My Dysfunctional family


An opening note:
I woke up one day while looking in the mirror for I saw my father looking back at me,looking round it struck me I had become the pappy:

It is written in a dusty book about a curse; that was given to a son who went out and told the world about his daddy being indisposed in a rather unbecoming way. This exposed his father to ridicule and shame. While his other brothers attempted to cover the shame he was exposed now to. Today we call this act a right, seen as a right of passage, so the parents are then ridiculed, always it is their fault.

Our family history is not as you may think:
It twists and turns, upon its self are tied to our nation’s history.
It’s a tree filled with monkeys just like me, manly apes and others; an odd assort-ment of eccentric peoples held together by good women for the most part. Our family is made of layers; some are real thick, like old dry paint applied through many years, some they try to hide the roots, of some of our beginnings, while revealing others less embar-rassing. Yes, from some, I hear this word, Dysfunctional. It makes me shiver, my skin crawls to hear them blame us all, All of us, who are I guess, as they say, dysfunctional!
This family’s tale it could be yours, filled with stories, some call lies yes, exag-gerations well yes, some they are, however all contain some facts which for the most part make the telling and re-telling with the adding of those bits, a little more not less agree-able and by far more fun. Some of the real facts are blurred from time, its the telling however that counts; we must remember who we are we learn this from who we were, so who we seek to be is carried on, so each tale reminds us of a simple truth, that we should never take ourselves too seriously, as it seems today so many do.
One day pappy when he was eighty six looked at me and said son never let your-self grow old, try to always smile when you’re sad and smile all the more when you’re in pain.

One day I woke up, found staring back at me was pappy in the mirror some how I was pappy and my pappy he was me. For my pappy and many others talked and walked with me, where I now walk they are there, when I’m walking and talking there with me.
To be dysfunctional you may well learn means your normal. That it is not a bad thing and perhaps, we can all then appreciate what we have.
Perhaps then we should use a better term? Perhaps insanity?
Reminder to the wise child: listen to my words my child, take them to heart, then do just as I say, please do not do as I have done, for I have made all these mistakes, so listen carefully do not do as I once did.
Do not justify:
What may seem right may not be so, if you hurt someone, with what you seek to do: no ones perfect; except the fool and he blames his faults on everyone but himself:

A rolling stone can not gather much but it can cause a lot of damage: many will suffer loss.

Today it is seen as a rite of passage in our nation of the privileged to complain, to always place their faults on something or someone from their past. Yes, for years now it has been a rite a new age symbolic act, to call out in a public forum; to shout openly from the pedestal of self shame, I must admit my family is dysfunctional; like so many in our country, many do wear this label, thanks to self helping, the teaching of esteeming and the rejecting of respect. For somehow they’ve come to feel they have gained in the speak-ing of the word a place of honor.
So on our televisions we all see some interviewer says baby now confess; it’s your family who made you such a mess, so in passing on the blame my dear, you are now made whole and in your minds eye much larger, thus far stronger in the eyes of others. As those in the audience clap and shout looking down and at the others with them whis-pering thank god it’s you, not them, mouthing out to anyone I’d be so embarrassed. So because of some perceived type of abuse by the family in the past, one can get a pass, O yes! Let’s pass it off. Forget about your poor choices all your acts at deceptions; let’s blame your mothers, better yet the fathers too, no! O no, let’s passes the blame to every-one that you knew, for ya know you would never ever have done wrong except they made you do it!!

For some reason responsibly has been forgotten, no, in our society responsibil-ity was lost: put up on a shelf and packed away,
Along with common sense:

Now children are taught self-esteem: self-worth: far too much emphasis is placed on self? (A dysfunction of today is esteeming, for our children think far too highly of themselves)
So offered to you here is my dysfunctional tale, my opinions with why and how my family in their glory helped make me as dysfunctional as I am and why they are just as dysfunctional as I. . . As you read I will express how I think they relate to this brave new world, you’ll discover I am proud of all the dysfunctional slightly none functional family members. If you wish to read all, my tales, you’ll find there not so bad, you’ll find you may just see yourself, for that which so many calls dysfunctional is in fact far more normal than what most will admit. Mirrors we need time we see and time we should take to hear.
Pappy said: Normal is a state of mind.
Normal is as normal does, it all depends on how one chooses their life to live.
As you read our family story:
Normal or normalcy, moral or morality, choices and what’s right:
Normal or Normalcy is taught its all about respect your elders; to be moral is to think and place others first; morality is not found it’s taught to you from birth; then as you grow your choices are always only one to two, later no matter what you think there never are any more; what’s right a moral person chooses. However some people seek gray areas but that is not what we were taught, for Pappy learned this from his daddy later we did to. Never are there really ever more than two.

The generations of my family have these things in common
However some have chosen a slightly altered course: we are allowed our choices.
Strength comes in numbers in multiples of ten: our families’ size, lost among the pack,

Sometimes was over heard by us;  “O honey, we could just leave em, drive off and not look back? Then!” The reply was always” No, sweet heart how could we, how could we do that, to anyone.” “I know, I Guess we’ll keep em; but I can dream, can’t I.” Mammy and the Pappy with Eight kids, a dog, sometimes and once a rabbit yes there was a little bunny; we called foo-foo. O his story is so sad. (A dysfunction?)no an odd function of many families.

Life will pass and so do bunnies, sadly this is what did happened?
(Society in general has this dysfunction, they blame every thing on men, yet be-hind every man, there is a woman telling him what to do?)

In a home so long ago just a memory from the past:
You see in a home, a home with little girls, many do believe that such sweet things can never war or lie. I will tell you this, they do, they will, they planned my death many, many times. All the time, they smiled so sweetly, batting those sweet eyes. I have heard the cheers for so many years, that if we women ruled this world, there would be no wars. Then these same women remind us of this behind every man stands a woman tell-ing him just to do. (Dysfunction or dysfunctional)
Well I grew up, I survived, made it out yes alive; I got away from a home run and ruled by woman. When I was young enough to understand pappy took me aside, son he said now listen I’ll only say this once, you’re on your own. Son I like it peaceful, boy, I know that life ain’t fair but you’ve got to understand the women, so listen now to me. They are always right, you are always wrong; a man is never right, they just let us think that so they can blame us later, you are just a man, so learn it now, and deal with it. They only allow us to stay here, only if were good.
These are some of the lessons I learned way back when I was young. As child I saw what lovely sweet girls could do. Alas so sad that our little bunny Foo-Foo could not have heard it to. Men will say and thus claim when women fight that it’s like cats, not dogs. (Men are dogs, odd) well I can say, even when their young, they are cruel yet sweet. So would poor, poor bunny Foo Foo. A dysfunction of society is that women are somehow gentler than men, However no one has ever asked poor little bunny foo foo.
A sweet, sweet bunny, yes, he was never did he complain, just sat in his cage, ate his carrots and had a life so sweet. One spring day, early in the afternoon, the youngest of my sisters came and asked, mommy can I play, O mommy can I please, can I pet the bunny please? I love my bunny foo-foo. Never pausing from her task, mommy just says yes. Later in a huff, comes another slightly older and she asks, mommy is my turn yet? Can I please, now pet the bunny? Sissy’s had her turn now, now it should be mine, Mommy does not turn, far to focused on her task, say to her sweet daughter, yes dear, ok that sounds just fine. Out the door the daughter goes calling out so loudly for the entire house to hear. Mommy says it’s my turn and you have got to share. Not ten minutes have now past Mommy has now finished up her work, when from outside she hears the screeching, wailing and the mournful cry, it’s growing ever louder, coming to the door, She looks to see, Her two sweet baby’s, now at war, with little bunny foo foo being tugged and pulled between, Alas he is no more.
Taking up the poor sweet bunny she placed him in the cage and brought her two sweet baby’s back into the house. Then she calls me out, gives to me the task, go outside and dig a hole for our little fluffy friend. Seems he’s had an accident. Accident! Mother he was stretched!
Down now through the years the two youngest have forgotten, yet they blame each other for a thing that they’ve forgot. So from all this, I learned that people can be cruel, can forget and then blame others for a guilt long forgotten.

Down through the generation’s husbands and the wives they talked things out at the dinner table ;( however not a word was spoken of little bunny foo foo) honestly some-times the talk was loud but never did they curse. (I hear now all the excuses from those younger yet those words burn they really hurt the ears.) Neither ever cheated I refer you back to the curse. (An odd dysfunction, if they did the children were kept out of it) for they took their promise before God; as seriously as one could, for as they said they gave their word, (they were the parents and we were kids, our opinions did not matter so keep out.) for good or bad, for fifty three plus years they made it work with many ups and downs. (This I can say the down were fewer than one would think and did not last as long as people kept their noses out,)Yes, in our family marriages are known to last for fifty years or a little more, there are more than a few that did not but the girls they keep on try-ing. (A dysfunction of the curse,no marriage can work when there are so many people having conversations in the same bed.)
My first one ended after seven years, she left me and blames me, it’s not my fault, I got cancer and she found a lover. But seven years later someone found me, took me home decided I was worth a chance, thank God.
As they say when you fall off a horse get back on or you might not ride again.
Here now I will add a note: I have a number of as I said sweet little sister’s I love each one of them so much they will never know. Also I have another who I found out about just recently along with four brothers now God he does answer prayers.

They all make mistakes apologize and forgive each other, place the past where it belonged; within the past, Sometimes this takes awhile, then they try a bit harder once again, they do the best they can.
One thing that my Pappy said most couples, peoples, and families are broken down by the words the acts of others in their jealousy, forgiving forgetting and covering faults with love bring peace and harmony. (A dysfunction of today’s new dysfunctional teaching it is concerned with placing blame and shame it does not allow forgiving forget-ting and covering)

Common things that were used to guide us, things we teach our children
Now are called old fashion restrictive and against progress:

Ten Commandments are not allowed now, but we were taught these ten ways to live by example. (So we were dysfunctional to the tenth power.)
My Dad gave me a little plaque, which he received a long time ago from his fa-ther, on it is this “I am the boss in my house and I have my sweet wife’s permission to say this.”
We are reminded by our Pappy that Christ he came to serve, we are to be like him for the greatest in his kingdom will be the one who is the most humble.
Our pappy he was fair, (now some will tell their stories and make him out a ter-ror) he always said, we had two warnings and firmly looked at us, as he added this. Do you want me to clip ya? Yes, two warning is what you got, and then he’d sit us down and talk. I guess he wanted us to have our self esteemed? Never did get clipped.
Now we all knew there was trouble when mom said “You just wait, (we never could,) till your daddy does arrive.” With this uttering silence fell upon us all, as well trained solders do, for we knew the line was crossed, so we fell in line and followed the general’s orders with not a single word, never did we have a tantrum. An oddity now to me, for we did not argue with our parents, until we were far older, even then we showed respect, as so few today do. (Dysfunctional as we were, not like kids today telling parents what to do and demanding all they see, (that is dysfunctional)

Respect, responsibility means; we should honor our mothers and our fathers. We were taught to never worry about what our friend’s possessed; envy was jealousy it could bring you a lot of trouble, be happy with what you’ve got.
Oddly enough I do not remember when it happened:
But one day I woke up to realize my father and my dad were living in my home. Seems these two men born so long ago were taught these same things, they lived by these ten rules. (Oops does this make them dysfunctional?) No not perfectly they did the best they could.
The memories of what my pappy, his pappy and his pappy said:
So as they say in fairy tales in the course of time, I to pass them on to my own children: who have called it my ranting? (Dysfunctional as I am, I talked.)
Truth for the wise:
Thieves and liars are just fools; who have no self respect; they never do appreciate anything they get. They value nothing; make grand demands; as if they were bi-polar. Street gang thugs; like little Caesar’s, all want the thing that to their elders society they will not give; manly children who demand, what they view is the greatest thing a rightly due; respect.
Son, my pappy’s taught, Respect is earned over time, it is measured out to each man by the way he lives his life. It can not be demanded, taken neither with a gun nor with a fist or foul mouth threats. It is earned, given to you, for that which you have given.
If you wiz into the wind you’ll find that you get wet.
Pappy planted many things that have in us all grown to replace the wild youth within: patients, understanding and most of all love:
(Now it seems Dysfunctional to me, to reject what once was good, what normal now calls bad)
Your god it’s anything you place above your family or your friends, it’s who or what you choose to serve, what you can not live without it’s that thing that rules your heart own your soul your life. So strive for love then one thing above all else; remember this and do it; no matter what let love rule you and not a thing. Set your anger, your hurts aside; keep this rule never let the sun set before YOU apologize.

Pappy says: The better man is he who says he’s sorry even if he is right.

Not a fairy story:
Pappy’s rant about a cracked pot of:
Far too many people shake their fist at God and say: “why O why, why did you do this to me, perhaps they should read the book of God; how can you be so cruel God?” For the religious cruelty’s a test, they should read the book of God. You see if you read it God he says man I know your heart and I know the evil which it does contain so here are my guidelines for you to follow, which I know you won’t so here is what will happen be-cause you choose to reject me. So you will hear a preacher or a teacher stand up and say, “It was all the will of God.” Wow, Why, not read the words of God. Now I have heard in my short life far too many people say its god will. For the does say it is not its all about mans choice. Then some foolish person says; they just can not worship, this god he’s too cruel. Who would allow such a things to happen. That not my god they say.
Listen friend, I have a word for you; it’s a name of the person that brought the shame and from whom the trouble comes, Seems to be dysfunctional goes way back in time to him, For he stood right there as his wife as the family story goes, as she took the first bite and then he did the same. The clincher is he could have stopped her from doing it at any time.
Choices, who to blame? Dysfunctional?
Pappy pointed out one time:
Man demands he wants women to submit, points out chapter and the verse, however leaves out some fine print like what was written or what Adam did. Then when things hit the fan; points the finger and passes as much of the blame he can on to her.
(He was in charge, a manly dysfunction?)

Choices made by others, cause to many others far too much harm and hurt.
God does not choose for us, we have free will, we chose our course:
So as children through out the ages have done, later when they were asked the husband blamed the spouse first and yes each did pass the buck finally to a ser-pent.
Responsibility is not a trait of the dysfunctional: blaming someone else sure is

However God in his mercy did not rage, he gave them a time out.
So all the bad things that we blame on god were set in motion.
None of the fore going was God will; all of it was mans choice.
All of this is why our family is dysfunctional to this day.
Foolish people talk of rings and ripples and never make the connection.
Now and then after the fairy tale:
Now: Please do not misunderstand me; do all the things you wish, I just wonder sometime about little things like this:

Kids your children are not adults, they belong outside. You should in the summer water them liberally, soak them well, dust them daily, and run them till they drop.
Life needs to be lived, we are not ants or honeys bees, set some limits and let them learn to live and have fun, running. (The dreadful curse, of Exercise, in the yard at home)
I’ll stress again it would be better, far easier for all, if the parents of today would send their children outside to play, as some still do. Yet, they are the minority, a sadly disappearing breed. Those who are sometimes called irresponsible, Wow the change has take hold in the village. Instead of growing up, our kids are growing out, and daily on the news, from the schools, we hear the cry; for these experts wonder:
Why is obesity on the rise, why is that the children keep spreading?
A thought of mine: corn sugar as its use has increased so has the fat upon the seatsr
If only people would:
Turn off that television, unplug that silly game, and pack away the cell phone. Make the kid’s go ride a bike, take a walk, go outside just get dirty simply have some fun. Fifty plus years ago we did not sit within the house; we went out side every day.
(Our mothers sent us out each day to play; I think it was done to save her sanity, dysfunction hey?) A doctor of some fame once wrote about a house a cat and the children there in side.

(So you see, I am dysfunctional to the tenth degree)
I would like to say to open with a flowing set of lines like in a home; far, far away in a time far, far in the past; clouded in the mists of time, yes, maybe in ten thousand years, Nope! Let’s just say: It all happened yesterday.
Once upon a time in the old, old days, we all played with guns, we played army, cops and robbers ran and we climbed trees; played in swamps caught tad poles and snakes, we even took a twenty two and shot at cans, Now the children sit inside planted firmly on the floor in front of a TV , a game control grasped tightly in their hand. Paus-ing every now and then to sip a fruity drink, eat a snack packed with sugar nice and sweet so safe oops it’s called a power bar. Then the parents wonder why, here I say again, is a junior so dam fat? No, longer do they walk, as we once did or their pappy and his did way back when; up hill, yes, my pappy and his daddy and me to, we walked five miles yes; both ways; all up hill; yes, we did in the snow, the rain while a tornado blew around us, yes off to school we did go in the rain, snow, wind and hail. Rather like the mailman.
Moral:
We grew up, or so we thought, while the new world has become more aggressive. Dust and dirt we once knew for children now has been replaced with bits and bytes in a cyber world. But as they play inside they learn self esteem, while the other kids the world around is growing also and they can and will survive, outside.
Now great grand pappy said it once or maybe even twice: you play a game of tug O war with in yourself; through out your life, you balance everything you do and do the best you can. However it’s not so with those have a dysfunction, those who will not take responsibility for their choices.
He always said this “ Remember this now son, children blame their parents for what they never had and parents sometime blame the kids for what they think they lost, And at the end they realized just how blessed they’ve been, Wouldn’t be nice if they could stop and just enjoy each other earlier in life.”
But my old pappy said so often some people choose the bad.
His younger brother he would say always had a plan, he was always going to get rich but he would never work. He’d keep a job a month or two and then for some reason he’d be fired and always it was not his fault. Pappy’s dear brother spent some time in a prison seems he browed some cash with a gun and don’t you know it was not his fault.
Then there are those who work real hard, marry and for some reason thing hap-pen and they are suddenly a monster though they have never changed. Someone always chooses, sometimes bad so someone else must be blamed.
Life happens; God does not make our choices; we do and sometimes bad things happen and people are hurt.
Choice is woven into this dysfunctional family:
Stories of the family form a tapestry
That has been passed along; some will be sad
Some quite funny others well we’ll see.
Now and then again?
The fairy tale and that special treat.
That led into a mystery man:
Now, kids ride a bus two long blocks, one way; they stand for twenty minutes waiting in the snow when it takes five minutes just to walk the whole two long blocks, but hey their safe; Safe from what, evil vile Exercise? Or from a threat or some form of a abuse, O yes, it must be that evil thing called exercise, yes its unsafe for them to walk they must be carried back and forth from door to door you see?
Even recess has been cut to just a little break, now they get a drink, a potty break very little fresh air god forbid they break a sweat or raise their heart rate by running, they might fall and then get cut and what about the sweat? Lunch is now a half hour, no more and sometime less, when once they had three breaks a day now it’s down to one.
Back in the day you ate real fast, cleaned the plate cause once they did serve food, we had kickball and some other games we played, then maybe once a week or once a month to the gym we went or when it rained outside. As I look back so few were fat so very few of us rode a bus yet we learned so very much.
Sunshine ruled inside was not and homework yes we had. But we have progressed have we not our children know how to sit to text and eat.
Growing up the burger shack was something we saw maybe once a year and pop we never had much. Water was the drink with ice if momma was real nice, sometimes kool-aid a packaged drink with a bit of sugar would be set out if she did not have work to do.
Unlike today a happy meal in our day was bologna on white or wheat with a glass of milk, sometimes chocolate if we had it, perhaps a P and J, or even tuna did we get, O then sometimes a grilled cheese we welcomed with hot tomato soup without the toe.
Or she made the special treat when days were very bland which did so cheer us up, what is called by many Jewish penicillin.
But today the children desire these oddities of fast food things called chicken nuggets, so deep fried in a box with apple fries and some milk called 2% but 2% of what? And a gender neutral toy; yes, this is what the kiddies get?
We were happy with what we had? Well honestly maybe sometime we were not, O yes, we wanted more, but looking back I must admit really we had it all, for we had them our parents in their youth with all of their oddities and dysfunctional budding quirks. Hopefully we did our part to shape them making them into the grandparents that they became. For once my dear sweet mother was such a hot hot chick; Now she some-time mumbles and forgets just where she is, the children really love her and candy cash and defense of them she readily passes out.

Aliens strangers and cast iron:

Now I will convey the story of my sweet dear mother and her favorite little treat a kind of meat; I for one just could not eat, this formed meat that was not a treat, in any shape or form the dreaded one pound can of Spork, that lurid FDA special as bad as pow-ered eggs and milk O the government issued staples of the past and even now they are still found someplace around. like the dreaded ten pound fruit cake that each is sent, around to someone not suspecting it, that special gift no one wants that in reality no one has ever been opened, they just pack it in a closet till the season comes again, to give it then to the name drawn from the hat; too them it is then sent with a card bearing special wishes, till again another year has passed.
Yet to no relative even those who were the worst would one send the dreaded mystery meat; for to speak of it was taboo! as if a curse would fall upon your head and doomed you then would be.
But my momma she love it so O the horror of the dreadful mystery contained within the FDA what ever had they packaged in that can. Many a slice of it she’d fry in the old cast iron skillet, the smell it burned the little hair within my nose as to my sinus it did creep. As the edges they did brown and curl up. She and my sisters would devour the dreadful meat. With smile wide and teeth gleaming they called give us more, She would fry it bake it steam it then hide it in some eggs; thinking I would eat but to the dog it went. Yes for a little while once I had a little dog, even he would make a run, when he’d get a wafting hint of the dreadful mystery meat, yes, off he’d run, he’d just up and disap-peared. Never saw a dog so small jump a ten foot fence. Then one morning he was gone, I saw him again but later in the week arrived more of those cans.
No, I’ve never known nor can I see the value of this dread treat that the FDA calls meat, neither have I myself ever received one bit of pleasure, nor from my reading does it have any nutritional food value. This thing called Spork; yes, my friend it’s called Spork it’s a mysterious form of canned meat.
Sometime every now and then, I wonder where or when yes, who invented it. All of this came back to me not long ago for I went to my own cupboard and there in front of me sat a can of that horrid meat! It seemed to be looking back at me. How or where it came from I will never know but I tossed quickly in the trash, I though that would be the end.
So when I laid me down to sleep, after some fifty years I think. Yes I think of that oddity of the FDA the dreadful can of Spork how you call it a mystery meal. I try to sleep seems I can’t all I do is see a movie about a bunch of seed pods and how the people they were changed; it’s then I do awaken in a cold, cold soaking sweat with the word Spork upon my quivering lips.
Now the saga it goes on after many years, a childhood terror once forgotten it now come rushing back, for life goes on and choice must be made; O dear god I hate Spork no matter how its made, I still wonder where went Sparkie that friendly little dog O so many years ago.

Life goes on memories fade and then:

When I was then much older I found out one day that my mother my sweet dear mother may have a functioning dysfunction.. This one thing I did discover about my dear sweet mother helped me realize just why and how she could enjoy such a horrid treat O dear lord I swear it was not meat, even now I shudder when I think of Spork..
However Twenty years ago perhaps a little more she and my sisters they made a lot of pies. Then to the freezer they were packed for the different seasons perhaps, or a special reason…. Back then a cook of sorts she was, at least that’s what I thought. For to me no connoisseur these pies well they were good quite passable you see.
Then the day it came that changed my mind forever; she had baked an apple pie while I was out that day at chemo therapy and O it smelled so good. So off she cuts a slice for me and with a smile she hands it over, then for her self she cuts one also. So we proceeds to eat, well for me I had to take it slow, for chemo therapy plays cruel tricks, one must watch how one does eat. So carefully I cut my first bite savoring the smell opened wide and closed my mouth. As then started to chew, the crust the senses ,my taste buds began to sense an awkward form a taste a bitter thing among the pleasured sensed smells , one bite no more and out it comes, now mush like on the plate, and there in plain view for my mother is the blue the green the hairy thing with white. Looking at her I grab my drink and rinse and spit then ask her very gently, as one talks to a wee child, mother does your pie taste right. AS if in shock with great surprise she says O yes it’s great and takes another bite. But mother look at mine! It’s filled it’s covered with mold! No its not, she says, as she turns to look at me, don’t be silly, now eat your pie, its real good you’ll see.
I slowly pulled the pan, looking at it wondering if, slowly now across the table with my fork slowly I lift the edge an inch, lifting up the crust yet a little more, I see to my surprise these multi colored rings of green shaded with a multitude of blue growing there inside, with filaments of white like hair now waving at me in the air, now mother dear please stop! Now take a look right here, please just tell me what you see? Oooh! wow she says, That stuff looks like hair, now ain’t that pretty, I like those colors son but my piece is fine, its so tasty to, then she does what I do not expect, she takes another bite; now the count is number three.
So now I wonder as I have said just what all these things could mean. For a fact this woman has one thing that I do not; a stomach made of pure cast iron, for it did not make her sick to eat, the blue the green white hairy thing.
However just to please me, she picked up the offending pie, went to the trash and dumped it in, that is just after she ate bite number four. I do perhaps still wonder if; she has a sense of taste. For this I do conclude, she has no sense of smell!

Practice does make perfect after many years:

For many years we went to grandma’s house for that turkey meal, then one year well……Mother it was decide would fix it all. The reason for this change of plans for the seasons was that grandma had passed. So to make sure all was kept in order that all things did proceed. Mommy dearest said she’d fix the turkey and Auntie she would bake. Jackie he would purchase the drinks and granddad the space in which to meet.
Ghost goblins and pappy’s words of anger:
Now this woman, who raised me, enjoyed another pastime, each year she would take a chosen few to the pumpkin patch. Now I was never asked she excluded me seemed the quest was just for girls a form of bonding. Of the girls she would chose; the oldest two would then prepare their dress and discuss the plan. Now one must understand this was a right of passage, something that had taken place for many, many years. There were times when I would over hear her talking on the phone with one of the older girls. Who would later acknowledge they two were part of these pumpkin raids. So on the night then chosen mom and her accomplices, would have what then was called a sleep over with usually little asleep, Pappy never knew when they would make the raids but the evidence would turn up within the trunk or spread out on the porch as before sometime we would over heard how they nearly had been caught. Laughing and giggling they were so very proud. They always collected the very, very best. Each niece and nephew got a pumpkin from the raid. They also made at the end a lot of pumpkin pies. Yes, my sweet mother led a gang of pumpkin thief’s. The evidence would always disappear and it tasted pretty good. I found out many years later, that pappy went and paid for every pumpkin taken.
(Dysfunctional as he was)

Now long before all this we have:

Quarter to a half and never use a full:

In a place not far away, in a time not far past, our people as is said lived, worked and played so hard; the depression just seemed to last, the family at that time lived in a small house outside of town upon a ridge with walls as thin as tissue paper yet at that time a mansion this home it was; it had a small coal stove for cooking which also pro-vided heat. Central still to family life the home was the place to be.
Living in the small home was my grand pappy and his wife, my three aunts and my four uncles, all of them just young kids, My pappy he was the youngest being only three or four, when this little story it took place. Now our pappy he told this story many times to us, in many different ways and yet at the heart was good advice at least that’s what he said.
Now at that time they had no thrones inside their homes. One had to run to that small house just up the path a ways. Rain or shine, hot or cold; you made that dash with roebuck pages in your hand. The running water was stone cold but no throne was in the home….
Now and then that hole and its contents they froze up, So solid in the winter that something must be done for if you sat upon the hole the droppings they would bounce; lord they’d come a bouncing back upon the shiny hinny’s of the girls and they would cry complaining, of course the splash upon the boys caused no problem they just did not care. So to loosen up the pit our pappy had to do it quick. But in the winter to dig a pit was not an easy act; at ten below one could freeze , while swing a pick or axe. Now pots were good only for a while especially with the seven kids. So that hole it needed to be loosed O yes and real dammed quick. Time he had so little, so pappy had to hurry, thankfully He had a plan as always…
Now pappy was a man who knew some tricks to get things done; so with a quarter stick the hole he blew our family seat was thusly fixed.
Shortly after Mr. Morgan comes knocking on our door our neighbor from two doors down, Hey there Davie boy; now tell me how you digged that hole so fast? Yes, he came to ask our poppa; so he explained it all to him.
How he had taken just a quarter stick and planted it with a stick, down deep, then covered up the hole with the old seat. He told him how he lit the fuse how slowly it seemed to burn, then how there was a little burp how the cover so slightly moved and the hole was loosed all sank down as smooth as smooth could be. And now we could take a ………..yes our little house the hole was open once again…
Well now Mr. Morgan he gets up and with a smile leaves the house; just a short time later, we hear a boom a great big crash and the snow it’s turning brown. Momma now is screaming the smell it’s really bad.
Then from outside we hear the low pitched screeching running to the now stained windows all to see this horrific creature covered now from head to toe in some strange type of gooey stuff, with old Mr. Morgan’s wife running hard behind a broom in hand O such a sweet old lady; yes, she was but the words she was a shouting were not for Sunday morning.
Its was only then I realized the thing that she is chasing is old man Morgan her sweet husband; boy was he a moving. I never realized a man his age could fly like su-perman and as he passed by our front door he looks at pappy and he yells; Hey David you did not tell me what two sticks would do!!!!

Responsibility???? Now you see.

Pete is Sneaky he comes a calling

Some years later, in the course of time we moved now further out of town to what we look back upon through the misty fog and blur of time to call our old farm. The war in Europe was just beginning a mad man had come to power sadly one or two of the boys were old enough to join. The girls all volunteered for things, The USO and other groups, Mama made her garden larger soon the ration stamps came out. More of this will come along but get set for the simple story of a cursed old friend one we’ll call ole sneaky Pete and how he and Mr. Hacker met.
Now this was when our Pappy was happily making his own home brew.
Here I’ll interject that momma did not approve of drink in any form but thought it always better that he did it in the home. Saturday was set aside for his night to imbibe in his home made brew. As it was a friend or two sometimes did stop in. Now his home brew when it was done did not last so long but pappy he was careful to save the bottles for his next short run and the yeast upon the bottom was carefully set aside. It’s the yeasty mix this sweet concoction that now fuels our tale.
For on this night old Gene Hacker had come to call at slightly after six. He’d been out hunting all that day and nothing did he get except so cold and twisted his arthritis had him bent.
Of our pappy he did ask hey David do you have one shot, sadly the answer given was that he had not.
HOWEVER Pappy waved him over pushed a chair his way then he got up so slow and silently in a whisper low he asked old Gene a question so momma could not hear do you know anything about old Pete. Mr. Hacker looks at him and says what ever do you mean?
Well now pappy says to him! A grin just now appearing, on his crooked slightly twisted lips, as he spoke now too his friend; let me show you , I’ll tell ya all about him then.
So to the pantry way back inside into the darkest recess he did step, then he did return from the cool dark place with in a bottle tucked tightly under both his arms an-other held tightly in each hand. With a glint of a smile on his lips with that sparkle always found shining in his eyes. Setting them upon the table he slowly slides the first one over to his friend. He then whispers to his pal in a voice so soft so low Gene ole boy just give this a try.
Gene he looks at pap slowly pops the top as a connoisseur might do he draws a breath a smell of what now lay in side. O now too the aroma the smell it is so sweet so pure ambrosia O sweet nectar it found to tickle at ones nose hair. He raises up that bottle sips O just a bit savoring the liquid ever O so sweet. Setting it upon the table too my pappy say David man this is a treat why have you kept it hid?
Pappy he just smiles then this is what he says, my friend this is the end product of my home brew. Each year I gather it and save it for myself sometime like now I’ll share maybe one or two. Gene he smiles and drinks it up thanking pappy even more. But my friend a warning I must pass along to you. For this brew it has a kick and it will come on you quick. All this is said as Gene he finished bottle number two. Mr. Hacker he gets up and heads now to the door puts on his boots his jacket with his old vest, picks up his gun then bids us all good night.
Early the next morning slightly after six there’s a pounding on the door Mrs. Hacker and her son are there, seems Gene he never made it home. Momma brings them to the kitchen, pours her some hot coffee as she sits where old Gene had sat only a few hours ago. She then tells the boys to get ready, to go look for Mr. Gene.
So pappy he directs the posse, boys he says; take to the trail the one that winds its way across the swamp. This we do and at About ten yards in we find a boot then comes his hat the vest the pants all are hanging in the trees, the shot gun it is stuck in three feet of black mud around the twist And over a log covered in some moss, just laying there like a new born babe is Mr. Hacker pink and wrinkled in his shorts a tattoo of a dancer on his arm snoring as if he were resting in the blessed virgins arms. With a smile on his lips, lips that seemed to be painted on that taught old face. Pappy he reached down gave to him a little nudge and like the old jack in a box he pops right up, in doing so his head it strike upon a branch and back he falls, then looking up at pappy his face it grows confused for he begins now looking round a surprised look now does appear on that head with its bleeding brow; how he asks, In a mumbled cotton voice. How did I get here? Why did we bring him outside to this swamp?
David I remember walking home, getting to the door? I took my clothes off got in bed, I even locked the door, and now just what is it that you gave me? What was in that drink! Just tell ME, so I’ll have a life, when I see my wife! Pappy looks at Gene his life long good friend, and in a dry low voice with a hint of the repressed chuckle he says: I tried to tell ya, as we sat at the table just last night, that this Pete is so, so ever so darn sneaky. You did reply that this stuff is really so good. But Gene I warned you that it has a kick; for if you sip a bit of old Pate he plays a dirty trick or too he’ll sneak up and bite you. Well as you can see he did now to you.
Now come on your wife’s waiting back now at the house and the boys have found your boots and hat, even your new hunting pants. Your gun will need some cleaning but that is a low price to pay; when Pete he comes to call and messes with your head.
Sneaky Pete is a true story and happened just as you have read. Mr. Hacker never drank a bottle after that but sometimes had a sip or two. When pappy told this story it was teach us of effects of drinking and all the silly things that could happen. However he would add this simple message no one who takes a drink is responsible for one drink can make a fool; so to drink with responsibility is not to drink at all. And alcohol in any form is like old sneaky Pete you’ll not know it but he’ll get you.

Now there are some stories that I should like to tell some will show a skeleton or two. For as in many families ours is not so different there are many hidden things way back there in the closets.
Back in the eighteen seventies we had a horse thief or two, then looking further back in another branch some came in upon some of the first ships but many more were carried here in chains. They were thieves indentured for the inability to pay, others sadly were simply here as slaves. It is rumored also that some were native who stood upon the shore and yes as I have said those of the persuasions of the larcenist did trade. Our family tree is varied it is not what many would call pure but its one that I am proud of for its filled with great and sometimes as things reflect some trust unworthy men and women.

Ice cold and helpful for the heat

I had an uncle who watched always the dark dark sky for he felt that the aliens were a coming for him soon; that one day a shiny disk would arrive filled with people with gray skin large and lifeless eyes and beam him up. And he’d be whisked away from the mess of taxes and all the rest.
In my youth he was a man who could really make you laugh. Motorcycles he did ride and fishing was a great all the time favorite thing; his tales of those that got away would thrill you with awe and wonder. He worked hard so very hard it really did surprise me because so many said he was dam lazy and whirl a finger in the air and smile.
For sometimes my Uncle was said not to be so lucid, some said he was just barely functional.(was this a function of a dysfunction?) Or drugs over many years?
He lived with us for at time he had a well a few little oddities. He talked to walls, even trees, and then sometimes too the thin air, pappy said hey he’s just what they call a bit eccentric, son. Every family has one or sometimes even two, they are flavoring in the mix just like salt and pepper they are part of all families. Remember boy, some day it might be said of you; he’s not like those, who make the jokes, he does not answer him-self, nor does he feel superior to anyone…
He and pappy liked hot peppers, those that seem to melt the mouth, that seared your eye balls from the back, then cause the brains to explode out through the nose and make one go insane, jumping waving hands dancing red faced mouth gaping not breath-ing all around the room as they said in a whispered small voice ah that was nothing man..
So on that day in the early summer school then being far behind us we now had come to the first real holiday, yes we had fire works to celebrate the day, yes fire works were the order of that day. as pappy and the others were taking turns, working that ice cream making hand cranked wooden bucket, only used just once a year, when it was so much easier to run down to the store. My Uncle Jay just sat there, watching staring at the tub and crank, then glancing at the freezer and refrigerator where inside did sit his tasty hot delights.
Every now and then he would take a dip of the cool light cream and coat a bit of a hot pepper and smile; ever so happily as down his throat it slid. After a while it is said he seemed to form a plan for he cocked his head so slightly and arch his little brow. Pulling on his go tee as the some mad scientist are seen to do, one could almost see the lighting flashing, as the bulb snapped on above his head, for he just sat there now with a crooked grin.
In the course of time as they say, the feast was done and all sat down to eat that cold sweet treat. Now Uncle Jack was ready his spoon held so tightly in his hand with an added special treat his own small jar of hot atomic peppers.
Usually he got past one or maybe even two yet on this day O yes, today he’d best that score, he would. Now anyone who knows can tell you these treats have an effect, which comes out in the end one that is not so pleasing for the unsuspecting soul.
Jack he was now seated was eating his ice cream, then he’d take a pepper then a bite of his ice cream then another pepper, again ice cream he’d take and another pepper, he had a real beat fifteen peppers at one count no it was now twenty three , no he’s eaten a whole quart! No one knows the true count of the peppers that he ate. However he stood up with such a smile the joy the pride his face displayed for what he had done this day. The family visiting then left and we went off to bed. Yes everyone they were surprised at what Jack had done.
Later in the evening as twilight nears the dawn the house it seemed to be rattling the windows they were shaking, for some reason the bed was bouncing. There was this sound these horrid cries like that from a nightmare. As we all awoke to wipe the sleep from out of our eyes, soon we realized that the scream was not a single word but it was made up of a few you had to listen closely for the baying ran them altogether but this is what was heard ICE CREAM, O COM ON, COME ON, O please dear god let the ICE CREAM work…..it burns O how it burns dear ICE CREAM SWEET AN COOL O ICE PLEASE!!!!!
I know I heard my dad; his laughter rebounding through out the house, he always had this deep echo and every now and then as if on cue the laughter it would somehow catch, then like a person deeply snoring one that sets the whole house on edge, just like that you pause, with baited breath in anticipation as you wait to hear him breath, for its only then you can take a breath, for you to have also stopped breathing as the moment passes, no! now two, now a wee bit longer in your mind your screaming BREATH for your still not breathing ei-ther; then it comes, your saved all things will remain as pappy finishes his laugh and start another for we still hear the piercing call, the mournful awful call like a lone wolf calling to the moon becoming ever louder ever higher in its pitch with the call so piercing, O so loud I heard my momma who usually is so sympathic rolling on the floor, as she listened to the pathetic mournful call, coming from behind the bathroom door, I heard her pleading now with pappy honey make him stop; I can not stand it! I wet myself, help me off the floor. Add to this my sisters too they were howling all the more as on the floor their mother rolled in rhythm to the howling coming from behind the bathroom door. As for me I was laughing just as hard O it hurts so much yes even now as I remember how it sounded as I myself was on the floor,
Some times as I think back and remember that dark cool night when in the twi-light, when laughter rocked our home, it wakes in me a memory of this I remember well No, one yelled, no, one cursed and not even he who sat there in the throne room calling out, neither pappy or our mother offered to him advice. It seemed like hours that we rolled upon the floor. Slowly his calling out began to fade ever so slowly his moaning did die down became a whimper then in time all we heard was some harsh course breathing. It was then that pappy he lightly knocked upon the door to ask our poor uncle if he was now ok. He answered he was fine. Then asked my dad if could lie upon the cool so cool white tiled bathroom floor. Pappy had to bite his lip to hold back his laughter as he let his answer yes come rolling off his lips. I still remember all of this even too this day; we had so much fun in some insane perverted way. Insane we were in those early morning hours while listening too our poor uncle suffering writhing there in pain just a moaning, groan-ing, that pathetic plea, of pleez, O pleez, ice cream, o pleez.
I also learned that year about people and odd looks they give for it was that sum-mer and the next that crooked little smiles followed by the chuckles every now and then from the neighbors up and down the block; for you see in the summer time we kept the windows open. So now and then when was heard the Ice cream truck, coming down the road, laughter seemed to follow it for a year or two. And pappy would just every so often say something about Ice Cream to a special person when he’d come in the room.

This lesson we all learned that day: ice cream is a treat but it can not no it never will quench a raging fire. And all things they should be done in moderation using com-mon sense and that sometimes just perhaps God he allows stuff like this to happen for he does it seem have a sense of humor.
A man he made a choice: to eat
Gods will: we all got a great big laugh.

O the beauty of the misery of the loss
It’s in the name, even a nick name you see
How lovely is a tree?
My dear sweet sister does collect all sorts of oddities. She is a person who has never though of anything as junk. Each thing she has she thinks is gold. Whether cracked scratched or broken it is as valuable as if it were brand new.
Yes, she is eccentric in her way you see; for she did something’s which warped her little mind some call it dope and others say its pot. Something many now want to le-galize; for they say that it’s safe. O ya?
Yes, each year she sets up then decorated a live a real tree with flare. I’ve never seen the likes of it she does the strangest things. Perhaps it is the stuff she did I really do not know, well I digress; she has a home of course it’s Filled from floor to roof.
I do believe you call it hording when a place is filled like this. Her stuff includes a dog or two and this little kitty; it must have weight at least twenty pounds. He was a long haired a mouser, any movement and he’d attack. His was mad dog an oddity and fact. The dogs were treated better than a baby and useless as could be pinhead and pea brain now they truly were insane.
So now for the holidays she does sometime attempt to clean but the rug doctor has died on her so many many times, so scented candles and powder carpet deodorizers add a multitude of layers to the smells so sprinkled on the floor it covers all the odors tempo-rally.
Now I shall relate to you the simple story of the Christmas tree, how it came to its fatal end in the middle of July on a sunny afternoon at three.
O in December it was so green and their watering was fine, this kept its supple branches its needles soft and O the sweet smell of pine, by January twenty ninth the tips were falling piling on the floor, the cat had built a bed with those upon the wrinkled skirt, by February twenty eight the branches they were bare, now so brittle, sadly no one now seemed to care or notice the pile upon the floor. By the end of March still not one orna-ment was yet removed; this I swear the branches seemed to fall as the air with in the room was stirred, I asked my baby sister once then towards the end of April, when she planned to clear her tree and take the poor thing down.
She gave me a look that cut through me just like a butter knife; it’s my tree! Now leave me alone! I do not tell you what to do! So do not tell me now! Now it came about in mid July Things were just the same. For the tree it did remain.
I was looking in the window when I saw that naked tree, so bear so homely just a pitiful brittle stick with the angel barely holding on the now bent.
It still stood O yes, it did even now it was decorated. And there beside it on a chair sat her little friend, as I watched he lit a match brought it slowly to his cigarette.
What I saw some how did not connect, a sudden flash a whoosh I heard from where I stood and then, there was a pile a thick pile of ash. I was expecting then the house to burn to hear someone then screaming but all I heard was my sweet sister yelling.
I heard her yelling calling him yes blessing him with many varied names; gestur-ing in many O so many many ways.
It was just a moment a go that he had been just sitting quietly ready to smoke his cigarette; now there in shock as pale as could be ,the hair on his arm his head, so slightly singed and smoking but none the worse for wear. Next I hear her wailing sobbing O my sweet sweet Christmas tree, look now see what Robert has done to thee. Sitting rocking sobbing, O my Christmas tree, my sweet Christmas tree.

To legalize a drug that burns out brain cells faster every year it’s used; is why they call it dope; for those who use it live up to that name dope: dope is for dopes. Pappy use to tell us to work and do a job but my little sister can not get off the pot. Some they call them pot heads now just think of that; what then does that say for the few brain cells they have left?

Fire an ants don’t mix no matter what the fuel:

I have now related some of my families’ tales, I hope you have enjoyed them there are so many more to come.
Now I would like to tell you about this one event of how it happened and why one must be ever so aware of these evil little ants. Twenty years ago and we’ll add four years more or so to set our little story.

Please remember: use some common sense
Think before you do something as stupid or foolish as I did.

One sunny afternoon I went to see my mother. Now she complained to me about a little problem and she asked me what to do, I then opened up mouth and spoke my mind a blank I heard my moth speaking and yet my mind was blank, I’ll go take care of it for you.
Outside beside her drive was a nest of ants, near to where the little one did play.
So I said alright, I’ll fix it.
I have always thought myself to be so pretty smart but thinking is not done if one does not use their brain. However I was so very sure I was intelligent and I knew just what to do!
I went and got the fuel, I knew those ants would burn.
Now I’ll inject a side note here; For it seems that every day through out the year; you’ll hear about some idiot, Who tries to burn an ant pile, some brush or start up his bar-b-que yet instead of using a small torch and the proper fuel; this simpleton who is not Einstein yet some time he seems to be intelligent just grabs a can of gas.
So yes, without even thinking for their minds is stuck in neutral, the fool he soaks down everything then steps back with a broad smile , he lights a match and everything goes whoosh surprised he is, shocked a bit , as he mouths the words O shi……..
Some of them are lucky, some of them are not. I myself fell right into the not.
I stood there about twenty feet surveying, what I had done, the ant nest it was burning out of the bugs were on the run. O how proud I was I have to say. I was to say so very smart. Until my mother scream at me and says” O my God! You’re on fire.” In my mind I thought of Kamikazes ant! Those who had then chased me down and secretly set my pants a fire?
Looking down I see that what she says is true. I still swear I saw those dreadful kamikaze ants. As I stood there now looking at my now burning pair of pants my boots and even my new cast.
Thirty feet away from me is an outside water tap looking at my sweet mother pleadingly I do ask of her, can you come and help me please? Please turn the water on! Come and help me now!
And here is what my mother said to me; looking so confused yes she looked so dumbfounded as if what was happening was not even real; she just simply said “I can’t! I’ve got to hold the baby can you wait for just a minute, I’ll be right back just you wait a second, and then I’ll see what I can do.” Mother just come down the steps; please just turn the water on!!! Next I hear the door, its being close and there I am alone.
It was then that I remembered what we so much as children in the school:
The drop and roll. To myself I think that is the best solution. So I drop, begin to roll and O dear god the pain the pain it quickly starts for the more I rolled the more those ants they came in contact with my skin, so I got up and made a dash for the water tap.
Reaching for the tap, I turned it pulled it pushed it up, finally a small trickle and a big rush then with the cool water now the burning it was stopped.
Finally my sweet mother does appear and asks me how I feel. Fine I think lets go inside I need a little break. In the kitchen I sat down, Now I see the damage, my boots are ruined the pants are gone from the knees on down. My skin it has now blistered and I had to ask my mother knowing the reply, can you drive to the Hospital?
No! She said nary missing a beat; I can not I told you I’ve got to baby sit. Well bring her with us it will be alright. No, is all she said.
So slowly I got up and walk out to my car. Yes, she followed me and now stand-ing on the porch, calls out, to me; like the closing that one sees on the Beverly Hillbillies each week. Ya all drive safely now ya hear and give call when you find something out ya all come back now ya hear!! Ok!
Driving did not seem so bad for the first five miles yet driving with one hand is difficult enough but with everything now happening my feet my legs were in such dis-comfort that it would be like crushing your privy parts with a pair of pliers.. The pain kept creeping up growing ever worse, its here I have to say: perhaps God does for each of us a plan; for I had had an accident that at that time did help. I had had my neck broken, so my feeling it was cut way down.
Finally At the hospital I found a place to park in the visitor section of the parking lot. Not far from the emergency rooms door. Leaning on the cars I worked my way a round and down then toward the door, a drive of an ambulance coming out saw me notic-ing my condition he had a look of shock; then turned and ran inside, the door had only closed when I found in front of me a nurse a gurney and that man, how long I had stood there I did not know but suddenly she was asking me, “what happened, what did this to you.” Then into the hospital I was rushed.

Question they were asked: answers they were given. I blamed those fire ants.

Off now comes my boots, then they proceed to cut off what’s left of my brand new pants? Then they bring the blessed cooling juice in those great big jars, O yes, O dear god they bring in the clear ice cold solution called saline; that solution they do pour it on to stop the burning O yes I plead just keep the cold solution coming. They Soak the gaze with some more then the wound it must be cleaned, now let me tell it’s a treat if you’re into pain. For you can not imagine nor comprehend how it does feel.
Slowly now they clean me up and sooth the wounds with care then they ask me very carefully how I got here. Once again I tell them how I drove myself. No, tell us of the fire? So once again I tell them of the fire ants how they attacked me and caused all of my pain because it sounded better than my true tale of ignorance. Now they just smiled and looked at one another, then in unison looked at me and smiled, one patted me so gingerly upon the head and said Okay, honey it’s alright you just rest here now a while the doctor he’ll be here now real soon.

The fairy tale of today:

For me the following is hard to understand but perhaps people think and feel if they can micro manage life perhaps there will be fewer dysfunctional young people.

We hear these little conversations taking place most every where: a husband says to his wife ,a mother to her daughter; all thinking hey sound so intelligent for all are un-der forty and we are plus fifty or more and see it in a different way. O sweet heart you should arrange a play date or two, perhaps see if maybe he or she can join the soccer team? Remember their self esteem! Honey lets organize, set a few time limits and find a safe place; for the kids to play.
It makes me want to scream! Put them in their own back yard, arrange it so they go outside and play even by them selves.
If not then lock them in a closet and open it at twenty one? Why, not send the kids outside, let then let play, let them discover as we did that some people are real jerks to be ignored, that sticks and stones they can hurt, but words can only do so if you choose to let them; learn that if you fall yes it may just hurt and yes the world is made of dirt and dirty people too not every thing can be sanitized and talking will not solve all problems; some-times you have to walk away and let a loser be. Life can not be cleaned by spray cleaners and hypo allergenic carpets.

They say that caged animals are dangerous as they can go a little crazy when they are denied their freedom and fresh air. This statement made me wonder as I sat listening to these parents as they tried to impress each other with their tales of play dates soccer team and other forms of sports but never was a mention made of simple play, These peo-ple were also speaking of the pills the psychologist and special tutors that their child has and their concerns about the schools newest problem of bullies.

Oddities no moral compass, restriction and the new prison system:

The moral to my story is:

Remember now the opinions here in expressed come from some one who once played outside got sun tanned sun burned ate candy ran and played. Then as evil as it sounds let no encouraged their kids do the very same.
Then taught them the way of God, the ten commands, then let them choose as they came of age.
This one thing that I have noticed, a person by age fifteen has chosen the path in life that they one day will follow. Most will walk to the edge look over and with good sense back off but some will just jump off; it is at this time that we the parents must pray and trust God. Its when the parents attempt control that they loose them.

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