Dropped Power Leg???

“Mr. Atkinson, sounds like you’ve got a dropped power leg.”

“Umm…so what does that mean?”

“Well now, that’s hard to say. Could be something simple, it could be something really big, or it could be a bunch of small problems all combined, there’s just no way to tell until we get out there, dig things up and check ‘em out.”

This is never the conversation you want to have with your power company.

That was about 6:45 this morning. Since then I’ve discovered that not only are they going to have to replace about 100 yards of underground cable going to my house, but it’s an all day job with no real idea of a time or even a date for completion.

We’re getting more than our fair share of rain here in Dallas, maybe that’s to blame. Whatever the reason, the power in our house started acting rather strange yesterday afternoon. We were down the street with some friends when Melissa came home to get something and discovered our power dilemma.

What's odd is, only some of our power is out.

· The lights in our family room are out, but the television works.
· The main light in my daughters room is on, but all of her outlets are out.
· The main lights in our guest/computer room are out, but the outlets work just fine.
· The A/C keeps trying to turn on, but doesn’t have enough power, so I just turned it off.
(So I’m very happy to have the cooler rain temperatures for the day)
· Luckily, our fridge is still working, but the oven and microwave only have about half power.
· If I flip the light switch in the guest room, the oven’s timer beeps.

And the bizarre list goes on and on and on...


I don’t think Ben Franklin had this in mind when he flew his kite.

It wasn't a Rock...

The B-52’s (You can check them out here) had a concert at the House of Blues here in Dallas last night.

And we were there baby!

The fact that Melissa not only listened to the B-52’s, but also owned at least one of their albums was one of the first things I liked about her. I’ve liked the B-52’s ever since I first heard Rock Lobster. Back then their music seemed so kooky and unusual that it was hard for me not to like them.

I liked the fact that their songs were written about the most bizarre things. This was the late 1970’s and early 1980’s and all the music I was used to hearing was either some sappy love story put to music, or it was some AC/DC type of band singing about being “Back in Black.”

Don’t get me wrong, I really like those songs too, but I couldn’t understand half the words, and the half I could understand didn’t make any sense. Not that that made all that much difference.

However, with the B-52’s I could understand the words…I didn’t have any idea how they came up with the words, but they were catchy and I enjoyed both listening and singing along.

That being said, the concert was great!

The House of Blues' theater is pretty small, with a mosh pit and seats in the balcony. We sat in the balcony and could see and hear everything. My only complaint, if you can call it that, is that they didn’t play Quiche Lorranie, one of my favorites.

It was a lot of fun, well worth the money, and I’d go back to see them again in a heartbeat!



…it was a Rock Lobster!

SPAMALOT

I don’t think I had ever seen a musical on stage until the first year I got married. I had been to lots of plays, and had seen the movie versions of things like The Sound of Music, but as for experiencing a musical live and in person, I didn’t really understand the appeal.

However, shortly after our wedding my father-in-law gave us season tickets to the Dallas Summer Musicals…and I was hooked! There’s something about being in the audience as it is being performed that’s really cool.

A couple of years ago my father-in-law thought that the upcoming season look particularly good, and he decided to get season tickets for the four of us. We enjoyed the season so much that we’ve repeated our season tickets for the last three or four years. However, this is the first season that Spamalot has come to Dallas.

Spamalot is basically the Holy Grail put to music. The Playbill puts it this way:

Monty Python’s
SPAMALOT
A New Musical (lovingly) ripped off from the motion picture
"Monty Python and the Holy Grail"

I’m here to tell you that it is simply incredible! - My new favorite musical.

If you're even kind of a Python fan, then do whatever you must to go see it...It’s well worth your time and money.

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU...

Wednesday, Macy and I went to the Star Wars exhibit (You can check it out here) at the Fort Worth Science and History museum. I, being somewhat of a Star Wars nut, was super excited. Macy, who was born a couple of decades after the original movie came out, doesn’t truly appreciate these films like I do. However, she tagged along promising to do her best to not get too bored.

I had a blast and Macy really enjoyed herself as well. There is also an IMAX film all about the history of special effects, and it was great. If you are any kind of a Star Wars fan I would highly recommend going to this exhibit. However, I read somewhere that Fort Worth is the only city in the Southwester United States that is going to host this exhibit, but that may or may not be true. The exhibit will only be in Fort Worth through the middle of September.

I snuck a camera in and managed to covertly snap a few photos…take a look at what we saw.



This is the actual landspeeder that
Luke Skywalker drove in the original
Star Wars movie. It was much smaller
than I had imagined.







A couple of the extremely detailed miniatures used in the filming.


One of the many Darth Vader costumes
from the original movie.



The inside of Darth Vader's helmet.


And of course, the most feared of all the
Jedi Lords, Hughbi-Wan-Kanoobi!



May the force be with you always.

It's a Snuba Miracle

When I told you about our cruise, I mentioned how much fun the snuba was on Roatan, but I didn’t say anything about the snuba miracle. Here’s how it goes.

We’re out about 200 yards from the shore enjoying a close-up look at the second largest reef system in the world…did I mention how much fun the whole snuba thing was?

Anyway, there were three people hooked to Gordon’s tanks and two hooked up to mine. We had been out for about an hour, I guess, and both of our tanks were running pretty low on air. I decided to go down deep one more time when water started seeping into my mask. It got up to just below my eyes and I headed for the surface. Just as broke the surface the salt water got in my eyes.

Popping the mask off and looking around I could tell that the seawater had washed out my left contact. I had only just barely started my cursing when I looked down at my mask and noticed my contact stuck right inside the space where my nose had been. I quickly grabbed it and proudly announced to the group that I found my missing contact.

“Great, can you put it back in?” Was the gleeful reply from Mark, our happy but somewhat shocked snuba guide.

However, as handy as he was, Mark hadn’t anticipated needing a mirror that day. So I sat there with my contact squeezed tightly between the thumb and index finger of my right hand.

Suddenly, out of nowhere another guide shows up in a yellow kayak and tells me to take the kayak back to shore. Somehow I manage to climb into this kayak, grab onto the paddle, and row myself back to shore all without losing my contact.

By the time I get to the shore there were several people from the snuba place standing there. One guy asks, “Are you the guy with the contact?” I nod and he says, “Don’t worry about the kayak, just go take care of you your eye.”

I get my backpack with my contact solution, rinse it off and pop it right back in.

It was a snuba miracle!



Oh yeah, my niece Reiley also got to pet a shark…I guess that’s kind of miraculous too.

Dukes of Hazard

So we go to see the musical Chicago last night here in Dallas. On the way, Melissa is telling me some of the actors playing the major roles. I think she mentioned that Tom Wopat would be playing Billy Flynn, but I didn’t recognize his name. Now, if she had said Luke Duke…well that would have been another story.

We go in and Macy is look trying to decide which Chicago shirt she wants to buy, when I notice this guy standing next to the souvenir booth. The first thing that catches my eye is that fact that he’s wearing a hat. Not a big deal, but you don’t see many ball cap type hats at the Dallas summer musicals.

That’s when I noticed how much he looks like Luke Duke from the show Dukes of Hazard. Same facial features, only older. I keep glancing over, trying to decide if it’s him and wondering why, if it is in fact him, he would be in Dallas, of all places.

I’m paying for a shirt when the guy taking my money points to the guy and says, “He was on the Dukes of Hazard.”

Melissa leans over and said, “That’s Tom Wopat! He’s playing Billy Flynn.”

I shake his hand and say, “You know, I ruined my 1974 Camaro trying jump it like the General Lee.”

He shook his head and just said, “Not my fault..not my fault.”

The musical was great, and Tom Wopat did a really good job.

Even without jumping an orange car over a bumbling sheriff.

Cruising

As celebration of my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary, the 13 members of the Atkinson clan set sail a week and a half ago for the Mexican side of the Caribbean. The ports we hit were Cozumel, Roatan and Progreso. We were also supposed to stop at Costa Maya, but choppy waters closed the dock that day, so we ended up going back and spending a second day in Cozumel, which ended up being a good thing.
The highlights of the trip for me were touring Chichen Itza, Snuba, the underground river in Xcaret, and of course smoking my first Cuban cigar.

Chichen Itza:
As for Chichen Itza, it was well worth the two-hour bus drive to and from the place. Dad, Gordon, my niece Reiley and I braved the bus and made this amazing journey. Walking around through these ruins that had been there for thousands of years was incredible. The precision these grand structures were built with would be difficult with today’s technology, so 1000 years ago these people were truly ahead of their time. We couldn’t go up the steps of El Castillo, the pyramid like building, but we were able to explore and climb around plenty of other places. I highly recommend going if you ever have the chance.

Me in front of "El Castillo" (the castle)

Snuba:
I’m not certified for scuba, and I always end up swallowing gallons of sea water when I snorkel, so snuba seemed like a perfect combination. Basically, you are connected, via a 20-foot hose with a dive regulator, to two scuba tanks that are floating on the surface above you. It’s very easy, very fun and you can stay underwater as long as you like. Whenever I snorkel I tend to breathe in short rapid breaths. Also, I can never seem to not think about my breathing, so I can’t really relax. With the snuba I was able breathe at a normal pace and forget about being under water. It was very cool.

Me and Macy underwater with a starfish

Xcaret:
Xcaret, which turned out to be a kind of tropical amusement park, was a place we were told would be a fun place to go. With the exception of the underground river, it wasn’t really worth the money.
The underground river is almost a mile long with these ancient Mayan sinkholes in the ceilings that provide light. As we were walking down to the entrance I noticed a sign that said the water’s average temperature is 62 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s only 30 degrees above freezing…and baby, that is some serious cold.

I walked down some step like rocks up to about my knees and I couldn’t go any farther. I turned around, kind of half sat down and jumped back with all my might. At first I couldn’t believe how cold it was, but the current was swift enough that there was no way I could have gone back even if I had wanted to.

Then good news is I was numb in about 30 seconds so the cold was no longer a factor. After that we just drifted underground through these ancient rock formations and had a blast escaping from the day’s 98-degree heat.

The whole family in the underground river.

Cuban Cigars:
On our second stop at Cozumel, Gordon and I went to a cigar shop that our ship had told us would have real Cuban cigars. Gordon got two and I got one for 15 bucks each. My dad bought two boxes of five cigars from some guy on a ferry we rode. The guy originally wanted $80 for one box, but ended up taking $100 for two, plus he threw in one extra cigar. So dad ended up spending about nine dollars apiece for each of his eleven cigars, although we had some serious doubts about the authenticity of his purchase.

Seems Gordon had done some research on Cuban cigars and found that you can tell a fake by the band. After comparing the bands, we’re pretty sure his are fakes. However, I had a chance to smoke both and while you could tell a difference between the two, they were both better than anything I’ve ever gotten in the states. Not that I smoke cigars all that often, so what do I know.

I really had a blast enjoying this kind of adventure with my family. Who knows when we’ll have a chance to do something like this again.

Maybe we'll go again in 50 more years…

What's a Teacher to do?

Sometimes we’re fighting an uphill battle.

Take a look here to see what I mean.

Ever so Sadly Yours,
Third Grade Mind

What's Happening

If you read my brother’s page, Real Live Preacher, which I assume anyone who reads my page does, then you know about our up coming cruise.

While I’ve heard the names of the places we’re going on more than one occasion, like my brother, I haven’t taken the effort necessary to commit them to memory.

For the most part I want to snorkel and catch some rays at a cool beach somewhere. I don’t really care where, so memorizing the names of the places really does me no good.

My goal is to take some notes, be they mental or actually on paper, and come back with some fun stuff to write about.

Unlike my brother, I’m not going to youth camp too, so I may get to write something before he does.

Who I'll Miss

Well, school’s finally over for the year. And it’s been a particularly tiring year. I think it was a combination of my principal retiring, one my grade level team members leaving, and the strange dichotomy that was my class that made this year noticeably more tiring than usual.

Any time a grade level teacher leaves, there is some uncertainty about the next school year. The grade level interviews and labors over not only who the new teacher will be, but also over all the changes that a new personality means. Maybe it’s a head injury thing, but I really hate change.

However, as odd as it may sound, I’m more at peace with the school having a new principal than I am with a new grade level person. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to miss Mrs. Kilduff, our former principal, more that I can say, but for some reason this is easier for me to get my brain around. You would think that it would be the other way around, but for some reason it’s not for me…who knows?

As for the kids, I’ll miss them, but I’ve had the whole year to think about them moving on, so it’s never the same…at least not until this year.

There’s a boy in my class, we’ll call him Pedro. Pedro is very smart. Pedro is very creative. Pedro has a great sense of humor. Pedro borders on gifted. Pedro is also a little lazy. Pedro is also a little impulsive.

Pedro sat up by me for most of the year, and it was a real love hate relationship. We had more than our fair share of fun times and we had more than our fair share of stern talks as well. I spent a good part of the year dreaming of the day that Pedro would be out of my class. It wasn’t until about a week or two before school was going to be out that I realized why I had such a hard time with Pedro.

You see, the things that describe Pedro, smart, creative, sense of humor, gifted, lazy and impulsive, are the exact same things my fourth grade teacher said about me.

Maybe I understood him better that any teacher he’d ever had. Maybe he understood me better than any student I’d ever had. Maybe, “You are your own worst student,” is really true.

I’m going to miss you Pedro, because you taught me a lot this year.


Pedro, have a great summer!

What did you say?

What I needed to say was…

“Boys, stop bouncing the basketballs.”

What I actually said was…

“Boys, keep your balls in your hands!”



I think you can imagine what happened next.

Block Party

Back in February, Moss Haven, the school where I teach, had its annual auction. Now this is no ordinary public school auction. I’ve been to my fair share of elementary school auctions, and I dare say none make this kind of money.

For starters, it’s held at night at a country club that’s not far from the school. Next, they have both live and silent auctions. Third, it’s parents only. They also hire a professional auctioneer. This guy is fantastic. He knows how to keep people bidding long after they’ve decided to quit. And last, but not least, alcohol is served. A fact that tends to loosen the purse strings on some of the bidders. Anyway, this year’s auction, an event that is actually raising money for next the next school year, cleared around 120,000 dollars.

I realize that many people have no idea how good that is, so allow me to put it in perspective. At my previous school, the last year I was there was a record-breaking auction year for the school. The PTA was absolutely giddy when they found that they had cleared almost $5000.

But this isn’t so much a story about the auction, as it is a story about one of the items that my wife and I purchased at the auction…an invitation to a block party.

There is an L-shaped cul-de-sac near the school that has about 10 –12 houses, most of which have children who either currently do, or recently have attended Moss Haven. Every year the people who live there close off the street and throw a huge party. There’s lots of food, lots of music and lots of people. These people know how to throw a party!

However, it’s by invitation only.

I think pretty much it goes like this: If you live on the street, you’re expected to be there and help with your share of the cost/work. If you live somewhere else, but are invited to attend, then you are also either asked or encouraged to help with both the financial and hard labor aspects of the party. However, if you purchased your invitation at the auction (which were going for 100 buck per couple) then you got to simply attend. They had 10 spots for sale in the silent auction, but ended up selling close to twice that many…with all the money going to Moss Haven.

Last night was the party and it was huge! The rain, which had been popping in and out all day long, stayed away. The nice temperature and the cool breeze made being outside until about 11:30 PM feel really nice.

Last night about 60 of my closest friends and I ate, drank and danced the night away.

I know what I’m buying at next years auction.

TAKS Happenings

As my students sat diligently working on their TAKS exam, I simply sat and spent time watching. I hadn’t been watching very long when I decided to make a list of the different things I saw and post it here.

The Things I saw during the TAKS Test

· Kids working hard
· Pencils being flown around the test paper like a rocket ship.
· A girl whose vacant stare and sheepish grin told me she was miles away having a great time.
· A boy picking his nose, looking around the room to make sure nobody was watching, and then wiping a huge chunk of something under his desk.
· A fairly lengthy finger puppet play…complete with one hand actually talking to the other.
· Frightened eyes
· Several blank stares
· Some quite sneaky attempts at what I can only assume was designed to be some kind of sign language between two girls. Both of whom instantly snapped to attention and got back to work the moment I cleared my throat.

And of course…
· A girl, who the nose picking boy didn’t see watching, looking like she might become violently ill.

Questions I need answered...

How do you tactfully tell a parent that you feel their child needs to be tested for special education?

How do you help a child after you’ve called CPS twice, without any real results?

What do you say to a boy who gleefully announces to the whole class that he eats his boogers, and then proceeds to demonstrate?

What do you say to this same boy’s parents when they ask you why he doesn’t have any friends?

How can a male teacher tell a girl in his class that she needs to start wearing a bra?

How do you help a child care about school if her father died this year and her mother has cancer?

How can you help an overweight child like herself?

Bar Mitzvah

Melissa, Macy and I had an unusual treat yesterday. We got to attend a bar mitzvah ceremony at Temple Emanu-El here in Dallas. Temple Emanu-El is a Reform Jewish community. I won’t pretend to know all the ins and outs of what that means, but suffice it to say, three gentiles felt both very welcomed and very comfortable being there.

This was Nick’s bar mitzvah. We got to know Nick and his family through a twisted web of circumstances. Nick is a friend of Macy’s that she met through the brother of her friend Casey. Casey’s parents have both worked with and been friends with Nick’s family for many years. A couple of years ago, after Casey’s family moved to our street, they started having semi-regular poker parties and it was at these parties that we first met Nick’s family.

Don’t ask me to think through that again!

Back to the bar mitzvah.

I wrote before about an interfaith worship service that Melissa and I attended at Temple Emanu-El here. It was at that service that I first encountered Rabbi David Stern. Rabbi Stern is truly an incredible person. (You can read about him here.) He is very personable, very friendly and very open-minded. Nothing like the picture of Rabbis that was painted in my mind by years of Southern Baptist Sunday school lessons.

What I was able to conclude was that this bar mitzvah was a special Shabbat Shalom service in which Nick, after much training, was able to help lead. Much of the service was in Hebrew, which I do not speak. However, using the prayer book, I was able to either follow along in English, or I could simply listen to and meditate on the Hebrew.

I don’t mind telling you that I found the whole service incredibly worshipful. Enough so, that I’m thinking about going back from time to time just to sit through a Shabbat Shalom service. I may even try to take Gordon next time he’s in Dallas.

Wouldn’t that be a kick!

Hugh-Go Boss

My father-in-law is the manager of two Ebby Haliday offices here in Dallas. One of his offices moved into a new office space just off McKinney Ave. in the Up-Town area of Dallas. The new office is gorgeous and has quickly become Ebby’s new signature office.

A couple of weeks ago they had a grand opening party, and being family, we scored an invitation. I wrote about my father-in-law and his “magnetic” personality here. However, what I possibly failed to mention was the fact that the man can throw a serious party.

All the “movers and shakers,” of Dallas, both young and old, were there…along with me. Now I’ve been known, on occasion to move, and when it gets cold I tend to shake, but baby, this wasn’t my normal crowd.

Melissa and I were excited to go, if for nothing else the people watching. We got a glass of wine, sat back and enjoyed the view. It was really a lot of fun.

We were on our way out the door when we noticed there was a small auction. You buy a ticket for ten bucks and you have the chance to win one of about 15 different things. The money all went to a Dallas area shelter of some sort, and the top item was a Hugo Boss suit. It was a good cause, so I bought two tickets.

We’re driving home when we get the call that I won the 800 dollar, Hugo Boss Suit!

The suit I ended getting is basic black with three-buttons. I picked it up last Saturday, and baby, it is sweeeeet! I’ve only owned a few suits in my life, but up until now the most I’ve paid for a suit has been about $300. My thinking was always, “How different can they be?” However, I must admit…I can feel a difference. Maybe it’s the thread count, maybe it’s the weight of the material, and maybe it’s just the way I feel when I have it on. Whatever the reason, I just can’t wait to wear it.

After much thinking and shopping I ended up getting a white, French cuff shirt, that I can wear with most any tie I have, and a light teal green shirt with a mostly green tie.

I wore it for the first time when I took my wife to the Turtle Creek Mansion for dinner and on our anniversary. We also spent the night there. If you ever have the chance to dine or stay there we both highly recommend it.

If I get a chance I’ll post a picture…we’ll see.

Hey, hey, we're the Monkees!

I need some help…For an end of the year cheer, I’m rewriting the words of the Monkees TV show theme song.

“Hey, hey we’re the Monkees,
People say we monkey around…”

That one…

I realize that none of my students will have any idea what they’re singing, but it’s really more for the parents.

Anyway, what I would like to have is a copy of the music, (mp3 or whatever) with and without the words. That way I could let the class hear the real song, then give them the new words, but still be able to use the music to sing with.

We could do it A cappella, but having the music keeps us from singing it at double, or even triple the intended speed.

I’ve found the mp3 on the web, but I haven’t been able to find it without the words.

The link below is one site where you can download the mp3. If you, or anyone you know has the ability to somehow remove the voices from the song and send it back to me that would be great.

Just send it to: thirdgrademind@kinson.ws

A link is: http://www.mp3raid.com/search/mp3/monkees.html

Thanks, from my whole class…

TAKS Day

It’s here again…testing day. For the third and fifth graders it’s the first of three chances to pass the reading test. For my fourth graders it’s the writing test, but they only get one shot.

For the most part I’m not too worried. I’ve got a few really good writers who could pass this test in their sleep, (but let’s hope they don’t try that) a bunch of kids who can concentrate and do well, and a couple who need some extra prayers.

If you know any TAKS day prayers, say one for my class today.

Many uses for a pencil...

Sometimes in life you witness the most amazing things…and sometimes the bizarre images that are translated through your rods and cones both baffle and disgust you.

Case in point:

When I teach reading there are times when the whole class is doing stuff together, and there are times when I’m reading with a small group and the rest of the students are working independently on reading activities centered around a story or sometimes a couple of stories.

I’m at my half-moon reading table, reading with a group of five students when something causes my focus to shift and I catch a glimpse of Drako.

Drako is holding his pencil and is also quite engrossed in the reading activity he was working on, which is exactly what I like to see in a student. However, it wasn’t Drako’s work habits that caught my attention, it was his pencil.

On his pencil he had one of those colored erasers you buy and stick on the end. I glanced up just in time to watch the whole eraser vanish up his nose. That’s right, UP HIS NOSE!

It jammed up there, twisted two or three times and popped back out. Then it moved over and repeated the whole process, game, nasal-fixation ritual, or whatever you want to call it, and popped back out. After that it moved back to the original nostril and started over. I’d say he hit each side of his nose four to five times, but the whole thing only lasted about 15-20 seconds.

But baby, it felt like an eternity to me.

It was one of those things so startling and so gross that you want desperately to avert your eyes, but for some reason you body won’t let you turn away.

So I’m sitting there, thanking my lucky stars for a high gag reflex tolerance, when he pops the eraser right smack-dab in his mouth.



And you thought pencils were just for writing…shame on you!

What is it?

What is it that convinces a child that he’s safer out on the streets late at night than he would be at home?


Being a teacher I get to see some of the most amazing and wonderful sights. I see miracles every day. It’s mind-boggling to think that these young minds that I’m working with will someday be the adults who are running our world. However, being a teacher I am also forced to witness some of the most depressing and disheartening sights you could ever imagine.

It’s a dichotomy that embraces and warms my soul, while at the same time it rips my heart to tiny shreds and grinds its mangled pieces into the ground.

What is it that keeps me coming back? I love being a small stop on the journey of these young minds. Being allowed to watch these young lives evolve, become mature and take flight is an incredible gift. It’s a gift that I thank God for every day.

But it’s the child for whom school is the only safe place he has that keeps me coming back.

What's new in your school?

What’s new in Texas public schools you ask? Well, you might be surprised.

After all the promises our not so beloved governor made prior reelection, the one thing that has trickled down to the schools is some kind of no competition for school lunches act.

Yes, you read that right!

It seems that we teachers have been doing things that, in the minds of the idiots in Austin, directly compete with the sale of school lunches. Who cares if what we’re doing has any educational value, because that’s not what school’s all about! I mean sure, we want “No Child Left Behind,” but only if we can make a few bucks at the same time.

So here’s what’s taken the ax so far under this wonderful piece of legislation; Our traditional, parent prepared Thanksgiving feast, our end of the six weeks, good behavior pizza parties, the occasional sweet treat reward, (a Hershey Kiss or something similar) the end of school class picnic, parents bringing lunch to school for any child except their own, and basically anything that involves providing something consumable to the students.

You may be wondering how they could get away with this, but our state legislators are a sneaky bunch. It seems they disguised this “get rich quick scheme” as an attempt to try to keep our state’s children healthy. However, when you say you want our children to be eating nutritious meals and then have dozens of different kinds of chips, ice cream and snack cake treats on point of purchase displays right there in the school cafeteria, well that’s just not a push for healthy eating.

The state’s top nutrition experts decided years ago that schools can no longer sell candy to children, because a Snicker’s Bar, for example, has no nutritional value. However, since ice cream has milk, Little Debbie snack cakes have eggs and Nacho Cheese Doritos have corn they fall under the umbrella of what the state of Texas considers to be, healthy foods. Never mind the fact that Blue Bell, Little Debbie and Doritos have most of our states legislators in their back pockets, they contain, milk, eggs and corn…so as far as the state’s concerned, they’re better than freakin’ vitamins!

Combine that with the fact that there are no limits to the number of these items that a child is allowed to buy and you have a sharp contrast the whole idea of healthy eating. I have even seen school cafeteria workers encouraging children to purchase more than one snack item.

So what can we do about this? I don’t really know. Sadly, teachers’ voices are rarely, if ever, listened to in Austin, at least where matters of education are concerned. What I can do is start my own boycott. That’s right, a boycott! It seems to be all about money, and what I can do is not give them any more of mine.

I realize that mine is only one small family…

but change has to start somewhere.

Shabbot Shalom

Last night Melissa and I had the most incredible experience. Our church, Wilshire Baptist Church, was involved in an interfaith worship service at Temple Emanu-El, a Reform Jewish Synagogue here in Dallas.

Their Rabbi and our pastor are friends who get together and discuss all kinds of things. On this occasion, we, the members of Wilshire Baptist Church, came as a group to be a part of the Friday Shabbat Shalom service. Shabbat Shalom is a praise service centered on welcoming the Sabbath.

The service was, as I expected, very liturgical. I was expecting to pray, here some Hebrew and learn a few things. However, what I wasn’t expecting was how worshipful the whole experience would be for me. Sitting there surrounded by people reading, singing and chanting in Hebrew, I found myself trying desperately to mimic the syllables. I didn’t even have any idea what they were saying, but it just seemed like I should do my best to try to be a part of the service.

After the Shabbat Shalom service we moved from the sanctuary to an auditorium where we, the Temple Emanu-El members and the Wilshire Baptist Church members, sat around tables and got to eavesdrop on a conversation our pastor and the rabbi had about the differences and similarities prayer has in our two traditions. There was a short question answer time, and then we all enjoyed meal together.

At my table there were five people from Wilshire and four from Temple Emanu-El, which was exactly the mix this service was designed for. We talked, fellowshipped, asked lots of questions, and learned how much we are alike.

In the end, I think a good time was had by all.

While this is the first interfaith worship service I’ve been a part of, Wilshire and Temple Emanu-El have had several in the past and more planned for the future. Next time it will be at Wilshire, and I can’t wait.

Snow Day!!!

I woke up at 5:00 am, and sleet was falling as I drove to the gym. I got home about 6:00 and couldn’t get back up the driveway because of all the ice. I parked out front, came inside, turned on the TV and waited. Somehow I knew that we wouldn’t have school today. However, it wasn’t until about 6:45 that Richardson ISD made the decision to cancel school.

I’m quite sure you heard us cheering. Well two of us were cheering. Melissa still had to go to work. They don’t close hospitals when it gets icy…go figure?

I’ve spent the day watching TV, playing PS2 and just being lazy.

Cause baby, it’s a snow day!

I felt like a total ass

I’m discussing the progress of my students with another teacher when I start complaining about how often a certain student in my class has been absent this year. She transferred into my class sometime during the second six weeks and has been absent or tardy close to 20 times. Her saving grace is her sweet personality. She’s never a behavior problem, works hard and always does her best.

I must admit that if she were any kind of a behavior problem I would probably have pitched a fit months ago. However, right or wrong, I tend to be a bit more forgiving with students who work with me.

Anyway, this child was absent three days in a row this week, and that’s why I found myself complaining. When she showed back up on Friday I was quick to tell her we missed her, but either didn’t have the time or the desire to inquire about reason for her latest absences. I just assumed she was sick…again. When she showed me that she had done all her spelling and reading homework I smiled big, said “Wow,” and gave her a Good Citizen, (a reward coupon that our school uses). Then we started our day.

It wasn’t until sometime after lunch that she came up and asked if I wanted to know why she had been gone. I slapped on my best concerned face and said, “Sure.”

“My Daddy died.”

I found myself frantically searching for words. Words that never came. Somehow I managed to blurt out something about being sorry and I gave her a hug.

Turns out he’d been sick for quite a while and many days that’s why she had been gone. She had never said anything about her dad being sick, and to tell the truth I’m not sure why she would have.

After school I was in the office when I told the teacher I had been complaining to about what an ass I was for complaining and not first finding out what was going on in this poor child’s life. That’s when I found out that her mother has cancer.

Standing there I felt awful. How can I expect anyone, let alone a child, to make school a priority when her world is being turned upside-down?


Like I said, I felt like a total ass.

Bikinis and Beer

What is it about a girl in a bikini that makes you stop and buy some beer? Who knows?

There’s one of those drive through beer stores in Dallas on Greenville Ave. At first glance, it looks like a small auto repair shop, but the closer you get it’s simply a warehouse that has two large garage doors at each end with two drive-through lanes that go all the way through the building. Coolers line the walls and there’s a casher’s desk stuck right in the middle. You turn in, go around to the back of the building, pull in through one of the lanes, buy your beer and pull back out onto Greenville all without ever getting out of your car.

It’s been there for several years.

Driving by one day this summer I noticed a couple of bikini-clad girls sitting out front under a big umbrella. Contrary to what I’m forced to assume is the owner’s plan, the first thought that popped into my mind wasn’t, “Hey, I need some beer!” but rather, “I wonder what they’ll do if I honk my horn?”

Sadly, mine must not have been the first horn they had heard that day, because I honked twice and they never even moved.

But it left me wondering…

This guy hires these girls to sit out in front of his store to attract business. (Now I don’t mean to be sexist here, but you have to admit it sounds like a guy owns this place) Does he really think that’s going to help drum up customers? Even if it does, how do you measure the cost effectiveness of this kind of marketing?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to have the occasional drive-by bikini sighting, but I just don’t understand the thinking behind this scheme. I’ve never driven by while someone was actually buying beer. Maybe the girls carry the beer to the car, or take the money, or dance, or something.

However, here’s the real quandary. We’re into January and it’s no longer bikini weather, not even here in Texas. I’m driving by yesterday and I see a girl sitting not in a bikini, but jeans with a parka. Not only that, but she was reading a newspaper and once again didn’t look up when I honked.

So what is it about a girl in a bikini that makes you stop and buy some beer?

The world may never know.

Cat-box or Cake??? - You be the judge

Would you eat something out of a cat-box?

Well, I did!

I teach with Marcell, and Marcell is an amazing baker. She loves to bake, is quite good at it, and is all too happy to bring her delicious taste treats to school for her fellow teachers to enjoy.

That being true, you can imagine my surprise when she recently unveiled this in the lounge.

Believe it or not…it tasted incredible!

If you want the receipe I'm sure I can get it.

Better Late Than Never...A Halloween Costume Update

I was reminded by a comment on my last posting that I never came back and told you about our costume. In my defense, I was looking for one of the dozens of people who took our picture in hope of adding it to the post. But alas, it seems all the parents at my school are photography purists and wouldn’t go near a digital camera.

So, I’m forced to report on my costume without the visual aid I had so desperately desired.

We were, drum-roll please…yahtzee!

That’s right, the five of us painted boxes while, attached black circles, cut holes for our heads and tumbled through the halls. We’d stop at various points along the way and scream, “YAHTZEE!” at the top of our lungs.

We were a gigantic hit! Many of my student’s extremely impartial parents told me later that ours was the best teacher costume by far.

But just you wait until next year, we’re really going to blow them away!

Monty Python and the Holy...Ale???

So there I am walking through the Market Street grocery store in McKinney Texas, when I happen onto the beer isle. Deciding that I need a beer, I begin perusing the various brands available. That’s when my keen beer senses told me that this was no ordinary beer isle.

Oh sure, they had Bud, Coors and Miller. However, this store was the haven for every bizarre type of ale known to man. They had literally hundreds of different kinds of ale. I mean everything from Hobgoblin Ale to Pumpkin Spice Ale. It was truly extraordinary.

I’m at one end trying to decided between Hobgoblin Ale and something written in what I think was German, but had a really cool label when Melissa come walking up with a bottle of Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale.

And the choice was made.

It only comes in pint bottles. A fact that has always seemed a bit odd to me, England being on the metric system and all. I got home, popped it open and enjoyed the whole pint.

If you like dark ale, I recommend giving Monty Python’s Holy Grail Ale a try.


Note:
Don't worry big brother, I’ve got one for you in the fridge and I’m brining it to Georgetown!

Leap-Frog Thinking

It’s funny how the mind works. I’m more than a little curious about where thoughts and memories come from. I have a progressive kind of thought “leap-frog” thing that at times can be quite fun, but is usually a bit annoying. Here’s how it works.

It begins with me reading or hearing something that starts my mind wondering about some odd detail from whatever it is that I’ve just read or heard. Next, the natural progression of my wonderings causes something different, but closely connected to the original thing I was first wondering about, to come to mind and I’ll start thinking about that. I’ll stay focused on whatever this happens to be until my mind takes its next “leap-frog” thing.

So goes the mental processing of a self-diagnosed, borderline ADD person. I’m forever finding myself staring thoughtfully at whatever person happens to be speaking with my mind having moved progressively through dozens of different topics. Top that off with the fact that I’m usually more that a little confused about how I started thinking about whatever it is that I am now think of, and you have an extremely perplexing quandary.

I recently had one of these “leap-frog” episodes in church. It went something like this:

The pastor was preaching, and I was listening. I don’t know if he said “peppermints,” or if something he happened to mention caused me to think of peppermints. Whatever the reason, I found myself thinking of peppermints. Peppermints caused me to think of a time I had my class use paper plates to make peppermints to decorate for a holiday program. Then I remembered a boy who wanted to make Mentos instead of the red and white kind, because in his words, “I like Mentos better than the other kind.” I started wondering which kind I like better. That made me think of how when I was a volunteer at Memorial City Hospital in Houston and I would always get two packages of Mentos in the cafeteria and eat them the whole time I was at the hospital. Thinking about being a hospital volunteer caused me to remember Doug Persons, possibly my first best friend in Houston. Then I thought about the time Doug Persons and I made copies of our faces on the hospital’s copier.

I was engrossed in my twisted web of thought when something yanked me back to reality. I somehow managed to backtrack through my mind’s bizarre train of thought and find the logical progression that had brought me to my current wonderings.

Like I said, it’s funny how the mind works…at least mine.

Being Scared

I’ve never really been scared before. Sure, I’ve been on the edge of my seat during the scary part of movie. I’ve also had the poop scared out of me while driving on Central Expressway here in Dallas. However, it wasn’t until I got the news of my dad’s cancer that I understood what being scared really is.

At the beginning I kept thinking that I was going to wake up from this really bad dream and everything would be okay. When that didn’t happen, I started believing my dad’s doctors would figure out that they had made a mistake. When that didn’t happen, I started thinking that some smart doctor would show up and he would have the cure. When that didn’t happen, I thought the doctors were going to figure out a way he could easily live with medullary thyroid cancer. When that didn’t happen, I took my dark suit to the cleaners.

I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for the better part of a month and right now I’m feeling pretty good. The good news is, doesn’t look like I’m going to need that dark suit anytime in the near future. Dad’s surgery went as well as the doctors could have hoped for, but I find that after the wild ride’s ups and downs of the last few weeks, I haven’t been able to let go of the bar and stop holding my breath…not just yet.

Thank you to everyone who prayed for my dad and my family. There is no doubt in my mind that the prayers (and there were a lot of them) made all the difference.

I’ll keep you posted.

Hugh

Moon Pies and Me

Have you ever seen a Moon Pie? Growing up I’d see them at Otto’s, the little independently owned convenient store near our house in Houston. Otto’s happened to be right behind Shadow Oaks Elementary and, luckily for me, right on my way home. Each day I’d scrape together enough change to stop on the way home and buy a Coke, or ice cream, or candy, or something.

You couldn’t miss the Moon Pies. They occupied a prime “point-of-purchase” location all along the checkout waiting line. They came in brown, white, yellow and even pink. There were always dozens of them stacked up in lines on the three shelves that stretched the length of the counter and as far as I knew, nobody ever bought one.

Occasionally, my friends and I would discuss these strange looking cookie creations as we waited in line. These conversations would go something like this:

“Have you ever had one of those?”
“No, but I think my dad has.”
“Are the brown ones chocolate?”
“Maybe, but what are the pink ones?”
“Beats me. Get one and let’s try it!”
“I’ve only got enough money for one thing, I’m not going to waste it on one of those.”

And so went my years at Shadow Oaks Elementary. To Moon Pie, or not to Moon Pie? – That was the question.

I never did try a Moon Pie. As a matter of fact, that was over 30 years ago and I have never so much as sniffed the wrapper of a Moon Pie…that is until last night.

I’m not sure what sparked my Moon Pie memory, but for some reason I was prompted to bring them up with Melissa. I don’t even remember what was said, but I’m sure it sounded something like this:

“Have you ever had one of those?”
“No, but I think my dad has.”
“Are the brown ones chocolate?”
“Maybe, but what are the pink ones?”
“Beats me. Get one and let’s try it!”

That was several weeks ago at best. Like I said, I don’t really even remember having the conversation. However, Melissa was at a conference in Nashville, Tennessee. As it turns out, Tennessee is where Moon Pies are made. So, being the dutiful and supportive wife that she is, Melissa decided to buy me not one, but two Moon Pies, which she proudly gave to me at baggage claim A16 at DFW Airport. This was to be the historic location of my first Moon Pie experience.

Being a Moon Pie virgin, I inspected the outside of the package. The first thing I noticed was the slogan, “The Only One on The Planet!” As I’m pondering the whys and wherefores of that statement I see where it says “The Original Marshmallow Sandwich.” Standing there gazing down at this chocolate covered creation I noticed where it says, in big letters, “Double Decker – Big Snack, Great Value.”

Baby, I was hooked!

Then I noticed the date. This was October 13, 2006, so I was cautiously optimistic when I noticed that my new Moon Pie buddies were set to expire on January 8, 2007. I really had no way of knowing how long these bad-boys had been on the shelf. Based on the ones I remembered from my Otto’s days, it could have been sitting there for a couple of years before Melissa bought it. However, I didn’t let that deter me from my date with my Moon Pie destiny.

These two pies had been stuck in Melissa’s purse for several hours, so they were pretty smashed. But you would have thought it was Christmas morning the way I tore into this thing! Remember, these were Double Decker Moon Pies and being stuck at the bottom of a purse for over half a day had not done them any good. However, I was determined to not only taste my first Moon Pie, but eat the whole thing!

Thanks to the purse, the chocolate flavored outer layer was now mostly stuck to the wrapper, so holding the bottom half of the sandwich through the wrapper, I tried to break part of it off, but the gooey marshmallow center was not breaking easily. That’s when I decided to just take the big plunge.

Throwing caution to the wind, I clamped my mouth down on my first Moon Pie.

I must admit that the experience was nothing at all like I expected it to be. I really thought that the cookie part of the Original Marshmallow Sandwich would be crisper, something like a Oreo, but I was sadly mistaken. It was more like a stale graham cracker that had been soaked in liquid and allowed to sit out for a few days.

The marshmallow part was very spongy, and never really seemed to break down as I chewed. It was a lot like chewing a piece of gum and eating a saltine cracker at the same time. (A stunt I’ll never do again…but that’s another story)

So there I am, standing at baggage claim A16 enjoying, or at least eating, my first Moon Pie. That’s when Melissa pointed to the ground. What I had either failed to notice, or had chosen to ignore, was the fact that my new taste treat was quite crumbly. At my feet was a rather large pile of chocolate covered, graham cracker looking pieces. The mess was so large that my now embarrassed wife and daughter walked away and pretended not to know me. A little game they sometimes feel they’re forced to play when we’re out in public.

Trying in vane to kick my ever growing pile of Moon Pie droppings under the edge of the baggage carousel, I looked up to a find somewhat snooty man looking at me with a kind of disgusted frown on his face. Without missing a beat I boldly thrust my half eaten snack up toward him and announced in a loud and somewhat gleeful voice, “MOON PIE!” He grabbed his stuff and moved to the opposite end of the carousel.

At this point Melissa rushed back over. Wiping crumbs off my face and shirt she whispered, “Hugh, I know people here, please don’t embarrass me!”

So there you have it. My first Moon Pie experience.

I somehow managed to choke down the whole thing. To tell the truth, after the first two or three bites, it got a bit easier to eat. I’m not sure why. After living on this planet for almost 42 years I’ve finally eaten my first Moon Pie, and not unlike swallowing a piece of chewing gum, I’m sure this first pie will be out of my system in about seven years.

Maybe by then I’ll be ready to eat the second one.

Family Crisis

We, my family and I, are in the middle of somewhat of a family crisis. It's not something that we won’t make it through, but it is something that we’d rather not be dealing with. We have many, many questions and to date, not as many answers as we would like.

Suffice it to say the crisis involves an illness and like my brother, RLP, I’ll probably write more about it later.

For now, if you pray, please put my family in your prayers.

Thank you,

Hugh

Life

Sometimes life is hard to handle...

Hugh

9/25/2006 - An Update...

It looks like we’ve decided on our costume ideas for the costume parade. Now it’s quite possible that couple of the teachers at my school actually read my blog from time to time. (Nobody actually admits they do, but it’s the only explanation for some of the giggling and sideways looks I get) Due to that fact, I’m not going to give our costume away just yet. Rest assure it is a wee-bit strange. You’ll just have to check back sometime after Halloween to see the pictures.

Remember back when you were in school and you had those things called Teacher-in-Service days, but all you knew was that it meant you didn’t have school? And remember how much fun they were, especially when you didn’t know anything about them until the day before? And remember how you always wondered what the teachers could possibly do up at school if you weren’t there?

As nice, and as much needed, as a break like that is for the students, it ain’t all that bad for the teachers either. Today was an In-Service day in my district.

We sit in some classes listening to some good speakers and some not so good speakers. If you’re ever asked to speak to a group of teachers, say, “No,” quickly and firmly and run for your life! Teachers make the worst students. We doodle, we talk, we pass notes, we make all kinds of faces, we interrupt the speaker with all kinds of off-the-topic comments and some of us even fall asleep. Not me...this time.

I’m not ashamed to admit that the highlight of everyone’s day is lunch. You see, on the average, we usually get somewhere between 20 to 25 minutes to inhale our cold sandwich or microwave burned Leal Cuisine.

But our district, in an attempt to compensate us for our speed eating induced acid reflux, allows us an hour and a half for lunch on In-Service days…that 90 minutes to you and me!

I must admit that we all enjoy the chance to have lunch with adults and not have to hear about how little Johnny stole Billy’s last tator-tot, or how Billy poured milk on Johnny’s hamburger to pay him back, but got some on Martha’s new dress by mistake and now she’s going to get in trouble.



As wacky and strange as all this sounds…I’m looking forward to school tomorrow.

Just Me...

I’m finding it harder than ever this year to be motivated to sit down and write, and I don’t know why. I like to write. When I’m writing hours pass by like minutes. It’s a grand experience.

But I don’t know what it is that causes my writing to slow down. Maybe it’s school and all the beginning of the year headaches. Maybe it’s just life and normal everyday pressures. Maybe it’s age. Who knows?

What I do know is that I miss writing, but just can’t seem to get myself started. I have several things I want to write about and I’ll do my best to get around to them at some point.

But today I have a question and I need your help.

At my school we have a Halloween parade every year that is a pretty big deal. I mean the hallways are filled with parents and grandparents holding cameras and cheering. All the students walk through the halls and classrooms showing off their costumes. Not only do all the students dress-up, but the teachers as well. The kids, for the most part, all wear the usual store bought costumes. However, the teachers are always the ones to watch. Each grade level tries to outdo not only the other grade levels, but also themselves from the previous year.

That being said, there are five teachers on my grade level and we could really use a great costume idea. There are four ladies plus myself, although gender really isn’t a factor for the costume. I would wear a dress for the team if I needed to. Remember, this is a public elementary school, so any costume idea would have to be appropriate for our younger viewers.

We had the idea of being a hand, but we haven’t come up with an easy way to pull it off.

Whatever we end up being, I’ll get some photos and post them here…should be good for a few laughs.


Got any good costume ideas?

We Don't See That Anymore...

We don’t see that anymore, is a phrase I’ve heard two times in the past couple of weeks.

The first time was when I stopped to help a woman in her 80’s put some heavy items into her car at Office Depot. She and her driver, a woman of similar age, were both flabbergasted when from out of the blue a man stopped and helped them load these heavy items into their car. Top that off with the fact that I then opened the car door for the lady and you have dinner conversation at the retirement center for the next month. As I was replying to the thanks I was receiving with, “You’re welcome, it’s my pleasure” and closing the door, the first lady turned to the driver and said, “You don’t see that anymore!”

About a week later, I was at the grocery store when a woman, maybe in her 30’s, dropped her shopping list on the floor. I happened to be walking by as it fell, so I bent down and picked it up for her. It wasn’t even all that big of a deal. All I did was take about 2.5 seconds out of my day to do something for someone else, but that’s when she said it. “You don’t see that anymore!”

It wasn’t until I heard the second woman utter the phrase that I was struck with the thought…why not?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not the polished gentleman. I tend to put my elbows on the table, eat a bit too fast, and on occasion I’ve been known to laugh at, and yes even make, slightly inappropriate comments. (I stress slightly, because my mom does read this from time to time)

However, when it comes to simply being courteous, I take pride in the fact that I always open doors, both building and car, for my wife or whatever woman I happen to be around. When we're eating, I also do my best to stand when a lady comes to, or gets up from, the table. I don’t always remember, but at least I’m trying.

I am always surprised at and a little disheartened by the number of women for whom this kind of behavior is so out of the ordinary. When and how did simply being a courteous gentleman become a lost art?

There was the time that I was leaving Dillard’s and I held the door for a very tough looking woman who was about to enter through the same door that I was exiting. (A gesture I would do for anyone, man or woman) Flicking her cigarette butt to the sidewalk she said, in a not so pleasant tone, “I can get that myself you know!”

To which I replied, in the very same overly happy tone I used the first time my daughter made poopy in the big potty, “Well, aren’t we a big boy today.”

An angry scowl and a protruding middle finger were my only reward for my quick tongue.

Putting this angry masculine woman aside, I believe that women enjoy being indulged with these small, everyday courtesies. And to tell the truth, it’s just not that hard to do.

So why is it such a lost art?

Gone are the days when door handles were akin to outdoor grills and lawn mowers. Both of which, I’m proud to say, my wife has never had any reason to learn how to use!

As men we should be taking back the door handles! They were our domain, but time and possibly apathy have turned them into common property.

If you’re a man, and I mean a real man, I challenge you to get out there and open some doors and let the ladies go first!

If you do, and it becomes a habit, maybe it will be the end of comments like, “We don’t see that anymore…”

My Governor is a Jewish Cowboy! If only...

If you’re not from Texas then this isn’t going to mean much to you. However, if you happen to live in Texas and are 18 or older, then you need to be thinking about who it is that you want for your next Governor.

I really can’t sit down and argue politics with the big boys. It’s not only that I can’t, it’s also that I just don’t have the desire. I guess that dumps me into the pot with all the other apathetic Americans, but I can say that I do vote in every election. The fact that my place of employment is the same place I go to vote, makes it a bit easier for me than it may be for the majority of the American public.

When I started blogging back in 2004, I never thought that I would write about anything even remotely political. I thought about, but quickly decided that I wanted this to be fun and that writing of that kind would take way too much effort. So, I’ve avoided writing about anything even remotely political. To tell the truth, it wasn’t all that hard. If you don’t know anything about something, then it’s pretty easy not to talk about it. You may have also noticed that I haven’t written much of anything about how hard it is to do surgery…and that’s for the same reason.

However, I do know enough to say that Rick Perry is not doing anything to help Texas’ education system. I know that Governors have no real power and therefore can’t really change things, but they can work to hard to steer things in the direction that they want things to go. We’ve seen Governor Perry get things done, just not for education. I mean it took him two years with extended special sessions to finally pass an education reform bill kind of thing, but it really didn’t help.

So, if you call Texas you home and you believe that education is important, then I urge you to vote. I’m voting for Kinky Freidman and I hope that one day I will be able to say, “My Governor is a Jewish Cowboy!” (Click here to find out more about Kinky)

However, even if you’re not going to vote for Kinky…at least get out there and vote.


Just not for Rick Perry!




This advertisement was paid for by the “Hugh Atkinson is tired of Rick Perry” fund and is not associated with any of Kinky Friedman’s actual campaigns.

Dressing Backwards

I’ve been getting dressed on my own now for more than 35 years and I haven’t had any really huge problems. Oh sure, back in my closed head injury, rehabilitation hospital days I couldn’t put my pants on while I was standing up, but that only lasted about a month or two and give me a break…I had just spent a month in a coma!

However, as far as getting my clothes on my body correctly, I’ve never had all that much trouble. Okay, who hasn’t put a t-shirt on backwards by mistake once in a while, but you look in the mirror, see that the design that should be on the back is now facing the front and you turn it around.

Other than that, I just can’t comprehend how a person could accidentally put their clothes on backwards…it’s just too hard to do!

That being said, we were at a birthday party for one of my wife’s aging family members. Other than my wife and my father-in-law, I really didn’t know that many people. One of the people I know (who we’ll call Uncle Guido) was there, which always makes things fun. At times things with Uncle Guido can be a bit kooky and bizarre, but fun all the same. I really like Uncle Guido.

At one point my father-in-law looked around and noticed that Uncle Guido was nowhere to be found and we hadn’t seen him for quite some time. He rode with my father-in-law, so we knew he had to be there somewhere, but he was missing.

After checking the restroom, my father-in-law came back with a puzzled look on his face. “I found Uncle Guido.” He said trying not to laugh. “He was in the restroom and it seems that somehow he’s had his pants on backwards all day.” At which point we all lost it.

The roars of laughter brought several of Uncle Guido’s cousins over, all of whom were quickly informed of his clothing faux pas. By the time Uncle Guido emerged from the restroom, half of the people there knew what had happened and were giving him odd looks. Luckily for Uncle Guido, he’s a bit used to this type of attention and can easily join in the laughter. That’s one of the things I really like about Uncle Guido.

As the laughter slowly died down, I found myself wondering how this could have happened. I mean it’s not like a t-shirt where the only real front/back indicator is the tag. On no, pants have a very definite front and back. You don’t have to look down to know if you’re wearing your pants correctly.

Next, what about the zipper? How do you put your pants on and not know that your zipper isn’t in the front?

As it turns out, after getting to the party, Uncle Guido had gone to the restroom, for what I am forced to assume was the first time that day! He got into the stall, but couldn’t find his zipper! After searching, he somehow found it in the back. He then had to undress and redress right there in the restroom.

My only assumption is that Uncle Guido is somehow able to just step in and pull up his pants with them already zipped and fastened. A possibility that we won’t explore, but would probably be quite funny in it’s own right.

And let’s not forget about the pockets. Uncle Guido was wearing everyday, run-of-the-mill kaki pants. Wouldn’t the inability to put your wallet in one of your now missing back pockets throw up a red flag? Add to that the fact that your front pockets are now almost impossible to get your hands into and you’ve got a garment quandary beyond compare.

For whatever reason, nothing seemed out of the ordinary when Uncle Guido got dressed that morning and he somehow managed to live for more than half the day with his pants turned in the wrong direction.

I suppose there are items of clothing that would be more difficult to accidentally put on backwards, but for the life of me, I can’t think of what they might be.

Thursday Night Club

My freshman year in college was a magical time for me. I hadn’t yet received the Frictional Impact Explosives pamphlet, but things were exciting all the same.

Somehow this introverted, fairly mild mannered young man managed to be the only person from the Houston area that I knew of to attend this small Baptist university in Abilene Texas.

I spent the first few days of freshman orientation hoping to meet someone, anyone from the Houston area, but it was not to be. As it started to become apparent that I wasn’t going to find anyone from the southeastern part of the state, I began to realize that being cut off from my world could prove to be interesting dilemma.

I was far from home in a land where nobody had any preconceived ideas about who Hugh is, was, or should be. That’s when I realized that no matter what I said, what I did, or how I acted the people wouldn’t have the slightest idea if I was being myself.

I realized that, if I were so inclined, I could change my whole personality.

Changing my personality sounded fun and easy. All I had to do was choose the personality traits I enjoyed in others and mimic them until they stuck. It was an easy plan.

So there I am, fumbling through my first few weeks of my freshman year and trying to reinvent myself at the same time.

That’s when I met Gregg. Although I was quite sure he had one, I couldn’t have told you Gregg’s last name to save my life. I don’t think I ever even heard his last name until my senior year when we were roommates. To me he was just always “Uncle Gregg.”

I don’t remember exactly where the name came from, but I think it had something to do with my calling his then girlfriend, now wife, “Cousin Lisa.”

Anyway, Uncle Gregg tells Dan (from my explosive adventures) and me about The Thursday Night Club, of which he was a member in good standing. And we decided that we should go check it out, just to find out what it’s all about.

As the name might suggest, this club met every Thursday night. The location of choice for the TNC was a frozen yogurt shop on the east side of town right near Abilene Christian University. The fact that the club had chosen this particular place as its meeting place was a big enough honor to the owner of the establishment that he bought and paid for a plaque for the wall that had each member’s name engraved on it. Along with our motto and sacred words.

As we arrived, the first thing I noticed was the lack of pomp and circumstance. This was no formal ceremony. They didn’t even own a copy of Robert’s Rules of Order.

The first thing I had to do was stand up and in 10,000 words or less (and the words “or less” were strongly stressed) tell why I was there and what, if any, good would my being a member of the TNC bring to myself, the TNC, or the world in general.

I said something like, “I’m not quite sure what good will come out of this...but”

And I was cut off mid-sentence by thunderous applause and an earnest plea for me to have a seat.

And that’s when I realized that, without knowing or even asking, I was being initiated into the TNC. At first I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to be a member, but then I just shrugged and thought “ what the hell”.

The next phase of my initiation was the memory test. I had to memorize the motto, the sacred words and the official TNC song.

The motto: Apathy and Undiscipline


The sacred words: Riloto Wue Mugabe - pronounced, ri-loe-toe, way, moo-ga-bay - (Nobody’s really clear about what they mean)

The song: “It’s been lonely on the saddle since my horse died…and we don’t give a rip!”

After taking two minutes to memorize these very important pieces of the TNC’s heritage, I found myself starting the third and final stage of the initiation.

The reflection stage.

For the reflection stage I simply had to take my yogurt, stand in the corner facing a kind of a palm tree plant and silently reflect on my new life as a TNC member.

As I stood there reflecting/listening to the conversation of my brothers I was suddenly struck by the thought that I had no idea how long the reflection part of the initiation needed, or was supposed to last. Then I thought about the motto – Apathy and Undiscipline. That’s when I turned around and had a seat with my new Thursday Night Club brothers.

My time of reflection took only about 30 seconds, but I did some good thinking.

I sat down and asked, “If apathy and undiscipline are truly cornerstones of the TNC, then it seems that if I don’t care enough to have the discipline necessary to remember to come to the meetings, then I’m being the best possible member I can be…is that right?”

Through mock tears they welcomed me into the brotherhood and told me of the current TNC president. They pointed to one of the first names on the plaque and said he came the first couple of meetings, but hasn’t been back since. To tell the truth, nobody was even sure if he was in school anymore. For all they knew he might be dead.

And so began my life in the Thursday Night Club. The guys would turn out to instrumental in the whole “reinvent myself” phase of life that I was in.

On occasion, we would have theme night. Where you’d bring something, or dress a certain way…or maybe not. It really didn’t matter.

Then there was the time the producers of the school’s musical theme show called “Sing,” asked the TNC to pretend to be terrorists and storm in between acts and take over. The dress rehearsal just happened to be on a Thursday night, so after the rehearsal we went straight to the yogurt shop, still in costume.

We parked a little way down the street and snuck up on the shop with guns drawn sneaking between cars, diving, rolling and doing covert kinds of stuff.

After about 30 minutes of eating yogurt we noticed a police officer with gun drawn poking his head around the corner and cautiously looking in our direction.

As it turns out, somebody saw us and just assumed we were robbing the bank that was in the same strip shopping center and called the police. I don’t remember much more than an extremely agitated officer radioing back to his comrades telling them it was just a bunch of college students and that they can unblock the streets.

I had lots of fun adventures with my TNC buddies. All of which were impromptu attempts on somebody’s part to break up the monotony of the day.

I never joined a fraternity. It just didn’t seem like something I needed to do. I had camaraderie I needed without all the stupid stuff.

I came back to school after a summer break and found that the yogurt shop had been sold, or gone out of business, or burned down or something…I really don’t remember. Whatever the case was, it was gone and Thursday Night Club never had another official meeting.

Oh, we’d get together. We’d sing the song, or quote the sacred words or even do the secret handshake, (I forgot to tell you about the handshake!) but we never had anymore Thursday night meetings. We talked about it. I think it’s just that everybody seemed a bit too apathetic to go out of the way to set it up. A fact that I think makes us all the president.

As it turned out, It wasn’t really in a reinvent myself time of life, as much as it was a “find myself” time of life. I don’t know, maybe that’s what college is supposed to be. However, the TNC turned out to be a very easy going, unassuming group of friends who, possibly without even knowing it, allowed me to celebrate and enjoy being whoever it was I decided I wanted to be.

Thanks Uncle Gregg!

Thanks for introducing me to the Thursday Night Club.

Ben Franklin and People Watching

I love watching people as they carry out their normal daily life activities. I’ll go somewhere and find myself engrossed in the daily happenings of people I neither know, nor will ever see again. I find people’s odd habits, quirky idiosyncrasies and daily happenings extremely interesting.

Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me.

That being said, yesterday, Melissa and I were at eating at a Quizno’s near our house. We’re sitting there eating, talking and having a good time when I noticed a man having a hard time opening the hood of his car. Fancying myself as somewhat of a shade-tree mechanic, I found myself watching this guy with a kind of ‘should I offer to help?’ fascination.

It wasn’t long before a girl in an SUV pulls in next to the car. She gets out and it becomes quite obvious that she has come to help him jump-start his car. It didn’t take me long to see that jump-starting the car was something quite unfamiliar to both of them. The simple fact that they couldn’t find the hood release inside the SUV prompted me to shift from spectator to participant in this comedy of errors.

Hugh: “Should I offer to help?”

Melissa: “I’m quite sure you know more than he does.”

After our brief exchange of words, I headed outside to assist the fumbling duo.

Walking toward the couple, who was now working to untangle the jumper cables that looked old, but unused, I blurted out, “Can I give you a hand?”

“I think we can handle it” was his polite, yet persistent reply.

I shrugged, walked back inside and settled into my ringside seat. Then I gleefully waited for the upcoming attraction.

Right or wrong, the way I was taught to jump-start a car was to always start with the good battery and connect positive first, then negative. Then move on to the bad battery and connect positive first and then the negative, but not actually hook the negative to the battery, just ground it to something metal connected to the frame of the vehicle. I've always done it this way and I've never had any problems.

The first thing I noticed was that he connected his cables to the bad battery first, however I couldn’t see whether he connected positive or negative first. Then he connected the positive lead to the good car’s battery and slowly moved the negative end toward the battery…and that’s when the fun began.

In his defense, his slow negative cable movement may have been caution based, however, his puzzled expression communicated uncertainty.

When the negative cable got about two inches from the negative post on the battery, a spark shot up and he jerked his hand back. Throwing caution to the wind, he tried to quickly connect the cable with the same shocking results.

At this point he’s standing there with stinging hand and stinging pride, as the would-be good Samaritan sits laughing loudly not more than 30 feet away. (Which I’m quite certain he could hear) I tried not to laugh, I really did, but it was quite funny.

Somehow during my laughter he managed to get it hooked up and start the car.

Backing out he shifted his gaze in the direction of my amused grin and we made eye contact for the first time. Chuckling to myself I gave him a nod and a wave to thank him for the great show.

Watching people is a huge source of entertainment for me…see what I mean?

Baby Bug Pictures...

We got her!

Check out Melissa’s new ride. (If I'm good I get to drive it too...on occasion)

She’s a blast to drive, gets great gas mileage and looks cool to boot! Although we’ve been flirting with triple-digit temperatures here in Dallas, we haven’t driven with the top up very much.

Thank you to my father-in-law, for making the deal of the century!

Happy Driving...cause it will be for us!

Please Bug Me!

I wrote here all about getting my new Chevrolet Trailblazer and I mentioned my father-in-law, who I referred to as “possibly the world’s best car shopper.” However, after this week, I feel that I must take the word ‘possibly’ out of that statement.

He and I have spent about a week shopping for a convertible Volkswagen Bug. (Click here to see what we’re looking at) In all honestly, all I’ve had to do is stand there and try not to look like an idiot…a task which shouldn’t be all that hard, but at times taxes my acting ability.

There are only four VW dealers in Dallas and we’ve gone to or talked with each of them multiple times each day. “We’re going to go slow here. They know we’re talking with all the other guys and if they’re hungry enough they’ll keep making us lower bids.” And he was right.

He and I talked about car shopping back before my daughter went to camp and while I’ve been camp shopping and packing, he’s been doing research on VW. We walked in the first dealer and he knew everything there is to know about the VW Beetle. I’m talking about everything from the differences between a package one and a package two, all the way down to the nitpicky trim and tire size things that most dealers have to look up. He had also researched all the financing options that VW offers. He knew all the possible interest rates, rebates and buyer’s incentives that VW offers. I’m telling you he walked in there knowing as much as, if not more than, the average dealer.

That’s one way he gages the integrity of the dealer. He knows in about five minutes if the guy is shooting straight with us. One of the first guys we talked with came back with some interest points that were a point and a half higher than what he had found doing his research and we haven't been back.

We got out of the car at another dealer and he said, “Slow down, make them come to us.” Then he said, “Now I’m going to say some stuff in here that might shock you, but try to just look like it makes sense.” I don’t remember being shocked by anything he said, but percentage points and numbers were flying around like a whirlwind, so I was just sitting there trying not to look like an idiot.

All I know is I’m having the time of my life. I’ll post a picture of the new car when we get it.

It should be any day now!

Waldemar - Here we go again!

She’s gone.

We hugged, we kissed and we waved good-bye as the big white bus pulled out of the parking lot with my little girl onboard.

While we’ll be able to go online and see a pictorial account of the camp’s daily happenings. Complete with the occasional glimpse of our daughter. We won’t get to hug her again until August 6th.

While the hugs lasted longer than usual and the need to be near us was stronger than it normally is, this is her second year…and that makes her a veteran. There really weren’t any tears, at least not while the bus was still in the parking lot. Then mom and grandma had a few, but I think that was expected.

But now I’m back at home and wondering what I should be doing. Melissa has the day off, but her mom took her to a spa for the morning. I’ve already purchased tickets to the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie…but what next?

Could I be bored already?

A Time to Share...

I’m all for sharing. In my line of business you have to be. I’m forever saying, “I’m sure someone at your table will be more than happy to share with you.” And whether it’s a certain color of crayon, an eraser, scissors, or a glue stick, having students who are willing to share makes life in the classroom much, much easier.

However, I have to draw the line somewhere. Don’t I? I mean, you’re more than welcome to borrow my pencils, scissors, or glue sticks. And hey, I’m happy to loan you any and all the tools you need. (And I’ve got a pretty nice collection!) But if you come asking to borrow my clothes…well pal, that’s a whole different bucket of dead frogs.

Not borrowing clothes…I think it’s a guy thing. At least it’s a thing for this guy. Never in my life would I have dared to ask a friend if I could borrow his clothes. Okay sure, I borrowed clothes from Real Live Preacher from time to time. However, he’s my brother and besides, I don’t think he ever knew I had them.

Girls however, the ones I was around growing up, at least the vocal ones, and now my daughter, seem to have no problem loaning clothes.

Maybe it’s a result of needing a different pair of shoes to go with each outfit. Maybe it's a kind of female bonding ritual that I just don't understand. Maybe it's just the way God created the universe. Whatever the reason, girls just seem to enjoy lending and borrowing clothes.

Recently, a friend of my daughter’s called and asked to borrow a pair of shoes. Not only that, but she needed them for church that morning! So we took them to church so she would have shoes to wear with her new outfit.

Maybe my not understanding about sharing clothes stems from the fact that I don’t understand the whole female idea behind buying clothes.

What do I mean, “maybe?” I’m quite sure I don’t.

If you need a new pair of shoes to go with a new outfit, wouldn’t it make sense to buy the shoes you need when you buy the outfit?

Or is it that, when shopping, you only have to know that one of your friends has shoes that match the new outfit?

Whichever mindset is correct, this a whole new world for me. With each new day I learn more and more (sometimes way more than I want to) about being the parent of a teenage girl...and I'm not even there yet!



By the way, does anyone have brown ropers, size 10?

Because I got these new pants and well...

Waldemar...Round 2

I wrote here about sending my daughter to camp for a month last year. It was our first year to send her to camp for more than a week and we spent almost the entire month of June getting her ready for the big adventure. We had lists to make and remake. We had clothes and tons of other camp stuff to buy. That plus all the last minute preparations almost killed me.

So I think you can understand why I wasn’t particularly looking forward to June this year.

However, now that she’s a seasoned veteran, things couldn’t have gone smoother. I guess it’s knowing what to expect that makes all the difference. Combine that with the fact that many of the “last minute” things that seemed to pop up last year were things that we were able to simply pack away and pull out again this year and that makes for a much easier, much less frantic packing experience.

We put her on the bus this Friday and the waters are calm…so far.

I’ll let you know how things turn out.