Thursday, December 27, 2007

Tis the Season

This Christmas was a first for me. It is the first that my oldest (our youngest) daughter was not home for Christmas morning. Usually, since she was about three years old, she would come bounding into my bedroom and jump on the bed at about 6 AM and scream with anticipation and joy "Wake-y Wake-y! Santa's been here and it's time to open presents." Which wasn't so bad until she was about 14 and by that time she had gotten taller and bonier and she elbow to the ribs and the knee to the kidney started hurting my aging body.

As I said in an earlier post she got married last April and she and her husband moved to Missouri after his Air Force basic training and Tech school. As a father, I have tried to be sensitive to our children's needs and desires but I have also had to be firm and not show emotion at times. I did rather well at not showing emotion when they left to go to Missouri. My wife, on the other hand was a big blubber-headed baby. (I had had my tears shed when she left home in anger a year before, after graduating high school and had determined that I had shed enough tears over my children--I know ladies, but I AM a man!)

Well, THIS Christmas, I would not show emotion and I would NOT shed a tear. Little did I know how the human body works.

I am used to my son, who disowned me and moved in with his mother after I got engaged to my wife. I see him on about two occasions a year if I am lucky. I talk to him even less, as when I call he always is in the middle of something and says he will call me back and never does. With him, I determined a couple of years ago to stop worrying about begging him to see me. I decided that if he WANTS to see me, he will. If he does not want to see me, no amount of calling and begging him will work. All I can do is pray that one day he will realize that I love him and want to make peace with me.

I tried approaching my daughter moving away the same way. Problem is, the situations are not the same. On the one hand, my son does not want to have anything to do with me, whatever his reasoning is. My daughter, on the other hand calls me or my wife every other day at least. Sometimes three or four times a day. On still the other hand, (Yes, I do have three hands) She and I have always been close and I really miss the one child I have that is over the"Dad is a dunderhead" phase.

Still, my manly pride will not let me cry without good provocation. It is a man thing--deal with it! I had not cried at all leading right up to Christmas Eve, when we hosted my wife's family get together. We had 21 of the Davis clan in our 1875 square foot home, most of them confined to the living and kitchen/dining rooms. (I am glad that fire marshals do not work Christmas Eve as there were a few times that the exits were clearly blocked by humankind.)

As is tradition, we waited for one set of the daughter's family to arrive. Only this year, it was not the usual suspects. No, they were the first family to arrive. When I mentioned this to my brother-in-law, he stated that "usually my timing is better than that."

After everyone arrived, we fed our faces and then opened presents. When it came to my daughter's turn, we called her and told her that it was her turn to open presents. We reasoned that just because she was away from us, did not mean that she had to be left out. After the presents, then the real meaning for our gathering began--football bowl games and why the Vols don't deserve the bowl they got and why the Bulldogs got shafted again.

While my two brothers-in-law and their sons and my oldest son all stood in one corner of the living room and discussed the merits of a college football playoff and why the SEC does not get any respect, my wife and all the other women folk sat around the room and talked as if they were talking to a deaf relative because the men were so vocal in their discussions. As the women spoke louder, the men did also. Before long, the room was a cacophony of vocal discombobulation (this means it was a loud, confusing and head ache inducing noise).

I snuck off and text messaged my daughter. "I nd a drk!" and after everyone left, we sat down to play Phase 10 with the kids that were home and I did have a drink or three. We drank and played cards until my wife was giggling uncontrollably and I won the game. (I think instead of our tradition of going to the movies on Christmas day, I would vote to make this our new tradition) It was an agreeable evening.

Fast forward to six AM Christmas Day. I am awakened over the sound of my CPAP machine by my wife, sniffling. I took of the machine and turned to her. "What's wrong, Honey?"
"I miss my Allie. It is not the same without her here and I want all my chicks home."

I suddenly felt for the first time, just how much she was right. Our children did belong at home on Christmas, and even though at least half were here, it still was not the same without our youngest daughter and her husband here too.

I spent years trying to get my children grown and on their own. I just knew after adolescence, that I would be ready for a break from them and ready to share some quiet time alone with my wife and our friends. What I did not realize was that I can have that time anytime. I see them every day. We now have no children at home and all live at least an hour and a half away (except for the one that has disowned us), so we see very little of them. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. Damn it! This just is not fair. I was not supposed to feel this way and now that I do, it bothers me to see them leave to go their own seperate ways.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Toothless in Cleveland


My wife and I went shopping at Wally-World today. For the uninitiated, that's Wal-Mart. This is the time of year I hate to even drive through their parking lot. I almost called this post "Tis the Season..." because as I was walking through the store, minding my own business and looking at the vast array of people that were braving this jungle ten days before Christmas, a thought dawned on me.
Christmas is the season where people celebrate receiving massive gifts that cost way too much money and will be used three times before they get broken (sure, Christians also celebrate the birth of Christ, but let's face it--that is no longer the real meaning of the season. The real meaning is crass selfishness and narcissism. "What about ME?"). It is the time of year that most people are happy and joyous. Hence the words to the song "Tis the season to be jolly"--unless of course you happen to be at Wally-World. Then it is every man for himself.
People will see you looking at an item on a shelf and walk right in front of you and never excuse themself. One woman actually reached right in front of me and picked up the item I was looking at, leaving me with one left on the shelf that was broken. Merry Christmas.
As we proceeded through the aisles, we were bumped into, rubbed up against, had our cart chrashed into, and that was just in the checkout line. The closer we get to Christmas, the less jolly I become and the more rude people are. I honestly don't know how Santa remained so jolly all these years. If he didn't have all those elves making his toys and he had to shop at Wally-World, he might not have been so nice.
The worst treatment I have ever had is when I had to take something back and I dared to forget the receipt. You would have thought I had stolen the item and had been caught on tape trying to bring it back for a refund. That is the way they treat you now days. I kept waiting for them to strip search me spread-eagled across the customer service counter.
I remember the old days when all you had to was bring an item back and there were no questions asked. They just refunded your money and you were on your way. Then they started only refunding if you had a receipt. Then a few years later they only refunded with a receipt within 30 days. Now they only refund if you have a receipt and never left the store. It should not be so hard to bring back a pair of underwear that only lasted three months. Stuff just doesn't last like it used to.
When we got ready to leave there were of course only 7 cashiers for 32 checkout lanes and every one of them were lined all the way back to the electronics department. We decided to go through the self checkout aisle.
I hate the self checkout aisle because every item you scan, you are prompted to place the item in the bag, which would not be so bad except that I had already put it there! You can not scan the next item if the scale does not sense that you placed the item in the bag. It does give you the choice to press "skip bagging" for those lightweight items but there is a limit of 5 skips before it locks up and tells you to ask the cashier for assistance (which would be ok if she was anywhere to be found). This, in and of itself is not so bad but once when I found a deal on Jello, I had to call her over ten times.
Today we were fortunate to have an actual cashier working our lane. When she came up to turn her key and enter the secret code for the third time she smiled and had the prettiest gums I have ever seen. No teeth, just gums. I kid you not. I could not help but stare even though I knew it was wrong.
It reminded me of a time when I was a District Manager for my company and I had an interview with a man for a management position in my area. When it came time for my interview, the man came in and sat down across from me. I swear to you the man had ONE (1) count it, ONE tooth in his mouth! It was bottom center. There was not another tooth and the gums weren't looking so hot either.
I am not one to judge, but being as I was the DM for a fast food restaurant, looking for a manager that would be on the front counter selling food to people that were hungry, I doubted that this interview would result in gainful employment for the man.
As I asked the routine questions, my eye was drawn to the tooth. As he spoke, the tooth moved! First forward, then backward. It was a precarious situation as I was afraid that the tooth might fall right out and he would start choking and I might have to perform the Heimlich Maneuver or even worse, mouth to mouth resucitation. Funny the things we remember in our lives. My wife says I can't remember what she told me last night but I can sure remember things like that. But I digress....
The girl at the checkout was nice enough but it was not appealing for me as a customer. I am not a fan of socialized medicine as many politicians are currently espousing, but I'd be willing to chip in a few bucks for this otherwise attractive girl to have a full smile again.
As we left the Wal-Mart, I couldn't help but quip to my wife, "I bet I know what her favorite Christmas song is. 'All I want for Christmas is a new set of teeth'."
As I was scanning the internet tonight looking for a picture to go with this post, I came across a website that is "the only place in the world that celebrates the attraction of toothless women" as evidenced by the photo above. I browsed through a few of the pictures and I have to tell you, the woman above is the closest thing to an attractive toothless woman on the site.
Still, I have a feeling the girl at Wally-World might have a shot at being the "cover girl".

Friday, December 7, 2007

The Fifth Circle of Hell

Any person that has had children can understand when I say that there comes a time in your child's life that I have come to term "The Fifth Circle of Hell", which is not to be confused with the First Circle of Hell, also known as "The Ex" (which I will describe in another post).
When my first child was born, I was as proud as any father could be. (I was a little concerned when she first appeared because she was blue from the umbilical cord being wrapped around her neck and she looked like a black child and me being the "glow-in-the-dark" kind of caucasian--this concerned me)
I wrapped my child up in my arms and held her close as I cried tears of joy. Which was ironic because from that day forward, she wrapped me around her little finger and I cried tears of sorrow many times.
The first words she uttered were of course "Daddy" and as she grew, we became inseprable. When I went to work, she would and on the chair in front of the window and scream for me to come back. When I came home from work, she would still be standing in that same chair and screaming tears of joy, she would race to meet me at the door.
Before she could walk, I would hold her in the air with my hands extended high above my head. I had a cowl and cape from an Ewok doll that fit her tiny head perfectly and we would play "Superbaby and her pal, The Amazing Daddy-Man" fighting injustice and looking for formula to feed her growing appetite.
After she learned to walk, we would walk all over the neighborhood hand in hand, just a little girl and her adoring daddy. Her mother and I divorced when she was 11 and I was a single parent of two for four years. During the first two years she had been the perfect child. She was very helpful to me in caring for her younger brother and she was the most mannerly child for her age I had ever seen. Then in the summer of 2001, she turned 13 and my adoring, sweet innocent daughter was possessed by the demon child from Hell and was held captive for six long years.
Overnight I went from the "Amazing Daddy-Man" to the Big Dork Daddy--actually she called me another name but this is a family friendly blog. Nothing I did was right and more importantly nothing she did was WRONG!
To make matters worse, her mother and I were not on the most friendly of terms (we rarely spoke without screaming till this one got married) and whatever I did, her mother would do the opposite and my darling little girl realizing the potential, took full advantage. If I grounded her, she would go to Mom's and she was not grounded at Mom's. If I told her she couldn't spend the night with a friend, she decided to spend the night with her mother and wonder of wonders, when I called to wish her good night, she was spending the night with a friend!
Things got really tense when I remarried, five years ago. This daughter was 15, going on 36 and she would no longer be the oldest child. In fact, she and my new wife's daughter were in between two boys. The new sister was two years older and she had been the "baby" to her Dad. So now we had TWO teenage girls, One no longer the baby and one no longer the oldest. Both vying for the crown of the biggest attention getter.
The odd thing was that the girls truly liked each other and called each other "Sis" from the start but when they didn't get their way, they BOTH suddenly forgot familial love and the gloves were off! Tatanya Ali could not have taken either girl in a fight.
The oldest, grudgingly came to tolerate me and over time has accepted me as her mother's husband and as her Step-dad. This seemed to infuriate my youngest more because she no longer got ALL my attention. If I got attention from the oldest, the youngest got mad. The same held true for my wife. If the youngest gave her attention, the oldest got mad. The girls could fight like hellions one minute and the next minute they were on the way to the mall to go shopping.
Things got entirely wacked out when the oldest went to college and the youngest was at home alone. For nearly six months, we had relative peace and the house was a joy to be in. Then she discovered boys, or BOY I should say.
I got her a part-time job the summer of her 16th birthday at the movie theater and she met a boy I could best describe as "not my first choice" for my baby girl. Nothing I could put my finger on--other than the earrings and beaded necklaces--that made me not like him. I guess it was an instance of no boy being good enough for my daughter.
Once the BOY asked her out, we were in for a long two years. When she was with him, she was a different person. I used to joke with my wife that we had two girls living with us--Allie, the nice, sweet loving daughter and Allison, the beligerant, defiant, cruel daughter. It was a crap shoot. Like Forrest Gump said "Ya never quite know what you're gonna get."
It was during one of these times of angst, that while we were arguing she screamed "I wish you would just drive off a cliff and DIE!" I would not have been more shocked if she had rammed a sword into my heart...in fact, that is what it felt like. I was devastated! For weeks, we did not speak unless we had to. Then after a few weeks, she just walked in one day like nothing had ever happened. I joked with my wife that it was like I was still married to her mother.
Last March, this daughter married BOY and asked me to walk her down the aisle. See this post In October she and BOY moved to Missouri where he is stationed in the Air Force. She called me out of the blue last month (actually she calls nearly every day) and was telling me about her new job at the credit union. Suddenly she told me "You know, I was telling my boss that I have the best dad in the world. I really put you through Hell, didn't I?" I teared up as I told her "Hell, yes! You were the demon child from Hell for a while there and I hope you have three just like you!"

Where Am I And Why Am I In This Handbasket?


The happy couple as the Wrestler/Minister, eldest daughter and Cousin IT look on.
I began to realize earlier this year that I am not ever going to win the Nobel Prize or be a prize winning actor, author or singer. I am at the point in my life that I realize that the best (read most active) years of my life have passed and the best I can hope for is to cruise into old age where I will be put into dry-dock and hopefully live to a ripe old age of at least eighty or ninety. Though I am sure that my children have contributed to shortening my life somewhat over the years. That is why I have started this blog.
This year my wife and I saw two daughters walk down the aisle. Since we are a blended family with four children between us, I only got the pleasure of walking one of them down the aisle. The other daughter was walked down the aisle by her paternal father. I call him that as I still look at her as my daughter, even if I did not help her mother to produce her.
Getting back to the two daughters walking down the aisle. The youngest went first in March of this year and the elder went a few months later in October. I dreamed for years that I would one day walk my little girl down the aisle. I envisioned a large grand wedding with many friends and guests and a reception that would last for hours. It was an affair that would set me back at least a year's pay. NOT!
The wedding was in a chapel in the Smokey Mountains with a former Pro Wrestler as the minister. Everything was over in about 30 minutes because they had to clean up for the next wedding. They did have a tight schedule after all!
It was a far cry from my dreams (and a lot less expensive since her future Mother-in-law chose the chapel and paid for it, so I am not want to complain that point) yet it was still poignant and a bitter-sweet event.
On the one hand, I was giving my little girl away to the man she had fallen in love with. On the other hand, my wife and I were soon to have a lot more freedom for doing the things we wanted. (When October came around, we could finally have our "Naked House"!)
The chapel was very small and nicely decorated. My Ex-wife and our son sat on the front pew. My wife and I on the second row. The Groom's family sat on the Right side of the aisle. After I walked her down the aisle and I told those gathered and the Wrestler/Minister that "her family and I do", I presented her to her husband-to-be.
That is when I got the first look at the Best Man. If you are familiar with Marilyn Manson, then you know what the guy looked like. For those of you over 40, watch "The Amazing Race" and look at the Goth "guy"--I use the term "guy" loosely here.
I very nearly grabbed my daughter and drug her back down the aisle, screaming "Hell No!!!!" I seriously did not want my daughter marrying into a family where the husband's Best Man/Cousin looked like a love child of Alice Cooper and Bjork. What would my grandchildren look like?
I stood there for a moment, debating whether I could make it out the door with her before I was tackled. I looked over at my wives (both current and Ex) and they both had this look of horror on their face because they knew me well enough to know what I was thinking. As if on cue they both shook their heads spasmodically, their eyes wide as saucers. I started to open my mouth to speak and the spasms got more violent. I was afraid their heads might suddenly snap off. I had no desire to see that happen even to my ex-wife, so I slinked over to sit beside my wife, resigned that my grandkids would look like Gomez Addams.
I made it through the wedding and after the honeymoon, my wife and I held an informal reception for them (the Son -of-Satan did not come to this event) before my new son-in-law left for the Air Force basic training.
The day my son-in-law left, my daughter moved back in with us. It seemed strange to me. Most girls get married then move OUT of the house to live with their new husband. MY daughter moved out, then got married, then moved back IN! I told her I thought she had it backwards but what is a father to do? I guess the naked house will have to wait a little longer.

Of All The Things I've Ever Lost, I Miss My Mind The Most

As I get older, it has become increasingly harder for me to be entertained. I am no longer content to stay plastered in front of the television or the computer for hours on end. If I read a book, I seldom get more than three pages read before I am in the throes of slumber.
(Before I go on here, you might be thinking that sleep and throes are mutually exclusive words since throes means "a violent upheaval" however, I am here to tell you that until you have watched me sleep, do not cast stones on my grasp of the American English language.)
My children are all grown or moved away so it is hard for me to entertain myself at their expense like I did when my daughters were growing up and dating. Ah, the memories! New boyfriends were the best entertainment. I remember telling one particular boy who my youngest eventually married, that "I love my daughter and do not mind going back to prison--if you understand what I am saying." He did.
Tennessee football has lost much of it's appeal for me since they insist on winning in the first half and then giving the game away after the halftime. It sort of makes me wonder what exactly Phil is saying in his "pep talk".
I must admit that I am running out of things that make me feel entertained. I have made a comittment to find new and exciting ways to entertain myself. I may in fact, have found a new way to do just that.
The other day I went to the Wal-Mart with my wife to get items for Thanksgiving dinner. While there she wanted to look for new undergarments. While she was in the dressing room, I stood outside the door next to the discard rack and held up women's clothing and would ask passersby "Does this make me look fat?" My wife came out just when I was holding a lace thong and seeking the advice of an elderly woman. She had a conniption (I never knew what this was when my mother used it growing up but according to Dictionary.com, it is a display of bad temper--that would be an understatement).
Later as we shopped for a few groceries, I would look into other people's carts and see if they had anything that struck my fancy. One woman got quite beligerant when grabbing a ham out of my hands and asked me to leave her stuff alone. I was going to correct her by telling her that said stuff was not actually hers until she paid for it but my wife pulled me away from the woman by the ear. I managed to break free before she ripped off the lower left lobe.
As we stood in line to pay for our purchases, I began to read the magazines in the racks. You know the ones. The Globe, Enquirer, People, US, etc.
"Hey honey," I said. "We can put all this stuff back. This magazine says the world is going to end on Thanksgiving day and if that is so, I would rather not spend this money just to see it go to waste. Maybe we could save the money and go see a movie or three."
She just shook her head and then refused to talk with me for the better part of the night. I am not sure why she gets like that but I doubt I am going to ask her to go shopping with me anymore if she keeps up with that kind of attitude.

Where is All the Toilet Paper?

Many many years ago, I would have never dreamed that I would be writing about the one thing that is my Pet Peeve–Again! About 20 years ago, in the first collection of stories that I wrote I detailed the delimma of “the disappearing toilet paper”. It was a story that would have made good copy for a Hardy Boys Mystery but being as those boys never had a sister or wife, they might never have gotten to the bottom of the mystery.
I have ranted and raved at my wife for years about the incredible speed at which toilet paper disappears in our household. One would think that the stuff was made of GOLD! We could go through an eight roll pack in three days. I was ecstatic when they came out with double rolls. At least we could go a week without running out. It was bad enough when there was just the two of us. Then along came the daughters.
No man has a chance when there are three women in the house. My wife would bring home a new eight MEGA roll pack (for the uninitiated, that is a TRIPLE roll), duly divide the spoils between our bathroom downstairs and the girls’ bathroom upstairs. In three days time, We might have used ONE roll. The girls however would have used all their stash of four rolls and have already stolen one of ours. By day five, we were out and reduced to using, napkins, paper towels, pine cones or whatever we could find.
It was not that there was no paper left after less than a week that made me mad. What totally enraged me is that I would not FIND OUT we had no paper until after I had done my business and reached for the roll only to find an empty spindle. No problem, I just reach behind me to the towel rack above the toliet tank where we keep spare rolls. Nothing but air!
Annoyed, I turn my head and notice that the rack is indeed empty. I look under the sink in front of the throne. Nothing there, but i did find evidence that we had a four legged friend that likes to chew cotton balls and heating pad covers.
Frustrated, I call out to my wife. Then I realize that she and the girls went to the mall for something. I mutter a few four letter words under my breath and push myself up, drawers around my ankles, I duck walk to the door of the bathroom and peek out before I open it all the way.
No sign of the ladies of the house. I open the door wide, and start out into the hall when I realize that the bedroom blinds are open and the neighbor from across the road is in his pasture next door to my house, feeding his horses. I yelp an expletive and try to rush past the window to the kitchen for a roll of paper towels, forgetting that I am bound at the ankles by my boxers. I managed to get about four steps before I became so entangled that I began to fall.
I tried to catch myself on the kitchen chair as I fell only to miss it entirely. I did however catch the floor with my knees and hardwood is not a soft landing. So there I was, drawers around my ankles, naked, on the kitchen floor. Guess who picked that moment to come home? Right! I made it back to the bathroom just in time to keep from mooning my family. The next day I bought three of the Mega roll eight packs and stashed them in stratigic places in the bathroom. I made myself a promise I would never be caught without again. However, with two daughters at home, I am not holding my breath.