Immortal Yoda

Parenting: The process of promoting and supporting the physical, emotional, social, and intellectual development of a child from infancy to adulthood (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/parenting).

Parenting is likely the most challenging job that any of us will ever perform. No two parents perform job the same way, no two children are ever the same, and all that we can ever really do is give it our finest effort and hope for the best. 

Some parents intuitively think that they know beyond a shadow of doubt what is best for their children. Without question, these tough and uncompromising parents are unwilling to adapt to each unique situation or adopt any alternative parenting approach.  They are adept, however, at discipline, structure, and consistency. Their “might makes right” attitude permeates a familial context in which their voices reign supreme. 

Believing there are ever elusive parenting best practices, another type of parent forms the backdrop of the multibillion-dollar industry that thrives on the innermost parental insecurities of today’s modern parent. They consume volumes of popular and scientific text designed to help them get all of the necessary ingredients blended into the right parenting concoction. From high end psychologically enhanced toys to subliminal Beethoven DVDs designed to teach their children to read before they can crawl; these parents spend all of their time, energy, and disposable income to significantly augment their inherent good intentions.

There are limitless combinations of parental adaptations.

Unfortunately one of these parental variations includes those with whom the greatest parenting effort was expended during the grunts and groans accompanying conception. To phrase it nicely, these are the non-parenting parents. They seem to not know or care what they are doing, and for them, parenting is an inconvenience.  These are the kind of parents that prompt flu-like symptoms, repulsive as it is to watch their unkempt children in need of attention just beyond reach of their level of parental consciousness. They are easy to spot as their children can be heard a literal mile a way; screaming and kicking, whining and crying, and throwing tantrums at the slightest hint they may not actually get what they want. 

Now, since you have waded through my overly complicated analysis thus far, as you begin to rub your eyes and yawn, I assure you that it was not my original intent to facilitate an intellectual treatise on the numerous manifestations of the paternal instinct.

So what was my intent? Stay tuned for my next blog as we find out together.

And, as a reward for staying with me thus far, I will elaborate on the subtle cleverness of the title “Immortal Yoda.”  It’s quite simple really.  In a metaphysical context, parents are assured of immortality as they live on through their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and so on. And Yoda is a metaphor representing the role of spiritual guide and sensei that parents take on with their children.  Cool, huh?

In closing, I have a two-part question for you.  Are you a parent and if so, what do you think is your most important contribution to the lives of your children?

Capriciously Conspicuous

Conspiracy theory or theoretical constipation?

Preemptive Note: I have always preferred the British spelling of the word “honour.”

Follow my logic if you will.  When a hero falls on the battlefield, sometimes they are honored with a 21 gun salute.  Now listen up, here is where the math gets tricky.  Seven soldiers fire rounds into the air three times.  Three times seven is of course twenty-one, plus the seven soldiers equals twenty-eight.  Subtract the one dead hero and what do you get?

Twenty-seven!

Twenty-seven and it all makes sense.  I was twenty-seven once so I know what I’m talking about. I was also a soldier. And to my children, I am indeed a hero. So listen up…

First, Jimi Hendrix died much too young.  He was twenty-seven.

The following year, Janis Joplin also died much too young.  She was twenty-seven.

And later that same year, Jim Morrison also also died much too young.  He was twenty-seven.

Now here comes the leap but I know you can make it.  Strawberries are the fruit of love because they are bittersweet like love.  I love strawberries and I also love Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison.

And now the landing.  Twenty-seven has always been my favorite number.  Now I know why.  It is because twenty-seven is like love or a bowl of strawberries.  It is bittersweet.

Finally, as an added bonus:  In numerology, three is a magic number.  Three is in fact a factor of twenty-seven.  In this very mad rambling I start one of my paragraphs off with a fragment of a sentence.  It is followed by three complete sentences.  In each of these three sentences I disclose one true fact about myself.  Three total: 1) I was 27 once; 2) I was a soldier once, and; 3) to my children I am a hero.

So how many bullets are fired from each individual rifle during a twenty-one gun salute?  If you know the answer to this question you will also know how many children I have.

Three!

And in conclusion, I just ate nine Oreo cookies. And, nine times three takes us back to twenty-seven.

p.s. This is the end, my friend.

p.s.s. In the Jimi, Janice, and Jim sentences I use the word also three times.  Three times three times three is also twenty-seven. Thus I have once again also proven my point.

p.s.s.s. When your strange, faces come out of the rain.

Perpetual Wisdom Flakes

The advertisement would have to be brilliant!  Data gleaned from double-blind studies, quotes from Pulitzer Prize winners, and scantily clad coeds discussing world events. 

The simplicity of the nomenclature would also have to underlie the obvious with a subtle hint of hidden meaning.  This should be plain to see in the following mono-senticular but multisyllabic examples…

Perpetual: Ongoing and constantly flowing, weaving in and out of each and every nook and cranny.

Wisdom:  Deep intellectual insights coupled with the synergistic harmony of intelligence and knowledge.

Flakes:  Complex flattened mini geometrical shapes that have been scientifically engineered to stay crispy in milk.

Perpetual Wisdom Flakes are a neurologically enhanced form of breakfast entertainment.  They look good—they taste good—they feel good in your mouth, and—they are really good for you!

However, even though reality is often overrated, Perpetual Wisdom Flakes are not quite real (yet). 

If they were real, then Perpetual Wisdom Flakes would be my very own unique brand of breakfast cereal.  And, if they were real then it would be by eating a bowl each and every day that I became, in my mind, one of the most brilliant human beings that has ever graced the face of our lovely planet.

Also, if they were real then they would be quite delicious with a sliced banana and a handful of strawberries.

And, if they were real then they would also be the favorite cereal of movie stars, rock musicians, and scientists.

Physicians and professional athletes would also highly recommend them. That is, if of course they were real.

It’s all just a matter of perspective really, don’t you think?

Brought to you by PWRMTLTCWIS. 

People With Random Minds That Like To Combine Words Into Sentences.

Fractured and Disenfranchised

I have never been a fan of pain!  

Ouch is one of my least favorite words!

If you have the ability to walk, run, jump, dance, prance or chase romance; consider yourself one of the lucky ones!

I got a cortisone shot just the other day and all I can say is I think I will soon be able to put the vicodin away.  I have been functioning at varying levels below 30% for the past four months.  Not because of pain medication but because of true, real, and dehabilitating pain.  

And yes, there have been countless times in which my baby boy hid my crutches and then behaved like a mad fool less than five feet away from me.  Why?

I’ll tell you why!  I could not catch him.  The joy of teasing daddy!  Crime without punishment! The look on my face as he taunted and teased me mere feet away!

He’s not quite two and little does he know…I’ll be catching him soon.

The enforcer is going to be back on his feet.

Remember, if you are able-bodied you are blessed.  Get up off of your butt and enjoy life!

Death and Bologna

I tried to kill myself again last night but once again I didn’t get it right. The conversation went a little something like this…

Me: I thought you were dead?!
Myself: Well, I’m here aren’t I?!
I: Better luck next time.

The facts:
I took a grenade and put it in my mouth. Then I swallowed it whole with a glass of ice cold chocolate Ovaltine.

And I waited…
My tummy started to hurt but nothing. I forgot to pull the pin.
And I waited…
But my stomach acid never dissolved the pin.

So here I am. And I am dreading going to the bathroom.
Thinking it might be like passing a kidney stone or giving birth.
I guess I will find out soon enough when the laxatives kick in.

Behind the scenes of Death and Bologna…
Here is the context, the backdrop, the author’s notes.






We are killing ourselves as a species.
Sometimes with precision accuracy, we take ourselves out one by one.
Sometimes with artistic brushstrokes, we knock each other down like well placed rows of dominoes.

And once in a while, though as rare as a four leafed clover, I find myself wrapped within a moment of clarity.

For instance…my heart is broken that the bayou saltwater farmers have to watch their little shrimps die two-by-two by two-by-four, by the millions maybe more.

And yet I drive my SUV on the highways and byways and rarely do I connect the dots.

I too am as guilty as you in contributing to our demise. So I have decided to take myself out as part of my contribution to the betterment of our society and for the overall health and wellbeing of our planet.

Survival Kit

I think I could survive on my own for quite some time if I just had a hacksaw, a box of Twinkies, and a pickle jar.

My foot is now castified and it itches.  I have never in my life worn a cast and although it is a nice designer black color to match just about everything I could want to wear, I have no clean clothes and no where to go.  Plus I can’t drive on pain medication, at least not with a good clean conscious.

I seldom watch television, it is mindless entertainment.  Now it is my one and only true best friend.  Me and my TV, BFFs forever yo!

Without a remote I am a hostage to some channel I have never seen before and I think I am trapped within some sort of infomercial.

Have I died?  Am I in hell?  Why do my lips taste salty? Have I been crying?

Just kidding, all is well…

Oobi-doobey-doo, where are you?

Blessed are those of us who from time to time are able to see the world through the eyes of a child!

When the world seems overly complicated, annoyingly complex, concurrently catastrophic, or even obscure in an opaque context...just remember that what we see is what we get.

Our perception is just that…perception only…and if you can not feel me you have been wearing the same old pair of glasses for far too long. Trust me; they may not be as rose colored as you think. In the immortal words of Andre 3000, perhaps you need to “lean a little closer and see that roses really smell like boo boo.”

And what is the opposite of “boo boo?” That my friend is a philosophical question that is quite frankly out of my league. I do, however, know what sound is the opposite of “boo boo.” Can you say “Oobi?!”

No one ever wants to admit that they look at the world through “boo boo” colored glasses and in my case I have already set up an alternative universe that guarantees my ability to use the defense of plausible deniability.

For instance, today I was feeling kind of a lighter shade of blue because my little Merlin wanted to climb and wrestle and tickle and fight. Trust me; hearts were broken when I said “daddy can’t…”

How does a pre-toddler come to fully understand such challenging concepts as casts and crutches and elevation and ice?

Who knows, but these are the kinds of things that roll through my mind while racing up and down the aisles at Wal-Mart in my high speed grocery cart go-cart kind of wheelchair on wheels.

[Yes, I go to Wal-Mart just to get out of the house and ride around in a motorized shopping cart…I also go to the local hospital and get in a wheelchair and ride around visiting random strangers just so a nurse or occasional security guard can ask “how are you?” with genuine sympathy in their voice.]

Today in my draconian adventures to this “outside world” I found a bag of assorted Styrofoam balls ($1.39) and some goo-goo-goo-glee eyes ($1.29).

If you haven’t guessed the moral of this story by now, I went home and made an Oobi for Micah and an Oobi for me, then the Oobi for Mathias was to made to make three.

What a brighter world one sees when looking through the eyes of Oobi. Einstein did after all say that imagination was more important than intelligence.

Tibetan Singing Bowl

So there you have it.

“Mine!”

When I opened the package and took out the wooden mallet, the bowl resonated with the exact musical intonations I had been hoping for.

The twinkle in my son’s eyes added to the magic of the moment. With a foundation of pure natural talent, he reached for the mallet and swung his little arm in perfect motion….

“Bong” sang the newest member of my bookshelf collection.

Actually, it was more like “baaaaaaahhhhhhooooonnnnnggggggg” in a humming, inviting tone for nearly a minute.

Smiles blossomed, the spiritual match ignited fires deep within, laughter filled the air.

And then I reached for the bowl…I was going to teach Micah how to make the bowl sing. Suddenly the words I had been dreading emerged effortlessly signaling the newest addition to my son’s limited vocabulary.

“MINE!”

My son can hop with both feet off the ground, climb furniture like an animal mix of part monkey and part goat, outrun two out of every three family members, and say with clear annunciation and correct pronunciation a handful of words.

First was the nonsensical babbling that only his mother seemed to understand.

Then the words “mommy” and “joe” and “bye” and “eat!” joined his limited and innocent attempts at human communication.

Now there is “Mine!”

And with “MINE” I will no longer know what it is like to have something that is mine.

It is his world and the sooner I accept that my role is merely that of jester, butler, chef, and chauffeur…the greater my chances of reaching my destination upon the road less traveled; the proverbial eightfold path.

Did I mention I just got a Tibetan singing bowl?

He is my Buddha and I love him.

And the bowl is not “mine” it is his!

Parenting without a license...

Just the other day I held my daughter in my arms and we cuddled as we watched a movie together. I realize that a day will come when my baby girl grows up and spending time with “daddy” will no longer be among her most favorite things.

But for now, she tells me “Daddy, I’m gonna be your little princess forever!”

Just today my stepson ran into my office just to fart. He laughed and ran away! Of course I had to chase him down the hall, but with a sick perverted pride I confess that he got me good. I am in no hurry for the day that will come when I no longer hear the sound of nonstop video gaming in the other room while I work in my office.

Being a parent is probably the greatest thing that I never knew I always wanted to be someday. From the pride of having one child in college and another on the way, to the challenges that each child seems to bring on the daily; being a parent is a full time job.

It’s a hit and miss kind of process. The hits are out of the park at times, but the misses can be monumental.

Such as the night, without hesitation, that I gave my youngest son a Mohawk.

Sometimes an idea seems so much better in ones head than it is in actuality. The little alarm that goes off ringing “bad idea, bad idea” just does not seem to be as fast as my ability to move from vision to action.

By the time the alarm went off, I was already laughing at the thought of the trouble I was going to be in when my wife woke up.

For Micah, I am loved and trusted unconditionally. I am his father, his safety net, his security blanket, and his caregiver.

Shaving his head bald did not hurt him in any way; not emotionally, not physically, not mentally, and not spiritually.

Rubbing the Buddha head in circles as he sleeps brings me great comfort and tranquility; the connection seems to bring us both serenity.

Hopefully I will be as forgiving with him when he starts to write on the walls and furniture with a permanent marker.

Doubtful, but I can hope.

Dream a little...

Sometimes, if you forget to wake up…then you are still sleeping.

Sleep is not only of the great necessities in life; it is also one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Now there are those that sleep as merely a maintenance process and then there are those that sleep to avoid life’s many responsibilities.

Either way we still must sleep.

Sometimes I stay asleep just so that I may dream.

Dreams can be a wondrous and joyful adventure. For most us, our dreams are quickly forgotten, seldom to be remembered.

That’s why I invented the Blu-Ray Dreamonator 3000. Now all of your favorite dreams can be recorded in hi-def for all to see.

Sleepy, sleepy thoughts...go back to bed.

Randoliciousness

Spoketh

the

Mountain: “How many lives have you lived?”

Four

Legged

Creature: “I’m on my seventh” purred the tired old cat.

Spoketh

the

Mountain

(Again): “How many lives have you lived?”

Sad Old

Traveller: “I have yet to live” hissed the blind man, shooting at the world.

Spoketh

the

Mountain

(One Last Time): “How many lives have you lived?”

Handsome

Young Man: “I’m on my first life” said I, with a sense of pride.

“The first dozen chapters, or so, had me at the edge of my seat.”

“This chapter, however, is nice and slow. It has a steady, sensible pace.”

Such is the pace when you get to be my age.

Burning the candle on both ends; trying to juggle love and loneliness; figuring out where to bury the bodies; these activities take their toll.

Now it’s time to count my blessings, relishing the idea that in most states the statute of limitations has expired.

Misdemeanors, that’s all I’ve ever been guilty of.

Truly.

p.s. What color socks are you wearing?

LIFE: My Favorite Reality Show

Real life is supposedly much better than television, but not necessarily cable and certainly not a satellite dish.

What is the future of a society in which multi-media not only influences but dictates our cultural values and morals?

Forgotten modes of entertainment such as human interaction, walking, thinking, telling stories, original thoughts; well they still occur but their regularity and duration as a worldwide average is dwindling.

As a society, we used to spend most of our waking lives glued to the television set. Now we split our waking time between the TV and the internet.

Technology is wonderful, but not at the cost of human awareness and compassion.

Wait a minute, can’t think about these things right now. There’s a show on right now with a bunch of reality TV stars fighting to fall in love with somebody’s money…and they all have cute nicknames…and its really truly happening in front of my eyes…unedited and uncensored.

Wait another minute, I’m not falling for this one hour commercial. I’m gonna go old school and open me up a book. One without pictures.

What should I read?

Maybe I should dust off the cobwebs first!