Splash... Goooooaaaaallll!

Note: Please don't forget about my Reader's Poll up there in the upper right corner of this web page. For more information about the poll, the 'why' of it, so to speak, please read  my post explaining the whole thing by clicking  HERE.  

...and on with the blog!

You've all been to kids' soccer games, right? And if not, you've seen them on television or in the movies. They've become such a staple of all our lives here in America that we even have the phrase 'soccer mom'. So we all know what a children's soccer game looks like: happy,smiling kids, all of them athletically inclined (with the possible exception of one heavy kid, who always plays goalie, right?) running about on an emerald-green, sun-drenched field, while excited parents, other family members and friends all either line the fields or fill the stands, cheering happily, applauding excitedly, everyone involved just having the time of their lives.

Right?

That's in TV and movies. Today was Handsome's first game of the new season, his first time out with his new team, and my first time meeting his new coaches. I got him ready, in the car and on the way by 1:30 this afternoon -- the game was scheduled to start at 2:15.

Unfortunately, God is on the team's mailing list, so he knew the game was scheduled for 2:15.  That's why he scheduled the rain to start at 1:45.

Ha! That Celestial Practical Joker! He cracks me up every time! I was just slapping my thigh and wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes when the game began as scheduled. Or was that rainwater in my eyes? it was so hard to tell...

 

So there we were. Cold, wet kids, some of them athletically inclined (the kids playing goal were just as athletically inclined as anyone else out there - they just looked a little chubby since they were all layered up with extra sweatshirts and jackets trying to keep warm out there) slogging about on a rain-slick, just-plain-drenched field, while umbrella'd parents and rain-coated family members and friends all lined the field, cheering somewhat listlessly, applauding to keep their hands warm, everyone involved constantly checking their watches and wondering when they were going to call this thing off.

This was not a time that Life was imitating Art. Art had apparently taken the weekend off, and Life was throwing a tantrum about it, and it was taking us along for the ride.

Terrific.

On the plus side, Handsome had a great game, scoring two if his team's five goals (yes, they won) and making some serious defensive plays as well. He was soaked the whole time, and his wet shoelaces would not stay tied. He might have had an even better game if he hadn't spent nearly one-third of his time in the game crouching down to retie his shoes! I think I'll tie his shoes with some really tight knots and then hose him down with cold water right before next week's game, see if I can get a streak going.

Of course... I'm not going to tell him about the hose idea.  Do me a favor, would you? Keep it under your hat...

Talk to you later!

Rough and Tumble

Today was my day off, so this afternoon I was there behind Handsome's school to pick him up when he got out of class. There were children running this way and that, heading for their parents or simply playing with one another, and there I was in the middle of all that trying to find my boy. I finally spotted him as the crowd was thinning out, standing and talking to one of his classmates. As I walked over to get his attention, I heard a voice behind me cry out Handsome's name. Handsome turned and looked past me, and I turned about to find the source of the cry. 

Standing on the edge of the parking lot was a boy. A big boy. Bigger than Handsome, and he's pretty big. I found out later that this boy is a 7th grader who used to go to school with Handsome, who is in the 4th grade. This boy was just here with his father to pick up his younger brother, but apparently he remembered Handsome from a couple of years ago and he wanted to play. He was calling him over to the parking lot, hands spread, fingers beckoning in a "c'mon, lets go" gesture.

Handsome walked by me and dropped his book bag with me.

"I'll be right back, Dad," he said as he walked by. As Handsome approached the boy dropped into a kind of fighting crouch, hands up and ready. Handsome looked at how close to the cars they were.

"Come out here," he gestured toward the grassy field. "We need more room."

What I found out later, but had not a clue about at the time, was that way back when Handsome was in the 2nd grade and this boy was in the 5th grade, they used to go at it rough-and-tumble a lot. I also found out that, because of their disparity in age, Handsome lost in his shoving-pushing-wrestling matches with this boy with stunning regularity. This may have had something to do with the other boy's eagerness to go a round or two with my son.

They squared off. The older boy was slapping at Handsome, trying to get him to react and make an opening, but Handsome just covered up and took the blows to his arm. They circled a bit, then the other boy's father called out that they had to go. The boy turned to tell his father he'd be there in a minute, and while he was turned away Handsome gave him a stinging slap to the arm, much like the blows he had already received. The older boy got a little mad at this, and charged Handsome. They clinched, and the boy tried to use his greater size to bowl Handsome over.

Now, I've already mentioned a few things that I didn't know at the time, but there was something the boy didn't know, that I did. Something that was about to become pretty important.

Handsome recently trained as a wrestler for a season.

When they clinched, Handsome swept the boy's leg out, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Handsome was ready for it, however, and got to his knees in a flash. He got a grip on the older boy and, very systematically, as he had been taught, maneuvered around him, locking up his arms and rolling him to his back. The 7th grader wound up lying on his back with one arm completely useless and the other only able to flail ineffectually at Handsome's back, unable to get up, move Handsome, or do anything at all useful.

They stayed that way until the other boy's father came to get him, at which time Handsome simply released him and rolled to his feet. The boy's father helped him up (actually finding this situation pretty funny himself) and told him it was time to go. The boy, frustrated and, I have to think, a bit embarrassed about the ease with which he had just been handled by a kid three years younger, spun away from his dad, dashed around him, and went at Handsome like a runaway train.

Handsome didn't flinch or run away. He ducked slightly and stepped into the charge. He caught the boy under one arm and turned away from him in what some martial arts call a 'wraparound hip throw', while others call it a 'front sweep take-down'. Whatever you want to call it, Handsome easily put the bigger kid face down on the ground and wound up sitting on his back, holding the boy in a double hammer lock. 

For those of you who don't know what a hammer lock is, put your hands behind you as if you're being handcuffed. Now slide your hands up your spine towards the back of your neck. At some point they stop (unless you are unusually flexible), and you've reached as high as you can go - any higher and it will hurt your shoulders. The higher you go beyond that point, the more it hurts, until, at some point (again, unless you are unusually flexible), one or both of your shoulders dislocate. This is a very controlling arm lock when applied by someone who knows what they are doing, as there is plenty of opportunity to provide immobility or pain without actual damage.

And here was Handsome, calmly sitting on the older boy's back keeping him completely helpless with this hold. Not hurting him, simply holding him until his father could come collect him again.

Now, I was watching this whole thing and listening to the impressed murmurings of the other dads who were there to collect their kids. Their mutterings were summed up by one of Handsome's smaller classmates who spoke to Handsome in a tone filled with wonder.

"Wow. You just whipped a 7th grader!"

My favorite thing about the whole scene was Handsome's attitude and control. He never lost his temper, even when the other boy switched from slapping hands to closed fists. He used only the necessary force to control the situation, and made the kid completely helpless twice without ever actually hurting him. He did exactly what his wrestling coaches trained  him to do, and it was as effective as could be.

But besides that, there was this little voice in my head that kept saying "Wow. He just whipped a 7th grader!"

Talk to you later!

Bicycle

I recently bought a bicycle. The plan is to ride to and from work and hopefully get in some kind of shape while saving gas money at the same time. I spent some time up in the second floor at Dick’s Sporting Goods riding three biked around, checking them out. Handsome went with me and checked out some bikes as well. He’s not all that good at using the hand brakes yet, but he managed to only have one accident.

That I know of.

At least, no one was hurt.

So I was being all careful to try and get the bicycle that was most comfortable for me. At least the most comfortable one they had marked “Clearance!” And I was, like I said, riding all three possibles around in Dick’s for a while. But while I was checking things like seat comfort, bike weight, handlebar width, where the brake levers were positioned and whether I’d have a problem hitting them in an emergency and whatnot, there was one thing I failed to check. At least on the third bike I looked at, which happened to be the one I settled on.

Gears.

The 1st two bikes I looked at had the gear shifters built into the handgrips, seven on the right, three on the left for a total of 21 gears.

Cool.

Now, riding around in Dicks, it’s not like you’re ever going to get it up there into the higher gears. You’re pretty much going to leave that left shifter alone and work around the right, leaving it in the lower gears so you don’t go careening out of control, taking out staff and stock as you go. So I didn’t even notice that the bike I finally settled on, the one I looked at last because it was the most expensive of the three, doesn’t even have that shifter built into the left handgrip. It doesn’t have one anywhere. There’s just the one sprocket in the front, and the 7 in the rear. 

It’s a 7-speed.

Not a 21.

How in the hell did I miss that? I had checked it on the other two, and this was the most expensive of the three, so why would I think it had less?

And the worst part is I didn’t even figure this out until I was on the way to work this morning. I went to upshift and there was just nowhere to go! I must have looked a little funny pulled over by the side of the road, scratching my head and looking for something that just wasn’t there.

Well, long story short (yes, I know, ‘too late!’) I rode the damn bike to and from work today. It’s about a 15 minute trip, apparently, all loaded with my work stuff. The bike worked fine, I guess, although I do have one thing to say.

I am going to be so sore tomorrow!

Talk to you later!

Roundball

Since today was my day off I was at the school this afternoon picking up Handsome when he got out. It being a beautiful day, and me being able to pop the liftgate on the back of the jeep and make myself a shelter from the  sun where I could keep relatively cool, he got to stay and play with the other kids for a couple of hours before we actually had to go. I sat in my little man-made cave with my laptop and worked on my novel while he played.

I was sitting there, with my legs hanging out over the rear bumper, when Handsome joined into a game of basketball on the playground. I took immediate interest. I play basketball with Handsome sometimes, and we've developed some rules to make things a little more 'even', and make up for the fact that I'm a head and a half taller than him. Keep in mind that I'm only  head and a half taller than him, and he's nine.

• I have to dribble the ball while he does not; he claims he can't, not while moving at all, so that gets rid of traveling, double-dribbling, etc, for him . For me these rules still apply, and I have to dribble.
  
• He is allowed to practically mug me to get the ball, claiming he has no idea how to guard another player. He hugs me, pushes me, wraps up my arms, and clubs my hands all in an effort to gain possession of the ball. I can do none of these things, and if there's any accidental contact there is an immediate cry of "Foul!", and he maintains possession of the ball.
  
• Rather than guard me and try to either scoop the ball or block my shot (he claims he does not know how), Handsome will simply push me at the moment I try to make the shot during a lay-up. He was wrestling at 120 lbs, and somewhere along the way he learned how to really throw himself into a push. He comes at me from the side, and I have found myself stumbling, if not outright flying, across the court time after time.
  
• I am not allowed to grab the ball out of the air. All missed shots, rebounds, etc, must hit the ground at least once and I have to grab them on the bounce. If I snag the ball out of the air, even if all I do is toss it up against the bottom of the hoop or backboard and grab it as it comes back at my face, possession of the ball goes to Handsome. This was my idea, and it helps negate my height advantage.

Well, these boys would not be playing by the Handsome rules, and I was interested to see how Handsome would cope when all the rules applied to him as well. Some of the boys he was playing with looked quite comfortable with the ball, and I knew they'd take no nonsense about the rules.

Handsome dribbled the ball. He made rebounds. He passed and shot. He guarded other players, blocking the occasional shot and stealing the occasional ball from someone performing a lay-up. He set picks to let the ball go out of bounds on the other players and give the ball to his team's best shooter.

I sat in the back of the jeep and kept repeating "Holy $#!%!! Holy $#!%!!"

He's no Harlem Globetrotter, but apparently, Handsome can play.

Seems we have to have a little talk about the 'rules', the next time we play....

Talk to you later!

Dual Meat Gone Bad

The other night Handsome took part in his first Dual Meet for wrestling. There was, of course, a problem. In a Dual Meet, two schools face off and field a team of the best wrestler they have in each weight division. My son wrestles in the 120 lb bracket, but he's nine. He's just big and solid. He wound up being matched against a 13-year old, and this was not the teen-ager's first time on this particular merry-go-round. The Teen was rangy, and closer to my height than Handsome's. They met in the circle, shook hands and squared off. I think it was while they were shaking hands before the bout started that Handsome, neck cranked back to look up at his opponent (who will be shaving in a year or two), realized he was going to have a problem.

Luckily, it was over quickly.

The Teen wrapped him up in about 5 seconds, using moves Handsome had never seen before. He still hasn't seen them, since somewhere during the wrap-up he got the Teen's thumb in his eye.

The speed with which it was over left Handsome embarassed, while the thumb in the eye left him crying in the middle of the mat. I'm pretty sure the crying did not help the embarassment. He was a good sport, shaking hands with his opponent and the visiting coach, and then going to have someone look at his eye. They were worried about a possible scratched cornea, and we put a cold compress on it to keep the swelling down. It was while we were out in the hall putting fresh cold water on the compress when the Teen came out on his way to the bathroom. He stopped to apologize for hurting Handsome and ask if he was alright. Handsome informed him that he was fine but for the thumb in the eye.

"What?" The Teen looked startled.

"Your thumb," answered Handsome, "it went in my eye."

"Oh," said the Teen, surprised. "I didn't know about that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"Dude," said one of Teen's teammates (three were out in the hall with him) "I think he's a lot younger than you."

"Yeah," I said, "I was going to ask about that. How old are you?"

"Me? Thirteen. Why? He's younger than me, right, like eleven or something?"

 "He's nine."

It was like my words echoed around the hall as, eyes wide, the Teen and his teammates just stared at Handsome and turned my statement into a question.

"He's nine?"

"Yeah," I said. "He's just kind of big." Handsome just nodded and held the compress to his eye.

They all went quiet for a moment, then one of them turned to the Teen and pushed his arm to get his attention.

"Dude ... you took on a nine-year-old."

Handsome and I left them then, returning to the gym floor where the wrestling continued. I don't know about Handsome, but my ears remained tuned to the goings on in the hall behind us until they faded in the distance. 

There was some serious ribbing going on.

I kept an eye on the Teen whenever I could for the rest of the match, and as far as I could tell from body-language, the ribbing continued for the rest of the night.

Handsome eventually forgot about his eye, joshing and playing with some of his teammates.

Of the two of them, Handsome and the Teen, I'm not sure who actually took the worst drubbing that night. As far as I know, the Teen's has continued, maybe even still going on as I write this. I'm not sure which is worse: the thumb in the eye or a teen-ager having all his teammates aware that he wrestled against a nine-year-old.

I think if I had the choice, I might choose the thumb in the eye.

Talk to you later!

Vision Quest it Ain't

 Today was Handsome's first wrestling tournament. It's been a long day, and it's already 11:00 pm, so I'll just do a little fatherly bragging and leave y'all to go to bed.

Now, of his three bouts, he lost the first and third, but won the second. He could have won that third one, that one was a little bit of a disappointment since he was doing really well against a second year wrestler, and this is Handsome's first season at it. We thought he had the guy for a while, and then he took advantage of a slight mistake Handsome made, and my boy didn't recover in time. Oh well, he's learning, right?

Anyway, on to the bragging. I'll just cover the bout he won, since I got a few good shots from that one over the course of the three 1-minute rounds.

Here is a shot of Handsome at the beginning of the bout. He got hurt in his first fight, and we told him to get all aggressive in his second. He came out looking a little more like a  bear than a wrestler, hands down and standing wide, and I think the other kid kind of laughed at the look on Handsome's face. Until Handsome got a hold of him, that is. This is Handsome (in the black t-shirt)  putting his opponent on the mat. Decisively. He pretty much grabbed him and threw him over, then just landed on top of him. I don't think the other kid knew what hit him.

Here is Handsome in the second round. They started the round with Handsome on all fours with his opponent on top, in the advantage position. The kid didn't stay there for long, as Handsome worked his way out from beneath him to reverse the advantage, all on the floor. Here, Handsome has the opponent's shoulder, with that arm pointing almost straight up. About a half-second after this, Handsome uses that arm like a lever to just slam the kid over backwards and go for the pin. He couldn't get it, however, and they got to go on to the third round.

Here, after starting the round in the Disadvantage position again, Handsome has worked his way into a nice position (after throwing the kid in red down every time he's tried to get up) and is working his hand and arm into that half-nelson position so useful for rolling the body over so you can go for the pin. You can't see the coach that the kid is looking toward, but you can see the expression on his face. How much longer is this gonna go on, Coach? Just a little longer, kid.







Here, the boy in red managed to slip that little arm-bar that Handsome was trying to get  him into, and actually got to his feet in an attempt at a reversal, but Handsome wanted none of that. He shifted his grip and put the boy right back on the mat where he'd come from. If this shot looks a little brutal, well, oh, it was awesome, you should have been there!
I mean, uh, the mat was well padded and everyone was fine. No children were hurt in the making of this blog.





Even after all that throwing his opponent around, Handsome couldn't seem to pin him. He won the bout on points, 6-0. But he won.
Huzzah!
I pulled these still-shots from the video I took of each bout. The video might have been better for you to see, and it sure wouldn't have required my explaining everything like I did, butt here was one major problem with offering you the video.  There was some jackass yelling the whole time, and all you can hear is him. It's loud even if you turn the volume all the way down, so I decided to spare you the annoyance of having to listen to this guy bray like that, and pulled the stills just for WYMOP.

Besides, I'm not sure I want you all to hear exactly what I was yelling.

Talk to you later!

Fallback Position

Today's Earworm: The Munster's Theme.

I tried to think of something to blog about from today, but I failed miserably. This means I'm going to drop into my 'fallback position'. For those of you who haven't been paying attention, that means a blog about Handsome.

I have to be careful now, since as I sat down to write this I discovered that Handsome has started his own Facebook account. This means that when I post my daily link to WYMOP on my FaceBook wall, Handsome will get the link as well. He might actually start to read these things!
* * * * * * * * * *

Handsome is definitely growing up.

Last year, when we went and got him his football gear he was all excited, and he acted it. He couldn't wait to get home and put on the jersey, and he wanted to wear the helmet to bed. We had to hurry home so he could suit up and walk around the house. He spent the evening after we got him his football equipment sitting on the couch and watching television with his helmet on.

This year it's not football, but wrestling, so I knew it was going to be a little different. I was surprised,  though, at how much more casual Handsome was about it all. I took him out on Sunday to get a pair of wrestling shoes and protective headgear. He tried on the shoes, and he tried on the headgear, but he was completely cool about it. It was no big deal. We tried the headgear until we found some I could adjust down enough to fit him properly, and that was comfortable. And that was that. It all went in the shopping bag, and I heard no more about it as we went food shopping for better than an hour.

When we got home it was the same deal. It was in the bag, and he put the bag on the table and started to walk away. I had to flag him down and ask him to show the new equipment to his mother. He did it with a minimum of protest, but there was protest; it was like he could have cared less. Practically a teen-age attitude. Total cool.

His mother and I put the groceries away, and I set up my laptop on the dining room table as I usually do. Then I went looking for Handsome. I can't remember exactly why I went looking for him, but I did. I strode up to the TV room door, which was closed, opened it on the fly and just walked right in.

There, on the couch watching television, was Handsome.

Wearing his wrestling headgear.

I stopped dead, looking at him with what felt like a huge grin on my face. His eyes eventually left the television and rolled sideways to focus on me. The first thing he noticed was my smile, and he sat up a little straighter.

"What?"

That's my boy.

Talk to you later!

Bend Your Knees

Sometimes, I know I have mentioned it before, Handsome and I go to the local Roller Rink and skate for the afternoon. We started a few years ago, and while he was learning to skate for the first time I was trying to re-learn what I had forgotten more than 20 years before. I did pretty well, too, and I've had one fall in the 3-4 years we have been going there. hat wasn't really much of a fall, either. It happened right after we started going there, and I was skating behind little Handsome trying to act as a living safety net. The little guy went down, and I went down while trying to catch him. I wound up catching myself on my palms and feet, trying not to crush him.

That was barely a fall. 

So today, as I was skating around, I was offering advice to some of the younger kids out there. 

"Bend your knees," I would say as I swept past some poor kid who was stiff-legged and trying desperately to keep his balance through arm waving. "Stay lower!"

I told several kids through the course of the afternoon. "Bend your knees! Bend your knees!"

Well, I bent my knees. And my back, my neck, my right arm and my left rear cheek. And some ribs, in there somewhere, it feels like. I finally fell down, and when I did, it was huge! I started out moving fast, but then I rolled. I sprawled. I slid. It didn't hurt that much when it happened, but there was plenty of time for people to notice me falling, and then time for people to see me landing, and the look on people's faces as they watched me skid to a stop was Holy @#$%! I think he's dead!
I popped right back up.
"Oh my God, are you ok?"
"Oh, sure, I'm fine. You just have to stay loose."
Luckily it was time for Handsome and me to leave, because I was talking out my bruised and painful butt. I walked out the door, and then limped the rest of the way to the Jeep.

I am going to be so sore tomorrow!

Talk to you later! (If I can get out of bed, that is...)

Something to be Thankful For

Happy Thanksgiving!

Dinner was at my in-laws' house, and everything was quite good. Swollen bellies and drooping eyelids abounded. When it was all over, and the table had been cleared, Handsome and I retired to the back yard with gloves and ball for a little game of catch.
"Be careful," we were warned. "Don't let the ball go over that fence behind Handsome. That's the KS's yard over there, and they're the mean, Grinchy people in the neighborhood! If the ball goes over there there could be trouble."
"We'll be careful," we promised, and the catching commenced.
Back and forth the ball flew, sometimes whacking into the fence, but more often than not being caught.
Then I chanced to throw a nice fast one, right about chest high on Handsome, glove side. He snapped his glove up, but too quickly; he hadn't opened it wide yet. Rather than catching the speeding ball in the pocket of the glove, he back-handed it from below. Slapped higher, the ball hopped up about two-and-a-half more feet.
-Just high enough to clear the fence into KS territory.
I opened my mouth to say "Oh, no!", but before I got the chance Handsome was already shouting.
"Good one, Dad! Way to go!"
"What?" I said, incredulous. I hadn't thrown the ball over the fence, he had hit it -
"Way to go, Dad!" he shouted again, shooting a glance at his grandparent's house.
That's when I got it.
This day, people all over the world find things to be thankful for.
My boy was just thankful I was there to take the blame.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Talk to you later!

Stumped

          Handsome is an only child. The house he lives in is on a a main street, pretty much a tertiary highway. He has no real neighborhood to speak of, no local kids that he can just go out and find to play with.

We go to some trouble, as I think all parents should, to the best of their time and ability, to make sure he has a social life where he sees and plays with other children. Swimming lessons. Soccer. Football. Now we have the Cub Scouts.

Today was Handsome’s soccer tournament. Three games, at 10:00, 12:00 and 2:00. Five fields filled with kids from towns all over the place. A whole tam’s worth of local kids that Handsome knows and has played soccer with, and against, for three seasons.

Between the 1st and 2nd games, Handsome disappeared. Wife went to find him, looking at groups of kids on this field and that, and at other kids were waiting for games who moving between the ongoing games themselves.

Where did she find him and what was he doing, surrounded by hundreds of kids, quite a few of which he knew and felt comfortable with?

Playing alone, off on the side of the fields, jumping on and off a stump.

Why, you ask, when there were all those children for him to play with, soccer balls all over the place?

It’s what he wanted to do.

Go figure.

Talk to you later!

Special Rules

There are special rules.
Traveling, double-dribbling (hell, quadruple-dribbling) and up-and-down is all allowed for him.
I cannot grab a rebound out of the air, it has to hit the ground before I can touch it. I can try to box him out but I can't just stand there and grab it before it gets down to him at all. If I grab or even intentionally re-direct the ball before it hits the ground, then it's his ball, possession taken from the top of the key, duly checked.
If I do manage to get a hold of a rebound I have to clear the ball at the top of the key, whether he's hit the rim or not. He never has to clear it at all. Just has to grab it from anywhere and shoot.
He is allowed to pretty much maul me on Defense, and has done everything up to and including hitting me in the nuts. (I cry foul on the nuts thing. Well, first I cry, then I cry foul.)

So, even with all these rules in place to make it as even as possible, negating the fact that I am a foot and a half taller than he is, and my arms are much longer, how old does it make me seem that a nine-year-old beat me at 1-on-1 basketball this afternoon?

Pretty old, huh? Yeah ... you can say it.

I'll just be over here tuning up my walker, you know, putting fresh tennis balls over the feet, stuff like that.

Talk to you later!

...if I can find my teeth, that is. Dangit! I left them around here somewhere...

Check, Please!

Yesterday Handsome had a soccer game, and he did great! He was a force to be reckoned with on Defense, and while he was on Offense he scored his first goal ever. And he almost scored his second while he was at it! It was a great game, and afterward he didn't want to leave the field. The rest of his team all went home (or wherever, I really couldn't swear they went home, but they all left) and he and I stayed and kicked his ball around for a while. I played goalie and he shot on me, then we switched and I was shooting on him. I was kicking the ball at the goal from mid-field, sprinting after it, just playing like I was 20 years old again.

Until, of course, I started overheating from my anhidrosis. That slowed me down pretty quick. But for a while there Handsome and I were having a lot of fun.

Cut to this morning.

I awoke not feeling very well. I didn't wake up on my own, actually. My bladder was doing the biological equivalent of smacking me with a rubber truncheon and screaming Get up! Get up! Get up! in my ear. I sat up fast and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

At least, that is what I attempted to do. As soon as I tried to swing my legs like that, my left hip put a figurative hand on my chest; a large, muscular, very capable looking hand, the kind of hand that you find attached to the large, muscular, very capable men that loan sharks send out to express their displeasure over non-payment. My hip held me down with that hand. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" it asked, glaring at me from under a thick, lowered brow. 

"To the bathroom!" screamed my bladder, before I could say a word. "He's going to the bathroom! Now get out of the way, this is an emergency!"

My hip shook its proverbial head.

"He ain't going nowhere 'til he takes care of this!"

My hip was handing me a check, and it was one of those giant, oversize checks like the ones you see people getting when they win the Publisher's Clearinghouse, smiling and crying and holding the check as they shake Ed McMahon's hand. And I was crying, but not in a good way. This wasn't a check that was made out to me,  this was the kind that comes to the table after a big, expensive dinner, and I was the dufus reaching for his credit card.

"You remember yesterday, when he was all running around like an idiot?"

"Of course I remember," shouted my bladder. "But this is an-"

"Well all that acting like a kid again costs," went on my hip, as if my bladder wasn't shouting in its face. "It all costs big. And it's time the bill was paid!"

My bladder was screaming something back, but I wasn't listening. Pretty much forgotten by the two of them as they argued, I was quietly staggering toward the bathroom, dragging my left leg behind me since moving my hip cost me tremendous pain. I staggered as fast as I could, since as soon as I moved I realized that my bladder wasn't the only thing feeling tremendous pressure, and the only reason I hadn't heard from my bladder's neighbor was that it was concentrating all its energies on keeping it together. Figuratively and literally. I was just trying to get to the john before I wound up having to clean my room. With a hose.

I made it.

15 minutes later I made it again.

15 minutes after that I made it again. 

Every time, dragging that leg.

I didn't make it in to work today.

Reminder: Please check out the Coffin Hop, the button for which is in the upper right of the blog page. October 24th - 31st, it should be a lot of fun.

AND check out my website, the button for which is right below the one for the Coffin Hop. 

For more detailed information on either reminder, please see yesterday's blog entry.

Talk to you later!

A Little Issue Of Focus

 I was sitting there at the soccer field, waiting for Handsome's practice to be over. His mother dropped him off here, but I was bringing him home. I stopped by the house on the way to the field to run in and use the bathroom. As I was leaving, running back out to the Jeep to go watch his practice, I noticed a flat package on the dining room table, right where I set up my laptop when I go there for a visit.

It's the two copies of Dark Moon Digest #5 that I ordered from Amazon.

The issue I'm in.

Huzzah!

I snagged the package off the table and headed out to the field. I opened the box before practice really got under way, and checked it out. I checked the Table of Contents, and there I am on page 35. I flip to page 35, and there's my story, “Playmate Wanted”.

There was a whistle, as practice began.

I was supposed to be watching Handsome while he practiced. He likes to look over and see one of us watching him. I looked up and he was running with the ball. I looked back down at the issue in my hands.

Eh, I've got time to watch him.

I start reading “Playmate Wanted”.

This is pretty good, I thought. I noticed things, details I had forgotten.

I glanced up. They were all in a huddle in the middle of the field. I looked back down and started reading again.

I read it twice. It's just that good!

It's probably not, really, but it's mine. Woot woot!

I was just putting it away, packing the two copies back in the shipping package together. Handsome strolled up, pants grass stained, face flushed and hair glistening with beaded sweat.

“Did you see that, Dad?”

“I sure did, Handsome,” I lied.

His face was serious.

“What did I do?”

“Uh... you were the one with the ball?”

I am in so much trouble!

Talk to you later!

P.S. - don't forget to check out my entry titled "Underdog - Superhero or Trend-Setting Speed Freak", and take part in my poll! Results posted Saturday!

Now and Then - Cycling Safety

I see people now taking their kids for a rides on the back of their bikes, and it makes me nostalgic. I'm reminded of the times when, as a child, I was taken for a ride on the back of my father's bike.
Sort of.
You see, it's not the same, really. Not even close. Right here I'd like to do a little "Now and Then", just to show you the differences that spring to mind when I make the comparison.

NOW

Nowadays I see people, men and women, cruising along smoothly on their 21 speed bicycles with adjustable seats, air shocks front and back, wearing their helmets and, I swear to God, in at least one case I've seen checking their on-board GPS. If they have their child with them, if they've dared to take a child out in this dangerous athletic situation, I have never seen the child having fun. In the child seat, there is no fun.
The child seat is a little more than a seat. It's more like the cockpit of a rocket car. The child, be they boy or girl, and the only way to tell  sometimes is the color of the gigantic safety helmet, is firmly and completely ensconced in flame retardent, shock resistant, molded plastic. The interior of this egg-shaped portable panic room is well padded; good thing, since each seat comes equipped with adjustable nylon straps and buckles, usually configured in a five-point restraint pattern that would make any member of the 'Dangerous" ward of any psychiatric hospital in America feel right at home. These straps have been designed, and are frequently used, to strap toddlers down to the point of suffocation. Once strapped in the children are almost completely protected from anything up to and including small arms fire. The only parts of the children that are visible are the tips of their chubby little fingers, the soles of their 'Kid-Keds', and the tops of their heads.
Oops! My apologies, I just misspoke. Not their heads.
Their helmets.
Their safety helmets are fitted, padded, impact resistant, fire retardant, shock proof, electrically insulated feats of safety-oriented engineering that sometimes weigh nearly as much as the children they are protecting. I recall seeing a child whom I thought was physically handicapped riding in the seat on the back of his mother's bike and thinking how brave he and his mother were. Come to find out the child was fine, but they had attached a HALO collar to the helmet as it was the only way the child could wear the helmet without the weight of the thing pushing him right out of the seat.
Now, you'd think that once all this safety equipment was in place the children would then be free to enjoy the ride.
Not exactly.
They're strapped into the seat so tightly they can barely move. They're wearing this over-sized helmet faintly reminiscent  of a 'Spaceballs' character, and the helmet pretty much fits into the shape of the seat the kid is strapped into. They can't turn their heads without leaning forward, and they can't lean forward due to the straps. They're pretty much strapped down in an eyes-front position like they're having some sort of 'Clockwork Orange' therapy. For the entire ride the only scenery they have at their disposal is ... Mom or Dad's flexing buttocks.
Huzzah.
At least they are outside getting fresh air. Unless of course, Dad ate at Taco Bell...

THEN

Back in my day, the child seat was not the technological marvel that it is today. Mom and Dad had 3-speed bikes, and my sister and I rode on the backs of them. My child seat for the bike? Hard to describe, but I'll try. 

Take two 12 inch by 12 inch pieces of 1/4 inch thick plywood. Attach the two of them together along one side with a hinge, so they can open and close like a clamshell. Now, wrap that plywood in a thin sheath of foam rubber, say 1/2 inch thick.
That's comfort.
 Cover that baby with a thin layer of plastic to keep the foam from getting soaked by rain, pee or vomit, and you're almost there. To the plywood you have arbitrarily decided to call the 'bottom' or 'seat', attach two arm-rests made from two 'C' shaped pieces of metal tubing, with the open part of the 'C' attached to the sides of the 'seat' by another pair of hinges. This way when you fold the 'back rest' down flat upon the 'seat', you can fold the 'arm rests' in to hold the whole thing down flat. In this way, when there are no pesky kids sitting in it you can fold it closed and have it double as a carrying rack! Bolt that baby to the rear fender, or better yet, on top of the store-bought carrying rack, slap your toddler in there and take off like you were born to be wild!

I'm not sure, but I think there was a simple cinching strap to act as a seat-belt. I'll have to ask my mom.

Notice that I have not mentioned my helmet? that's because upon my head was... hair. Unless I was wearing a baseball cap to ward off the sun. Helmets weren't even required in professional hockey back then. Why would you bother putting one on your kid?

To sum up:
     Now - Children on the back of their parent's bikes can withstand anything up to, but not including, a direct nuclear strike, but they can't see much, and they have to be wary of Dad reaching for the Di-Gel before a ride.
     Then - Safety was not, repeat NOT a factor. In fact, if a parent today slapped their kid into my old-time bike seat, I'm pretty sure they'd get arrested and the child would wind up with Children's Protective Services. But I had a great view, the wind in my hair and the sun in my face.

I still had to worry about Dad eating Mexican, though.

Talk to you later!

You Try To Say Something Nice...

My son and I went to the roller rink today. Yes, that same roller rink that was not open the other day when Handsome went to play in the stream. The rink was filled with children of various ages, and just a few adults. There are a few adults you see there often; I like to think of them as the 'regulars', and they are usually people who skate quite well. One of them was there today, a pretty tough looking guy who skates like a champ. He's quick and graceful, as well as playful, skating forwards, backwards, and sometimes actually sideways, dancing to the music they have blasting over the loudspeakers.
Today there were two other skilled adults there, two people I had never seen, but they seemed to be about my age, maybe a touch younger. The woman was skating in a very straight forward manner, but skillfully, gliding effortlessly through the crowd, avoiding traffic jams and tangled kids like they weren't even there. The man was more showy, skating backwards and forwards, throwing in spins and almost acrobatic moves. The two of them occasionally danced, skating together, her forward him backward. I told Handsome to keep an eye on them and try to learn from what they do since they really seem to know what they are doing.
I, on the other hand, re-figured out how to skate without falling down just last year, so that's what I stick to; I go out and try very hard not to fall down.
When the skate was over, and we were all leaving, I saw the woman changing into her shoes. Her partner was still out on the floor, but I paused by her bench.
"Hi," I said. "You skate very well."
She brightened, and as I went on to say "You two are fun to watch," she gestured toward me and spoke at the same time I did. I nodded, and waved goodbye, and it wasn't until I was walking away that I puzzled out what she had said.
"It's great to see older people out there!"

I'm 'older people'.

Ouch.

It's almost 9:00. I have to drink my Geritol and totter off to bed soon. We older people need our rest! I'd proof-read this stuff first, but I have such a hard time with these little tiny letters... Man! I have to start putting this blog out in a large print edition in case anyone out there my age should want to give it a read! I hope I remember to start doing that, but you know the memory is the second thing to go. Right after ... after ... uh... that thing ...
... what was I talking about?

Anyway, it's almost 9:00. I have to drink my Geritol and totter off to ...

Talk to you later!

Who Was That Boy?

Last night Handsome had a pick-up soccer game to go to, so I took him to the right park when I got out of work. It was looking like it might rain a bit, but it had looked like that off and on all day and we hadn't gotten anything worse than a 5 minute sprinkle out of it. The kids were all running about and the parents were all looking at the sky. Most of them seemed prepared for rain, having brought umbrellas, but though the sky was gray it remained dry.
The coach showed up.
Just as he was starting to organize the kids and get a game started, the rain started as well. It was just a gentle sprinkle, and it wasn't slowing the kids down any, so the parents all put up their umbrellas and waited. They started talking to each other in hopeful tones about it passing, or stopping soon; as if by convincing each other that the rain would stop they could actually make it so.
Nope.
It began to rain for real. The coach decided to put the game on hold for 15 minutes to see if it would clear up a bit, and everyone headed out to the parking lot to sit in their cars and wait it out. Everyone but Handsome. He had his soccer ball, and he was outside, and he said a little rain wasn't going to stop him.
"I like the rain! This is fun! Can we practice head-balls?"
This from a kid that we have to fight with to get him in the shower. Who sometimes is so lazy that when he can't find the remote for the television he just watches what is on rather than taking the two steps required to change the channel manually. (He has been stuck on the QVC channel before, and now he can give me the pitch, practically verbatim, for: The Buxton Organizer, Mighty Putty, Wonder Hanger, Oxy-Clean, the Awesome Auger, the Quick Chop, and a host of other things you can find in the 'as seen on TV' section of your local store.)
We practiced our head-balls and throw-ins in the rain while the other people (the sane people, if you will) waited in their cars and watched the sky for signs that it was letting up.
Instead, it rained harder.
And harder.
"Don't you want to get in out of the rain?"
"No, Dad. Can we just stay out here a while?"
Who was this kid? The ball couldn't roll far, it kept getting stuck in puddles, but he didn't want to stop.
Other parents were calling it quits and driving their kids out of there, but he didn't want to stop.
The coach drove up and said he was calling it and going home.
"Maybe we'll have better luck next week," he said with a wave as he drove off. Handsome walked up, holding the ball and soaked to the skin.
"Who was that?"
"That," I answered, "was the coach. I think it's time we went in and got dry, Handsome."
"Do we have to?"
"Yup."
He sighed and got in the jeep. I paused for long enough to take off my soaked shirt, then I got in as well. Even with the shirt off I still soaked my seat. Handsome was sluicing water off his head and face with his hands, and smiled as he pointed out the puddles he was making in my car, thrilled to be so wet.
I pointed a finger at him.
"Remember; when we get home you go right in the shower."
His face fell.
"Aww.... do I have to, Dad?"
"There you are! Where have you been?"
He looked at me quizzically, still wiping at his face.
"I was wondering where you were," I explained. "I was just playing soccer with this other kid, he looked a lot like you, but he was way active, and he didn't seem to mind being wet at all!"
He made a face at me. "Ha-ha. Funny, Dad."
"That's okay, Handsome," I said, reaching out to ruffle his hair and accidentally spraying water on the inside of the windshield. "That kid was wearing me out. I'm glad to have you back!"


Talk to you later!

"You Keep On Using That Word..."

The playground. Tag. Wallball. Four Square. Follow the Leader. Fun and games.

What the hell happened?

What happened to us? Why did we, as we grew older and became 'Adults', become so much less civilized?

There is a guy I work with who likes to call people and things 'childish' when he thinks they are silly, overblown, or just not right. Anyone he sees who he thinks is acting poorly, or acting out, he tells them to 'stop being such a child!'

Why?

I was watching Handsome playing in the schoolyard after school today, and I noticed some things. The way the kids behave, both solo and in a group, suddenly seemed surprising to me. Were they more 'Adult' than I expected? No. They were better than that. They were being childish, and compared to more adult ways, I was glad for it.

I'll try to explain through the game handsome was playing.

Wallball:

This is a game that Handsome loves and I completely fail to comprehend, though I've had him explain it time and again. Those of you who have ever received an explanation from a 6, 7, or 8 year old will understand; I'm lucky he's not still explaining it! As far as I can tell, there is a group of kids, a ball, and a wall. The wall doesn't have to be a wall, it can be a simple curb, and the game works fine. Wallball without the wall. Go figure. Someone throws the ball at the wall and everyone else tries to catch the ball when it bounces back. As far as I can tell, catching the ball does nothing for you, and they rotate through throwers in no discernible order. I don't even think there are teams! Or points. Or anything. And all the kids love this game.

This game that no grown up would play.

The kids are self-regulatory, and if someone is breaking the rules (for there are rules; I just can't comprehend them since I am an Adult), or just being a real jerk, then the group handles it. The rules are explained (and I still don't understand 'em) or the behavior pointed out, and the offender can either abide by the wishes of the group or leave. Simple.

Oh, sure, there is a teacher around as a court of last resort, but if you watch the group it seldom gets to that point. Sometimes the offender is pushed out by the group, and sometimes he leaves on his own. Most times, however, the conflict is settled and the game moves on, all the kids being equal. Except the owner of the ball. He seems to be a little more equal.

And even if someone is booted from the game for a while, some time goes by and the other kids allow them back in. I've seen it

.

Could Adults play this game?

Not as it is. There would have to be clearly defined rules, and positions, and a point system so that they could keep track of just how badly they had crushed their opponents. And they would use those rules to complain, and hack at each other, and prove that, no matter what the group said, they were right because this is what it says in the rules!

And then, to reinforce these rigidly defined rules they would have to have a league, with its own handbook, and uniforms for the teams, and a seasonal Standing Record (so that they could show everyone just how badly they had crushed their opponents), and the first thing they could do when there was a rules infraction or unsportsmanlike conduct would be to wave that handbook in people's faces, stabbing pages with stiff fingers and shouting through stiff faces "See right here! It says so right here! I deserve that point, and he needs to be punished! He needs a yellow card, or a red card, or some kind of card! Something to show in the permanent record just how wrong he was, and how wronged I was! It says so right there!"

And then someone can point to a different page, or a new ruling, or an old precedent, and they can refute, and debate, and argue. And the situation can exacerbate, and grow, and there can be a split, with factions, or just one man against the rest, but both sides of the issue can be so consumed with being right, being correct, being on the winning side that they forget they were really there to play a game.

Eventually there will be confrontations, within the league as well as without, and some of the outside confrontations could lead to restraining orders, whether deserved or not, and court orders, and a league walk-out if not a shut-down...

So how, may I ask, is this better than the way children do things? Wouldn't it be better if, like the kids, we could just keep focused on the main thing that brought us there in the first place: having fun playing a game?

So thanks, guy at work. I'll stick with being 'childish' any day of the week. And every time I hear him make that complaint about someone now, I'll be hearing one of my favorite quotes from "The Princess Bride" in my head:

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think that it means."

I honestly don't think it does.

Sorry, not very funny thoughts this evening, just what occurred to me as I sat and watched them play.  Maybe I'll have a giggle or two tomorrow...

But hey! I added a Poll! Woot Woot!

Talk to you later!