Confessional

Hero’s skeletons.

Ghosted

I am a grown man.

I am brave.

I do my best to ignore bumps in the night and a creaky old house.

I knew that when we moved in we would have some adjusting to do. The girls would likely hear things and make up stories. I was ready.

When they found an old photograph from right after the house was constructed, it was black and white and showed the father and mother sitting on the back porch, I dismissed it as something that was left behind.

When some of the doors move, I know it is a hinge that is misaligned from the foundation settlement.

When the girls created a Mrs Potatohead and dressed her in red and named her Lola which is also the name of the late matriarch of the house, I let it slide. Kids pick up on things. I don’t think they knew any names at that point but maybe they did.

When it sounds like someone is walking away from me when I go to the door at the carport, I could care less. Houses have their history and their owners. No need to get all excited about imagined ghosts and scary things.

But tonight… I must have had these thoughts hidden around the corners of my mind. They swirled and sat near the front while they waited for something to jump out and grab me. I needed a drink from the kitchen so I went through the living room where presents had been opened earlier in the day. When I rounded the corner of the living room and encountered the upper half of a torso rising out of the carpet, I nearly shit my pants. The wide dark eyes. The sparkling nails. The fact that something was emerging from my carpet and smiling at the same time. It all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to scream or warn my family. I just uttered an “uuggghh” while all my muscles locked into a ball of fear.

When I awoke a few seconds later I was face to face with the demon in the living room floor. I had one thought ringing in my head crystal-clear; Why did I buy this for Christmas and who the hell designed it.

The room was darker. Stop laughing at me.

My reptile brain didn’t even offer an alternative. It said, “Satan is crawling out of hell to eat your ankles.”

If you get freaked out over misplaced toys or strange shadows, this post is for you.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Sir Phillip, Et al.

I have been slacking on my duties. I have skipped a couple of opportunities to inform everyone that we have suffered a loss. Sir Phillip Ondeez, our pet squirrel, died in his sleep last Wednesday. He had been acting strange in the days before his death. I thought it was because of mating season because he seemed agitated and his nuts were enormous. He may be the first squirrel in history to die from blue ball syndrome. I briefly considered fixing him up some sort of stuffed animal girlfriend or other stress relief method but I felt that crossed a personal line of the bro-code. I laid out some pecans and hoped that he would be happy with the treat. After a day, I noticed that the pecans hadn’t moved. Very odd.

I tried to lure him out with my usual conversation but nothing moved inside his house. Not good.

I prepared Supermom for the news and dumped out his nest. He was buried in the strips of felt fabric, perpetually frozen in a curled-up napping pose. Dead as a doornail. So… we had an impromptu squirrel funeral before starting on Quesadilla night festivities.

Is that where our animal craziness stopped for the week? No. Of course not.

Bindi is growing and doing well. Except for the other night. Supermom decided that with our warmer weather it might be good to let Bindi wander around the back yard and stretch her legs. For the first five minutes it seemed like a good idea.

Then it went something like this:

Wallabies are two legged hairy T-Rex deer. They are wild prey animals who have strong instincts to run and/or die. When the fresh air of freedom touched her primitive nostrils, she forgot anything and anyone she had ever known. Supermom and I, her parents, became monstrous carnivores who wanted to eat her flesh. She began running circles around the backyard and breathing heavily. The more we tried to herd her to the back door the more she rebelled. We set up some obstacles to force her into a safe space. She ran headlong into the fence, slid across the concrete, and careened off the rabbit cage. She became overheated and started licking her arms in an effort to cool down. We eventually resorted to locking the dogs in a bedroom and leaving the backdoor open until she wandered back inside. At that point, her mind returned. Somewhat.

She was breathing heavily and showing the early signs of shock. Wallabies use their blood sugar in quick bursts of energy and sustained stress causes them to go into shock. The first step is to get them something with sugar. She had no interest in milk (a bad sign) and would not drink water. I did manage to get her to eat some honey which was helpful but she was twitching from panic. Our handy-dandy, how-to-keep-a-wallaby-alive guidebook said that shock “is often fatal” and “requires treatments of Diazepam” to bring things under control.

Hmmm. Our zombie deer needs Xanax because she is traumatized by Bermuda grass and may die for no reason at all.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

What now? Do I drive downtown and look for a questionable looking person on the street corner and try to score some totem poles for my wallaby? Dear authors of the handbook, suggesting controlled substances for an exotic pet is not practical.

Unless it is… I remembered that our youngest had a seizure several years ago. Part of the preparedness was a suppository gel that was comprised of petroleum jelly and Diazepam. I checked the back of our cluttered cabinet and sure enough the unused colon cannon was just waiting to calm something down. I broke open the box, adjusted the dosage dial to “Zen Buddhism”, and shot her mouth full of the calming rectal medication. I had the brief thought that the gel component may be harmful and the not-so-brief thought that I didn’t care at that point.

Bindi smacked her lips for a good five minutes and her breathing slowed down. She slumped into a pile. I didn’t know if she was dying or super-duper high. I think the second one. I am happy to report that she did live and is back to her old self.

Bro… Thats some killer stuff.

If anything, her brush with death has given her a bitter edge. She no longer takes any chances with the dogs and even surprised Jasper with a well-placed missile drop-kick a few days ago. I heard a commotion and looked over just in time to see her kick him across the room with both back feet while standing on her hands. Ninja moves. He smacked the wall and looked confused for a second before walking away to find something better to do.

Jasper deserved it.. He has been pushing his karmic luck. He found a soft mud spot in the backyard somewhere. On two separate occasions, he has returned to the backdoor looking like a child labor coal miner.

Doggy jail.

Pre-bath shame.

If you have had a tough couple of weeks from things like Xanaxing your pets, this post is for you. You’re welcome. Oh and just in case you missed it, our girls identified a new holiday on our family schedule board. April 25th is now “Take a Dump Day”.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Country Fried Childhood

The modern interpretation of “country” is nothing more than a misplaced label. It is a fashion fad that includes shiny trucks, fancy boots, domestic beer, and songs that manage to weave all three themes together with a catchy tune. The term “rural” probably applies better to the contemporary trend. Country is an ethereal way of life that is hard to define but when you see it, you know it.

I recently discovered a treasure trove of old pictures that I would like to submit as evidence towards a country certificate. This can be a game. First, look at the picture and try to spot everything interesting you can see. I will then assist by pointing out the things I see. We can compare notes in the comments.

I do want to offer a caveat or a p.s. to my mother and stepdad for what you are about to endure. I cherish everything about my childhood, it most definitely gave me perspectives and opinions that I would never have gotten. Plus I got lots of awesome pictures for my blog. Also, we are now square on the you-shooting-me-through-the-kitchen-window thing.

Okay disclaimers out of the way. Who is ready to play?

PHOTO 1

Lightning in Buffalo River

This one is easy. I’m riding a horse in a river. Notice anything about my horse?

No? Let me assist…

If your original answer was “Oh, I notice your horse looks like a victim from Jeepers Creepers or maybe the horse from Sleepy Hollow.” then you win. This was Lightning and he was the slowest stallion on the planet. A tumor left him with only one eye and he walked with his head slightly tilted to the left so he could see where he was walking. He was also really tall which is handy for lumbering around with a visual impairment. He was a good horse though. I hope he died of old age and not from wandering into traffic.

Bonus: I think I’m wearing one of my parent’s T-shirts.

PHOTO 2

You might be a redneck if entertainment was rolling down the hill in front of the house and letting the dogs chase you. It was good during snow but a little bumpy on grass. Also, I am wearing rubber boots which is the official childhood boot on a farm. Cowboy boots are for riding.

PHOTO 3

This is awards day at my elementary school being held in the parking lot. The only parking lot. Where did everyone park? We had a gymnasium. Why?

I don’t suppose this picture really goes towards the whole country theme but check out how deliciously 1980’s this day truly was…

Is that Michelle Duggar? What is she wearing? They still own this camera.

PHOTO 4

This photo.

Family vacation to Fall Creek Falls. What the hell were we wearing? Did we share a new pack of tube socks? This photo counts towards country because I showed it to my mother yesterday and she said, and I quote, “This looks so suburban.” On what planet under the almightly Lord’s sweet creation is this style any measure of “suburban”? Good lord.

A) I don’t think my sister has pants. Mom swears she does but I’m unconvinced. I do remember her Pizza Hut shirt was from a Land Before Time themed birthday party.

B) My stepdad looks like he escaped from the law and robbed the first elderly man checking the mail that he happened upon.

C) My cousin has rainbow short shorts. God bless the eighties. This might have been early nineties but those clothes are a hold-over. And we shared a haircut style too.

Who thought, Hell yeah, this is a moment. Y’all squeeze in close for a picture. They were right. This is awesome.

I may frame this one.

PHOTO 5

We built this barn like the Amish. Except the Amish get lots of people and do it in one day. I remember building the skeleton of the barn and then adding to it every season by recycling some nearby building. Maybe a neighbor had a chicken coupe that they no longer wanted. Piece by piece we sculpted a masterpiece. There were these eight inch nails that were forged by the devil himself and intended to drive you insane because they would bend in a slight breeze. If you didn’t hit the nail perfectly it would bend in half. The nails were ribbed so they were impossible to pull out once they got started. I hated those nails.

Thirty years later and I think this barn is almost done. In multiple ways. I love sitting in the barn while it rains on the tin roof. It is very soothing.

PHOTO 6

This is a picture of my mom with a newborn foal but the item of interest to me is the livestock trailer in the background. The infamous “red trailer”. The yellow top is a recycled chunk of school bus and the sides and front were welded onto a regular flat bed trailer. Everything was then spray painted red. A few years of UV damage and some miscellaneous rusting created an awe inspiring symbol of country perseverance.

The foal was a girl and named Grace. She is an ornery old lady now. Also, that stall in the barn now has a solid back wall. When did that happen? Who knows. Barn gnomes.

PHOTO 7

We put a lot of effort into super fancy dog beds. This is Alicia, patron saint of our farm. She lived to 123 in dog years and in her final months of life she appeared to be a solar powered skeleton. She once fell off of a spiral staircase onto a concrete floor. Smacked like a bowling ball. Any mortal dog would have died from a brain bleed but not her. Nine feet down and she walked it off like a zombie that got shot anywhere besides directly-in-the-head. She was a really good squirrel dog and loved hunting down rats that lived under the dog houses.

All this stuff counts right?

PHOTO 8

This photo has lots of options; the wooden cows, the gun by the backdoor, the outdoor plant hanging inside, the playhouse in the backyard that was crammed full of junk or chickens (I can’t remember which), the curtains, and the pet bird (Spike) that was later eaten by a cat.

This is the cat, Patches. She avoided a brutal broomstick beating and lived to be an old lady. Its a miracle mom didn’t take her out with a shotgun after Spike got eaten.

PHOTO 9

This one is self sustaining. House trailer, trucks, dogs, a spare tire, gravel road. A song in a picture.

We had some farm animals that were dangerous and we kept a stick with us for self defense. We had a turkey and a goat that were both mean and immune to physical assault. I watched my mom loose her shit on the turkey when it tried to spur her. She grabbed a stick and whooped that dude like a dirty rug. He lived but not much longer after that incident. I couldn’t find any pictures for those.

If you enjoy pictures that capture an era frozen in time, this post is for you. You’re welcome. To my Dad and Stepmom, don’t think you got off easy. I just haven’t gone through photos on your side in a while. Soon. soon….

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Tough Love Legacy

I was reading a book a while back and one of the exercises that it wanted you to complete was writing your own eulogy. Kind of weird. The purpose was to focus on the fact that time is limited and to motivate you towards creating a legacy. Try and imagine all the things that you hope people have to say. I’ve tried several times to complete that exercise and I haven’t had much success. I started writing things down that I hope my children will learn or that I would like to tell them at some point. It ended up something like this:

You cannot be anything you want to be.

Society wants to say you can. But that isn’t true.

You cannot be anything you want to be.

However, you can do the things that you want to do.

You are free to pursue your interests and learn about anything you want. You have more tools than any generation, ever. Don’t waste it on cat videos. (Not all of it anyway.)

You can do the things that you want to do. You can work hard at those things and get better every day. If you are successful and diligent you can find ways to keep doing the things you love.

You will become the things that you DO most often.

So, if there is something you want to be… don’t hope to be it.

Go and DO it.

If you want to be a writer. Go write. Start a blog. Write a story. Send op-ed articles to your local newspaper. Volunteer to write things that need to be written and learn your craft. Get a degree in it or don’t… but write.

If you want to be a speaker. Go speak. Join Toastmasters or a local club. Volunteer to be a spokesman. Go speak at public meetings. Make a YouTube channel and rant about the diminishing cuteness of puppies. Get a degree in public speaking or don’t… but speak.

If you want to be a farmer. Grow something. Start a greenhouse in your backyard. Buy land and livestock. Go work for a commercial farm. Get a degree in agri-business or don’t… but grow something.

Go and do. If you do long enough then you will BE.

It isn’t exactly that simple but then again it is. There are roadmaps and requirements for everything you can do. Go and find the recipe for your life.

Set goals. In six months I will do this. In three years I will do that. In ten years I want to be here. Dreams are fantastic in the moment but they fade in the morning light. We all know that if dreams aren’t written down and recited then they are forgotten. Make a list. Make a schedule. Work towards a goal. If you miss a deadline, don’t give up. Re-write the schedule. Reset the goal. Tomorrow is another day.

Get rid of the notion that people are born “good” at something. Know that people are born into this world with the ability to do two things; cry about their situation and mess their pants. EVERYTHING ELSE is learned. You’ll be ahead of the game if you forget the first two instincts somewhere along the way.

Ask questions. Lots of questions. Dumb questions. Smart questions. Ask them all and remember the answers. Look for connections. The world is a mystery but there are answers. An expert is someone who has failed in every imaginable way. Impossible is a roadblock for some people and a to-do list for others. Everything new seems impossible until someone does it. You live in a world of things that were impossible to the generation before.

Remember that people can be mean. They usually attack for one reason; fear. People fear things they don’t understand and things that threaten their beliefs. It is an animal instinct. Part of the reptile brain. That is why true debate about religion, politics, and if someone’s child is less than awesome – is not a good idea. When you feel attacked try to consider why your opponent feels the way they do and says the things they say. Most strong opinions are built around good intentions.

Don’t put up with bullies. Bullies usually feel powerless and need to pick on someone smaller to feel powerful. This is an explanation not an excuse. Don’t take their crap. If they attack you physically then by any means possible, defend yourself. A well-placed elbow can enhance diplomatic relations. All is fair in love and war. Just be sure that you had no other option. Be fast to forgive and seek friendship.

This one is touchy and I hesitate to say it but… College isn’t for everyone. I prefer you take your education as far as you can. That doesn’t necessarily mean college. If you want to work in a trade then getting a degree in Philosophy doesn’t make a lot of sense. If you want to work in manufacturing or sanitation then you might not need to rack up school loans for four years at a private college on a partial scholarship for badminton. On the other hand, a business degree can be handy if you want to own your own business one day. Just think it through and have a plan.

You are not bad at math. No one is. That is a lie that is easier to repeat than it is to cure. I challenge you to find a single employee who wouldn’t raise a ruckus over a paycheck being off. Or set three kids at a table, in front of a plate with only two cookies on it and tell me people aren’t naturally good at math. Algebra will have all three of those kids nervous because 2 cookies/3 people is less than 1 cookie per person. Life is a series of word problems. Most math struggles are a vocabulary issue.

Get involved. It doesn’t take long to realize that there is no THEY out there controlling things. Only a group of WE’s that made it into management. If you don’t like what an organization is doing, join that organization and DO things differently. Or offer an alternative. Pointing out problems is easy. Implementing solutions is the real magic.

And finally… remember that life is a competition but not against each other. Not for the things that really matter. Most of the time the competition is between humanity and mortality. We need resources and medicine and social fabric. You could be the hero who cures all disease or you might be the guy who delivers his mail. Every improvement is an improvement. Share ideas. Help each other. Get excited about any and all success. Be charitable. Be loving. Be kind. It does come back to you.

I have to tell myself this stuff every day. Part of the list of good advice that I try to collect. I’m always open to more suggestions and you should be too.

I Love You,

Dad

p.s.- Shut the door when you are in the bathroom. You are not barbarians.

Dryer Ressurection

Tonight I regained my man card.

With these two hands, and the problem solving skills of a love-child woven from the DNA of both Sheldon and McGyver, I reassembled a fully dismantled dryer. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, the myth of the handy husband is myth no longer. An appliance ninja snuck in and assassinated the faulty thermal overload switch.

Sure, I didn’t use my own tools. No big deal. Plus my wife ordered the parts from Amazon. Anyone could have done that. I resurrected a fire breathing dragon that keeps modern life in business.

You may remember that the last condition of this dryer was scattered in multiple pieces under our Christmas tree. Get back in the workshop Santa. Daddy made some room tonight.

Yes sir. I dusted off that Y chromosome and put it to work. I wont even mention the two bags of garbage that I took to the curb. Like a domestic God bestowing gifts to the adoring mortals circling around my legs, asking me for juice. I waved them away to the living room while I sat in the kitchen, arms crossed, staring at the dryer working its magic. That big majestic whirlpool son-of-a-bitch. I hope it doesn’t burst into flame.

If you ever successfully did something that made you feel remotely useful, this post is for you. If you act like a hero after cleaning the cheese off you pizza plate. I feel you brother. You’re welcome. If you are a man who did something useful then take a rest, you must be exhausted. We aren’t built for being productive like women. They read instructions and would have completed this days ago probably. We have to take our victories where we can. Be careful out there. Pace yourself. You never know when man-flu might strike.

We did good today boys. We did good.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.