We are hearing a lot about bullying these days and for good reason. Kids today, especially gay kids are being bullied to the point of suicide.
I only had one bully in school. Like most victims, at the time I thought the reason he was picking on me was my fault. Now thanks to Dr. Phil I realize it wasn't.
My bully's name was Robert. I had the misfortune of having p.e. with Robert. He was always the team captain that got stuck with the last pick and that last pick was always me.
I tried desperately to avoid any participation in the games but there were times when neither Robert or I could avoid it. Afterwards he would berate me mercilessly for losing the game. I couldn't shower and change clothes in peace. He just kept haranguing me until the bell rang. The next day it would start all over again. We would dress out, line up, choose sides, I would be picked last and lose the game for Robert.
Thankfully I had chorus immediately following p.e. Our chorus teacher was a beautiful woman named Mrs. Bayley. She always dressed very stylishly and had more shoes than Carrie Bradshaw.
Mrs. Bayley never started class on time. She couldn't because a few of us would gather in her office at the beginning of every period to discuss all the earth shattering events going on in our lives. Day after day I would tell her how I had lost the game for Robert. I didn't realize at the time what a comfort it was to have someone who cared nothing at all about sports put each days humiliation into perspective for me. We always laughed at how upset Robert would get with me for his team's loss. (I suspect that Robert had failed whatever mandatory music course he took miserably.)
The only time I was successful in p.e. was during a softball game. I was assigned to play right field where I am sure Robert hoped I would see very little action. We were ahead by one point. A high pop fly (how in the world do I even remember these sports terms?) came toward me. I did what I always did; cowered in fright with my hands over my face. All of a sudden I heard a mammoth cheer. I looked up expecting the runner to have scored but instead I found the ball nestled in the crook of my arms.
The cheering was for me! And Robert was leading it! I had helped preserve the team's lead just in time for the bell to ring. For a shining moment briefer than Camelot I was Robert's hero.
I couldn't wait to get to chorus to tell Mrs. Bayley about my unexpected accomplishment. We found the entire episode hilarious and laughed at Robert for caring.
There was no Trevor project in Carmi, IL in 1970. Teachers didn't attend sensitivity trainings for dealing with gay youth. Mrs. Bayley just had the wisdom to listen to all of us for a few minutes each day before we began singing and the sense to know that intramural sports didn't matter to anyone but guys like Robert. Thank you, Mrs. Bayley!
The American Family Association says it is winning the war on Christmas. The group is concerned that too many retailers use the term, "Happy Holidays" as opposed to "Merry Christmas." They say they are winning this battle, having convinced many retailers to advertise "Merry Christmas" in the past five years.
Don't these people have any homeless people or abandoned babies to care for? Of course not. They are much to busy on their constant crusades to find something to offend their religious sensibilities to actually practice the principals of Christianity.
And why do they always, always have the word family in the name of their associations? I've got a family too. Most of them are Christian and we don't spend a whole lot of time looking for petty religious litmus tests to hold the rest of society up to. We are generally a lot more cordial to the outside world than we are to one another. We save our squabbling for family gatherings. Our family meals may not be fun but they sure are dramatic.
This year the group is targeting Dick's Sporting Goods for opening an online "Holiday Shop." How dare Dick's? Really! I personally have never darkened the door of any sporting goods establishment. After all, I try not to move unless it's absolutely necessary. You won't find me blowing out my knees walking around a golf course or heaven forbid, jogging through the neighborhood. But I don't see what is so inherently evil in the words, "Holiday Shop."
And I am pretty sure Jesus wouldn't care. I have attended Sunday School since 1957 and I don't remember one reference to Jesus' interest in fly fishing, golf, tennis or racket ball. Besides, he used a net, remember?
No one who shops for me for the holidays (Yes I am Christian but I am not so close minded I wouldn't accept a Hannakuh gift) knows not to buy sporting goods. Unless the item they're buying has Cher, Angela Lansbury or Bernadette Peters featured on the packaging it's going to be re gifted or returned for an original cast album anyway.
I probably need to apologize to anyone who attended the 2 o'clock matinee of Love and Other Strangers at the Cinemark Showcase in Paducah today. I know they heard me groaning during about a third of this movie. But every time one of the supporting characters came on screen I fumed.
The movie stars the beautiful Jake Gyllenhaal and the almost as lovely Anne Hathaway. Jake must have had a rider in his contract that stipulated that they find the most unattractive person they could find to play his brother.
I have never understood why men who are unkempt, unattractive and morbidly obese are automatically assumed to be funny. Josh Rad plays Jake's brother in the film and the character has not one interesting or redeeming character trait. The character was just one obnoxious cliche after another. No wonder he appeared only briefly in the previews.
At one point in the movie his pimply fat ass was revealed when he was bedding a beautiful woman.
You never see unattractive women end up with gorgeous men onscreen but somehow these unkempt slobs always end up bedding a beautiful costar. What a double standard!
I enjoyed most of the movie when he was offscreen but not even seeing Jake Gyllenhaal totally nude from the rear and the front except for his carefully placed hands can erase the sight of this unkempt, unshaven, mop-haired slob from my memory.
One of the relationships in my life that I still give thanks for is my friendship with Chris Jackson. We spent several holidays together before his untimely death and I still miss him enormously. I do not however miss the contribution he made to my Thanksgiving meal one year.
I have rarely had to cook on Thanksgiving because if a recipe doesn't involve cookie dough I have very little interest in it or faith in myself to bake it. Still, a few years ago I decided to cook Thanksgiving dinner for myself and my daughters. Knowing they didn't have Thanksgiving plans, I invited Chris and his mother, Chrystal over as well.
Chris insisted in helping out with the meal so we decided he could bring the pumpkin pies. It was a small gathering so I was only cooking a turkey breast. Even so, with that and the few other dishes I was preparing I was having a difficult time getting everything to come out of the oven at the same time.
Chris and Chrystal arrived about an hour before the meal was to be served with the pies. They were still frozen! Well, partially frozen anyway. He had had the pies in the trunk of his car awhile and they had thawed.
Just as I was reaching the higest point of my stress level, trying to juggle turkey breast, sweet potatoes, stuffing and dinner rolls in the oven, all of which required a various temperature settings, Chris announced he needed to bake the pies for forty-five minutes or so at yet another temperature, or course.
I thought I had been saved any further confusion when we discovered the pies had partially leaked out of their containers. I assumed we would just give up on the project and pick up a couple of Twinkies or whatever Hostess products we could find at the local convenience store down the block for dessert. But Chris insisted on baking them anyway.
He poured the contents of one pie tin into the other to make one complete pie and put it in the oven while we put the finishing touches on the meal and ate.
By the time we finished eating the pies weren't done but the crust had burnt so that it was about the color of potting soil. I tried to decline the piece of pie Chris spooned up for me, burnt on the edges, raw in the center. Thankfully he turned his head just long enough for me to hide most of my piece in my napkin and mutter, "That didn't turn out to badly," before I headed to the kitchen to hide the evidence of the uneaten pie deep in depths of my trash can.
Amazingly this was not the last Thanksgiving we spent together but from then on he was assigned to only bring the wine, something we could have used a heck of a lot more of that Thanksgiving.
I am thankful this year for the same thing I am always thankful for; my girls. They are unique, talented, bright and beautiful.
I love Megan's spirit and vision. Even when she is equipped with nothing more than a simple camera she can capture images that no one else sees. This is the mark of a true artist.
I remember that her mother used to have a Barry Manilow quote on display about having the courage to live life creatively. I have never had that ability, allowing fear to shape too many of my decisions. But Megan has always had the courage to live her life on her terms. I admire her for that.
I also admire the fact that she is deep. How someone with a father as shallow as I am managed this I will never know. But I hold her in the highest regard.
I have had the pleasure not only of living with her when she was a child but for a couple of extended periods I have had the pleasure of living with her as an adult and I must say she makes a wonderful companion.
Emily has more friends than anyone I know. Probably because she brings such light to every moment of every day.
Emily is an incredible performer. Everything she does on stage she does with an incredible ability to internalize it so that it never seems "put on" but wonderfully motivated. I would like to think it came from all those years of watching me but I was never as good as she is. It would kill me to admit this if she were not my daughter. At least I can take partial credit for that.
I love the fact that Emily is as incredibly soft as she is strong. She is never hesitant to share her opinion but is equally as sensitive with an ability to bring great understanding to relationships.
Both of these incredible young women have great wisdom in so many areas.
I am a lucky, lucky father to have two such amazing daughters.
I do regret that I am not with them this Thanksgiving. But I am so pleased to know that they are together in Portland.
When I bow my head to give thanks over my meal this Thursday I will have many blessings to remember but it will be my daughters that I am most thankful for, this year and every year.
Why can't the media just cover a story and then move on? They need to become a little more like Sgt. Joe Friday and report, "Just the facts ma'am."
Last week when Prince William and Kate Middleton announced their engagement all the morning shows did what the media always does; air a continual stream of speculation about what the details of the upcoming nuptials might be. The only royal expert I want to hear from is Joan Rivers. Please, please somebody hire her now to cover this event!
Why are we still obsessed with the royal family? I thought we wanted to be rid of them. If we want a royal family we could get our own. My nominations are:
The Kardashians. They are beautiful and they do seem to have a jump start on that inbred thing. Look! They're already dressed for Ascot!
The Lohans. We are already obsessed with them and they could beat the Brits hands down when it comes to dysfunction.
But if we want to do this thing right with style, dignity and grace I think we should just crown Tim Gunn. He is going to have to marry quick and produce an heir but I think the world is ready for a gay royal family.
If the Brits could have handled gay royals they might have ditched Prince Charles and gone with Andrew as the next heir years ago. (Of course I do sometimes wonder if Charles isn't gay. That Camilla usually comes off looking like a guy in drag anyway.)
Heidi would make the perfect surrogate for Tim and his partner's child. But please, please don't let Michael Kors or Nina Garcia dress the young prince or princess. After the judging this season on Project Runway we would be subjected to nothing but serviceable clothing all done in earth tones. We could just keep Queen Elizabeth and her Corgis if we wanted to go that route!
If I have been dragged kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century isn't it about time that the single greatest annoyance to mankind evolve as well? I am talking about stop signs. Haven't they just about outlived any usefulness they may have served at one time?
If we can develop traffic lights that can take pictures of people who run them and send them a ticket I think it is time to banish all stop signs, especially four-way stops and create stop lights with sensors that can determine what cross traffic is occurring, if any so I don't have to stop unless absolutely necessary. (You know, like when a policeman is in the vicinity.)
Four-way stops are nothing more than a testament to the obvious indecisiveness of the department of motor vehicles. You can't tell me that at any juncture where a four-way stop is present that one of the roads isn't more important than the other. Obviously the people on the less important road should just have to tough it out until all the traffic on the more important thoroughfare has passed. It should be obvious to everyone including the department of motor vehicles that any road upon which I am currently traveling is the most important.
These new electronic stoplights will save me the annoyance of arriving at a four way stop at the same time as all those well meaning people that feel like they need to negotiate whose turn it is through a series of gestures or sharing the intersection with one of those people who refuse to take their turn and direct me to go when it is clearly their turn. Don't they realize they are only adding to congestion?
The worst offenders are the ones are that get to the four-way stop way ahead of me. They see me coming. They could have been stopped and gone by the time I arrive but they feel some sadistic need to sit there and make sure I am going to stop before they go. Just because I sideswiped their car five years ago doesn't mean I am going to today!
I learned my lesson, I paid my fines (several times) and attended traffic school. Trust me that little Geico gecko is living very well off my inflated insurance rates.
I have nothing against Bristol Palin. I think the poor girl is just the victim of her mother and the Republican National Committee who felt like they needed to prop her up as some kind of role model at the 2008 Republican National Convention. It is becoming pretty evident that keeping Bristol on Dancing With the Stars has become some sort of mission for the tea party.
The only good thing that could possibly come out of this is the fact that somewhere in a house crowded with children Kate Gosselin is seething that the tea party didn't come to her rescue and keep her on DWTS. That coupled with the fact that Sarah's Learning Channel reality series, Sarah Palin's Alaska recently set a ratings record on TLC must have Kate fuming and feeding those poor children reheated gruel for breakfast.
Would someone please tell me what Kate Gosselin or Sarah Palin have to do with learning?
The fact that the Tea Party would take Bristol's voting off DWTS. as an affront on freedom is just more proof to me that these people are demented....as if their misspelled signs weren't enough.
I'm glad they are focusing their efforts on saving Bristol lately. While they are sending in those endless emails to ABC they can't be hand lettering any more of those atrocious placards. They don't seem capable of multi-tasking.
Like the tea partiers, I don't like taxes either. I guess I have a more defeatist attitude than they do. But if a group can keep Bristol dancing (or moving around to the music in her case) I guess they can achieve anything. Frightening, isn't it?
I gave up on this season of DWTS when they eliminated Kurt Warner in favor of that pudgy Kyle Massey. But maybe this will teach ABC a lesson and get them to reconsider the trump casting that brought Bristol and Kate to the show. (That will happen as soon as hell freezes over and Cher swears off plastic surgery)
As for Bristol, I am personally grateful to her. I am endeared to anyone that gives me an excuse to complain about Kate Gosselin.
I taped an "I'm Just Sayin'" segment for Channel 5 yesterday and I spent the whole day worrying about how to read a teleprompter. I was sure the experience would end up like Lucy's Vitavetavegemin episode.
As a kid I looked forward to watching I Love Lucy reruns before or after school at my Aunt Berneda's house. Lucy's trip to Hollywood, her many attempts to headline at the Tropicana with Ricky or just baking bread in her kitchen turned into major fiascoes. I still look forward to I Love Lucy marathons on the Hallmark Channel. But these repeated viewings have left me with nagging fears that one of my own experiences will end up as disastrous as Lucy's and there won't be any prop men around to clean up the mess.
When I get to New York to see a Broadway show and am lucky enough to see one of my favorite actors or actresses in the audience I can't even enjoy the experience because I keep muttering to myself, "Don't act like Lucy Ricardo!" On the few occasions I have run into one of my favorite actors at a Broadway show I usually just say, "I enjoy your work," That doesn't sound too invasive does it?
But When Jude Law and Sienna Miller sat down beside me at a performance of I Am My Own Wife a few years ago all I could think of was how much I had hated Cold Mountain. Still I spent the whole evening worrying that my nose would catch fire just like Lucy's had when she finally met William Holden. The fact I wasn't wearing one made of putty did little to put my fears to rest.
I do like to bake this time of year but I usually stick to cookies. I have never attempted baking bread, afraid of adding too much yeast and having a giant loaf overtake my kitchen. And I am pretty sure the real reason I have never acquired the taste for wine has to do with that foot stomping episode.
Perhaps I should see a therapist to rid myself of these irrational fears but that might spoil my chances of someday fulfilling the one I Love Lucy fantasy I still harbor; being asked to descend a staircase with a giant headdress. I know I could pull that one off better than Lucy!
I try desperately not to watch Oprah. There is just something disingenuous about her. When she first announced her plans to end her show after this year I breathed a sigh of relief. I would no longer be subjected to endless promos of her show on Entertainment Tonight. But my hopes were dashed when later in the same news release she announced her plan to start her own network. I live in fear that any day I will go to the mailbox and find this woman has bought my mortgage. She controls everything!
I knew she would pull out all the stops this last year. I knew she would make it difficult not to watch, landing newsworthy interviews. First it was the entire Von Trapp family from The Sound of Music there to hawk the latest release of the film on some new format. (Don't ask me which one. I can't keep up). I succumbed to her wicked plan and tuned in. What did I learn that I did not already know? Nothing!
Once again I steeled my resolve and vowed not to watch. And who did Extra announce was going on the show tomorrow? Barbara Streisand WITH Robert Redford. That's it! It's official. There is no God. Surely he would preserve us from the pomposity which is Oprah.
Anything I can't blame on the Tea Party I blame on Oprah. In fact there probably wouldn't be a Tea Party without her. Her endorsement of Obama finished Hillary's presidential run in 2008. (I read somewhere that she did it because she couldn't stand that thought of another woman becoming more powerful than herself. I believed them.)
I still blame her for stealing Phil Donahue's format all those years ago. I loved Phil. He was so unashamedly liberal. And you could always count on him to bring on male strippers every sweeps period.The fact that Oprah never has male strippers on her show only serves to keep those nasty lesbian rumors alive. (That and her road trips with Gayle)
I don't care how much this woman gives away I don't trust her. I don't trust anyone who puts themselves on the cover of their own magazine every month. It's not fair. Thousands of girls all over the country are munching on celery for dinner this evening hoping to maintain their frail little bodies so they can finally land their first cover shoot And what is the big O doing? Hiring more staff members to cinch her into another outfit for her next cover before they airbrush it beyond recognition.
In the meantime I am already berating myself for the sin I am about to commit, lowering my standards for just one more glimpse of Katie and Hubble.
I have only been a true football fan once in my life, in 2000 when Kurt Warner led the Rams to a last minute victory over the Titans. But for most of my life I had no interest in it. I may have to take solace in football this Thanksgiving. The only alternative, clipping coupons and planning an early morning assaut on the stores holds no interest for me.
Black Friday sales following Thanksgiving Day have been around for a while but lately the promotion for these events rivals the build up to the Super Bowl. At the family gathering I attend we barely have time to offer up a prayer of thanks and serve up the turkey and dressing without hearing everyone's plan of attack for the big shopping day ahead. As soon as the cool whip is plopped on the Pumpkin pie the paper is devoured looking for sales.
There wont be any viewing of any holiday specials that evening, everyone is off to bed early so they can be up before the crack of dawn to fight off the crowds hoping for a chance at an HDTV. The fact that there are already two in the house won't deter them.
I have gotten to the point that I feel like a prisoner in my own home on Black Friday, unwilling to go anywhere where the crowds of holiday shoppers are clogging up traffic.
I think it is great that we can count on Christmas sales to revive a faltering economy. It's kind of nice to know that the one thing that can help lift us out of recession is giving to others. But can't we take one day to be Thankful for what we have before we start planning what we are going to buy next?
I just saw Matt Lauer interviewing Dina Lohan regarding Lindsay's weekend release from the Betty Ford Center. Apparently after spending two weeks in family sessions at Betty Ford Dina is now willing to admit that Lindsay is an addict. Good for you, Dina.
Later in the interview Dina stated that she doesn't read the tabloids. Apparently Dina doesn't have to shop at Wal-Mart or Target, otherwise she wouldn't be able to avoid them. She might have saved Lindsay, herself and the nation a whole lot of trouble if she had. She might have figured out a whole lot sooner that Lindsay was using a little too heavily.
Apparently after just a few weeks at Betty Ford Lindsay has become a different person. Good for her. (and even better for us) She wants to open her own facility to help other young people. Oh great. The last thing I need after years and years of hearing about Lindsay's troubles is having to look forward to hearing stories about how her center changed the life of other troubled young people.
I am lucky I guess that whatever demons I have don't involve drugs or alcohol. A drink or two now and then might not be a bad idea in my case. It might lower my blood pressure. Let's just hope for my sake chocolate is never declared a controlled substance.
I know I should develop more sympathy for people with addictions. It's just that I dread their "I was so messed up and now I am not" stories. It's worse than having to look at some one's vacations pictures.
I haven't been able to handle addiction stories since I saw The Days of Wine and Roses a long, long time ago. It depressed me beyond words. (I know that reference is way to obscure for you kiddies.) I always hate the alcoholism and drug addiction plots on All My Children orThe Young and the Restless too. They are so predictable. (unlike the rest of the soap opera plots)
Watching Dina this morning it was so obvious that this woman is trying to live through her daughter. She dresses and looks just like her. I think she is even borrowing Lindsay's extensions while she is in rehab. No wonder this girl is messed up. She probably keeps going to rehab just to get a little space.
Didn't Dina ever see Gypsy? I swear people could live much more fulfilling lives if they just paid more attention to musical theatre. It will save your life! And your daughter's!
I wish Lindsay well. I hope she finds happiness. I know it's tough when you earn millions per picture. But in the meantime a note to all aspiring stage mothers (and fathers) out there. Please, please before you put your kid in show business pick up a copy of Gypsy on DVD.
Like most people I don't like advertisements although I do admit to having an affinity for the Old Spice guy and that cute little girl who shares the last fudge stripe cookie with her sister. But lately I see ads from for things that shouldn't need to advertise in the first place.
Shouldn't my doctor know what medicine to prescribe for me? If my eyes are dry, or my legs or restless shouldn't he know what kind of pill would work best for me? When I developed high blood pressure my doctor seemed to know exactly what to do without any prompting.
Most of these ads seem to feature animated characters; people made out of pipes or disgusting looking germs. Aren't fungal toenails ugly enough without some computer animation showing a disgusting little creature?
You can be sure that after you have been on one of these medications long enough some lawyer advertising on TV is going to find a study showing the drug was never thoroughly tested and encourage you to call him so he can sue the pharmaceutical company. I wouldn't let them know that you were the one that asked your doctor to prescribe it if I were you. He may turn against you as well and collect the entire fee for himself.
I don't think I would trust a lawyer that had to advertise on television in the first place. I bet Nancy Grace never had to stoop that low. Even without a TV ad she would be the first person I would call if I were victimized. She seems to be quite enamored by the downtrodden of this world. (I can look quite pitiful if called on to do so.)
I don't think Jesus should have to advertise either. I am highly suspicious of pastors that hawk their churches on TV. Does Jesus really need a P.R. man? As a Christian isn't that supposed to be my job? If he is so desperate he needs TV spots and billboards I must be slipping further than I thought.
The only televangelist I ever liked was Tammy Faye especially after she teamed up with Jim J. Bullock for a short lived daytime TV talk show.
The most annoying advertisements I have seen lately have been for the Mormon Church. They are like stealth ads. You're sitting at home, sometimes not even aware an advertisement is running. You think to yourself, "How did I get switched over to the Biography channel?" as someone describes all their varied interests, most of which involve helping the underprivileged. Then you hear them, those four most dreaded words: "And I'm a Mormon."
The activities are all so normal. Why do they feel they have to make sure that we know Mormons do them?
Just once I would like to see an "And I'm A Mormon" ad featuring a family manning the phone banks at Proposition 8 headquarters. Then they wouldn't catch me by surprise. By now we all know who supported it.
Ah....it's all becoming clear to me. They want to distract us with their motorcycle riding, cookie baking and basketball coaching, hoping we'll forget they have a legislative agenda discriminating against an entire group of people.
Frankly, if I had the same track record on marriage as the Mormon Church I wouldn't want people to know I was trying to defend it either. It's a little like going to Mel Gibson for sensitivity training.
I am sitting at home innocently watching the evening news and I hear them announcing another road closure in St. Louis for the weekend. This weekend it is I-64 between Jefferson and 6th St. That is inconsequential. If it weren't there it would be somewhere else. Only in Missouri do they completely close portions of the interstate to repair it.
Ever since Modot hatched there scheme to close Highway 40 for a couple years to redesign it they have been bolstered by the fact that all of their officials came out unscathed by the process. They claim that closing the interstate entirely to rebuild it will become a model for road repair throughout the country. I hope not. Only in Missouri would they even consider this.
I hate road construction. I expect new roads to just appear, fully operational with no inconvenience to me. But since the rte 40 - I-64 rebuilding Modot has become emboldened, trying to find one section of interstate after another to close each weekend. One weekend they went so far as to close both a section of 1-55 and I-64.
I suspect that some of the funds appropriated to repair roads involved in the recent closings come from stimulus funds. I would rather they use those funds for studying yellow bellied sapscuckers deep in the forests of Arkansas than for road repair if it is going to slow down my trip to Trader Joe's this weekend.
Missouri should adapt the same road working policies that have been in place in IL for generations. An entire generation is about how long it takes IL road crews to complete their work. That is partially due to the fact they don't close the road completely, forcing me to find alternate routes. (Yeah, like my GPS lady isn;t confused enough already since I rarely trust her with directions since she got me lost in Amish country.) In IL we just drive in single lanes past orange barricades forever, prompting some visitors to believe that Orange is our state color.
Yesterday President Obama offered a conciliatory tone to Republicans in his White House press conference. Today Mitch McConnell and other Republicans suggested that we repeal health care, extend tax cuts to the wealthiest Americans and launch White House oversight investigations.
With the help of Crossroads for America and the tea party the the Republicans have regained the House and it sounds like they aren't going to waste any time at all getting back to what they do best; working against the very people that put them into office. They have an amazing ability to get people to vote against their own interests.
I always found one of the premises of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter intriguing. The idea that Arthur Dimmesdale's physical appearance deteriorated as his guilt for his actions increased. Maybe Mitch is feeling guilty for something. Soon he will have no head. His body will just swallow it whole. He's already into it up to his neck.
How can a person in good conscience accept the health care package that Mr. McConnell and other members of Congress receive and deny a similar package to other Americans? I like Whoopi Goldberg's often repeated plea, "I want your health care, Mr. McConnell."
He seems to forget that he is the Senate minority leader. Which is understandable given the fact that Democrats have a hard time realizing they only lost one house of Congress. They will spend the next two years acting like they are in the minority even though they control the White House and the Senate.
One final thought. I can't resist one very old, very bad joke. I'm feeling bitter.
Orange your glad this isn't your congressman?
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
Christmas is too expensive.
I haven't always had a date for Valentine's Day.
I hate holidays that are only excuses for drinking like St. Patrick's Day.
Memorial Day....Fourth of July....Veteran's Day.....Do we really need three patriotic holidays within a span of six months? Pick two or spread them out.
Even though I am retired I can't get over the fact that I still associate Labor Day with being back in school.
But the reason Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday has to do with homesickness. It was 1976, I had graduated from college that spring and Judy and I moved to the south suburbs of Chicago to start teaching. We had both grown up in Southern Illinois and I don't believe either of us were prepared for the culture shock of living in the suburbs or the disdain with which people in the suburbs of Chicago held for Southern Illinois.
We were six hours away from both of our parents, still driving an American Motors Hornet that had a tick in the engine. The car dealer that sold it to us was friend of the family. He gave us a very good deal on the car since none of his mechanics could determine the cause of the noise. He warned us that because of the undetermined cause of the noise the car could stop running at any minute.
I never trusted the thing even though it turned out to be a "basically good car" as Judy's father always referred to it. The entire time we were married Judy and I never owned a car no matter how suspect that he didn't refer to as a "basically good car."
The idea of being a six hours away from our families seemed like an eternity when you had to get there in a car that seemed to be no more than a ticking time bomb.
It was the first time in my adult life that I recognized how blessed I was to have the family I had and to have married into a family that I regarded as highly as Judy's. We were never so happy to be anywhere that Thanksgiving as Southern Illinois. I remember being severely depressed when I saw snowflakes outside my suburban Chicago bedroom window in the middle of October!
One of my favorite photos (and one of the few) of my father and I was taken that weekend. We were sitting on the seat of a Model A truck he had just finished restoring.
My dad was always restoring an old car. Most of the old cars he renovated were never completed to the point where he got them running because someone would see him working on them and buy them from him before he finished. But this one had just been completed while we had been up north those few months. He took great delight driving us around the neighborhood that weekend.
The rest of the weekend was filled with the usual Thanksgiving fare cooked up by all the women of both families working together in kitchens to serve up the traditional holiday favorites. We were at a time in our lives when we got to make the rounds not just to our parents' homes but to our grandparents' homes as well
I can't think of that Thanksgiving without thinking of my Dad and his model A truck. I didn't realize how self-sacrificing he had been all his life until the last year or so he was with us. (Dad died in 1992 at the age of 67.....young by today's standards....Joan Rivers had only had six face lifts by that age.)
He was always the last in the family to have his needs met. I wonder how many of those unfinished antique cars were sold to provide me or one of my brothers with something unimportant that seemed absolutely necessary to us at the time.
I love you, Dad. Thanks for making that Thanksgiving so memorable.
