The Crossing

As fall quickly approaches winter I find that I am reluctant to jump out of my bed quite as early as I once did.  I blame this fact on the coziness and warmth of the many blankets that adorn my bed.  Of course, there is no rest for the weary (or wicked) and inevitably I have to get up and get myself and the children out of the door and off to school.  Lately though, as I approach my daughter Camryn’s middle school, I find myself approaching an evil like no other.  This evil does everything in its power to detain me, and literally goes out of its way to stop me in my tracks (or in this case my car).  What is this evil you ask? Glad you asked.  It is none other than the middle school crossing guard. 

In order to understand where this evilness toward me sprang, I have to take you back about a month and a half ago.  One day, as is usually the case, I found myself running late (big surprise) so I was pretty much pushing the speed limit to get my daughter out of the car and into the building before 7:30 a.m.  As I looked at my clock for the 49th time and wishing that I could slow time down for at least three minutes, I find that it is 7:24 when I attempt to pull into the middle school parking lot and, as usual, I am lecturing my daughter.  Well in between the lecturing and the worry that I was not going to get her into the school on time, I quickly tapped on the brakes at the cross walk, stopped briefly, and was about to keep going (as there were no children present in the crosswalk) when this short, robust, African-American version of Hercule Poirot blows his whistle and jumps in front of my car.  Now, I am a very friendly person (usually) but he scared me so I believe that I said something to the effect of “Oh my, he has startled me.” (Just don’t ask my daughters what I said as I am certain that they did not hear what I said correctly and will tell you that I said something totally different than what I am writing here).  Then I heard him (Pseudo Hercule) screaming that I was not obeying his stop sign.  Now, I am not a member of Mensa so I do not consider myself a genius by any stretch of the imagination, but I do not know of anyone who will obey a stop sign of a crossing guard who is still on the sidewalk.  Needless to say, I gave this man the patented Rod look which conveys the message of “get away from me you kook” and “if you want to be a hood ornament for my Ford Taurus stay right there.” At this point, I finally wheel around to the drop-off point and rush my child out of the car and it is exactly 7:29. Whew! I made it with seconds to spare.  I had forgotten my altercation with Hercule until the next day.

The next day I drive up and as I approach the crosswalk, this same security guard attempts to run into the crosswalk to delay me even though there are no children in the crosswalk.  However, I breezed on through because he could not get there in time.  For one thing, he wears a uniform that is entirely too snug for his frame and he walks as if his shoes are three sizes too small.  So Mr. Crossing Guard,  if you are going to stop Rod you have to move quicker than that in order to get me to stop.  As I pull around to the drop-off point, I look in my rearview mirror and it looks as if he is seething.  I chuckle to myself and think “Way to show Hercule up Rod.  That’ll learn him!”  Little did I know . . . 

On the third day, this guard (who must have eaten his Wheaties this day) jumps into the crosswalk and I am forced to stop.  I kid you not, this man had eight students waiting to cross and instead of allowing them to cross together, he broke the group up as if he were Noah and the children were boarding the ark.  Hercule split them up in teams of two and made them wait until the previous two students made it safely across.  Really Crossing Guard? Seriously?  You are now taking this vendetta against me a little too far!  As I am waiting for this mother . . . umm gentleman to let me pass, the cars behind me start to honk. I throw up my hands to let the driver behind me know that I cannot move until Hercule allows me to and it was then that the crossing guard looked at me and smirked.  Even my daughter caught the smirk and said, “I don’t think he likes you dad.”  “No baby,” I say, “I really do not think that he does.”

This game of “can I catch him before he gets to the crosswalk?” has literally been going on for 31 days as of this writing and it shows no sign of stopping anytime soon.  I am ahead by 19 days though, and for those of you who are asking, yes, I’m keeping score.  I especially love the time when I was in my wife’s car and he did not realize it was me until it was too late, but by then I was turning the corner to the drop-off point.  He actually glared at me that day.  I swear there is never a dull moment in the middle school parking lot.  And please know this dear reader: As long as he continues with this childish game, I have just enough “child” in me to continue it with him.  I am really up for the challenge . . . and besides, I’m ahead point wise.  Until next time dear reader, always look for the funny.

What's in a name?

Last week I was enjoying a very good dinner in Atlanta, Georgia.  The food was great, my dinner companions were erudite and the conversation was electrifying.  At some point in the conversation the topic turned to strange names that we have run across in our line of work.  The top names that we found to be the most extreme are as follows:

Exhibit A- #1- Twins named Orangejello and Lemonjello- Now, for those of you who can’t see it, the names are actually formed by combining two words and creating a brand new one (Orange Jello and Lemon Jello).  Now keep in mind that I am thinking that these are urban legends, but my companions at the dinner table are assuring me that they know people with these names and have not just “heard” about these names.

Exhibit B- #2- Abcd (pronounced in two ways- either as Ah bee sa dee or Abb sa dee)- Actually a friend of mine in Upstate South Carolina told me that she knew a student with this name so it must be catching on in our nation.

Exhibit C- #3- Shi’thead (This is actual pronounced Sha thade, but if you take out the apostrophe, shift the “t” over  towards the “i” and separate the name into two words after the “t” and before the "h" and you have a whole new name (and probably a fight on your hands should you choose to use this handle).

However, my all time favorite name mentioned comes from the great state of Alabama. The #1 strange name (and Exhibit D - #4) is La-a.  Now I know that many of you are pronouncing this as Lah ah or Lay ay but you would be wrong. The correct pronunciation of this name is…wait for it…Ladasha (La dash ah). Yes folks, you have to pronounce the “dash.”

Really people, seriously?  You actually sat down and came up with these names and thought that these were cute? The sad thing is that many of these names started off as urban legends, but somewhere down the line someone heard it and thought that they would be befitting of their children.

I am all about individualizing a name and making it unique, but in my opinion some names are taken a tad bit too far as you can see in exhibits A through D.  When my wife and I chose to name our children, we wanted to make sure that we were choosing names that our children could live with for the rest of their lives.  I know that my girls will probably one day take on the last name of some “knucklehead” that they meet (although I am attempting to instill in them the desire to hyphenate and keep their original last names), but that first name belongs to them for life (unless they legally change it to something like Lilakoi Moon, which is what Lisa Bonet of “The Cosby Show” fame did).  I know that had my parents chosen to name me Shi’thead, as soon as I was able I would have run my fat behind to court to change my name pronto!

In conclusion, let me say to expecting parents . . . please think about what you are going to name that bundle of joy that God has chosen to bestow upon you.  The name that you give your child will follow him or her  (more than likely) for the rest of their lives and you don’t want to tick them off that early in life.  Remember, that they will probably be responsible for choosing the nursing home that you will reside in for the remainder of your days.  

As always, remember dear reader . . . to always look for the funny.

The Great Pumpkin Caper

Everyone who knows me knows that I love practical jokes (especially if I am the one who is the mastermind of the joke) and when I get a joke or prank in mind, I have been known to take it to the extreme (but in a good way).  One prank that comes to mind, which is one of my all time favorite pranks, involves the annual pumpkin carving contest that we have at my place of employment.  The first year that this particular contest was introduced, three co-workers of mine and I decided to participate and compete.

Well, I am a very competitive person and it just so happens that there is this one woman (we will call her River) who is just as competitive as I am and always seems to be pitted against me in these types of activities.  So when the two of us get together, we have the tendency to embark in braggadocio regarding who is better in the activity in question.  So, as you can imagine River had a squad of pumpkin carvers and I had mine.  Now what makes this story funnier is the fact that I happened to be teamed with three of the most laid back people on the face of the planet and even though time was steadily ticking by, we had yet to meet or discuss what our entry was going to be.  Yet, every time I ran into River, I continued to tell her how great our carving was going to be and how much I was going to enjoy watching them take second place behind my team.  Well of course River gave as good as she got and she insisted that she and her team had the winning carving. 

One day, when my team had finally met to discuss what we were going to create, I had the brilliant idea of hatching a little practical joke and shared it with my team mates, who were immediately on board.  I decided to ask a friend of mine (who we will call Carl) to “mistakenly” contact River and play the part of an irate businessman who was waiting on his money for a service that he provided to my team.  In the course of the phone call, Carl was to let slip that he was a professional pumpkin carver and that he was ready to ship our pumpkin to us but had yet to receive the money from our team to complete the transaction.   Needless to say, Carl delivered all of this and more in his phone conversation with River.  In fact, he deserved an Academy Award for his performance. 

Meanwhile back at the restaurant, our team knew that this prank was happening while we were all conveniently at lunch and we were just awaiting the phone call from Carl to say that he had completed the task.  When Carl finally called and told us that the deed was done we then made sure to walk into River’s lair.  We were not disappointed!

We were met with a group of screaming team members who shouted at us that we were unethical for hiring professionals for a local contest.  Of course, my teammates and I played the role of innocents and continually asked “What are you talking about?”  After about ten minutes of this, I finally stated something like, “Where in the rules did it state that we could not hire a professional?”  It took every ounce of my being to remain in that moment and not guffaw at the culpability of my co-workers who actually thought that we paid money for a professional pumpkin carving.  Really co-workers?  Seriously?  I do not know about you all, but I have better things to do with my money.

Of course this did not stop us from milking this particular prank for three days.  I would constantly go by River’s office (even though our offices were no where near each other) to taunt her about how her pumpkin was going to lose and she would always retort, “At least we didn’t need to hire somebody to carve our pumpkin.”  I would accuse her of being jealous that she didn’t think of it and go back to my office.  Oh how good life was for those couple of days!

Finally, the day arrived and it was time to unveil our carving.  So what did my team submit?  We submitted a pumpkin-carved wedding cake complete with a pumpkin-carved groom.  Needless to say, the thought was original, but the carving was terrible!  I looked toward the table at what River and her team created and they had created the carriage from Cinderella and it was beautiful!  Clearly, much time and effort were spent honing it and ensuring that it was just right.  When River and her team looked at our carving, one of her teammates replied, “Y’all spent money on that?”  It was at that point (after I could catch my breath from laughing so hard) that I had to tell them that it was all a joke and that we did not pay a person to carve our pumpkin.  The looks on their faces is one that I will never forget. 

I love it when one creates a practical joke and the recipient of the joke finally realizes that they have been had.  I must admit that this was one of the best.

So which team won the pumpkin carving contest?  Neither.  In the end the winner of the competition was a team that had created a hamburger and used the pumpkin shell and seeds to create the bun.  So while River and I were battling each other, another team came through and took the crown.  Oh well!  That’s how the game goes at times.  Goodbye until next time dear reader and remember to always look for the funny!

The Wonder (when they’re leaving the house) Years

I remember when Cathy and I first got married we had many family members and close friends asking us constantly, “So when are you going to have kids?” My usual response to this was, “Why would we want some goats?” And yeah, the look that you are giving me reading this response is usually the look that I received from them.  When they wouldn’t give up we would respond by saying that we wanted at least three years to ourselves before we started a family.  And we stuck to that.  In our third year of marriage, we decided that it was time, but fate played a different role.  We were given news that it may be extremely difficult to have children and we may need to look at other measures.  However, two years after getting this news we were blessed with our first born Camryn (“CC”).  Now personally, I was content to have just one child, but Cathy insisted on having a sibling for CC.  Since it really was fun working on this particular project, I did not put up much of an argument and four years later our second daughter, Lorin, arrived.  Now at this time, both Cathy and I were certain that we were through.  But three years later, to our surprise, we found out that we were expecting a third child. (Must have been all of that eggnog during the period of Thanksgiving and Christmas that made us a little bit amorous, but I digress).  And in September of 2007, we brought our son Kendall home. 
Now Cathy and I love our children, but they can be a bit taxing especially when one of us is out of town and has to do the pick-up and drop-off for three different schools, but I think we have this down.  At times, the children can have a smart mouth, but I blame myself for this.  I love words and when my kids were extremely young (like still within their first year of life) if you really wanted to tick me off, come up to the child and start talking gibberish baby talk.  This would send me through the roof.  You know what I’m talking about.  People who come up to a baby and in a high pitched voice say asinine things like “oh, coochie coochie, look at the baby, umm goolie goolie.” Really grown people, seriously? I wanted to slap them and I would ask them to stop and speak to the baby in a normal voice because English is our native tongue.  I got a few nasty looks, but this is one on which Cathy actually agreed with me.  Besides, if my wife and I are standing right there and we have no clue what you are saying, what makes you think that my baby understands that crap that you are espousing?  And to this day, no one can ever say that our children do not know how to express themselves and this leads me to this week’s episode . . . starring the baby boy of the family.

One day, Kendall’s uncle called him to say hello.  Kendall is somewhat spoiled because on his mother’s side he is the first grandson in her family.  They have great grandsons in the family, but he is the first grandson, so his uncle really has a special uncle-nephew bond with him.  However, what Kendall’s uncle did not realize was that he chose to call while Dora the Explorer was on, and she (Dora) had just called for the map.(Those of you who have kids who watch Dora know what I’m talking about; those of you who don’t, just trust me when I say kids don’t want to miss this song)  Cathy calls to her lone male child (at least I think he’s the only one, who knows for sure) and says “Kendall, Uncle’s on the phone.”  Kendall briefly looks at the phone and then looks back at the television.  He decides to do a quick phone hello, so he goes to his mom and grabs the phone and quickly says “Hello” and answers three questions with a monotone “Yes” and then quickly hands the phone back to his mom and commences to watch Dora.  Cathy then speaks to “Uncle” and I hear her say “oh.” So she says, “Kendall, Uncle wasn’t finished talking to you. He’s still on the phone.”  My four year old son, without turning away from the television says, “I cannot be bothered right now.” 
There are times when I am extremely upset to witness some of the things that my children say and do, but this was one incident that I was thankful to be around to hear for myself (and even writing this down does not do it justice) because it was so funny to me to hear those words come from a four year old. Now Cathy and I have a rule about not laughing at something funny that one of the children says because we feel that it encourages them to continue the behavior.  And we usually tag team to explain to the child why what he or she said was not appropriate, but for this incident Cathy was on her own because I ran into the kitchen and guffawed.  If you do not believe that children listen to everything that you say, even when you think they aren’t, this proves it.  I cannot tell you how many times I have heard Cathy speaking on the phone and saying those same words or some derivative thereof.
Needless to say, Kendall could not be so bothered and did not go back to the phone.  Even Cathy had to laugh at this comment.  So dear reader I look forward to sharing with you the next funny episode that occurs with my children.  I’m sure the next one will star Lorin.  I’m very happy that my children are smart, well adjusted and can communicate well.  I am also enjoying them very much, but I am also looking forward to the day (and I hate to even put this print) when they leave the house, get their degrees, get married and have children who act just like them!  Goodbye until next time dear reader and remember to always look for the funny.

The (Not So) Amazing Race

There are very few people who can get me to do outrageous things, but I do have one friend (we will call him Triple M) who has this knack for talking me in to doing some of the craziest things at the craziest times.  I was recently in DC for a national conference and was looking forward to winding the evening down at a reception and partaking of some libation.  However, Triple M had other plans for me this evening.  My cell phone rings and Triple M says, “let’s represent our region in the TRIO DC version of the Amazing Race.”  Of course, I say “no way” as I am dressed in a shirt, tie, vest, and dress shoes.  However, Triple M is relentless and does not give up.  I finally say, “Sure, I will do it if TCG (another friend) participates.”  Now, at this point I am certain that I have an “out” because I just know that in my heart of hearts, TCG is going to say No!  However, TCG does what I do and says to Triple M that if Rod participates then so will he.  Triple M tells TCG that Rod is in and so begins our jaunt. 

As I go to pay my entrance fee, the woman in charge states that it is too late.  Well Darn! “Too bad Triple M” I say a little too jovially.  “We gave it a shot.”  As I was about to walk out and head to the reception (with a smile plastered on my face) the woman then says, “If you really want to participate we will let you in the race this time.” Really lady? Seriously?  You had just given me an out and as quickly as you had given it, you turn and snatch the last vestige of hope that I had of not completing this race.  Dang!

We needed a team name so we decided to call ourselves SAEOPP GQ as we were the only fools…I mean fellows dressed in shirts, ties, bow-ties, suit jackets and dress shoes.  Of course the other teams are prepared and they have on proper racing attire.

The race starts and we begin to race around the city…well…we begin to walk fast around the city is more like it.  I immediately find that I am seriously out of shape (although just looking in the mirror told me this, but I was in a bit of denial).  The hills in DC are killing me and I blame my shuffling along on the fact that I am wearing business attire and that my underwear is beginning to ride up into the nether regions of my posterior, when in reality, even if I were butt-naked performing this race I still would have been panting.  After reading all of the clues, we realize that we have to attempt to collect five business cards from strangers in DC.  Now, as a native New Yorker I know what it’s like to be cynical and ignore crazy people who come up to you asking for weird things; however, I am usually the one walking hurriedly avoiding the people who are asking for whatever it is that they want.  This time the roles had changed and I was the one stopping strangers and asking for a business card.  Now, picture this…three black men in business suits are running up to strangers and asking them for business cards.  One man was so afraid that he hurried along his partner (a woman who was actually searching for a card to give us) and then gave us a dirty look.  Really sir! Seriously?  Now what were we going to do with your business cards?  Send you email blasts or perhaps perform crank calls? At this point, I am livid that people will still not talk to us even in business attire.  However, I think that we did a great job of explaining that we were in a race and needed the cards to win the race. (Well Triple M did a great job of explaining it--- after a while TCG and I started quoting the infamous Ceelo Greene song, the title of which I cannot specify in this family oriented blog).  Apparently many people in DC thought that this was a ludicrous idea because obtaining these cards from strangers was one of the hardest challenges to complete.  The hardest challenge by far though was mastering the various hills from post to post.  Well, after a while it was obvious to my team mates that I was indeed the weakest link (as I was constantly falling behind and panting like a German Shepherd), so one of them bid us goodbye.  TCG mentioned that he had a previous engagement and had to leave (likely story), so it was just Triple M and me holding up the SAEOPP GQ name.  Of course, TCG wound up leaving us and going to eat at Ruth Chris’s Steakhouse for dinner and then he got to tour DC in a limo, but I’m not bitter (at least not much).

As we are heading to the last two legs of the race Triple M must have gotten his second and third wind because he actually left me behind.  After about three minutes of walking at a giant’s pace (he has very long legs) he realizes that I am not beside him and then looks back and ask me the dumbest question of the evening, “Rod, are you ok?” As I hold my side panting, praying for cars to come through the cross walk, hoping that the sign reads “Don’t Walk” so that I can catch my breath, I wheeze, “I’m fine!”  Now this was nothing but bravado and macho pride on my part, because fine was what I was not!  I wanted to drop kick Triple M in his throat right about then, but then I thought about all of the enemies that I would have if I did that because Triple M is a really cool guy and a great friend to many and I thought about how much bigger he was than me, and since I was lacking air he would have given me a good thrashing. And truthfully, I was too tired to lift my feet up that high to even attempt a drop kick.  Besides, it was not his fault that I was in need of an oxygen mask. We finally finished the race in fifth place, beating 13 other teams.  I was never so happy to be finished with a task in my life.  This jaunt with Triple M taught me a couple of things. First, always be prepared for the task at hand.  Running through the streets of DC would have been easier if I had on the proper gear. Secondly, never let a person talk you into something that you know is a terrible idea, no matter how much of a friend he or she may be; and finally, if you agree to do something this crazy, make sure that like TCG, you have a way out and then enjoy the rest of the evening on someone else’s tab.  Even though this task was a killer, I still had fun completing it with two of the coolest guys I know.  Thanks Triple M and TCG.  And remember dear reader, always look for the funny!

Traveling (Lord Have) Mercies

In my line of work I do a lot of traveling, most of which finds me in our nation’s capital, Washington, DC.  Now normally, I have no problems traveling through this fine city (usually because when we arrive in DC, I am the passenger and not the driver), but this last trip into the city was indeed, a trip!  Where do I begin?  Luckily, I had a trusty sidekick with me for this particular jaunt (more on him later) or I may have very well lost it and left my car parked in the middle of Massachusetts Avenue.  Okay, on to the story . . . the travel from South Carolina to the City of DC was very uneventful.  My trusty sidekick and I discussed a plethora of topics and the time went by swiftly.  It was when we actually hit DC that the proverbial stuff hit the fan.  First, the GPS system that we were using was either drunk or just plain suicidal because she (yes, I know that it is not a real person who speaks to you through the GPS, but for all intents and purposes for this article I am going to place the feminine pronoun on it; kept attempting to make us go the wrong way on a one way street!  Luckily for my friend and me, my new glasses do work, and I could see that following this advice was not the way to go.  Also, she would tell us things like “take a right on the third street after the round-about.” I live in South Carolina.  We don’t have “round-abouts.” We have curvy roads!  And then she couldn’t count because once you took the third right (both my friend and I counted) she always had to recalculate…and she was the one who told us to go that way initially. UGGH! 

As we drove aimlessly through the city with cars continuously honking behind us and people darting in front of the Ford Focus while I was still moving forward, I noticed that there was more swearing and cussing going on than that to which I am usually accustomed.  Upon further investigation, I realized that all the swearing and cussing was coming from my car and even more shockingly -- from me.  I have never cussed so much as I did on this particular trip to DC.  Add to this that my bladder was now screaming because of the humungous soda I drank and you can see why I was not a happy camper!  Now for the citizens of DC, I have but one question to ask and that is this, “Why the devil, do you people dart out in front of cars that have the right of way?”  Really people? Seriously?  I came so close to hitting at least three people on my travels through DC, two on the road who walked in front of my car, and the third one in the car beside me (remember I told you that I would speak more about him later and I did not forget).

As I am attempting to listen to GyPSy (that’s the name I give to all GPS’s) I also have the personification of a back seat driver who in this case is not sitting behind me, but beside me.  And in his infinite wisdom he decides to tell me things that are obvious such as, “the light is green,” “there’s a stop sign”, and my favorite “You have to learn how to laugh more.”  As he continues to talk he begins to sound more and more like the parrot Iago, in Disney’s Aladdin and it grates on my nerves.  Now, at this point I am already on edge and can see everything that he is pointing out (remember, I also mentioned that I have new glasses) so his repeatedly telling me these things is making me want to reach out and punch him in his throat, but I don’t for two reasons:  Reason one, the dude is one of my best friends and he really can’t help but take over in these types of stressful situations.  His job, like mine, is to deal with craziness that may crop up from day to day and he is used to handling these types of things.  The second reason that I did not strike him is because I realized that I am the exact same way as a passenger and I too want to take over in stressful situations.  I just didn’t realize how annoying it is to the person driving until this last jaunt into DC.

I don’t know how, but eventually we finally found our way out of the city and made it to the hotel.  Once we got there, I didn’t want to do anything except call the wife and let her know that I had arrived safely, eat the leftover food that I had from lunch, take a hot shower and climb into bed, and luckily for me I did just that and slept soundly…until around 3:00 a.m. when some more excitement occurred, but that dear reader is yet another story.  See you next time, and remember always look for the funny.

PS, for those of you who are awaiting an answer as to if I received some of my cool points back from the last episode, alas the answer is no, but I am trying everyday to get some back.

Music for the soul, child!

So, I’m driving yet again at a fevered pitch to get my daughters to school on time and as it usually goes, I’m only half-listening to what drivel is on the radio.  I am an avid fan of the Tom Joyner Morning Show, and listen to it every morning as I make my rounds.  My 11 year old daughter feels that this is "uncool" and would rather listen to the more “hip hop” stations in our area.

On this particular day I am actually early and making good time.  I’m listening to J. Anthony Brown and Sybil Wilkes argue over something asinine and my 11 year old is not stressing about being late for a change.   Both my 11 and 7 year old daughters are singing on the radio and I’m feeling pretty good.  All is right with the world.  As I approach the traffic light that has turned yellow, I actually slow down (as opposed to gunning the accelerator to get through it as I usually do).  Next to me, my daughters continue singing.  At first, I really do not pay any attention to what is being sung, but the words that I hear pique my interest. “Push harder” I hear my eldest daughter singing in her lovely soprano voice (thank God she has a singing voice like her mom rather than yours truly).  Now, as the words finally get to me and I understand what I just heard, I stop to make sure that I am not putting too much emphasis on the words because I have been accused of having a dirty mind (and I confess that I am somewhat guilty of this).  Then I hear my daughter sing the next part of the song, “And when we’re done, I don’t wanna feel my legs; and when we’re done, I just wanna feel your hands all over me baby.”  Oh, no ma’am!  I immediately change the station and my 7 year old starts saying, “Dad, turn it back.”  My 11 year old is aghast and actually says to me (in that way that only a snooty 11 year old can) “They finally play something that I want to hear and you change the station!”  My 7 year old is screaming, “Why did you change it?”  So, I put on my daddy hat and say, “because this song is inappropriate and you don’t need to listen to this song.”  End of discussion...or so I thought.

Now, since my 11 year old has started going to middle school, I am starting to see the smart alecky traits that I exhibited in middle and high School (and some would argue that I still exhibit these traits).  “Dad,” she asks, “Did you turn the station because she’s talking about dancing?”  Now I know full well that my daughter knows exactly what this song is about and is goading me into telling her what the song is really about.  I don’t have a problem speaking frankly with my children, but I did not want to get into a conversation about sex with my 7 year old in the car.  So after a few seconds, I come up with what I think is the perfect daddy response.  “You know good and darn well that this song is not talking about dancing.”  Thankfully, the 7 year old was no longer interested in the conversation and did not ask me (as she usually does), “so what is this song about?”   After my response my oldest daughter laughs and then asks me about the songs that I listened to when dinosaurs ruled the earth and we played these oversized large disc-things called records.  I told her, in my most haughtiest of voices, that our songs had meaning and that we didn’t listen to such trash.

Now remember I told you all earlier that my daughter has turned into more of a smart aleck lately.  Well the next part of this story proves it.  A few weeks later, I am listening to a song that I used to listen to back in the day entitled “Secret Lovers.”  Now, I am not paying any attention to my two daughters at this time, I’m in the zone!  I’m driving and singing at the top of my lungs (albeit off key, but my kids are use to this by now).  Suddenly, I see my daughter’s eyes brighten and her lips curl into a slight grin.  “Dad,” she asks innocently, “What is this song about?”  Oh little girl!  She had me.  I had, just a few weeks earlier, explained to her about how virtuous our music was and how back in the day the songs were about dancing and frolicking and not about sex at all.  Her quick mind took in this song and she knew she had a way to get back at me for the lecture that she had to endure previously.  How do I explain to her that I was really enjoying a song that basically espouses the virtue of cheating in a monogamous relationship?  So I resorted to what usually works for me when I am having a disagreement with her mother…I turned into a child myself and said, “This song still isn’t as bad as the one you were singing the other day.”  The only thing that could have made this response seem more juvenile is if I had stuck my tongue out after I said it.  Now, really people, seriously, as an adult I could have waxed on eloquently about how she was indeed right and that this song, at the very core, was no better than the one that she was singing.  I could have turned this into an expressive dialogue in which two opposing forces meet in the middle and understand each other a little better.  But the dad in me was not going to let my 11 year old daughter win.  So I resorted to the classic line that my dad always used with me that I swore that I would never use when I had children of my own, “I’m grown and you’re not.”  Case closed!  My daughter just looked at me and shrugged.  As I pulled up her school to drop her off, I saw a smile curl around her lips.  She had won this round and she knew it.  Parents take note…if you ever find yourself stooping to the level of your child by quipping childish retorts, such as “I’m grown and you’re not” this is almost akin to saying “I know you are but what am I?”  Neither one of these responses makes you seem like a responsible adult and your children know that once they take you down this road, you have completely lost the argument.  I’m now attempting to collect my “cool points” back because they have been lost in this last altercation.  I’ll let you know in my next post if I got them back.  In the mean time dear reader, always take time to look for the funny.

Airport Follies

Picture it! Atlanta, September 10, 2011. A lone, bald, fat, black man is running to his connecting flight and only has 38 minutes in which to do it.  No, the man running is not Cee Lo Green, but in fact, that lone, bald, fat, black man is me, and this is my true story.  Now, for those of you who have ever traveled to the Atlanta Airport you know that you have to take a train from one concourse to the next (especially if you are on a tight schedule as I was on this particular day). 

I arrived in concourse B and had to catch my connecting flight in concourse E; E-24 to be exact.  I am running and darting in and out of the human traffic as quickly as my fat, short, stumpy legs can carry me and 21 minutes after departing the plane on which I embarked in Savannah, I finally reach my destination.  I run to the gate with my ticket out and ask the nice young woman, who is working the gate, if I have made it in time.  She looks at me (I'm all sweaty, out of breath, and on the verge of needing an oxygen mask) and gives me the answer for which I was hoping, "yes sir, you made it." As I go to hand her the ticket, she immediately yells at me...NO!  I stop in my tracks because the way my luck was going on this day, I figured that she had some bad news to tell me. She immediately informs me that I have walked on forbidden territory... The special blue carpet that is designated for first class and premium Delta flyers.  At this point, I am in total shock. Really lady? Seriously!  You are going to stop me, the last customer on the plane, from walking on the blue carpet because I am not a sky miles priority customer? At first, I thought that she was joking, but apparently, I did not move quickly enough because a big burly guy walked over and gave me a mean look. 

Now, those of you who know me on a personal level know that I really do have a smart mouth (I blame this on my New York upbringing) and could have gone off on this young woman for days...But those of you who know me also know that I know when to pack it up and take the loss.  This was indeed one of those times.  Now ladies and gentlemen, I quickly vacated the carpet and went on the plane in the direction that I was told to do so, but this whole situation got me to thinking...what thrill does one get from walking on the carpet? After all, it is not a magic carpet that flies one from one concourse to the next.  Nor is it an attractive carpet.  In fact, the carpet upon which I trudged that day, was haggard and worn, with bare patches clearly visible.  I guess some people just need to feel important.  Now this should be the end of the story, but I'm really nosy.  I need to know what perks one gets from strutting across this carpet. 

Flash forward to September 13, 2011.  On my way back to the Savannah Airpot via Atlanta, I decided to put my college minor (journalism) to use and get the story.  I ask Sheila, a Delta employee, what is the purpose for this sky miles carpet?  She hesitates for only one moment and quickly states "It's to make our return customers feel good."  Well, I'm a return customer and I wasn't feeling all that good (but that could have been from all of that creme brulee cheesecake that I had eaten at lunch earlier).  She was in a good mood so I asked another question, "Why do you all (Delta employees) get bent out of shape when a person who is deemed unworthy attempts to walk on the carpet" (I'm sure I paraphrased this question, but you get the jist).  She tells me "because you haven't earned the right."  Oh, Sheila!  What can I say to this but thank you for your extreme honesty Sheila. 

Now to paraphrase Beyonce, I have a big ego, but if I need a frayed, ugly, thread-bare carpet to make me feel special then I think I have other issues.  If you want to make me feel special, genuflect when I walk past; throw rose petals at me feet; ensure that I have my own private bathroom at any airport in which I fly.  I can think of many other perks that can make me feel special and in fact, if I were to write a list of the top one thousand things that others can do to make me feel special, walking on that hideous carpet would not make my list.  Perhaps a red carpet at the Kodak Theater and an Oscar one day could make me feel special, but not the Delta skymiles carpet.  Sorry Delta but I'll just stick to the 2 bags of peanuts and the half a glass of sprite.

Really People? Seriously? An introduction.

So today I get a frantic phone call at 5:18 p.m. from the wife who is stressing and wants me to pick up the kids from their various daily end points.  I really had a lot of work left to do at work, but knowing that she too has a strenuous job, I figure, what the hey, I will pick the kids up (quickly) and head back to work when she tags me out.  Things are going really well.  I have picked up daughter number one, and am now heading to pick up daughter number two.  As I will only be but a few scant minutes, I leave the car running and rush to pick up my middle child.  As I step out of the car, my pre-teen, who feels that she too must be seen at this moment, (she has left this pick-up spot for greener pastures as she is now in middle school and has decided to visit her old haunts) slams the door, falters a bit and falls into the car, pushing it ever so slightly and then I hear the worst sound ever... the ever-so-slight "click." My keys are now officially locked in the car and I cannot move.  I immediately look around and attempt to figure out what I can do as not only did I park illegally, but now I am preventing other harried parents who are in a rush to pick up their kids from this primo spot.  I finally decide to call the wife and beg that she please stop by and bring my spare key. (Oh and by the way can you pick up our lone male child too?)  As I am waiting, an equally agitated parent drives into the lot and sees me and my daughters standing around my ford staring at it as if it were about to grant us our fondest wishes.  She decides to wedge her Toyota Four Runner into the spot next to me, narrowly hitting my vehicle in the process.  She hurries inside and as she walks in gives us a look of disdain.  I must admit at this time, I am feeling really bad. I'm stuck; I can't move, and I just got "mean mugged" by a woman young enough to be my daughter.  Well inevitably she comes out with her child and gets in her massive vehicle.  As she attempts to pull out, she realizes that she really can't pull out without hitting my precious 1994 Ford Taurus.  She looks at me for a good 30 seconds as if to say "do you not see me attempting to vacate these premises you knave?"  I stare back with my "lady do you really think that my children and I are this daft to just stand out here in the heat and watch a car run if we could move?"  Finally, the light bulb over her head goes off and she realizes that she is indeed in a precarious pickle.  As she attempts to move her vehicle back and forth, she shoots daggers at me and mouths a few choice words best reserved for bars, football games, and my last family reunion.  Finally after 5 minutes she realizes that her only recourse is to back up ever so slowly so as not to knock over the mailbox (it is a felony to tamper with it you know).  Finally she escapes, but she just can't resist giving me one final glare.  Really people? Seriously?  Is it my fault that this woman was so clueless about her surroundings that she did not notice that we were stuck and had no reason to just stand around a hot parking lot looking at a 1994 Ford Taurus as if it were fresh off the assembly line?  And really, would you stand around to watch even a brand new 2012 Ford Taurus come off of the assembly line?  The great thing that I learned today is that sometimes, no matter how much of a hurry in life you may be, life has a way of slowing you down.  Take my advice, enjoy life; slow down and don't ever be too busy to laugh!