I’ve been drinking Carlo Rossi and doing some on-line shopping, friggin dangerous combo.  Funny how your mind works when slightly lubricated with cheap red table wine. 

I’ve got most of the family figured out but trying to find a gift for my father has become increasingly difficult over the years.  So to remedy the problem I went to www.sportsmansguide.com- this is my fail safe web site for holiday gift ideas.  I never walk away empty handed- so many discounted, yet soundly constructed items, you’re sure to find something for everyone.

In about five minutes I came up with four quality items that I am positive my father would be happy to call his own.

Item #1-

When I saw this nifty little “Meat Mallet” I had to ask myself “what man dosen’t enjoy beating meat?” I mean come on, every guy I know spends an inordinate amount of time whacking on his meat trying to return it to a soft and pliable state- especially if his meat has been stored for a while.  This mighty mallet, complete with ergonomically designed rubberized “grippage”, guarantees to soften up even the toughest of customers- friggin awesome!  If I get this little number for my Pops he’ll be a meat beating fool- which is good because when I spoke to him on the way home this evening he had just got done purchasing $400.00 worth of butcher grade cow- I’m not talented enough to make this shit up.

The only thing that puzzles me about the whole thing is the manufacturer claims that their product is capable of beating meat four different ways? I’m almost 40 and I know of only one way to beat my meat- you slap the daylights out of it until it’s tender- end of story.  If anyone out there knows of three additional ways to tenderize meat please let me know- I’d be interested in trying them all.  Hell, I could have a meat beating marathon.

Item #2

Believe it or not, “Billy-Ray-Joe-Bob” is as bald as an egg plant- but you would never know because he’s sporting the revolutionary “Flair Hair Camo Visor”.  I would bet money that the redneck who tore himself away from the NASCAR channel long enough to design this trainwreck had a huge crush on all four of the “Back Street Boys”.  I’ve come to this conclusion because the joker pictured above looks like a middle aged Justin Timberlake- only better because he’s got a kicking, well manicured beard to compliment his straight from “Spring Break 2010″ Faux-doo.  If I purchase this for my father I’m going to include some super righteous fake tribal tattoos to go with it; he deserves the total package- from Grandad to “Super Pimpin Frat Boy Gone Wild”- whoot, whoot!

Item 3-

Ho, Ho, Holy shit!- no way am I buying this for my Dad because I love that guy with all my heart.  I just thought I would post this picture in case anyone out there is considering purchasing this number for me.  Be forewarned if you buy me this for Christmas I’ll wear it just long enough to douse myself in gasoline, light myself on fire and run into your home incinerating all of your worldly possessions as I scream obscenities at the top of my smoke filled lungs.  Just wanted you to know before things got out of hand.

Item #4-

The only reason I would buy this for my father is to see the look on his face when it springs up from the bowl to greet him during his 2am potty break.  That shit would be Hil-lar-ious!

But then I asked myself how sanitary could this thing possibly be?  Truth is, once it gets released into the crapper it’s there for the long haul- because I for one am surely not retrieving it.  Not to mention the trauma this thing could cause if someone sat on him in a rush to have their morning BM- friggin sobering thought isn’t it?

Funny, you would think that with all of the advances in engineering the ass-clown who designed the “Shitter Gremlin” would have had just a little more insight into it’s potential for multiple class action law suits?

Well that’s what I came up with so far- feel free to offer an opinion or better yet an alternative gift idea.

 

 

This post is going to get me in trouble-mark my words:)

Big Props go out to my wife for her superb performance during the brunt of the mysterious flu like illness that Mack has been battleing since last Thursday.  She’s not one for blood and guts but give her an illness and she’s on it like a Hobo on a ham sandwich. 

We’re reluctant to call Mack’s illness ”Pig Flu” because we don’t want to contribute to the Pandemic hysteria that has accompanied the newest strain of winter illnesses- but it sure did act, smell and sound like the “Pig Plague”.

We’re keeping our eyes open and our fingers crossed that Mack will be the only victim.

In case you’re wondering Mack seems to be a bit better today- Luckily Connie did all the heavy lifting yesterday so all that’s left is to hang on the couch and watch America’s Funniest Home Videos with the recovering patient.

I’m a fortunate man.

Cayden lost another tooth last night- I helped with the extraction.

Soon after the tears/blood stopped flowing I wrote a note to remind myself to leave the window open for the “Tooth Fairy”- otherwise the “Tooth Fairy” might forget to visit, especially after two glasses of Carlo Rossi ;).  Trouble is, when I went to open the window I discovered the “Tooth Fairy” was fresh out of dollar bills.

I love my kids- but all the “Tooth Fairy” was packing in his fairy purse was a ten spot.

Like I said I love my kids- but $10 in exchange for a nasty dead tooth is not an equitable trade.

The ”Tooth Fairy” improvised,

 He left Cayden a Ham Sandwich and a Kohls 30% off coupon.

Funny, Cayden looked really pissed off this morning.

I say a lot of stupid shit- because, well I’m stupid.

Cayden has certain favorites that he attempts to mimic on occasion.  One of them is this catchy little ditty that I learned on the drill field when I was a young enlisted Marine.

“I’m gonna pull off your ears and shove them in your back pockets so you can listen to me kicking your butt”

Never fails to get a laugh out of Cayden.  He hasn’t quite mastered it yet- he starts laughing every time he thinks about pulling someones ears off.

I hope in the past seven years I’ve given him with more than this to get him through life’s challenges.

But, there is a really good chance that long after I’m gone this will be the one thing that Cayden pulls from the old memory bank when he thinks about his old man.

Could be worse- I could have said “Ass”

I agreed to take the boys to Chuck E. Cheese this morning for some “game play” if they willingly cleaned up the  basement.  Funny, I don’t remember bartering chores for fun when I was a kid.  The only compromise I can recall was something like ”if you clean up your mess I won’t pull your lips over your head”- a far cry from the bribery that I currently employ. 

Things have surely changed.  

Apparently my boys have been led to believe that there are no absolutes in the parent/child relationship- everything is negotiable.  Somehow I’ve come to accept this notion as well, as I often participate in the bargaining cycle like a first time home owner at closing.  Since when did the boys and I enter into an agreement where all of our opinions were weighed equally?  I often have to remind myself that it is “I” who pay the mortgage, shop for groceries and put ”Tony Hawk” skate shoes on their feet- plus if you abide by neanderthal rules I outweigh each of them by at least 150lbs.  So my opinion should matter slightly more than the kid who thinks “Glitter Glue” is made form the fart residue of the “Trix” Rabbit.

I wonder what my Dad would have done if he had asked me to do something and I said “You know I’m not really feeling it right now, maybe later”.  It’s likely the preservation of my meager life would be directly attributed to the sudden cardiac arrest he experienced as my flagrant disregard for his authority sunk into his “brain housing” group.

Fortunately for him, the word “no” never passed beyond my subconscious thought.  I didn’t have an ounce of intestinal fortitude when it came to my parents- they said do something and I did it- at least until I hit puberty (then I became a bit of a smart ass).

It makes me wonder what magical parenting theories my folks used to achieve this level of unquestioning obedience to orders?  It couldn’t have been anything founded in research data or trial tested on prisoners- hell, 40-years ago parenting advice consisted of “during pregnancy smoke filtered cigarettes and try to limit yourself to beer and wine during the last trimester”.  If you compare that to what parents put themselves through today it’s a wonder that any of us survived at all- let alone obeyed our parent’s demands.  You would think that with all of the expert advice we’re recieving our kids should be 6′3, 200lbs of tightly packed muscle with IQ’s in the genius range- if you have one of these kids let me know we’ve yet to have one over for a play date. 

I just don’t get it?

Should I throw away “What to Expect…” and purchase a carton of Camels- or should I convince myself that kids are different today because of the crazy hormone levels found in boneless chicken breast?

Connie and I are busy making the chow.

I have all ready had my first glass of Carlo. Fine wine can be enjoyed all hours of the day- 5pm rule need not apply.

Oh the boys?

They’re in my gym, shirtless, working off the Thanksgiving dinner they haven’t eaten yet.  When I went down to check on them Cayden was running in place (pretty common for Mr. High-Energy) and Mack was standing in front of the mirror stroking what he  believes to be his first armpit hair. 

I’m not surprised nor am I concerned.  Both of my boys are convinced they are in the throes of puberty.  Two days ago they got in an argument over who needed to wear deodorant and who didn’t.  We all agreed that Mack warranted his own bottle of speed stick, but Cayden still smelled pretty good- he was extremely distraught.  To make him feel better I told him that his Fu-Manchu made up for his lack of body odor.  He’s been rubbing his upper lip ever since. 

Man I’m quick on my feet…

Connie e-mailed me this photo the other day.  I’m not really sure what her motivation was to do so. 

Maybe she thought that the sight of my sons modeling Hershey Kiss nipples would make me swell with fatherly pride?

Or, maybe the doughy sugar coated aereole were meant to remind me to stop at the grocery store on the way home from work and pick up  eggs, milk and bread?

Or, maybe it’s a desperate cry a cry for help?

“HELP!  The boys broke into the cupboard while I was working and baked themselves up a fresh batch of silver dollar sized nipples- they’ve been running amok tweaking their Hershey Kisses all afternoon- get home soon!

 No matter how you slice it the end the result is the same- I’m afraid to go to work, I’m not sure what will happen while I’m gone…

Cayden’s seven years old and until the other night he was able to retain every single one of his baby teeth.  This isn’t completely unheard of.  Plenty of kids hold onto their primary teeth for even longer than that but this fact did little to ease Cayden’s frustration.  He was tired of being the only kid in 1^st grade without a huge gaping hole in his front grill.  As an aside, isn’t it strange that kids consider a toothless smile a sign of prestige as where adults see it as a sign of poor dental hygiene or methamphetamine addiction?

 

Regardless, Cayden was eager to lose his petite little tic-tac teeth and acquire some big honking “Sponge Bob” fangs.  So two nights ago when he announced that he had a wiggly one- he was most excited.  Losing your first baby tooth is a noteworthy milestone- and unlike learning how to use the potty this one came with a cash reward.

 

For two days the kid worked feverishly on his loose tooth.  He wiggled it, pushed it, twisted it and tugged it.  I got so used to seeing his hands elbow deep in his “soup-cooler” that I stopped putting silverware at his place setting.  Think about it, what’s the point of giving a handless kid eating utensils?  It’s just plain mean. 

 

But, no matter how much effort he expended the tooth refused to budge.  So like every other job that fails to be accomplished by lesser means he called in some heavy artillery- he asked Dad for help. 

 

Cayden- “Dad can you help me pull out my tooth?”

Dad- (feigning excitement) “Don’t move I’ll go get my vice grips!”

Cayden- “Uggggghhhh, Daaaaaad- NO, sob, sob, snivel, snort…

Dad- “Dude, relax I was only joking- channel lock pliers are more appropriate”

Cayden- “Whoosh!” (That’s the sound my son makes when running at the speed of light)

 

Maybe I should have been more sensitive- but I’m not completely at fault.  Cayden should assume some responsibility for my callous humor- after all he’s the one who asked a retired Marine to perform a potentially painful dental procedure on him-  that’s about as intelligent as licking Hannibal Lecter’s lips.

 

I was finally able to coax Cayden out from behind the love seat by promising him that I wouldn’t use anything harder than dental floss to extract his tooth.   He did however, demand a thorough explanation of the procedure before completely letting his guard down.

 

I asked him sit at the counter and lean his head back.  I then tied a slip knot on a long piece of dental floss and slid it over the wiggly tooth.  Cayden looked concerned (terrified) so I let him hold the loose end of the string.

 

Cayden- “What now Dad?”

Dad- “Well buddy we’re going to go upstairs to your bedroom, tie the string to your bedpost and then I’m going to heave you out the window J”

Cayden- “ugggghhhhhh Mommmmmm! Dad’s gonna throw me out the window!”

Dad- “Shush boy, you’re going to get me in trouble”.

 

While Cayden weighed his options for escape I grabbed his hand, the one holding the string, and gave it a sharp tug.  I figured it best to make him the responsible party.  That way if things went south he would only have himself to blame.

 

Result- Blood (but only a little), tears and several quick but painful jabs to my upper torso- Cayden was less than pleased.  He was even less pleased when he realized the tooth was still stuck in his face.  I didn’t think of that possibility so I had no pre-planned response designed to calm him down.  The befuddled look on my face sent him running to find his mother.

 

Thankfully, before he had the opportunity to tattle on me the tooth fell out.  I’m positive I had something to do with it- but since it didn’t happen right in front of me I got absolutely no credit.  Life is so unfair.  Next time I’m using an ice skate and a rock- that shit worked in “Cast Away” (Tom Hanks is a national treasure) it’s bound to work on the boys…

I’m thinking of you today Andy. 

I do that a lot- but more so on days like today.

I promise to write your mom and dad and let them know.

They’ll probably get choked up- but don’t worry, hearing from one of us never fails to make them smile.

You see your loss is painful for them- but not quite as painful as thinking their son is forgotten by his fellow Marines. 

I promise I won’t let that happen.

I’ll let them know that I remember.

That I’ll always remember.

Happy Veteran’s Day Andy

Veterans Day has recently come and gone and I realized that I failed to mention it.  I guess I got wrapped up in thinking that Veteran’s Day was my holiday, sometimes it’s easy to do.  The wife takes you to lunch, family members call to thank you for your service, people stop you on the street to shake your hand; it can be a bit overwhelming.  However, this is no excuse for my negligence.  Currently my Marine brothers and sisters are deployed around the world fighting a war that is less than popular against an enemy who refuses to fight by the rules.  These are the folks that Veteran’s Day is meant for- the 19-year old kid making life or death decisions that no-one should ever be faced with; not the guy enjoying the relative comfort of a desk job at the Pentagon.  At lteast that’s my take on it.

So I pulled out a letter I wrote when I was deployed to Iraq in 2003.  At the time I was a company commander with 180 Marines to lead and we had been conducting operations in Iraq for several weeks.  Somehow, I came across an article discussing the “Greatest Generation” i.e. those folks who fought during World War II and how this generation of young warriors matched up.  It was less than flattering, so I scribbled down some thoughts as a rebuttle.  Things got busy so I never published my thoughts, but I’ll do so now.  Maybe this will explain to you what it’s like to serve with this generation of men and women.  Maybe it will explain why I’ve been a Marine for so many years- or maybe you’ll pick up on the admiration and flat-out love I have for those so willing to give everything they have to our great Nation.

I had reservations about posting this letter, some of it may appear to be politically charged, but that’s not my intent.  I serve at the discretion of the President of the United States, and I have served both Republican and Democrats in my 20 plus years.  Simply stated, I’ll serve President Elect Obama, just as I served President Bush; with loyalty, devotion and honor.

So here are my words from May of 2003 while deployed to Iraq:

 

I have heard so many speak of the troubled youth of today.

I’ve heard the complaints aimed at the Pepsi Generation or Nintendo generation or whatever title it currently holds.

“When I was a kid we played baseball, kickball, and spin the bottle”

Kids today have Play Stations, experiment with synthetic drugs, and have an alarming rate of teenage pregnancy.

They are a motley crew; lazy, inconsiderate and self absorbed.

They have no respect for property, authority or their elders.

“When I was a kid we recited the pledge of allegiance at the beginning of every school day, this new generation has no concept of duty, pride or patriotism”

What an ugly portrait we paint of youth and freedom; of our sons and daughters.

 

I have heard so much in my short life about “the new generation”.

Was there ever a time when one generation looked to the newcomer and said “Your generation is airtight, locked on, squared away”?  I doubt it.

Here is what I believe about this new generation.

 

These are my observations from the front lines of this rising generation.

What I see everyday is amazing.

I see 18, 19, and 20 year-old men and women working hand in hand 24-hours a day, 7-days a week.

They do not receive time off or a bonus for their efforts.

They live in the dirt away from their families and all they have known their short lives.

And yes, they have families.

They have 19-year old wives and brand new babies.

Yesterday’s high school sweet hearts suddenly caught up in the reality of nation at war.

Their families live in substandard housing and they receive paychecks that most would consider an insult.

They will endure months of separation often unable to even speak to the one’s they love.

 

And late at night they will suddenly find themselves praying for the safety of their mate even though they’ve never been a firm believer in any faith.

They will cry.

Some will be strong and some will not.

Babies will learn to crawl, walk, speak, and run while their fathers are away.

Sons and daughters will learn the word “Daddy” but only in the context of a photo.

Daddy is a glossy 8X10 sitting on his son’s nightstand.

His son will talk to the picture but it will never answer.

The picture will never caress his head when he is scared or bandage a boo-boo.

How sad for the child who has nothing but a photo.

 

But the new generation tries not to think about such trivial things as family.

They are preparing for war, our nation’s war, yours and mine.

They are the chosen few who showed enough courage to step forward instead of looking down.

Somewhere in their 18, 19 and 20 year old minds they heard the words courage and patriotism.

They heard their Nation’s call, to risk everything for something that was much bigger than any one person could be.

They are the men and women that historians will write about taking part in things that will shape nations.

They are a motley crew.

They are yesterday’s high school prom king, captain of the football team, gang member, or misfit.

They came from everywhere and no-where.

They did not believe the propaganda that their generation was a failure doomed to obscurity.

They came to fight.

They came to carry a rifle, drive a tank, stand a post.

They are 18, 19, 20-years old but they carry the weight of a million people on their shoulders.

Yet they stand tall, defiant as if our Nation’s hopes weren’t a burden at all, but a blessing.

They have faced the dragon, putting their lives on the line for at best a fickle public.

Perched on the cutting edge of the sword they face-off with a multi-dimensional threat, terrorist and combatants alike, and still they somehow manage to smile when they look to their left and right at the buddies who serve beside them.

And when I look at them I know with all my heart that I love them.

 

Here is my dilemma I am a company commander up from the ranks.

I have been in tough situations before; I am what some would consider a veteran.

And when your 33-years old surrounded by today’s youth it is almost impossible not to become someone’s Dad.

You are the old man.

You are the father some never knew.

You will praise those who have never been praised before.

And you will discipline those who are used to running free.

You can clip wings or release someone’s potential in an instant.

You may be the only person who truly understands that the youth of today will become the saviors of tomorrow.

I do.

You will feel the sting of their problems and accept them as your own; you will guide them through troubled times whenever you are needed; leadership is a selfless act.

I have.

You will come to know them in an intimate manner that can only be fostered when faced with the threat of danger, and you will love them for their courage.

I will.

What I have discovered through my career is that above all else I fear for their safety.

Right or wrong that is my greatest concern, I fear for them because their youth does not allow them to fear for themselves.

I am faced with the reality that I would never fully recover from the loss of one of my Marines, and sadly I can say with regret that I know this to be true.

 

For those of you who have the luxury of sitting in your homes and questioning our President’s course of action, good on you, that’s your right.

Just understand how your criticisms impact the 19-year old Marine about to cross the line of departure.

If you have never carried a rifle in the defense of those liberties which you so freely exercise, then support those that do.

Support YOUR president for he is faced with the decision of putting young men and women into harm’s way.

He is faced with making decisions beyond what any of us could ever fathom.

And he will live with the consequences of those decisions for the rest of his life.

Few men would willingly take his place.

 

These are the rambling thoughts of one Marine.

Other than that I am simply a husband who misses his wife.

A father who wants to hold his children.

And a wayward son who should call his mother more often.