depressed and drug addicted. Oh, the addiction was for pain pills, they give you those when you have cancer. It killed her after a decade or so, the cancer, not the pills. I suppose there could have been better outcomes, but all of my siblings learned to wash dishes and clothes, clean bathrooms, mow lawns, make decisions, etc. She gave them the best she had and then some. 

Was she a bad mother? I hope so; it is easier to learn from other’s mistakes than from your own. I learned a healthy fear of pain meds. Last surgery I had, I used eight pills out of 30. Well done, Mom. Your example saved me. I learned there are times not to drive but just hand over the keys. I learned to do the damn dishes, even when it is not my turn. I learned hundreds of other little things from my mother's failures. I also learned from her successes, but the failures make better stories.

Mom would not have thought she was a good mother. She died when I was twenty-four. I’m sure she felt her work was half done. She was wrong. She did a great job and left the rest for us to do. If you are not a success at twenty-one perhaps it is your parents’ fault. If you are not a success at forty-two you have only yourself to blame. I try not to judge, but I still do. I try to remember the Savior telling us “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” I tell myself I can’t judge others: it took us six years to potty train my son, I've watched a waffle iron fall on my daughter's head and I once tossed a folded up tent at her head. I've seen  my son put his hand into the lawnmower I was running. I have been lucky enough to have only funny stories to tell instead of tragedies to mourn. I’ll take the failures and the successes with thanks to God for the chance to play the game.