Say What?

I married fairly late in life and had not been around a lot of children. The woman I married had two children by a previous marriage. My stepdaughter asked me what a word meant. I thought I did a pretty good job defining it for her, but I noticed that my wife was looking at me with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, that did a lot of good,” she said.

“What?”

“Honey, you just used three other words she does not understand.”

“Oh, shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“Unfortunately ‘shit’ is something she does understand, but I do not want her repeating it.”

I smiled. “You mean verbally.”

“Thank you so much for clarifying that for me.”

Ignoring her sarcastic tone of voice I said your welcome. I considered the exchange amusing, whereas my wife was thinking of the social consequences of using profanity around our children.

The words we know best are the ones we learn early in life. Profanity is something we pick up very quickly. The reason for this is that those words are emphatic and people make a fuss over them. If your father accidentally hits his thumb with a hammer, he is not going to yell “Oh, Fudge!” Furthermore, you are going to remember what he did yell, and you are going to make good use of those words when you stub your toe. There is nothing like the angelic face of a three year old shouting “Oh, Fuck!” People are not going blame your three year old for doing this; they are going to blame you. After all a three year old does not know what the word means or the rules that discourage its usage even when a child’s emotions indicate that the word is appropriate. I can understand a child’s confusion over this. We encourage our children to learn as much of the language as possible, but we also reserve the use of certain words for adults. We trust, perhaps naively, that adults will know when and where the use of those words is acceptable.

Nobody makes better use of profanity than the military does. In battle an army always seeks the high ground. In language it always seeks the low ground. It is important for everyone to understand what is being said and everyone understands profanity. Ordinary soldiers will often come up with their own descriptions for things, and the army is smart enough to let them do this. Since GI’s call chipped beef on toast “shit on a shingle” the army is content to use that description regardless of how unappealing it is. You can also bet that if a mess hall serving that dish catches on fire some GI will yell: “My God, they’re using real shingles!”

As I stated in a novel I wrote about the Civil War, profanity is an emotional prophylactic that protects a soldier’s mental health. The only person in the army who messes up is the chaplain; everyone else fucks up. And there is a whole lot of fucking up taking place. This is understandable. Whenever you are trying to direct and coordinate the movements of tens of thousands of people and tons of equipment there will be problems. The GI’s in WWII described this situation as a SNAFU (situation normal, all fucked up). One might think that snafu should be followed by an exclamation mark, but this is not the case in regard to its normal usage. Rather than being an exclamation of disgust snafu is simply an acknowledgment of the fact that things are going to be fucked up and you have to deal with it. Another expression from WWII I like describes a messy situation that offers no good options: “We’re up shit creek without a paddle.” War is dirty work by its very nature, and GI’s frequently find themselves up shit creek.

In civilian life we are expected to be more polite than soldiers are. Profane words are considered crude and using them in public is considered disrespectful. The people I train at work rarely fuck up because in the civilian world fucking up means creating a problem that is much greater than what WWII GI’s would call a snafu.

In closing I wish all of my civilian readers a good day and all my readers serving in the military a good fucking day. I think I speak for everyone when I say we are looking forward to the end of our military engagements and the safe return of you brave men and women who are serving us so well.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on Jun. 7, 2011

Sand Dollars

Dirk Wallace and his family had just celebrated his sixteenth birthday. It was the first milestone in his journey to adulthood. Freedom! It was all about freedom. He was now old enough to get a drivers license, which meant he would no longer have to depend on his parents to take him places. Regrettably, he would have to wait a few weeks before taking the driver’s test. As was their custom, his mother and his Aunt Charlotte had gone in together to rent a house at the beach for two weeks. The timing could not have been worse as far as Dirk concerned.

“Don’t worry,” his mother said, “you can get your drivers license as soon as we return home.”

This was not his only disappointment. His cousin Paul was taking a summer course, and this would delay the arrival of Charlotte’s family for two days. This meant that Dirk would not have his favorite cousin to pal around with during those days. Still, Dirk was going to his favorite place on earth, and his mother assured him that everywhere he wanted to go was within walking distance of the house they were renting.

The next morning broke bright and clear. They used paper plates at breakfast to cut down on the amount of time it would take his mother and older sister Lily to clean up. Dirk loaded the suitcases into the car as his mom and Lily cleared the table. One would think this process could be done fairly quickly. Think again. His mother had to take an inventory of everything packed and everything loaded into the car to make sure they had all the stuff she thought they were going to need. The sun was rising ever higher in the sky as this was taking place. Dirk was getting impatient, but he knew there was no way to rush his mother.

At long last everyone was in the car. Dirk was sitting in the front seat next to his mother who was driving. Lily and her friend, Patty, were in the back seat with Dirk’s younger sister, Cathy. Dirk turned on the radio. It was playing rock and roll, but his mother made him keep it at a lower volume than would have been the case if he and his sisters were the only ones in the car. They soon exited the freeway onto the two-lane highway headed south. On they traveled, past the bean fields and the fruit and vegetable stands selling the freshly picked corn, strawberries, and melons his mother usually bought on the way home from the beach during their Sunday outings. He was afraid his mother was going to cause a further delay by stopping at one of those stands, but she kept going. They were now getting close to Pacific Coast Highway. The smell of the ocean made him fidget like a puppy being taught to heel. They turned onto PCH and then onto a side street. His mom parked the car in front of a duplex.

Dirk unpacked his things as soon as the sleeping arrangements had been made. He did this very quickly. He wondered why women took so long to do this. Why was it that they always had to fuss over where they placed everything? Was it some sort of territorial instinct? Fortunately he did not have to wait for them. His mother knew that breaking away from the family made her children feel more like adults, and that this was important to them. She was content to let them go their own way for the most part. He had put on his bathing suit before leaving home. He now picked up his beach towel.

“See you at the beach,” he said as he opened the door to leave.

It was a short walk to the sand. He dropped his towel fairly close to the water, but not too close. He could see that the tide was coming in. He looked to his right as he waded into the water. He saw a wave knock a little girl on her butt. The wave took her into a rip tide. He ran into the water as she struggled to her feet. He grabbed her from behind and dug his feet into the sandy floor. She could not have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and he was able to hold her against the pull of the water.

“Relax and go with me,” he said.

He managed to move sideways. He had only moved a short distance but it was enough to take them out of the rip tide as the next wave formed. Then he stepped forward and lifted her so that her head was above the swell.

“I’m going to put you in the next wave. Don’t be afraid. Just lie flat on your tummy and let the wave take you to the shore.”

He placed her into the wave perfectly. She rode it until the depth of water was less than knee high. Dirk looked out at the ocean again and bobbed over next small swell. When he turned back to look for her, she was on her feet and facing him. He waved to her and she returned the wave. Now that he knew she was safe, he turned to face the incoming tide again, and he started working his way beyond the small shore break to the larger waves that were beginning to form farther out. He body surfed for two hours. He was drying off when he saw the little girl approaching him. She was eleven years old and had a cute, round, baby face. She favored him with a dimpled smile.

“Hi, I’m Sandy. Thank you for saving me.”

“I’m Dirk, and you’re welcome.”

“Well, ah… Thanks again.”

She looked like she was going to giggle, but she did not do it. Instead she turned and walked away. He was slightly amused by how shy and awkward she appeared to be. He saw his family farther up the sand from the water, and he decided to join them.

“It looks like you have a fan,” Lily said.

“I pulled her out of a rip tide.”

Lily seemed amused. “Her hero!”

“She doesn’t weigh much and the surf was a lot smaller then.”

“She seems quite taken with you,” Patty said.

“She’s still a little girl.”

Dirk’s mother looked up from the magazine she was reading. “Little girls have much deeper feelings than you would think. Be careful, Dirk.”

He did not say anything, but this conversation was really disconcerting. Sandy was a pretty little thing. He did not want to hurt her by rejecting her, but he did not want her pestering him either.

The next morning Dirk got up when everyone was still asleep. He put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Then he went for a walk on the beach. He had just stepped onto the sand when he heard a voice coming from behind him.

“Hi, Dirk.” It was Sandy. “Do you always get up this early?” she asked.

“I like walking on the beach this early because no one else is here.”

“I know it’s like we’re the only two people on earth.”

She obviously did not get the hint. Rather than being annoyed he was actually amused by the fact that it did not seem to occur to her that he might want to be alone. He saw it as an indication of her immaturely and innocence.

“That illusion will be undone when everyone wakes up.”

“That’s when mom will start looking for me.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It’s okay.”

There was a lull in the conversation, and they walked along the water’s edge in silence. He suddenly stopped and bent down. There was a big smile on his face as he picked up a sand dollar.

“Look at this; it’s perfect! It’s rare that you find one this fossilized that isn’t broken.”

He held it out for her to see. The sun had bleached it white, and it had a flower pattern that looked like it had been etched on the topside of its slightly domed surface.

“Neat,” she said.

“Do you want it?”

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m happy to give it to you if you want it.”

She thanked him and took it. They walked a little farther. Then she bent down and picked up another sand dollar. This one was a little smaller than the one he had found, but it was also sun bleached and intact. She handed it to him.

“Now we’ve both given something to each other,” she said.

He smiled at her. “That’s good. You must be good luck. Finding one intact is rare; finding two in tact is almost a miracle.” He looked down at his watch. “Well, I should be getting back. Mom is probably making breakfast now.”

“Mine too.”

They turned and walked back the way they had come. Later that day he was walking to the water when he felt someone at his side. It was Sandy.

“Hi, Dirk.”

“Hello.” For some reason he thought about her getting in trouble in the water. “Do remember where you were when you got in trouble in the water?”

“No.”

He pointed. “See how the waves converge over there?”

“Yes.”

“That tells you there’s a rip tide there, and that is where you were. Now look straight out in front of us. Which way are the waves breaking?”

“To the right.”

“That means the waves will take you toward the rip tide. So after you ride a wave in you need to look for the rip tide and move away from it before going back out in the water.”

“Okay.”

Dirk then went into the water. Since he went out much farther than she was comfortable going she did not follow him. He joined his family when he came out of the water, and there was Sandy. She was taking to Cathy.

“We were talking about you,” Cathy said.

Dirk looked over at Sandy. “Don’t believe anything my sister says about me unless it’s good.”

“He has a rotten sense of humor,” Cathy said.

Sandy giggled but the smile on her face soon faded. “My mom’s waving at me. I guess it’s time for lunch.”

“Bye,” Dirk said.

“Bye,” she replied.

He did not see Sandy again until he was walking back to the duplex in the afternoon.

“We can’t talk long,” Sandy said, “but I had to tell you we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Dirk was somewhat relieved by this news, but he remembered his mother’s statement about little girls having deeper feelings than you would think. Sandy was a sweet little girl. Since she was leaving there was no reason why he could not tell her what she wanted to hear.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She hugged him briefly.

“Take care of yourself,” he said.

She stood there as if she was expecting him to say something else. He did not know what else to say. She had a sad look on her face when she said “Bye.” He watched her walk away.

Aunt Charlotte and Paul arrived the next day. It was a good vacation, but he was glad when it was over because he was really eager to get his driver’s license, which he did the day after arriving home. His mother let him use her car that night. He drove to the house of his friend, Larry. Larry was one of the few kids who had his own car.

“I have mom’s car. Let’s go cruising,” Dirk said.

“We can pick up Sue and Ellen,” Larry said. “I can also score some beer.”

“I don’t know about that. If we get caught with the beer it will be years before mom lets me drive her car again.”

“We’ll take my car.”

Larry drove to a liquor store and parked behind it.

“Wait here,” he said.

Larry got out of the car and walked to the front of the store. A few minutes later he came out the back door carrying two six packs of beer. He put them in the back seat of the car. They then drove to Sue’s house. Larry was somewhat of a Romeo, and both Sue and Ellen had a reputation for being naughty girls. They cruised the main drag of town for a short time before Larry drove to a park. Dirk knew this park well. It was really a neat place. It was hilly with natural vegetation on the slops and grass on the flat areas. It was officially closed in the evening. There were no lights there, and the restrooms were locked after dark. It was not the usual make out spot, but that made it better because they did not have to worry about anyone else being there. Larry gave everyone a beer. They drank it as they listened to the radio. After he handed everyone another beer he started making out with sue.

Dirk started making out with Ellen. He was not very experienced at petting, but he reached up and felt her breast. She smiled but pushed his hand away.

“Sorry,” she said, “but I have to pee.”

She got out of the car. Sue did what females are so prone to do.

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

This was not just a matter of one woman accompanying another to the rest room. It was really dark and they would not be able to use a rest room. They walked down the small slope in front of the car and into the darkness. A few minutes later there was a terrible scream. Larry turned on the car lights and both boys exited the vehicle. The first girl to appear in the beam of the headlights was Sue. She was running for all she was worth, which must have been a difficult thing to do because she was also laughing. Ellen appeared in the beam of the lights a minute later. Ellen was having a more difficult time running because her panties were down around her ankles. Both girls were soaking wet.

“What happened?” Larry asked.

“The sprinklers must be on a timer,” Sue said.

“The damn things pop up, shoot a powerful stream out of two sides, then spin,” Ellen added.

“I got hit when they started spinning. Ellen got a cold water douche before the one she was squatted over started spinning.”

“I want to go home,” Ellen said.

“Me too!”

That was that. There would be no more petting that night. The boys were disappointed, but Dirk was still laughing about it years later. He could not believe how clumsy he was with the opposite sex at sixteen. There was lust to be sure, but there was also innocence. It was a time of discovery, the discovery of the female anatomy but also of feelings. Not just sexual feelings because girls think beyond that. They want relationships. This meant that he had to think about more than his own gratification. He had to pay attention to a girl’s feelings. His father told him that girl’s also expect him examine his own feelings. This was not an easy thing to do. It was complicated. He was now a senior in high school. He was no longer a virgin, but he was not very experienced. He knew he still had a lot to learn. He told himself that it takes time and experience to appreciate the complexities of life.

He picked up the book he had received on his sixteenth birthday. It was a good book. He had been collecting things from the sea since he was just a little kid. His mother bought him the book because it identified many of those things. He read it and enjoyed it, but that was as far as he went. A sixteen year old is always looking for excitement. He wants a surfboard, a car, and a girl friend. Dirk was too restless to make good use of the book at that time. He decided that he would make use of it now. He would set up a display of his treasures from the sea, and he would label them with their scientific names and their common names. He started sorting through his shells until he came to the sand dollar. It made him think about Sandy. He was glad he had not hurt her by ignoring her.

He wanted to go to college to study oceanography. There are very few colleges that offered that as major. The ones that accepted his application did not offer it. So he majored in biology thinking he could study oceanography as a post-graduate student. In his junior year he met Brenda. In the last semester of his senior year they moved in together. By the time he had made up his mind to ask her to marry him they were taking their final examinations. It was so hectic that it did not seem like the right time to ask her. He came home after his last examination and opened his mail. She entered the apartment as he was reading his draft notice. We had advisors in Viet Nam at the time, but it was apparent that our participation in that war was rapidly escalating.

“Damn it!” he said. “I just got my Goddamn draft notice.”

He was opposed to our involvement in that war and so was she.

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I have to report, but I’ll do whatever I can to keep from fighting. How would you feel about being married to a guy who has to serve for two years?”

“I love you, but I wouldn’t like that. Why don’t we write to each other and see what happens.”

What happened was that he received a Dear John letter form her shortly after he completed his training and was deployed over seas. That really hurt him. A soldier always dreams about returning home. He particularly dreams about the girl he wants to have waiting for him. By the time he was discharged the pain of her letter had dissipated to a great extent. He was a free man. What more could he ask. It was time to rebuild his life, and that was a good thing. He was discharged at Fort Dix. The flight he got on was not direct. He had a connecting flight at O’Hare airport. He boarded that plane and walked to his assigned seat.

A very beautiful young woman was sitting next to the window. She wore a mini-skirt and high boots. She also wore a decorative headband. He wondered if she was one of the hippies he had been reading about. He sat down next to her. She looked at his face then at his name tag. She had a curious look on her face.

“I hope a gentle soul like you didn’t have to kill anyone,” she said.

“I was fortunate enough to be sent to Germany before they started shipping those poor guys over to Viet Nam to fight.”

“Thank God!”

“Thank God indeed. I’m really against that damn war.”

“Is your first name Dirk?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“I didn’t, but you looked familiar. Do you still have your sand dollar?”

“My what?”

“Your sand dollar. I still have mine.”

“Oh my God! Sandy?”

“Yes, but I introduce myself as Saundra now.”

“Then Saundra it is.”

“I know that must seem rather formal, but you do not know my last name, do you?”

“No.”

“The spelling is B-e-e-c-h. I think you can see the problem.”

He laughed. “I’m surprised you remember me after all these years.”

“The name tag helped,” she said with a beautiful smile. “But you shouldn’t be surprised that I remember you. A girl never forgets her first love or the first boy she has a crush on. You have no idea how mad I was at you when you didn’t ask for my phone number.”

“I never thought a little girl would expect that.”

She smiled. “It’s all right. I know three or four years makes a big difference at that age.”

“Well your not a little girl now, and I won’t make the same mistake.”

“Are you asking for my phone number?”

“Yes, I am.”

“All right, reach into the overhead and pulled down the bag that’s the size of a large purse.”

He reached into the compartment and found the bag. It was made of cloth and had shoulder straps. When he held it out to her he noticed what was embroidered on the front. It was a sand dollar.

She laughed at his reaction. “I told you girls don’t forget.”

She took out a small pad of paper and a pen. Then she wrote her name, two phone numbers, and her address. She handed him the paper.

“Thank you. I wish tomorrow wasn’t Saturday because my folks are having a coming home party for me then. You’re certainly welcome to come, but I think you deserve a dinner date.”

“I agree.”

“How about next Friday?”

“Saturday would be better.”

“Then we’ll make it next Saturday. May I call you during the week?”

“Please do.”

The one concern Dirk had was that he might not able to live up to Sandy’s expectations. Was the sand dollar on her bag a sign of obsession? Had her childhood imagination created an unrealistic image of him as some sort of hero? He did not know. What he did know was that she was gorgeous. Their conversation now shifted to more mundane topics. Which is to say that it was not what they said that was flirtatious; rather it was their mannerisms and the way they looked at each other. She told him she had been visiting a relative in Chicago, and that she was an English Literature major who was just starting her junior year at U.C.L.A. She was obviously very bright and charming. Her beauty made him question his own expectations. He was after all a returning G.I. eager to embrace all of the things he had missed while over seas, including a very attractive American girl.

He usually took girls to a restaurant at the beach that was famous for seafood. The beach was one of the things he had missed the most, but he wanted to avoid taking her anywhere that might remind her of their first meeting so many years ago. For this reason he decided to take her to a restaurant his family had been patronizing for so many years that the owner of the place had literally watched him grow up. It was an upscale Mexican restaurant. It even had a Mariachi singer who went from table to table taking requests.

The owner was serving as the mater d as usual. “Senor Dirk, it’s good to see you again, and with such a beautiful lady.”

Sandy actually blushed.

“Come, I’ll seat you at a corner table so you’ll have more privacy.”

Sandy waited until they were seated. “I take it you come here often.”

“My family has been coming her for years, usually on special occasions.”

“I’m flattered that you consider our date a special occasion.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress who handed them menus and took their drink orders. They both ordered Margaritas. Sandy was looking around the room. Her eyes briefly settled on the singer, then she turned her head to look at Dirk. The waitress quickly served them their drinks and the singer approached them. He played a brief Flamenco riff on his guitar to get their attention.

“I love song for the lady?”

Sandy raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“By all means,” Dirk said.

Dirk tipped him when he finished the song, and the singer moved on to another table.

“That was lovely,” Sandy said, “but I must confess that I didn’t understand the words.”

“In matters of the heart it’s the emotion that counts.”

“How poetic!”

She said it in a teasing manner that made him laugh. The waitress now delivered the meals. Among the items on Sandy’s plate was a red rose.

“The rose is from Geraldo,” the waitress said.

“He’s a romantic son of gun,” Dirk replied.

“Not that romantic,” the waitress said.

Dirk looked at Sandy. “Which means you must have made quite an impression on him.”

“Are you jealous?”

“I think that would be rather presumptuous of me at his point.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The look she gave him was so seductive that he felt his heart racing.

They walked to his car after the meal. He opened the door for her. She kissed him on the cheek before entering the vehicle. She waited until he started the car and pulled out onto the street before resuming their conversation.

“I hope you didn’t spend all your severance pay on me tonight.”

“Hopefully I’ll find a job quickly enough so that that won’t be a problem.”

“Inexpensive meals and a movie are nice too.”

“Thank you. That’s a very considerate thing to say.”

There is always that awkward moment on a first date when the couple is standing in front of the door, and the man wonders how she will react if he kisses her good night. She prevented that moment by lightly kissing him on the lips.

“Call me,” she said.

“You can count on it.”

The fact that she did not invite him in was both a relief and a disappointment. He saw it as a sign that his fear about her being obsessive was unfounded. The disappointment speaks for itself. He really wanted to be with her.

He had just enough money to take her to the restaurant at the beach on their next date. They did not talk about the first time they met. They talked about the war, the civil rights movement, and about life in general. The political topics could have been problematic but they were in complete agreement. She was a very generous and passionate woman. She was not just passionate about the causes of the day but about life itself. He found that very appealing. They took a walk on the pier after supper. They paused for a while and stood together at the rail to watch the waves form and break.

“I’m glad to see that you still love the ocean,” she said.

“I’ll always love it.”

“Me too. I’ve learned how to handle myself in the water now.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I was afraid that getting caught in a rip tide might have scared you away from it.”

She put her arm around him and leaned on him. “I’m rather fond of that event and the very kind teenage boy who was so patient with a little girl.”

Dirk did not become an oceanographer. He became a lab technician. He also came to Sandy’s rescue again. This time he saved her from being Sandy Beech by making her Sandy Wallace. They bought a nice little house at the beach. She photographed a wonderful sunrise over the ocean. She had that photograph enlarged and framed, and she glued both sand dollars amidst the gold streaks reflecting off the water. She hung it in their bedroom because she thought it might be too intimate to explain to quests. To her and Dirk it was a symbol of their love for each other and of the miracle of their chance meeting on the airplane from Chicago.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on May 26, 2011

Go To Sleep

It is that time of year, warm one day and cold the next. The old bio-computer seems to be reflecting the weather with thoughts that do not have the energy to flow. Which is to say that it feels like there are ice crystals in the brain inhibiting the creative spark. That is not much of an excuse for not posting, but it is the best I can do at the moment. When I suffer from writer’s block I usually try to write my way out of it. I sit down and record meandering thoughts until an idea I can work with finally emerges. Not surprisingly, my efforts are interrupted by my need to support myself and by my need to relax after putting in a days work at my place of employment. During those moments of relaxation I usually read in an effort to supplement what I consider to be the mind pap served up by television. A lady at work added to my reading by loaning me a book she was sure that I would enjoy. The book was so short that I was able to read it during one of my breaks at work.

The title of the book is “Go the fuck to sleep” by Adam Mansbach. It is very cleverly laid out like a children’s book. By that I mean it is written in simple verse and contains the illustrations one would expect to find in a children’s book. As the title suggests, however, it is very much a book for adults. It is a hilariously funny expression of a father’s frustration as he tries to get his two year old to settle down for the night. It is very rare, no matter how good a book may be, that I will say I wish I had written it, but this book struck that chord with me. I might add that it is a chord that will resonate with all parents. It also had me thinking.

We humans have a distinct disadvantage in the dark and an instinctive fear of things we cannot see. Every parent knows that children fear the dark. Furthermore, the thoughts that give comfort to an adult do not necessarily give comfort to a child. Thus our efforts to allay a child’s fear often go for naught until the child is old enough to understand why we take comfort in the thoughts we are trying to teach. A good example of this is a bedtime rhyme often recited:

“Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my soul will keep.

If I die before I wake

I pray the Lord my soul will take.”

Forget the theology. Children instinctively know that death is not a good thing. They may not know what it is, but they know we try to protect them from it. They soon learn that we do this because dead people are no longer here. Since children want to be here the thing very much on their minds when they hear this rhyme is why they might die in their sleep. Their vivid imaginations then conjure up images of monsters under the bed or lurking in the dark. An unexplained noise is very likely to have them darting into your bedroom to seek your protection. Fortunately for me, my parents did not recite this rhyme to me at bedtime. I do not recall more than one or two times when I was afraid to sleep.

The thing that kept me awake was restlessness. I wanted to be a part of whatever was going on. The one ploy that allowed me to get out of bed was having pee. There was an implied threat there. I say implied because I never said I would wet the bed, nor would I intentionally do it. There was also the excuse of getting a drink of water, but that could be problematical. Timing is everything. If I had already climbed out of bed to pee my parents did not want to give me the excuse I needed to get up again to pee. Although they did not exactly limit the number times I could get up to pee, they had a way of discouraging it as a ploy. After one or two times one of my parents, usually my mother, would accompany me to the bathroom. At that point it was put up or shut up. I had to demonstrate that I really had to pee. Obviously I was older than two when all of this was taking place, but the bedtime battle lasts well beyond the toddler stage.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on May 18, 2011

Super Bowl of Weddings

It was not just a wedding; it was the super bowl of weddings. It was not just a royal wedding; it was a fairy tale royal wedding. A handsome prince was marrying a beautiful commoner. He was taking this middle class girl as his bride and making her a princess. It is what little girls read about, dream about, and fantasize about. The wedding of Will and Kate and their romance was and is a feast for the news media, and the media is determined to present it to us until we are gorged.

I turned on the television while eating breakfast. I wanted to get the weather forecast and the latest news. What I got was the Royal Wedding. Well, not exactly the royal wedding; it was actually the parade of people going to Buckingham Palace after the wedding. They were in no hurry to get there either. The reporters were babbling about the crowd, the wedding dress, the beautiful bride, the police, the soldiers, etc. It did not matter which television station I tried. None of them were telling me what I wanted to know because they were all too busy covering every detail of every event having anything to with the royal wedding. By the time I left for work my frustration and impatience was quite evident.

“The news coverage of the royal wedding was so damn boring this morning that I was actually looking forward to the ads,” I said to a bright young lady I work with.

This young lady, however, was very interested in the wedding. In fact, she could not get enough of it. She defended what I considered to be an excessive interest in it by telling me it was an important historical event. I suppose it has historical significance, but it is not the first time a member of the royal family has married a commoner. Edward VIII actually gave up his thrown to marry Wallis Simpson. Unlike Edward VIII, it does not appear that Prince William has to make that choice. This means we do not have to worry about him defending his decision by saying “it’s a hell of a lot better than giving up my kingdom for a horse.” It also means that the beautiful commoner, now Princess Kate, might become the wife of a king. In which case the story of their romance and wedding becomes a bit more significant.

In spite of the potential historical importance of the marriage, I still think the coverage of the wedding was excessive. With all due respect to the young lady I work with, the British, and the royal family, a three or four minute highlight film of the event is about as much as I have the patience to watch. I feel that way about most ceremonial things. For instance, I like to hear the inaugural speeches of Presidents and Prime Ministers because those speeches set the tone for how they will govern, but the swearing in ceremonies and inaugural balls bore the hell out of me. I, however, am not a part of the demographic group television networks consider to be their major market. I can almost hear you cheering over that and probably with good reason.

I would like to see television news programs spend less time on the trivial stuff and more time on the things that really matter. I would like to see them go beyond merely reporting what a politician says and do a little fact checking regardless of the party affiliation of the politician they happen to be covering that day. In regard to entertainment, I dislike the contrived scenarios networks tout as reality shows. In my opinion those reality shows are a poor substitute sports. Furthermore, all award shows would be banished to some obscure “Ain’t We Bitchen” cable station. I hate to sound like an economist, but there are so damn many award shows that they have all become devalued. Besides, I do not see the newest movies. I wait for those movies to hit the movie channels. I guess I have reached the age when men do not take young ladies to romantic movies to get them in the mood. Most of the ladies I know prefer live shows anyhow, and I am afraid this economy has made plays an infrequent treat.

All right, I am being a bit grumpy. I do not expect you to agree with what I have just written. The market is what it is, and I accept that. If you enjoy the current television programs and the coverage of Will and Kate’s wedding I am happy for you. As for me, it is time to fire up my Kindle and download another book to read. I will catch up with you on the next news cycle unless the networks are covering something that bores you or me enough to tune them out for a while.

First published in macsbackporch.fictionforall.com on May 3, 2011