Skip to main content

Knee deep in the hoopla.

As younger parents, Lovin' Man and I were faithfully committed to video recording the wild shenanigans of little boys. It wasn't just Christmas, birthdays and special occasions. I'm saying there is enough material there to have produced a daily vlog. Many were even scripted in keeping with a mod vlog although we had never heard of such at the time. Little actors were delighted to be produced before they each decided in turn: I wanna be a director!

Each Christmas, Lovin' Man would take the year's offerings and edit them into a eight minute video and force our extended family to watch it at Christmas gatherings.

Oh, monsters, why did we create you?

Now I must duck behind corners in my own home to avoid inclusion into my offspring's youtube offerings. Much like our home movies, sometimes they're genuinely funny and terribly clever but, oftentimes, youhadtobethere is the refrain. Fred's mom undoubtedly feels the same. I can't be the only one.

When accused of being less than delighted over a new teen enterprise which includes various characters created from compilations of friends and relatives showcased for a web cam, I find myself saying things like, " Well, is your demographic 40 year old moms?" Or, "I might like it more if your hair wasn't in your eyes." Or, "Is this why your math grade has fallen?" That's when I realize with certainty I have not only crossed Generation Gap bridge but let it burn as well.

Secretly, I delight in the fearlessness and cleverness of them whatever the outcome because they Go For It, faithfully committed. And if it weren't for those pesky social norms, I could fully embrace Casey's Granddad, (who buys toys but won't share), Merk (who's obsessed with his brother Berk but we don't know what Berk's obsession is because only Merk can understand him), Hungry Arnold, (who eats paper fish he prints from the internet) or The Baby (an evil man in a baby costume). To name a disturbing few.

When I get me some grandbabies, I'm taking the footpath to cross the gap. And, boys, then it's gonna be on.


Popular posts from this blog

Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing.

Retired Memphis Police Department Chief Inspector Robert Jones came to my pool party the other day. Over hot dogs and fruit salad, he regaled his grandchildren with tales of his days in Special Services on the police force. That's SWAT to you and me.

Among those anecdotes, he spins a yarn that includes a tear gas capsule hidden on the motor of a car full of pimps and ladies of the night, effectively expelling these law breakers out of a Buick Electra 225, running crazy. Later, he would be appointed Chief Inspector, along with fellow officer James Bolden (who also served MPD director), climbing his way up the career ladder with an excellent work ethic. But, before all that, he was a regular joe on the beat, paying his dues. Only, this fiery, young Irishman was going to do it his way.

They called him The Flame. Not only for his ability to run like one but, there was also that shiny red hair. In his youth, his stubborn independence got him into some trouble so he channeled that and mad…

I was so scared to face my fears.

Why You even trust us with so much, I can't even imagine. We alternate between pumping triumphant fists in the air and rocking quietly in the corner, squeezy eyes and knitty brows, vulnerable to the next thing next. In a matter of weeks, issues that include extreme trauma, mental illness, genetic disorders, and tired, old grudges, which serve to poison the waters, pass through our hands. We stand, arm in arm, carefully considering whether we are meant to dodge or take the shots:What are we supposed to be to learning?
Can we set it gently to the side and move along?
Is this our burden to bear for a season?
Who is wearing hearts on sleeves?
and should we?It's hard to say in a world of emotions but I KNOW our hearts are true. Even in their ugliest states, we keep it real. Sometimes, we're all Daigle, inspired and fortified, but, as many times as not, we're blasting Adele, accidentally alienating the ones we love and raw as can be. Let's just keep the Gungors, Eminems …

You built me palaces out of paragraphs.

You're so sure I don't hear your words. Maybe you think there's too much weary history for me to contend with New & Fun. You hear told of the time before yours and sometimes you feel alone. Maybe you've even wondered if I'm still up to the challenge.
You assume too much, Love Child, because yours are the words I've been waiting for all my life.
So many words.
My time before you taught me to talk less and hear more but I sift through ALL your words and listen for your heart.
Without your words, how could I know that you sometimes say what you don't mean just because you feel too much to articulate?
Without your words, how could I know that you are unsure and insecure about who you might become?
How could I know, were I not listening, that you often hold back because you think it's not quite your time?
Without your words, how could I know how much you root for the underdog with a righteous anger?
Without your words, how could I know that you often …