My one miracle

                                          Chapter 30: A Sign from Above                                                                              To get on with my personal little miracle story: when my dad passed away I was the last child of three still living at home, 30 years old and at home with my parents, pathetic as usual, but at least I was paying a modest rent.  Still under the General's command and dreading every minute of it.  Little did I realize, back then, that I wasn't going anywhere.  I still had false hopes and empty dreams. The Commander-n-Chief wasn't barking out orders like he used to. His Majesty had mellowed somewhat with his retirement, however the memories of past temper tantrums remained vivid.  So I tried to avoid detection by keeping my regular regime of staying in my room as much as possible.  My bedroom was my sanctuary and remains so to this day.  I don't like to venture far from its cramped quarters.  It's not like I have any real money to go out and have some actual fun.                                                                                                                     I am a chubby hamster on his little spinning wheel. I sometimes think I was raised to live in captivity, my bedroom being my paper lined cage. My mom prefers it that way, limiting the mess to my room helps keep her house nice and tidy. She always keeps the house immaculate just in case a traveling surgeon might want to perform a makeshift discount operation on her living room floor. Or perhaps she expects the President, Pope, Queen of England, Prince Charles, or some other traveling dignitary to stop in on his tour of the neighborhood; after all it's happened so often in the past.  Our little subdivision is known for it's celebrity magnetism. We're always being hit by surprise inspections of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.                                                                                                                                                        My sister comes over once a week, my brother about once every three months.  But there's really no need to try to impress them. The only visitors my mom might want to impress are the gaggle of hens from her church. About once every three months two or three ladies from her church's circle group do meet here, but that's about it.  I suspect her generation was raised to keep a clean house above all else; even if it turned a home into a museum. Maybe she takes the cleanliness being next to Godliness a little too seriously?  I'll never know for sure.                                        Personally I believe a home is for living in, not display. Unfortunately every time I attempt such an absurd thing I get the same old lecture.  With tears in hysteria in voice and tears in her eyes the same old lecture about how we can't have nice things.  Why is it too much to ask to keep everything spotless? When my nephew came over a got a little too rambunctious jumping onto the couch he put a ding in the wall.  My Mother had such a fit I ended up filling every ding I could find the next day.  That instantly became me volunteering to paint the entire house.  Now Mom's even more sensitive about her precious walls and my nephew comes over even less.  To me family's more important than Sheetrock; living is more important than looking neat; silly deluded fool that I am.                                                                                                                                                           My bedroom became my sanctuary and my prison cell simultaneously.  I am a pack-rat with a waste-not-want-not mentality.  God forbid I clutter up the rest of the house with my junk.  The older I get the smaller my room becomes.  The walls are closing in on me.  My room's walls are lined with shelves filled with miscellaneous junk I refuse to get rid of, the end result is claustrophobically close quarters.  I actually sleep directly under 3 six foot shelves.  One minor earthquake and I could conceivably wake up to die in an avalanche.  My room also has a southern exposure all day long.  That combined with the television being on whenever I'm in it makes it the warmest room in the house.  A fact I'm never too comfortable with.  Still I dare not actually try living in the living room why that would be absurd!                                                                                                                                                              I take you back to doomsday.  As inevitable as it is nobody is ever really ready for it when it comes. Death frequently hits unexpected.  The darkness likes to sneak up and ambush you when your guard's down.  A game of hit and run, hide and seek, and us mere mortals are never prepared for the sucker punch to the gut when it finally lands. The Grim Reaper crept quietly in from out of the midnight blue early one morning.  Dad woke my mother up complaining he was having trouble breathing. Mom phoned for an ambulance and then got me out of bed.  I was working nights at the time and had just barely gone to sleep.  I got back home before sunrise and liked to get to sleep before sunlight could awaken me.                                          It was quite a fiasco; a genuine fox in the henhouse scenario. My dedicated Mom remained by my Fathers side whereas I despondently wanted to escape.  Even though my dad had built himself up a reputation as a hypochondriac, I did everything I could not to observe my father's suffering. I didn't really consider the situation as dire as it actually was, still I was uncomfortable and guilt ridden. Pacing anxiously around, indoors and out, I desperately scanned the neighborhood streets for the requested ambulance.  No glow of a flashing red light to be seen on any horizon!  That only made me more impatient, nervous, and upset.  I was hardly a rock of strength for my Mom to cling to; I don't think I'll ever live that shame down.  Guess I deserve at least that much for staying home so long.  I'm a lily-livered chicken-hearted coward of the highest magnitude.                                                                                                                                The situation only got worse as time progressed.  I re-dialed 911 twenty minutes later after my dad lost consciousness and the ambulance still hadn't arrived.  In hindsight we should have driven dad to the hospital ourselves. We live only 15 minutes from the nearest hospital.  At the early hour I could have easily made it in less than 10 minutes.  Even though it was the early morning hours and there wasn't any traffic, it took an eternity of 45 minutes for the ambulance to show up.  I have no idea why.  No excuses were given, we never found out what took the ambulance so long.  The "system" never worked in favor of my family; just another waste of taxpayer's dollars and/or incompetent government employees as far as I'm concerned.  Once again another lawsuit slipped through my family's fingers, we are all a bunch of "wusses," but I still remain the biggest. I am, without a doubt, the black sheep of the clan.                                                                                                  My dad had set himself on the sofa to wait for the ambulance and I was too well trained to argue with him.  I was far too intimidated by him to even suggest he take aspirin. I suggested he lie down and got my head barked off for that simple remark. Even in a dying state dear old dad still could demand his respect.  He wasn't about to relinquish control of the rudder, the captain was in charge of his ship up to his last breath just like he wanted.  I was all too happy to wait outside.  I only came in every few minutes to assure my mom I was still around.                                                              When the ambulance finally arrived it do silently.  I could understand not wanting to wake the neighbors, but it didn't even have its red bubble lights on.  For an emergency call they sure didn't seem to be in much of a hurry.  I suspect we woke them from a sound sleep, although that's hardly an acceptable excuse.  It's their job to respond as quickly as possible.  The paramedics sauntered in with their tackle boxes, went over to my Father, and announced he was gone.  It was over in a minute. The medical professionals didn't even perform any CPR-just a quick exam and that was it.  To this day I still wish I'd never witnessed any of it.  It's a terrible memory I will never forget.  Nothing was accomplished by me being there.  Why couldn't he have passed on while I was at work or, better yet, after I had moved out? ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 My dad's passing turned out to be the irony of a lifetime, literally.  That a man who spent so much of his time yelling and screaming went out so silently.  Talk about in like a lion-out like a lamb.  The king of his jungle didn't go out with a roar, but with a mighty whimper.(probably the only oxymoron I'll ever use)  The mighty lion became the meek lamb.  I'll never forget it.                                                                                                                        Perhaps I tell this death of a tyrant tale for a feeling of closure.  Maybe it's in hopes of lessening the guilt of standing by helplessly, or to make my dad's death mean something; to let him leave his mark on society like he would have expected.  Nobody's death should have to go unrecognized.  Then again it may be my attempt to make peace with the dead; I sure couldn't manage it while he was still breathing.  For whatever reason my Father's death has a lessen to be learned and shared.                                                                                                                                  Today I no longer depose my father, time has mellowed me.  The dilution of the years without his bombastic rants has left room for doubt.  I came to realize I could never judge him since I will never know exactly what he was thinking.  No one man can truly get inside another man's mind.  As devastating as Daddy dearests actions were, his intentions or motivations may have been noble however misguided they may have seemed.  

My mom claimed her Dearly Departed's last words were goodbye and that he knew his time had come.  Dad went peacefully, or at least as peaceful as you can go when not departing in your sleep.  I always figured that if he beat me to the grave he'd blow a gasket during one of his tantrums, not just wake up one morning having difficulty breathing.  The great roaring lion went out with nothing more than a whimper.   The king of his jungle didn't seem to suffer much for which I am grateful.  I have enough guilt as it is.                                                                                                       When my Dad left us it was still dark outside.  I'd tell you about the bats playfully fluttering about in the midnight air or the magnificent canopy of stars, unfortunately my mind was locked on something else.  I don't remember if it was overcast or not.  I'm only reasonably certain it wasn't raining.  I was preoccupied scanning the night sky for the red glow of flashing ambulance lights; still an hour or so before sunrise.  Just like in a horror movie, it was quiet, too quiet the silence was deafening.  I was outside waiting for the ambulance so I can't confirm my dying Dad's last words.  He was unconscious the last time I saw him, I'll never actually know if it was my mom's wishful imagination or not.  Some things are meant to be taken on faith alone.  My dad's last words weren't my personal miracle-although they may have been mothers.                             At the time I thought Dad was just having a dizzy spell; a hypochondriac's panic over a minor symptom of heartburn or vertigo.  Father had a proclivity to run to the doctor for up-to-date diagnoses.  I figured the ambulance would come, take him in for servicing, and he'd be back by the end of the week at the latest. I was expecting to hear his complaints about the hospital bill for the next year at least.  I never expected him to lose consciousness, when he passed out I was blind sided.  When the paramedics pronounced him dead I didn't know what to think.  I wanted to demand a recount or at least a second opinion.                                                                           Truth be told I had convinced myself I would be the first to go.  Dad had been paying over $100/month on prescriptions and I assumed that with all those preservatives in his system he just might outlive us all.  He was always concerned over his health and went for physicals regularly.  I, on the other hand, rarely see doctors, considering them only for the wealthy or well insured.  Father had convinced me I had already lived past my own expiration date.  My weary carcass is long overdue for an obesity brought on heart attack.  It just goes to show that doctor's aren't the "Know-it-alls" we would like to think they are.  Medical science has still got a long way to go.  There are mysteries of the human body medical professionals probably will never figure out.                                                                                                                                          "Joy to the World," the Despot was dead.  Yet there were no bells chiming, no cries of freedom echoing in the streets.  I always thought I'd rejoice quietly to myself if the dictator ever was deposed and I was still around to witness it.  Dancing an unholy jig upon his grave wasn't completely out of the question.  The thought of peeing on it had crossed my mind more than once turning some of Daddy Dearest's particular nasty outbursts. My biggest excuse for my miserable life was gone and still I remained a failure.  Boy was I wrong.  Few people get what they expect in life.  Easy fixes are next to impossible to find.                                                                                                                                             Daddy's unscheduled departure from this world occurred during a time when I drove nights.  You'd figure without all the yelling I'd finally get a good day's sleep-not so.  Despite no sleep I went to work that night-still in shock.  I needed to get away anyhow.  I was amazed at how hard my dad's death had hit me.   I wanted to run away and never come back; unfortunately that wasn't a real option.  Death in the family, even one as dysfunctional as mine, frequently hits harder than expected.  Nobody can honestly fully prepare for it.                                                      Even without any rest I still managed to get through work.  It was one of my shorter nights, from 5pm until 1am.  It was in the early years as a courier driver when I worked night shift dropping of appliance parts to service technicians.  I spent the entire time rehashing the morning's events in my head while driving my route.  I didn't eat anything that restless day and had gotten home after work exhausted.  Still I tossed and turned relentlessly, I couldn't empty my mind.  Insomnia had gotten a strong foothold and wasn't likely to alleviate itself.                                                                                       Evidently I still wasn't going to get any sleep so I decided to watch television.  The boob tube could take my mind off things.  I used that escape hatch numerous times before.  Television was always my magic looking glass.  It's my primary source of entertainment; where I escape from the cruel realities of my meager existence; where I can usually find ways to fill the emptiness, all-be-it shallow and temporary. Vicarious living was the only kind of living I know anyway.  If I was lucky it might get my head empty enough that I could finally sleep.                                                      O.K. here comes a little sign from above.  Now pay attention here's where my minor miracle occurs.   The first image that came across the television screen when it glowed alive was a coffin with my dad's name, Albert, carved onto its lid!   Immediately I sat up on the sofa and took notice.  Kiss sleep goodbye for the rest of the week!  That coffin freaked me out more than ever before or ever since!  You might chuck it off to the effects of sleep depravation, but there was no way I could consider it mere coincidence.                                                                                                                           For a moment I thought I had entered the "Twilight Zone."  I half expected Rod Serling to pop out from behind the drapes and start narrating:  "Submitted for your consideration a sign from above..."  Goose bumps crept over my entire body.  As the camera pulled back from the close-up of the coffin I realized I was watching an old re-run of "The Odd Couple."  The coffin turned out to be small, about the size of a shoe box.  Inside was a bird named Albert.  Apparently they were pet sitting for a neighbor, or maybe for one of their kids, when somehow the bird died.  I tuned in towards the end of the show and don't really know the plot.  To continue, a scratch emanates from within the coffin.  They open the coffin and out flies the bird.  It was one of those big white "Beretta birds," a cockatoo.  The bird quickly escaped out the window and soured away to freedom!  I almost woke my mother, but decided to wait until later to tell her.  It affected me so much that I drafted a letter to Dear Abby, but she never responded.                                                Later, when I told my mom, she didn't have much of a reaction.  I can only assume not all miracles are meant to be seen by everyone.  Perhaps some are custom tailored to fit an individual requirement.  Maybe it was just a coincidence.  To me it seemed like much more.  The coffin with my dad's name on it at exactly the moment the television came on, on that channel and on that night!  Usually you turn on the television at random and you're hit by a commercial, not in this case.                                                                                                                         Miracles require some interpretation.  A measure of faith and belief are required to break the secret code.  To me the soaring cockatoo symbolized a souring soul moving on to the freedom of an afterlife.  I know the metaphor would have been perfect if it were a white dove soaring into the heavens.  Let's face facts; I'm not an important individual.  Why would God send me a miracle of Biblical proportions?  I didn't really deserve the one I did get.  I'm certainly not going to question it very thoroughly.  After all is said and done, you take what you can get in life, if you're lucky it's enough.                                                                                              You may think me silly, still I took it very seriously.  I don't like to take anything for granted if I can help it.  My sign from above wasn't an earth-shattering event, but I never expected God to send me a burning bush.  I'm absolutely no Saint and don't even pretend to be worthy of an obvious miracle.  In some areas there can be such a thing as too much information.  The mind can only handle so much before you risk an overload.  If I had seen something stupendous I probably would have thought it was a shock induced hallucination.  I would probably question my sanity before believing in an undeniable miracle.  It's only fair to mention I still have my doubts, and probably always will.  If God does exist and is all-powerful he could wipe out all doubt with a blink of an eye.  Who am I to question why He chooses not to do so?  Questioning the will of God is the ultimate definition of futility.        

more travel across the SoutLake City, SC and beyond

                            Chapter 28: Out in t         he Boondocks                                                                   Back to my route, yep we still have a significant way to go.  I last left you sitting abandoned in a tiny locality named Turbeville as I recall. Only once did I take a detour down to Manning so I could cover another driver's blunder before coming back up to Turbeville, not quite a minor side trip. Still I though I'd mention it just to show how you never knew what might be expected of you.                                                                                                                           Turbeville wasn't any smaller than many towns I visited, but for some reason or another it never got many deliveries.  I guess they just didn't have as many businesses, or at least not businesses we handled. One stop at the Citizen's Bank Operations Center and then it was off on the next leg. Before the operations center was built in Turbeville I delivered to the Citizen's Bank in Olanta.  I'd go up to Olanta on US301 and then go down to Lake City on SC341 back in those days; less traffic, but more miles and a slower speed limit in town. The only other destination I'd been to near Turbeville since the bank operations center was constructed there, was a nursing home/retirement center also in Olanta about 12 miles northeast, I only went there once as well.                                                                                                                                                              Since I no longer had to run up to Olanta, the trip to ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Lake City was directly on US378. The next 2 lane highway stretch was a leisurely country drive across the manicured acreage of farm country. No nasty traffic lights between Turbeville and Lake City and I hope it just stays that way.  The speed limit was 55 or above most of the way as well.  Normally it was smooth sailing, except for the heavier traffic during tourism season headed for Myrtle Beach and harvest time in the autumn when tractors and combines slowed things down now and again.                           Most of the scenery consisted of trough lined rows of dirt later to change into columns of neatly arranged crops waiting for the decapitating harvest to come.  It's always interesting to see what your vegetables look like in their natural state, before their neatly, tidy, and uniformly trimmed for their public consumption. Personally I could only identify about half of the crops I passed along the way. Very few vegetables appear as they do poured out from a can, which is how I get most of my fruit and vegetable part of the food pyramid. For one thing their color is usually much more vibrant in the flesh-so to speak. Tis my understanding the taste of fresh produce is somewhat more vivid also.                                                                                              The trek to Lake City without the detour to Olanta is about 26 miles in length.  Normally it took only 20 minutes to complete.  There usually was little traffic to hinder my progress for at least a little while. It was so unlike the stress of city bumber-to-bumber driving that it became nearly intoxicating, especially in the more rural areas like Cades, Indian Corners, Nesmith, Poston Corners, and Pamplico. It's just too bad my whole route wasn't composed of them. Those more rustic parts of my route were welcome stress relief, even if only temporary.  They were the only breaks I had on my route; when I seldom had to worry about some clown in the line of cars in front of me slamming on his brakes for no apparent reason whatsoever.  Periods when you felt less like a defensive driver and more like a sightseer. The times I could kick back and actually enjoy the music playing on the radio. Too bad I didn't have cruise control available most of the time, it would have made it easier to tap my feet to the beet and enjoy the ride. As silly as this sounds, those particular lonesome stretches of highway are what I miss most about my former position.  There was something very meditating in all that serenity.                                                        About the only real obstacle on this part of my route was the seasonal traffic backup behind cumbersome farm equipment.  Farmers have to squeeze all their work into the daylight hours and there wasn't any time for them to pull over to allow bottlenecks to flow out. Sitting in line behind some of the big-wheeled brutes you discovered solid proof that John Deere Tractors' horsepower was applied mostly for torque, not speed.  The blades of the combines are designed to suck up corn stalks, not fly down the highway.  All to often long lines of beach bound traffic would pile up behind those farm-hand slow pokes.  More often than not guard rails, trees, mail boxes, or drainage ditches wouldn't allow the off-road big tractor tires to ride on the shoulder out of traffic's way.  Unless you were lucky enough to be near a workable detour or an extensive passing zone there was no choice but to wait your turn and stomp your feet and twiddle your thumbs.                                                                                                                                         According to my Microsoft Encarta Encyclopedia The United States is the world's principal exporter of agricultural products.  42% of the total land area of the U.S. is dedicated to either crops or livestock.  My computer's a few years out of date, but I believe that to still be the case.  America's heartland has a lot to take pride in.  Farming is a job of little recognition, yet it is vital for all our survival.  American farmers not only feed our country, they feed the world.  The men of the earth have earned their due respect.                                                                                                                              Ah farming, a noble profession, all-be-it in the too-hot-for-me outdoors.  Agriculture is an industry now a days.  Red necks with dirt under their finger nails have more business savvy than people generally believe. Few farmers, if any are actual country bumpkins. With advances in agriculture growing and harvesting crops is far more complex than it used to be. Biotechnology creates crops which are genetically engineered for specific soil types and weather conditions.  Selective breeding and hybrids increase yields almost every year. Conservation and controlling erosion can be a matter of economic survival in the fields. Soil has to be checked and conditioned for proper ph, moisture retention, nitrogen content, drainage and a host of other factors.                                                                                                                                        Despite scientific improvements the farmer is still at the mercy of Mother Nature.  Frequently a drastic weather pattern can devastate a year's work.  Farmers have to have the heart of a gambler, risking a complete loss for an extra rainy season or a drought.  Insects and plant diseases present other fronts on the war to bring in the best crop.  Fertilizers, pesticides, insecticides, herbicides, and fungicides make knowledge of chemistry a necessity on the ranch.  Farmers of today even use global positioning systems and geographic information systems to help them more accurately predict crop yields.  Add it all up and it's enough to drive many C.E.O.s bonkers.  Recall the many mishaps and headaches of Eddie Albert in Green Acres. So try to respect those that respect the fertile soil.  They're keeping your bellies full.                                   A sunburnt, straw-hatted, farmer lad rumbled slowly along.  His tore up denim coveralls and a canteen are the only uniform he bothered with.  Within his denim pockets were carefully selected necessities.  He followed James Bonds business advice.  In License to Kill Mr. Bond(Timothy Dalton) mentions: "In my business you prepare for the unexpected."  Similar to a boy scout, and following the Coast Guard's motto the tractor trooper also had to "always be prepared."   Every few hundred yards or so he spit a little residual chaw on the ground to mark his territory.  At times you're not completely sure who's in control.  The skinny farmhand, topping out at 150 lbs at most, or the massive hunk of iron he's trying to tame.   The line of traffic backing up serenades him with a not-to-melodious tune from their horns.  Eventually the frustrated yet still polite farm boy pulled over and allowed the congested highway to squeeze by.  Thus proving "Tiny Tim" was in command, at least part of the time.                                                I respect the work that farmers do, yet I resent the loss of forest land. Passing by unshaded fields engraved by the farmer's plow I had to mourn for the wildlife.  Out here in the countryside it wasn't urban sprawl that eradicated woodlands it was the farmer's plow.  Still open dirt fields are better than paved parking lots, and farmers do their best to keep soil erosion to a minimum as well. Fortunately, if you looked closely,  it was mostly only the highway frontage that suffered the burden of the clearing blow.  On the side roads you could still find a heavily wooded mile or three.  I wonder how long before the lumber companies or the paper mills take care of that. Along most of 378 between Turbeville and Lake City tiny wooded patches interspersed between farmers' fields are all that remain of our Founding Fathers' frontier land; these clear-cutting days if Bambi managed to escape Elmer than she had much more to fear from a hit and run than from a forest fire.                                                                                                                                 I can't help but wonder just how much of our national forest remains healthy and in tact. In addition to all the madness progress seems to bring with it, in the past few years we have lost too much acreage to devastating forest fires.  Talk about something valuable and priceless literally going up in smoke...yeesh!  Enough already, my four footed friends can't stand much more of this. The summer of 2000 was particularly nasty being the hottest and driest in 50 years.  Fifty foot high walls of flame and 70 mph wind gusts were nothing to sneeze at.  At one point there were 82 fires burning on 1.5 million acres in 12 States.  They estimated a yearly cost of 325 million dollars to fight the blazes. Forest fires can displace animals from their natural habitats, and too often man's carelessness is responsible.  What's really scary is when the rain forest is deliberately burned by man to clear his way.                                                                               Then there's the double whammy.  Mankind's way of adding insult to injury to Mother Nature; the fact that after all that carbon dioxide from the burning trees only adds to our "Green House' gas problems.  Compound that by all the cut in worldwide photosynthesis by losing all those trees.  Remember photosynthesis?  The process by which plants use sunshine to convert carbon dioxide to that oh so pleasant oxygen.  God only knows how much warmer our summers are going to get or how much higher the tides will reach.  Most scientists don't believe the climate will change very dramatically in our lifetime.  I know nature doesn't always behave the way she ought to.  Time will tell, only question is how much time?  Regardless it should be of little relief that more than likely only our descendants will reap the cost of our decadence.                                                        There are only so many resources to go around and nobody wants to go back to the horse and buggy days of yesteryear.  Last I heard the population is still growing and longevity is also still rising. What are you going to do? Practice a little conservation, or a lot. You don't have to join Greenpeace, although a donation wouldn't hurt.  You can start to make a difference by recycling your own trash.  Every little bit adds up.  Recycling is hardly a rarity these days. Fact is in many cases recycled goods cost less anyway. I'm sure wherever you live has a recycling program-check into it. Plan your shopping excursions ahead of time and maximize the efficiency of your time and gas. Keep your car's tires properly inflated, change the air filter and get a tune-up at least once a year. Lose the lead footed approach to driving. Not only will you save fuel, but your brakes won't need servicing as often.  Consider buying more energy efficient appliances and light bulbs, or at least start turning off lights when they're no longer needed.  Insulate and caulk your home if you know it needs it.  A little extra insulation and caulking never hurt anybody, none of it is made of asbestos or lead any longer.  Fix any dripping faucets or running toilets.  Change and/or clean air-conditioning and furnace filters as often as you're supposed to, you may find you don't have to dust quite as often; besides nobody likes breathing stuffy contaminated air. Even if you don't give a damn about the planet you will appreciate the lower utility bills.                                                                                                                                                                                Fire isn't always a bad thing.  Sometimes limited land clearing is necessary to thin out woods that are overgrown and choking themselves out.  I recognize that sometimes controlled burns are necessary to manage our national forests.  They have burned the acreage on my route at least twice.  I got to drive by the smoldering ground and watch the fiery serpent wind its way through.  Fire has its own place in nature and many species require it as part of their life cycle.  I further acknowledge that deer populations sometimes must be controlled and that hunting is the easiest way to stop overpopulation resulting in too many animals for the food chain to support.  A bullet to the heart is more humane than slow starvation.  There are at least two sides to every debate.  Try to consider all points of view before rushing to any conclusions.                                                                          Back to my courier route, that detour wasn't too bad.  I last left you on the way to Lake City.  An occasional small country shop spottily popped up between corn stalks.  Out front stood fossilized fuel pumps from the days when the Edsel was Detroit's newest baby.  Sun rotted cracked hoses that have been dry for decades drape their sides.  The remnants are a sweet reminder of the day when people didn't live in air-conditioned comfort in front of a television screen.  Back when more than half of the rural roads weren't even paved yet. On the caved-in front porch Tom, Dick, and Harry used to loaf around while discussing the accuracy of the predictions and seasoned advice of The Farmer's Almanac. The gang casually sipped on bottles of sarsaparilla or beer depending on the current mood of the day.   On cool autumn Tuesdays anxious hands awaited payments of the bets made over local sporting events.                                      Lands just conquered passed in my side view mirrors when a speed demon flashed by me in a blink of an eye.  Apparently "Mario Andretti" wasn't driving a squad car, never-the-less the speed demon seems impervious to radar. Maybe Speedy's a Senator blanketed with diplomatic plates with corresponding immunity; or perhaps a dazzling Beauty Queen who could get herself out of a ticket with a flirtatious blink of an eye.  Perhaps he or she's filthy rich with a bottomless wallet and a team of lawyers to clean up any untidy scrapes with the long arm of the law.  Could have been someone driving illegally with a suspended license or no license at all, that's hardly unheard of down here. Then again he may have just been lucky, but if that were the case eventually he would pay big for his arrogance.  You can only push your luck for so long before it runs out.  Maybe he was an off-duty or undercover cop, who knows?   I wouldn't have to share the road with him for long; he vanished over the horizon in less than a minute. I envied his ambition and remember the pre- ticketed days of glory when I did 75 plus most of the way and actually had a mid day lunch break.  Unfortunately I can't bend the laws of physics to ease my journey.   I ended up doing at least 65 on the two lane highway.   Ten miles an hour over the posted speed limit was frequently too slow for many maniacs.  The rules of the road were seldom adhered to.  There was no way my wallet could take any more citations so in my later years I never did over 70.  Oh well, better gas mileage for the corporate penny counters at least.                                                                       Lake City was the destination for my next series of stops. Seemed oddly named to me, I don't have any idea where the lake was.  There was a creek that forked out into a long narrow pond, a marsh, and a few reasonably sized local farm ponds, however that was about it; couldn't find the "city" either.  Downtown consisted of maybe 50 buildings.  None of which was more than two stories high as I recall.  Somewhere nearby was an airport though.  Most likely an airstrip since I never actually saw any planes landing, only an occasional crop duster.  You couldn't see the airstrip from the highway, just a small sign pointing the way to the "airport."  Lake City did, however, have a large boat and marine dealership.  It used to be two until they merged together; so much for competition.  Price wars wouldn't be saving consumers a pretty penny any longer.   I guess an hour from the beach is close enough to sell marine craft, it seemed a little out of place to me.                                                                                                                                    If the tobacco harvest was at risk by an attack of a swarm of nicotine craving insects or a blitzkrieg of diseases, I sometimes was fortunate to spot a crop duster.  The airborne daredevil piloted a single wide-winged plane from within her bubble domed cockpit.  I marveled with childlike astonishment at the sputtering single engine plane's acrobatic stunts, usually recalling Hans Solo's (Harrison Ford) comment: "Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy."  The Star War's rogue pilot had a lot in common with the insects' arch nemesis of the air.   The song birds who dive-bombed the fields for insect nourishment seemed to mimic her ever move.  Time waits for no one so my inner spectator was never allowed to cheer for or partially observe more than a couple of power line dodging maneuvers.  I returned my attention to the road and moved on.                                                                                                                        Lake City's probably best known for being the home of Astronaut Ron McNair.  One of seven American heroes that left us when the Shuttle Challenger's "O" ring failed.  The town erected a monument to him as well as naming a stretch of U.S.52 after him.  I wonder if the tiny old town library will be turned into a museum in his honor as well, recently a new larger library was built on an adjacent lot.  Ron McNair Boulevard is one of the two highways that intersect to create Lake City.  I delivered to a doctor's office, the hospital, a drugstore, 3 banks, the Nan-Ya Plastics plant, the local farm tractor dealership, as well as an occasional trip up north to the John Dear Dealership and the I.G.A. Distribution Center in Scranton.                                                                                            

Now I discuss growing up as a human punching bag

                                        Chapter 27: Nice Guys Finish Last...Every Time                                                        "You must do what you feel is right, of course."(from the Jedi Master, OB-1, in Star Wars(Alec Guinness)); seems simple enough.  I just try to live as clean and decent a life as possible.  To quote Mark Twain, probably the most influential writer I've read, "Always do right.  This will gratify some people and astonish the rest."  Occasionally I step off the Christian path, fortunately it's usually a minor detour and guilt puts me back in line in no time.  I'm not perfect; fact is I'm more than fallible.  More than likely I'll make a few wrong turns in this book if I haven't already.  I'm not as friendly as I should be.  That's not intentional just a major personality fault.  Unless I'm laughing at a joke or actually having fun, smiling feels like lying to me.  I suppose that'll save me a few wrinkles.  I do lie from time to time, but I'm not very proficient at it.  It might be a sign of good character.  It's definitely a negative in the job skill department.  I don't really want to improve that deficiency even though it would help propel me towards success.  That sort of success in life only leads to failure in the hereafter.                          A powerful conscious is a hard thing to escape.  I worship God in my own way.  I feel it's more sincere that way.  I believe The Almighty listens to all those who are truly good at heart.  You don't have to physically enter His house to make a connection.  Once in a Blue Moon I'll attend a mass just for nostalgia's sake.   I figure if God wants me to return to Church on a more permanent basis he'll let me know.  A lightning bolt to the side of my "numb skull" or something to that effect would probably be required to get me back to enduring a formal mass on a regular basis.  Then again as I get older and closer to knocking on Heaven's door I may change my feeble doubting mind.                                                                                                                You can figure out what's good and what's not-do what's right, do what's right.  Expect that what you reap is what you'll sow-do what's right, do what's right.  Massive guilt can end up devouring your soul-do what's right, do what's right.                                                                                         For much of my grammar school days I was teacher's pet.  Parental approval was pretty much a figment of my imagination growing up.  I didn't have my looks going for me, so the best I could hope for was a compliment or two for a job well done. I was always desperately looking for an encouraging pat on my head.  Undoubtedly my attempts to win favor with just about any authority figure had much to do with my lack of popularity with other students. Most days the State seal of approval was about all I could get.  Needless to say I never fully lived up to my potential.                                                                                                                                                    I expect my search for approval from all authority figures is what made me such a hard working sucker.  While hunting for anybody to sanction my worthiness, it never dawned on me to question theirs.  For some unknown reason I assumed people in authority earned their positions through noble means, and therefore deserved my respect. Turned out more often than not, the opposite was the case.  In my world it's the ruthless, the most unworthy, the ones that'll do anything for a buck, that end up giving all the orders; such is the nature of the business world, an environment not fit for man or beast; where man is frequently treated as a beast of burden, or worse-a machine.                                                                                                                                        I found my faintheartedly timid approach to life to be unsuccessful to say the least.  My feet of clay haven't marched me very far up the ramp of victory.  In this day and age it doesn't pay to be more of a fence sitter than a decision maker.  When you let others take charge of you, you never get put in charge, no matter how well you do your job.  As Riggs (Mel Gibson) put it in Lethal Weapon: "I don't make things difficult.  That's the way they get all by themselves."                    Growing up in ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />New Jersey, in a suburb of New York City, wasn't exactly a picnic.  My childhood was much more of a not-so-magical mystery witch hunt.  Due to low self-esteem finding a proper place in the social pecking order wasn't a priority for me.  Whether it was a case of doomed by destiny, torturously timid, or naive in nature, bullies or just about anybody who needed a scapegoat for their problems found some solace in abusing me. I was a magnet for peer-pressure abuse. From the middle of the second grade to the middle of high school I was little more that a human punching bag; more or less a human "Tootsie-Pop" with all my peers just trying to see "how many licks it would take to get to the center." I know to some this may sound fishy, but apparently the bigger the whale, the more satisfaction there was in whaling upon him. Only this "Moby Dick" never took anyone's leg.  I never even knocked anyone's block off.  At most I splashed a few faces in my earlier years. All I can tell you is it's no picnic growing up large, but definitely not in charge.                                                                                                             Back in my high school days I also stood out for wearing a navy blue zippered sweat-shirt all of the time, us hermits love our figurative shells. My own personal portable security blanket, I had convinced myself it helped hide my weight problem.  In reality what became a tattered torn-pocketed worse-dressed fashion statement only created an even worse problem. I had only one jacket and naturally it didn't get washed every day.  South Carolina is not jacket-friendly 8 months of the year. The odors I put out kept anyone who might have approached at a distance. They also helped make me a laughing stock.  I'm not sure which was worse, being a pathetic picked-on victim of bullies, or being the class joke-a stinky, smelly skunk.                                                                                         Where most kids gather in like-peer cliques at their designated tables in the cafeteria, I had a different lunchtime perch.  For my Junior and Senior years I sat on the steps to the stage, not even bothering to eat.  Just observing the masses and wishing I were one of them. Literally sitting side stage was where I perfected my day-dreaming skills. Recognizing that I could never fit in was why I had no appetite. Still I managed to maintain my large frame. No doubt about it, I was an outsider, a cast-off, an odd-ball who didn't fit in with the rest of the pack. But I didn't hate the normals, I hated myself. I hated not knowing what to say, do, or not to do. Did I miss out on some vital information I needed to know?  I still don't know what charm was missing. Did I miss a meeting and the secret handshake? Was there some sort of code word or code signal I failed to execute? All I could conclude was that it had to be my obesity. When I got home after school I ate to fill the void and I knew I needed to stop to fill it with friendship. But I couldn't take the emptiness for long enough.  So the "Catch 22" cycle repeats itself to this very day. Despite all the torment and frustration, not once did I consider mowing anyone down in a hail of gunfire.                                                                                                                                             Lack of sufficient laundering wasn't my only problem.  My obesity wasn't my only physical repulsion. It didn't help matters that my personal hygiene habits are atrocious.  Not only do I bear a striking resemblance to something the cat dragged in, but I also appear to have also been chewed up and spit out. In a very disturbing way my own parents hobbled me. I think it all started with being limited to bathing once a week to keep down utility bills.  Dear old Dad insisted on bathing only once a week to minimize high water bills.  More often than I care to remember I had body odor that could kill a skunk.  In addition I suffered reoccurring bouts of halitosis that could melt steel.  Kids didn't need mouthwash, we were lucky to get toothpaste. (we probably wouldn't have had dad not been worried about high dentist bills) It was probably a good thing that I kept my mouth shut as much as possible.  You could ski off the mountain of dandruff that drifted down from my dry scalp.  Mother always kept me hip with her salad bowl long banged "Beatle" hair cuts. In short any hygiene product that wasn't for health, but for vanity, we went without.  I was quite the scruffy rotund wretched street urchin.  When I was I kid that suited me fine.  In my teens the resulting acne wasn't a picnic. When I got older I had gotten used to it.  My Dad never got used to the high utility bills.                                                                                 Despite their persistency my hometown bullies never broke me.  Fact is I was already damaged goods and they could do little more to lower my self-esteem.  I'll never fully understand why they wanted to do so anyway.  I never fought back, I didn't see how violence could be the answer, and I still don't; besides part of me has always been afraid of losing control.  If I snapped there might be no turning back.  It wasn't worth risking losing my soul just to integrate with my peers.  I never had any noticeable propensity or proclivity to hurt anyone.  Still some days I consider myself a simple madman who refused to crack.  Timid behavior has cost me dearly.  It will continue to do so until the day I die. I can't grow a backbone this late in life.  It's impossible to build up self-esteem when it's torn away from you on a daily basis.  I couldn't change my inclinations. Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guinness) once commented: "You can't win, but there are alternatives to fighting."(From Star Wars)                                                                                   Before it's too late to change-head the signs, head the signs.  Before there's no choice but to surrender-head the signs, head the signs.  Before the guillotine falls and heads start to roll-head the signs, head the signs.                                                                                                                                    Why am I here? Am I a Devine divining rod?  Was this giant abuse magnet put on this Earth intentionally to draw the evil out of certain people? Does the disgusting fact I'm a glutton for food mean I should expect to be treated as if I'm also a glutton for punishment?  This would-be-martyr in me continually asks myself: Did God put me on this world to test the lions?"  Am I being used to see if the lions are ready yet to lie down next to the lamb in peace?  Hope not, this lamb's been so thoroughly chewed up he just doesn't have any heart left. For some reason I was created or allowed to become a very meek individual.  I like to think it was due to more than bad luck or misfortune.  Most of the "Big Cats" I've stumbled across on my journey have torn me to shreds.  Am I the lamb being lead to the slaughter?  Believe it or not I hope not.  It's not the slaughter part that bothers me, I'm used to that, it's that  I don't want anybody being harshly judged on my behalf.  Deep down, I mean really deep, I don't crave any real vengeance.  I don't know why.  My lack of justifiable hatred may very well be yet another failing on my behalf; perhaps just another personality defect or flaw; a twist too tight on the old chromosomal chain; a broken strand of DNA. Don't misunderstand me, I do get angry, I just can't boil over with rage. There are times in life where you need to explode and I never did. I imploded instead. The Roman Catholic Nun's really did a good job on my spiritual education.  I can feel guilty at the drop of a hat.                                                                                                                                                                I prefer to think I was put here to remind all you lucky bastards just how fortunate you are.  Your ball and chain as well as any little rug rats that might be running around should never be taken for granted.  I've seen way too many fools throw it all away just for kicks; those that seek excitement over routine; those dumb asses that just don't seem to give a damn. Then there's the growing indifferent that let it slowly fade away and deteriorate with out giving it a second thought. Family is a blessed thing, especially a loving one. Treat your loved ones with love, kindness, and tenderness if you expect to be treated likewise. Share your love or risk losing it. I'm a prime example of who you don't want to be. There's a lot to be grateful for, not just family. If that 9 to 5 drudgery you call a job pays you enough to get by, and your boss isn't trying to kill you, then you found my dream job.  A true living wage is nothing to sneeze at, you'd be surprised how many people don't make it. If you're healthy enough to avoid extensive hospital stays and expensive bills, say amen.  If you have a roof over your head and aren't living on the street there are many who wish they were in your shoes.  Food on the dinner table every night is why we should say grace. Fact is anybody, anything, any activity, or anything else that brings a smile to your face, you should be grateful for.  For some a smile is a mighty rare and precious commodity. If you got love in your life you've found the greatest miracle of all and you should be eternally grateful, I am for the little I have. Life would be so much worse without it.                                             There is no rule above the Golden Rule. Treat others as you would have them treat you. Show compassion, sympathy, and empathy if you're going to expect the same in return. Tell them you love them as often as possible to insure your good fortune. Hug them and enjoy them just because you can. Spend quality time with them for the same reason. There's no trick to it. If you demand respect, you may very well get it; but not without a heaping portion of resentment as well. If you want decent respect, give respect.  If that doesn't work-ask questions-find out why. Share your true feelings and share the burdens. Identify the problem areas then work on fixing them. The world's a mighty lonely place without the pleasant company of a soul mate. As big a hassle and pain in the ass children can be at times, they are the greatest gift.  All these things and more are not to be taken for granted.  Be grateful for what you have or risk losing it. Don't go searching for a perfect life if you already have one. Life without benefits can quickly disintegrate into barely existing.  Hell just being able to look in a mirror without cringing places you in a league well above mine.  Let's not forget having a roof over your head, food on the table, and teeth in your mouth to eat with.  Even I have to be grateful for that, while it last.  Remember there's always somebody worse off than you; be grateful you're not them.                                According to Rob Geller (Michael Vartan) "All you need is for one person to think you're cool and you're in."(In Never Been Kissed)  I never found my way in.  Then I never tried very hard either.  I desperately wanted to fit in during adolescence but hadn't a clue on how to do so, especially while keeping a clean conscience. I guess I fit Rambo's (Sylvester Stallone) definition of expendable: "It's like someone invites you to a party and you don't show up...it doesn't really matter."(From Rambo First Blood Part II)  Except for the fact I never got any invitation for anything in the first place.                                                                                 Unfortunately instead of the one-sided fights making my core more vulnerable to exposure they had the opposite effect.  My inner core was surrounded by the hardest highest grade diamond wall that juvenile pressures could make.  Fletcher (Jim Carrey) makes a valid point to the Judge in Liar, Liar: "I hold myself in contempt!  Why should you be any different?"   I'm not sure if I had low self-esteem or absolutely no self-esteem.  Now I no longer care, I've given up on living a normal life and all that it would entail.  I fully realize I can never relate successful with my fellow man.  Any real attempt to do so would only end up with me impersonating a doormat once again, a skill I take no pride in, yet have honed to perfection.                                                        Being a target of abuse held no benefits for me.  Whenever I arrived home all bloody or dirty from my latest skirmish I wasn't exactly enveloped in sympathy or compassion.  My Father's constant barrages of "What the hell's wrong with you boy!" didn't exactly strengthen my character.  Parents are supposed to reinforce their kid's self-esteem; it's their most important duty.  I wish he found a more constructive way to help, unfortunately that wasn't his style.  My Mother was more concerned about damaged or stained clothing than damaged or broken child.   I've come to realize I have no idea what motivated him and therefore can't fully blame him for anything.  I believe she was just another victim like me.  Theoretically he tore down my self-esteem to build his up.  She went along with it because it was what she was used to.  The self-proclaimed King of his castle kept his throne unopposed.                                                                                For a particular example of abuse I still remember having the misfortune of being in the same English class as one of my bullies.  He chose a seat directly behind me so he could spend the entire semester pressing a pen between my shoulder blades while twisting it sadistically.  I just tightened my back muscles and took it while other students nodded their heads in disbelief.  The bully never let up.  You'd figure he tire of it, unfortunately abusers rarely have a high I.Q.  They amuse too easily, like a cat with a pull-off tab from a milk jug cap.  I remember getting yelled at for the ink stains on my shirts back more than the actual torture itself.  If you've chosen to write this off to little kids not knowing any better I think you should know it occurred in my sophomore year in high school.  This particular tormentor also tagged me with the nickname of "Gepeto."  He never mentioned why.  I never had a thing for puppets, perhaps he did. Still they way he enjoyed whittling me down you think he would have went with "Pinocchio" instead. I suppose he was a fan of cartoons and the similarities of chubbiness and eye glasses were too much to resist.  Perhaps he felt I was old before my time, I definitely had all the charisma of an old fart. With memories like that is it any wonder I'm so screwed up?  I'd tell you more horror stories of spray-painted hair, bloody noses, and thumb tack body slams, but I don't relish revisiting the horror and shame.                                                                                                                               As far as being predisposed to being a victim there's always the remote possibility that my Dad may have meant well and not realized the traumatic effect all that volume shoved into a kid's eardrum would have.  I recall hiding in closets with pillows over my ears and still being able to clearly hear every syllable.  In fact I still have nightmares about it.  Mental parental damage usually last a lifetime, that's why parenting responsibilities should never be taken lightly.  Daddy dearest only punished us with a spanking or belt whopping once in a while.  And then it was only minimal surface damage.  I'll take the sore butt to the degradation any time.  In my case words definitely did more damage than fists.                                                                         For those of you who need further explanation of my passive behavior:  I think I feared an explosive chain reaction that would result in me becoming what I despised more than anything else, a bully.  Then there was the slightest possibility that I would have acquired a taste for blood and lost my moral way, I always was a worry wart.  Religion can really mess you up if you don't have parental guidance to temper the piety and prepare you for the real world.                                                   When my family moved to South Carolina in the middle of High School I did have a second chance.  I still miss some of the Northern pretty girls I had crushes on, especially my sister's best friend.  I suspect that had we stayed in New Jersey I would have never survived.  Among the dozen or so bullies that nourished their self-esteem by abusing me were at least two definitely twisted minds.  Sooner or later I would have been stabbed with something more than a pen or pencil or used for moving target practice.                                                                                                                                      Moving down South was a definite breath of fresh air, all-be-it hot and humid.  It was my second chance and I blew that simply by not speaking.  I had no social skills by that point.  I can't really be certain I ever had any.  There simply was no place for a gentle giant in the High schoolyard.  I was encased inside my fortress of solitude and wasn't likely to freed easily.  I guess Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher) was right when she advised "He's got to follow his own path.  No one can choose it for him."(From Star Wars)  I can't really recall ever holding up my end of a conversation. I wish I could say "I don't believe in self-pity" like Gloria (Joan Cusack) did in Two Much. Regrettably I was and still am mired down in the stuff.  The die was set and I had gotten used to life inside of my cozy little shell.  Most of my new classmates had found their niches and I certainly didn't fit in any of them.  If you ever have to relocate I suggest you plan it for a time where you're kid would be switching schools anyway.  That is if you actually have that much control over the matter.                                                                                                  Even if I couldn't land any friends at least the one-sided boxing matches came to an end.  I spent the second half of High School as little more than a laughingstock.  I'll take that over punching bag any old time.  Somehow I found myself the poster boy for the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle tune: "I am a rock...I am an island...and a rock feels no pain... and an island never cries."  The older I get the more isolated and remote the island becomes and the chillier the water as well.  The coastline continues to expand relentlessly as well, no erosion here.  As far as the public was concerned I was a stone-faced heartless slab of meat.  Can't really blame them considering the image I put out for public consumption.  Don't expect people to treat you any better than you treat yourself.  We all "must tend to our own garden."                            Growing up is seldom easy.  We all grow up at our own pace.  Maturity can be a hard thing to define.  My personal definition requires you to ask yourself what's more important to you: being cool and fitting in or being true to yourself.  When you can honestly answer to thine own self be true congratulations, you've grown up.  If you stay a slave to peer pressure how can you see an adult when you look in a mirror?  Most people graduate to adulthood before graduating High School.  Some wait for college to wise them up.  A few don't grow up until the cold harshness of the real world briskly hits them in the face. Some never grow-up.  A few precocious early bloomers reach maturity before High School.   I was always too mature and stand-offish for my own good.  I'll bet quite a few of my readers have the opposite opinion.  Once again it all depends on your point of view.                                                                                     Some may tell you different, but as far as I've been able to discern being a societal outcast comes with no benefits.  I'll be extremely surprised if it aids with getting published.  It shames me deeply to say that when the Columbine School shooting occurred I found it easy to feel a little empathy for the perpetrators.  I can't feel any sympathy since I had it pretty bad in my school days, but I never crossed the line and turned to violence.  I told you I intended complete honesty with this undertaking.  If anyone should ever want to denounce me the preceding statement should do nicely.  "Well that should simplify matters for somebody" as Gloria (Joan Cusack) said in Two Much.  I frequently got angry and frustrated and yet I never had the instinct to turn to violence, not even in self defense.  I should seek therapy for it, but I believe if I ever turn to violence I will lose myself completely.  I don't want to create any opening for the darkness to creep in.  I'll never understand how abused victims could decide to become monsters themselves.  You're supposed to stand up to your enemies, not become worse than them.  Too many good people seem to decide "if you can't beat them-join them."  It's a sad state, but morals aren't what they used to be. One by one people lower their values in order to survive. The world sinks deeper and deeper into the mire as a result. Tormented minds don't think straight. Desperation frequently leads to acts of insanity.                                                                                                                              The educational system seemed to turn a blind eye to my childhood troubles.  Despite my large waistline I still somehow managed to slip through the cracks in the system.  I could have entitled this work: "Fallen Through the Cracks and Lost in the Land of Opportunity." Popularity contests were of little concern to the school board.  Who was in and who wasn't was of no concern.  Few people want to stand up for someone who doesn't even try to stand up for himself.  Many people don't want to raise a stink until somebody with a little courage starts waving red flags.  Rebel Rousers are hard to find even now.                                                                          About the only good to come from the rash of irrational school shooting tragedies was public awareness.  I believe now more school councilors are asking more questions that should have been asked much earlier.  Perhaps now some little lost souls are found in time.  Maybe some rescues are occurring that wouldn't have without the horror awakening us. I know I never had any sort of meaningful chat with any teacher or guidance counselor during my educational incarceration and I should have.                                                                                                                                                  I always seemed to have more than my share of bad luck, I even accidentally got sideswiped by a school bus once.(Me personally, not my car)  I was still up North in my first half of High School at the time.  The incident occurred on the oval lot in front of my High School. There was always a mad dash for the buses after school let out at the end of the day. Buses ran on a first-come first-serve basis. Once the bus filled up it was gone and you had to wait 45 minutes minimal for its return.  On this particular day the bus wasn't waiting when I got out.  In such cases it was customary to watch for it to pull in and run for it when it arrived. On this day the bus started rolling again before I caught up to it.(making room for more buses pulling in) I did a 180 and headed back to where I believed the yellow escape pod was headed.  On the way some part of the bus clobbered me from behind.  I went down like a ton of bricks. It happened on wet pavement so road rash was minimal.(I slid for a ways after I way down) I recall picking up my glasses and stuffing them into my pocket thinking they were shattered.(I found them a foot ahead of the front tire, glass f4rom the busted mirror surrounding them. Much later I realized they were merely scratched); immediately after it happened I shook for 15 minutes or so. I believe it was more the shock of my fellow students stampeding over me and my scattered books to get onto the bus.                                                                                                                                                      Two things make this collision even more memorable.  First I had to uncomfortably ask to sit next to a girl I had a crush on, still shaking like a leave at the time) A heaven-eyed bird of paradise who happened to be an across the street neighbor as well as my sister's best friend.  She could have knocked me over with a feather any time, even more so in my upset condition. Other than asking if I could sit there, I didn't say a word the rest of the trip. I even sat half in the isle doing my best not to crowd my little flower. Second thing that made my day was the sexiest girl on the bus saying she felt sorry for me. (being an early developer as well as blonde Goddess made her undisputable queen of the bus) Under normal conditions I would never have caught her eye.  So all it took for me to get the momentary attention of two beauties was getting hit by a bus, typical. My personal earthquake ended by the time we arrived at my destination.  I finally gave my dream date some breathing room. The driver showed concern for me as well as his job, and I assured him I was alright.  The last thing I wanted was more attention and a return of aftershocks.                                                                                                                                                      I was called down to the school office the next day and asked if I was alright. The principal was covering his butt with the school nurse ready to render first aid. I shrugged my shoulders and said I was O.K. and that was the end of the matter.  Actually I had a yellow pussy bruise on my shoulder blade and a light road rash on both my arms; however I wasn't about to volunteer any of that. I wasn't interested in taking off my shirt in front of anyone. I was already too ashamed. The school should have had me psychologically checked out, despite my forward face.  Even if my reaction didn't warrant concern the lack of response from my parents should have.  I'm afraid politics not only infects our churches, unfortunately for our kids, it also infests our schools. They were probably glad to avoid any lawsuit or settlement.  The school system walked away free and clear.                                                                                                      Advisers and councilors who have seen it all-ask for help, ask for help.  No need to feel ashamed you're hardly alone-ask for help, ask for help.  Others can point to options you haven't thought of-ask for help, ask for help.                                                                                                                                              My body size reflects my misfit status.  I'm afraid as long as I can remember I've always been a big eater.  My insatiable capacious appetite seems to have no bounds.  I'm sure that on some subliminal level I'm using food in a vain attempt to fill the emotional void in my life.  My subconscious is even more baffling than my conscience, which is confusing enough. Unfortunately I never fill very full for long.  Before I know it I'm craving once again to temporarily satisfy the emptiness deep inside.  I never had any real social life so exercise has been mostly limited to school and later in life, work.  After we moved my playtime was spent in front of a T.V.   South Carolina is uncomfortably hot for me 8 months of the year.  They haven't yet invented an air conditioned bicycle.                                                                                         Since I was bigger than 99% of my classmates the bullies seldom did much physical damage, despite their best attempts.   My immense bulk made me an even more satisfying target.  They could take much more pride beating down a mountain than a puny weakling.  I like to think at least they got a boost of self esteem out of my ordeals.  It didn't seem to bother them in the least that it wasn't a victory at all.  Without any risk to themselves the brutes might as well have been hitting a wall.  Unfortunately tearing down my self-esteem to build up theirs had helped to permanently devastated my person self esteem.                                                                                                                                           Can't blame my tormentors since my Father set that pattern in place first. Can't blame Daddy dearest since I let him walk all over me.  The bottom line is the only one I can truly blame for my predicament is myself, still I was being hit from both sides and all angles.  There was no safety zone, no neutral territory, nowhere out of bounds.  Emotionally abused at home, relatives, church, stores, and anywhere else my parents might accompany me.  I suppose inside the church was my only sanctuary, I don't recall any traumatic experiences there at least.   I swear they could get angry almost anywhere.  Both emotional and physical abuse relentlessly took place at school.  Nearly constant abuse eventually takes its toll.                                                                                Needless to say I don't like blaming others for my troubles, but my miseries had to come from somewhere. I wish I could blame my misery on my parents, if only it where that easy, but alas I cannot.  Perhaps it's all in the timing.  Or maybe an aspect of karma that eludes me thus far?  Fate can be fickle. Maybe I was born under a bad sign, a broke-back mule. At the exact wrong moment, when the stock of success ran short; in the perfectly wrong place to be.  I'm even forced to wonder if I was born with a bit of a mental birth defect.  Hook me up to a M.R.I. machine and I wouldn't be even slightly surprised if the part of my brain responsible for standing up for me was off-line. Perhaps at some crucial stage of my early development I failed to cross pollinate my ears with a Q-tip or my little finger. Or could it be my soft-spot hardened a little too quickly or way too slowly? In the end it always comes down to me having no one to blame but myself.                                                                                                                                                  I'm not sure which came first, the chicken or the egg. I can't be sure if bullies tormented me because I had no self esteem to begin with; or if my low opinion of myself resulted from lack of parental caring and the almost constant peer abuse. Children have a darker side and it's only natural that the stronger personalities overwhelm the weaker ones.  I don't dream of revenge. Despite how it may sound I forgive them now, kids will be kids and as such are apt to make childish mistakes.  Unfortunately I can't fix the damage.  I do know that you must forgive before you can completely heal.  I can only hope that most of the power mad lads grew out of it.  I can only hope I still have more healing left in me.  I guess I should be grateful.  One tweak in my chromosomes might have changed a whole lot.  If the violent gene was ever in my DNA I might have evolved me into a monster that I couldn't have lived with.                                                                                                                                                                             In general I find most people to have a vastly over-valued sense of self-worth.  Over inflated egos are about as uncommon as red fire hydrants. Here there and everywhere people all seem to feel good about themselves. They seem to enjoy staring at their own reflections whenever the opportunity arises. Somehow they manage to find self-esteem without even trying. To most it's little more than instinct. Yet I have zip, nada.  What's even worse is I can't remember ever having any.  I have no past position to fall back to for reinforcement.  No fond memories of a time when all was well with the world. Oh how I envy all the lucky bastards!  Most of those with heads held high are completely ignorant of just how much fortune has smiled upon them.  You see, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that confidence, especially over-confidence, will get you places in life.  Whereas the lack of said same will get you absolutely nowhere in a hurry.                                                                                                                                 Sick and tired of things never going your way-rest at ease, rest at ease.  Wondering if you're ever due to catch a break-rest at ease, rest at ease.  The Devine Scorekeeper's keeping track-rest at ease, rest at ease.                                                                                                                                    Since I graduated High School I've never actually went on a vacation.  Other than my job I don't travel at all. My only breaks have been the flights of fancy I take in my own head. It's not that I don't have a wayfaring spirit; it's that I never had the deep pockets to travel in style.  I rarely had the money to travel coach.  I've reached the age of 43 without having ever even flown in an aircraft.  Just as well since "Wide Bodies" such as me are charged double airfare anyway.  I always had way to tight a grip on what little cash I could earn to spend it on anything even remotely frivolous.  If I was lucky enough to get paid vacation I spent it at home.  In the movie Michael Dorothy Winters (Andie MacDowell) explains that: "You don't have to have money to have someone try to take it away from you."  I've found that to be a capitalistic truth of life.  I'm always been on a tight budget which has made me quite a penny pincher.  I saved 80% of everything I ever earned and still can't afford a house.  Even if I had a house it would take 60 hours a week to afford upkeep.                                                                                                               You can't even begin to imagine the disgust I have for property taxes.  It's like you can never actually own anything of real value in this country.  We're supposed to be a capitalistic society, but one of the basic principal of Capitalism is laissez faire.  Basically that means government shouldn't interfere in most economic affairs.  The assumption being people will strike a fair bargain on their own and the economy will prosper better without government interference. When's the last time you spent a hunk of money without the government getting a significant chunk of it?                                                                                                                           As far as I've been able to discern tariffs and income taxes are the only taxes that are Constitutional; tariffs to protect National interests and regulate the economy; income tax to raise the money to run the government and defend the country via the military.  Both sales taxes and especially property taxes should have never been ratified in the first place.  I have no doubt we can never be rid of sales taxes, property taxes are a different story.                                                             Even if I pulled off a miracle and scrimped and saved enough to buy a house outright, it would take me more than 2 months pay every year to cover property taxes.  That adds up to 20-30% of my take home pay, depending on working 60-40 hours per week.  And that's after we got the lottery to raise money for education.  That's crazy-plain and simple!  That's the reason my sister, the nurse and the only one in the family making a decent wage, insists on living in a run-down double wide instead of a house.  If my mom didn't get in on a massive tax break under the homesteader clause we'd be screwed as well.  America isn't so beautiful when you can't afford her.  The lower class knows all-to-well of what I speak.                                                                        In South Carolina you even pay yearly property taxes on your car and motorcycle; more than likely on a boat, jet ski, and whatever else I haven't thought of as well.  Anything you need to register they need to tax you for.  That's the reason so many cars in our state have out-of-state tags; tax-dodgers by-pass the tax man by registering their vehicles to relative's addresses in other states. Businesses with entire fleets to put tags on, do the same thing.  As far as I know, if you fail to pay vehicle taxes the State won't reposes your vehicles directly, although you can't drive legally unless you pay up.  If you get caught driving on expired tags there's a hefty fine.  Repeated offenses probable result in impounded vehicles.                                                                                                 Your house or property, on the other hand, they will foreclose on.  Once upon a time when I still had dreams; I owned a vacant lot way out in Gaston.  After the property taxes jumped nearly 40% in three years I sold it.  Before coming up with this writing scheme I had essentially given up.  I was burnt out and had no plans for a future.  A long shot's better than no shot at all.                                                                                                                                             Think all pigeon hearted bullies grow up to regret their acts of cowardice.  Want to believe eventually they must grow out of it.  Think again!  I notice the pattern seems to have reemerged in adulthood.  History does indeed seem to repeat itself.  In other words, most of my past employers have been quick to pick up my weakling scent.  The bullies of the adult world are the bosses.  At least the "Head Honchoes" at the bottom level jobs I manage to finesse.  Bosses always used some form of skulduggery handling me.  Usually those in power rode roughshod right over the top of me.  History is usually recorded by the winners.  If I get this story on the records maybe I can win one for the losers.   I always got a heavy workload and a almost non existent pay raise and benefit plan.  I didn't have the wardrobe or the proper brown-nosing attitude for office work.                                                                                                               Hollowed praises aren't worth mentioning, or at least that's what I've been taught.   It seems the only reward I ever got for my dedicated service was a pat on the head with a half-heartedly commented "good boy" or "job well done" as the only reward.  The squeakiest wheels always get the grease and I've never been comfortable trying to demand common decency from my bosses.  Something deep inside insisted I give them the benefit of the doubt, time and time again.  Like Egon (Harold Ramis) pointed out at one point in Ghostbusters, now I truly feel "like the floor of a taxi cab," and no one else is going to "tread on me."  Eventually the exploitation of my driving skills reached an unbearable point and I inevitably quit in complete frustration and exhaustion.                                                                                                                                                     Don't simply bend over and take it-time after time, time after time.  Submissiveness only encourages exploitation-time after time, time after time.  You can only turn the other cheek so many times-time after time, time after time.  Hope Cindy Lauper doesn't mind.                                               

 more on raisng your kids    

                                          Chapter 26: Teach Your Children Well                                                              Morality is homegrown. Virtues grow on family trees not in schoolyards. The young conscience needs a moral compass. Benevolence and blameworthiness aren't necessarily instinctual. Scruples don't kick in automatically when children hit puberty. Your local church, youth centers, Big Brother and Sister Organizations were established to help you set a proper course.  As of my day the education system wasn't really set up to give lessons in morals.  That probably won't change soon.  Traditionally character education has been left up to the parents.  It's far too a subjective subject to build a specific curriculum around.  School boards won't risk lawsuits attempting to fix dysfunctional families.  Teaching right from wrong simply involves too much personal philosophy.  Interpretations of moral guidelines vary from one home to the next.  Every individual has his own idea of exactly what's right and wrong for his kid.                      When a child hits High School at the age of 13 you should be able to trust them to a certain degree.  Ideally you should have started a year or three earlier.  Their moral compasses should have found true north by this point.  Stop trying so hard to control the old bad habits and focus on the newer temptations and peer pressure entering their lives.  You should have had told him or her about the "birds and the bees" long before now.  If you haven't get it over with before it's too late.  Sex, love, and romance are a torrid storm-system you can't avoid.                                                                            It's also about time to start examining career paths.  You should have a good idea of what are your kids assets and liabilities at this point.  You also know what they like to do and what they don't.  What they are capable of and what they are not.  Where they have confidence and where it's lacking.  What gives them joy and what gives them headaches.  Unless you're lucky enough to have an inspired child you need to start helping your kid put the pieces together to build their future.  Start educating them and yourself on the best possible uses for their talents and inclinations.  Seek council with and find out the best career opportunities that fit your child's aptitude.  Encourage them working on improving their weaknesses without harping on them.               The bottom line is that parents must teach their children right from wrong.  Too many kids are deciding for themselves or letting peers decide for them.   By the time students are exposed to philosophy or ethic classes in college it's too late.  You end up with a society where everyone does whatever they think they can get away with.  Parenting has to be given a higher priority.  Truvy (Dolly Parton) from Steel Magnolias said: "...this is the 80's.  If you can achieve puberty, you can achieve a past."  If that was true 20 years ago imagine what's true today.  It's scary to think of how fast our children are growing up.  Every new generation seems to produce younger babies having babies, gang members, and assorted miniature felons.                                                                                          Children's toys are getting more and more expensive to boot.  I'm speaking of the latest video games and technology playthings.  New releases cost $50 each and are on the rise.  The irony is you can buy a nice bicycle for the same price.  Nine out of ten juveniles would take the thin, pocket size DVD disc over the shiny new bicycle.  There are at least 20 new releases every year and many parents can't afford even one.  There's even a sub-industry based on strategy guides, cheat codes, and other gadgets to give the player an unfair advantage.  I won't even get into the subject matter of the most popular titles and the desensitization towards violence that must inevitably result. The shrinking size of mp3 players and other gadgets make them tempting targets for the ever expanding 5 finger discount club.  Shoplifting is one of the first signs of a child gone astray.  Ask any department store and they'll be happy to explain why all the video games are under lock and key.  Then there's the new evolution in hand held computers, never mind mere text messaging, soon professors and teachers alike will have to keep an eye out for students trying to cheat on exams via the internet.                                                                                     You simply just gotta have it-go for it, go for it.  It'll fit so conveniently easy into your pocket-go for it, go for it.  You'll end up with an impressive criminal jacket-go for it, go for it.                    Unfortunately creating a mandatory parenting course for potential parents isn't within my power. Besides which no single course could possibly completely prepare anyone for many possible pitfalls of parenthood.  The best prepared parents can run into trouble.   Even "Mary Poppins" couldn't handle much of the world we live in today.  A billion variables influence the growth of each individual child.  If you need help along the way, get it, don't cower and cringe in shame and let your children pay the price.  My final word on parenting: NEVER TAKE OUT YOUR FRUSTRATIONS ON YOUR CHILDREN!!!  That's about it for my impersonation of Dr. Spock.  That concludes my back-seat tour of child-raising.  All I can do is hope and pray people start to take more responsibility and stop ignoring the obvious.                                              Your conscience exists for a reason-listen to your heart, listen to your heart.  Your greed can tear it apart-listen to your heart, listen to your heart.  Don't let selfishness blind you, your best bet will always be-listen to your heart, listen to your heart.                                                                                          Keep at pursuing your goals while still keeping an eye on your moral values.  It's not nice to keep others down just because you can't keep up. If you should happen to find yourself keeping company with the wrong crowd learn to keep your distance instead, keep your eyes open for any opportunity that you might keep step with.  Keep your hands in prayer and keep an eye on where you step to help your soul keep pace so you won't end up being kept back.  Don't keep the secrets or rewards of your success to yourself.  Care enough to be your brother's keeper and you may earn a keepsake that'll last forever.                                                                                                        Following that considerable parental side trip I now return us back to my courier route.  After spending 2 hours criss-crossing the city of ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Sumter half of my cargo was transformed into empty inter-stacked tote piles and a few sealed return totes.  I had delivered to  7 drugstores, Tuomey Regional Medical Center, Shaw Air Force Base,  and a half dozen assorted parcels for local factories, offices, schools, an appliance service technician, drop shipments for the Post Office,  and the occasional home or farm.  The Air Force Base, an Industrial Park, and a State Forestry Nursery were among some of the more longer detours in the Sumter area..                                                                           Frequently I had to dip down into Pinewood for a delivery or two before finishing off Sumter.  I've passed under the wooden-covered walk bridge separating the two halves of Sumter's Swan Lake and Iris Gardens on numerous occasions.  Momentary glances of the detailed landscaping and bird life made me an extremely temporary tourist.  It was surprising to find an oasis of such magnitude with no admission price.  I actually took a look around the park and crossed the bridge once during the early days of my employment, never had the opportunity to return once work piled up.  Naturally it wasn't when the irises were in bloom.  Still it was an impressive landscaping marvel, especially considering there wasn't any admission fee.                                                      The Sumter Post Office was waiting. Two package logistics companies hired  us to deliver catalog orders to Post Offices via Plant-Verified Drop Shipments.  The official government letter carriers would then dropped them off with the regular mail.  Just as well since post offices, firehouses, and police are usually the best source of directions for the rare unknown and hard to find stops.  You could almost always phone the delivery point for directions, not surprisingly getting reimbursed for phone calls was next to impossible.  At $8 per hour I pinched every single penny until my fingers turn blue.  The United States Post Office, United Parcel Service, and Federal Express were all leagues above us in size, benefits, vehicles, equipment, and pay.                                                                                                                                           Located five miles south of Sumter on US15 was Sumter's Industrial Park.  Composed of about a dozen and a half factories and warehouses the industrial complex was larger than one would expect not being located directly on a interstate.  The Bosch Brake plant closed recently and I expect that stung Sumter's economy a bit.  At least Sumter's industrial base was large enough to absorb the blow.  In smaller towns a large plant closing could result in a ghost town.  If the Tupperware Plant in Hemingway or the Wellman Plastic Plant in Johnsonville were to shut down half of the small town's population would evaporate overnight.  Sumter still has Golden State Foods, Cooper Tools, Caterpillar, and at least another dozen productive plants to help keep the local economy in line.                                                                                                              The Appliance Technician was a nice guy.  He had a fair-sized region to cover by himself.  His nearest co-workers were located in Florence, Conway, and Columbia.  He and his wife often stopped what they were doing to take the time to say hello.  Spasmodically I would run across him driving his service van on one of his missions to bail another housewife out.  Counter parted by the "Maytag Repairman" he also responded to people phoning a corporate hotline for service to their major appliances.  Unlike the Maytag guy he kept busy.  My company wasn't the only one to deliver repair parts to his house.                                                                                                                                 The Official Repairman and his loving wife had an addition to their family while I was stopping by.  Shortly after that Mr. Fixit  added another chore to his list.  He took it upon himself to add an addition to his house.  Not just a small nursery, no sir, he about doubled the size of his house as of the last time I saw it.  Not a bad job, either, I doubt I could have done as good.  The world wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter.  He literally built his "American Dream" with his own bare hands and a little help from his friends; lucky, hardworking S.O.B.   I have only the best wishes for their expanding clan.  They happen to be Black so don't take the "clan" remark the wrong way.   In many small ways he and his family were a source of inspiration.  It would be rude of me not to have said hello.                                                                                  Pennies from heaven never just fall in your lap-make it happen, make it happen.  Dedicated hard work creates your own luck-make it happen, make it happen.  Don't expect anyone else to do it for you-make it happen, make it happen   .                                                                                                        Next on my schedule was a relay with another driver who passed on bank work that wasn't ready when I departed base at my early hour.  It was a crap shoot whether or not he would be there on time; I was stuck waiting when he wasn't.  The relay times also varied almost every day according to when the Federal Reserve released their latest batch.  When I had to wait I spent my "break" peeling labels off empty totes and reorganizing the remaining cargo for maximum delivery efficiency.  The stuff next to be dropped off was placed by the doors.  The returns were put toward the core where they would remain out of the way until the end of the day.  The domino effect on really bad days made it an alternating game of racing and then waiting anxiously.  I received my bank work, delivered to 4 local Sumter banks and then continued on.                                                                                                                                           If I was lucky enough to be on time the second leg of my journey began at 10:50 am.   By that time I should have been done with all Sumter deliveries.  You could call this the half way point.  I'd been on the road for nearly six hours and would be back at base camp in about the same length of time.  I usually looked at it as the top of the daily hill, the rest of the day would be downhill in my mind.                                                                                                                                    Once again I left the city streets for the open rural roads.  Now I hit the highway for a twenty minute leg to Turbbeville.  Approaching the Interstate overpass, I spot a herd of white haired CEO's taking a board meeting on the community golf course.  I wonder if any of them is one of our fine State's Congressmen.  Could it be he's being lobbied for a political favor or two?   They seem a little bit like fish out of water without their stiff necks being strangled by silk ties.  I suspect their greens and cart fees are completely tax deductible or at least covered by an expense account.  All I know about golf is that it's definitely not in my budget.                                                                              As I cross over the I -95 interchange I glanced down at the river of traffic below.  During spring break and in the summer months I hoped and fantasized for an impossible voyeuristic glimpse of some bikini clad coeds heading to or from Myrtle Beach or Hilton Head Island.  Many old trucker's tales included scantily clad goddesses in convertibles, regrettably I know better; a citizen's band version of an improvisational on-air reading of a Penthouse letter.  Just as well, wouldn't want to strain my neck while simultaneously maximizing my risk of breaking it just for a quick and distant thrill anyhow.  I already had enough aches and pains to last a lifetime.  My lecherous lustful lavish libido will rear its naughty head a few more times before we're through, I'm sure.                                                                                                                         Turbbeville pretty much says it all.  A rustic name such as that just has to describe a typical quaint small town.   Southern Main Street is lined with mom and pop shops, a cubical of a post office, a small public park, a handful of religious sanctuaries, a school complex or two, a single grocery store, two gas stations, and five and dime.  Of coarse there's an overshadowing water tower with the town's name proudly decorating its rusting carcass.  The only differences between Turbbeville and most other tiny towns consisted of the Turbbeville Correctional Institute (Prison) on the out skirts of town plus the slightly unusual practice of the local constables using unmarked SUV's instead of the usual unmarked car for ensnaring tourist flies in their speed trap.  Being located on one of the two main ways to the beach had its advantages.  I imagine the local antique shop does a surprising amount of business over the summer.  Higher fuel prices are standard in remoter areas.  Those running low have no choice.  Pay up or end up stranded.  The local restaurateurs don't have to compete with fast food chains, as of yet.                    The local Turbeville motel didn't inspire much confidence.  It may have been a prime spot in its heyday 50 years ago.  Today its architecture was worn out and out of style.  Reassembling an old black and white horror movie set I half expect "Norman Bates" to walk on by and give me a sly little grin.  The innkeeper barely stays in business by offering the lowest rates for miles around.  Norman's built on a do-it-yourself mini car wash as well.  I suspect business picks up on weekend nights when younger couples on a fixed budget use my imagined not so splendid rooms for a weekly quickie.    Instead of being up on a hill, our southern boy's mama sits across the street set a ways back, rocking in the breeze on the front porch of her old plantation style homestead.                                                                                                                While passing the graveyard in the shadow of a church's steeple I have taken notice of seasonal decor variations.  In summer, after the Fourth of July, the local tombstones are decorated with tiny American Flags with the full complement of color coordinated red, white, and blue ribbons.  Later at the end of the year, in the winter time shortly after Christmas, red poinsettias comfort the dearly departed.  So far no old pumpkins have appeared after Halloween.  I figure that time of years a little too spooky for roaming the graveyard.   I hope the town's people don't hold an Easter egg hunt among the tombstones; an interesting concept of recycling holiday decorations.                                                                                                                   The roads getting a bit boring; it's about time to leave the pavement for a more spiritual path.  I'm not a particularly religious person; still I don't like to push my spiritual luck.  A soul is a terrible thing to gamble with.  I do try to live by the "Golden Rule" as best as I can.  Doing unto others as you would have them do unto you just feels like the decent thing to do.  Saints may be able to better, but not me.  During my most formative years I was raised under the tutelage of the Roman Catholic Church.  My parents didn't take a hands on approach to teaching me right from wrong.  They just left it in God's hands.  Just as well since they were hardly happy with their own lives and therefore, in my childhood opinion not well qualified to advise.   If you have to get a moral center somewhere other than home, the Church is probably the best place to locate it.  I would have been a much better balanced person if my family wasn't as dysfunctional as it was.  I know there were families that were much worse, still there had to have been families that were much better as well.                                                                                                                                Catholicism classes every Monday afternoon were where I found most of my moral values, direct from the source, The Holy Bible.  A child's mind figures if anyone knows right and wrong it's probably a Nun or a Priest.  Those who study the Bible and make a living at it, are bound to inspire at least a little residual Biblical respect.  They're among a "chosen" few able to claim to be doing God's work. The dedicated few swore an allegiance to follow God's plan.  I saw nothing to contradict that claim.  In any case there wasn't a surplus of superb role models in my neck of the woods, at least not any childish me could recognize.                                                                                    In the movie Simon Birch, Simon says :"Good sense makes a man slow to anger and it is glory to forgive the offense." I believe Simon (Ian Michael Smith) was quoting from the Bible.  In my case as well the Biblical passages studied seemed to concentrate more on the passive "turn the other cheek" approach rather than an "eye for an eye" vengeance mentality.  Lions lying down besides the sheep and the meek shall inherit and all that jazz.  Forgiving your enemies and not fighting them seemed to be the consensus among my chosen spiritual guides. Forgiving those that trespass against you has no earthly rewards. All I ever reaped for my effort was heartache. Yet I never fought back, not even once.                                                                                                       My Dad was my Arch Nemesis in those days and I certainly couldn't win any battles opposing him.  In fact I never really dared oppose him.  His tremendous temper tantrums could teach even the most spoiled brat a thing or two, they were notorious for their sheer thunderous volume alone.  Kowtowing to my Dad's overbearing will, along with several other personal factors have made me one of the world's biggest "wusses."  That's assuming that genes and chromosomes have little to do with it.  At least the Church's immovable stance against suicide never made that a possibility for me.  Otherwise who knows?                                                                             In the past few years Altar boy molestation scandals have rocked the Archways of the Archdiocese.  Any religion that expects a man to completely give up the temptations of the flesh is bound to be ambushed by an occasional man's weaknesses.  Blaming the entire Church on the acts of such a few of its members was overkill.  Yet I wish The Church admitted its members' sins openly and honestly.  Politics and religion never mesh well.  The first you know you can't trust, the second you want to trust wholeheartedly.  Granted the offenses were as of such a nature to bring things to a rapid boil.  I don't know what I would have done if I had a kid enrolled Catholicism classes when the scum boiled to the surface.  At the least me and my child would have had a significant interrogation session.  Don't put your faith in man, not even in those supposedly devoted to faith.   Mankind still has potential, it's just harder to find these days.  Rely on God instead.   It's the only way you won't be disappointed in the end.  What may seem an impossibly jumbled miss-matched jigsaw puzzle in our eyes is a detailed blueprint on His Devine workbench.  Have a little faith that God knows what He's doing.  He is omnipotent after all.   I figure the Almighty will punish any pervert far worse than the Church, even if the Diocese were extremely inclined to make the sinners repent for their sins.                                                                     The apparent attempted political cover-up resulted in many Parishioners' desertions to other faiths.  I completely understand even though I didn't jump ship along with them.  When push comes to shove I still consider myself Roman Catholic even though I haven't been inside a Catholic church for at least a decade.  The Church always had too much trappings of formality for my liking, besides the repetitiveness was so boring.  As Senator Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) put it in Star War's The Phantom Menace: "There is no civility, only politics."  The Church's leadership failed it's congregants, but you must remember their only human too.  A dedicated congregation shouldn't forget to err is human, to forgive Devine.  How strong can peoples' faith be when traditional family religion is changed like switching a television station?   The official stand on homosexuality definitely didn't win them any kudos.  It also didn't help matters that earlier the Church didn't want to recognize women preachers only nuns.  That lost them much of the women's vote.                                                                                                                     My mother and sister now attend Lutheran Churches, introduced to them by my Sister's in-laws,  my brother has chosen the Baptist faith, following his spouses introduction.  I don't think any of us officially call ourselves Roman Catholic anymore, at least I don't claim another religion. To me It seemed a little strange to abandon the religion you were raised on for another so arbitrarily.  It doesn't matter if you call God: Buddha, Allah, Jesus Christ, Jehovah, Brahma, Shiva, Vishnu, Devi, or just The Almighty One; to me there all the same entity.  Decency is decency, good is good, right is right and benevolent is benevolent.  I think if your religion preaches anything that directly encourages destructive behavior you're on the wrong side.  I don't believe in sacrificing a life for your God, not even animals.  I fear many people may be worshiping the Devil and not even know it.  It's Satan's business to deceive.  Lucifer has a multitude of temptations to work with.  Beelzebub's smooth talking falls on death ears when they're attached to a clear-thinking mind.  I think anybody in their right mind strives for Nirvana.  Balance is always fair and just.  You should want to be at peace with the universe.                                 When push comes to shove I'll usually still call myself Roman Catholic, although I don't really prescribe to a particular faith anymore.  Not that I have anything major against most religions, except for the few that get a little too arrogant about their point of view being the only correct one.  Plus too many seem to imply it only takes a little prayer to repent and all is forgiven.  While I believe prayer can only help, I don't believe it grants anyone carpet immunity.  What you reap is what you sow. I'm a very passive person and as such I prefer my religion as tolerant , permissive, and open minded as possible, but I do have my limits. Narrow minded people rarely see the big picture. One-track minds tend to end up at a dead end.  I haven't really considered myself Roman Catholic since I graduated High School and my parents stopped making me attend masses.  Sometimes I miss the actual knelling in Church experience.  Literally humbling yourself before God reminds you of the bigger picture.  For the remaining Catholics out there: "Peace be with you" and "The Lord be with you," you all know the appropriate response.                                                                                                                                      

 more on raisng your kids    

                                          Chapter 26: Teach Your Children Well                                                              Morality is homegrown. Virtues grow on family trees not in schoolyards. The young conscience needs a moral compass. Benevolence and blameworthiness aren't necessarily instinctual. Scruples don't kick in automatically when children hit puberty. Your local church, youth centers, Big Brother and Sister Organizations were established to help you set a proper course.  As of my day the education system wasn't really set up to give lessons in morals.  That probably won't change soon.  Traditionally character education has been left up to the parents.  It's far too a subjective subject to build a specific curriculum around.  School boards won't risk lawsuits attempting to fix dysfunctional families.  Teaching right from wrong simply involves too much personal philosophy.  Interpretations of moral guidelines vary from one home to the next.  Every individual has his own idea of exactly what's right and wrong for his kid.                      When a child hits High School at the age of 13 you should be able to trust them to a certain degree.  Ideally you should have started a year or three earlier.  Their moral compasses should have found true north by this point.  Stop trying so hard to control the old bad habits and focus on the newer temptations and peer pressure entering their lives.  You should have had told him or her about the "birds and the bees" long before now.  If you haven't get it over with before it's too late.  Sex, love, and romance are a torrid storm-system you can't avoid.                                                                            It's also about time to start examining career paths.  You should have a good idea of what are your kids assets and liabilities at this point.  You also know what they like to do and what they don't.  What they are capable of and what they are not.  Where they have confidence and where it's lacking.  What gives them joy and what gives them headaches.  Unless you're lucky enough to have an inspired child you need to start helping your kid put the pieces together to build their future.  Start educating them and yourself on the best possible uses for their talents and inclinations.  Seek council with and find out the best career opportunities that fit your child's aptitude.  Encourage them working on improving their weaknesses without harping on them.               The bottom line is that parents must teach their children right from wrong.  Too many kids are deciding for themselves or letting peers decide for them.   By the time students are exposed to philosophy or ethic classes in college it's too late.  You end up with a society where everyone does whatever they think they can get away with.  Parenting has to be given a higher priority.  Truvy (Dolly Parton) from Steel Magnolias said: "...this is the 80's.  If you can achieve puberty, you can achieve a past."  If that was true 20 years ago imagine what's true today.  It's scary to think of how fast our children are growing up.  Every new generation seems to produce younger babies having babies, gang members, and assorted miniature felons.                                                                                          Children's toys are getting more and more expensive to boot.  I'm speaking of the latest video games and technology playthings.  New releases cost $50 each and are on the rise.  The irony is you can buy a nice bicycle for the same price.  Nine out of ten juveniles would take the thin, pocket size DVD disc over the shiny new bicycle.  There are at least 20 new releases every year and many parents can't afford even one.  There's even a sub-industry based on strategy guides, cheat codes, and other gadgets to give the player an unfair advantage.  I won't even get into the subject matter of the most popular titles and the desensitization towards violence that must inevitably result. The shrinking size of mp3 players and other gadgets make them tempting targets for the ever expanding 5 finger discount club.  Shoplifting is one of the first signs of a child gone astray.  Ask any department store and they'll be happy to explain why all the video games are under lock and key.  Then there's the new evolution in hand held computers, never mind mere text messaging, soon professors and teachers alike will have to keep an eye out for students trying to cheat on exams via the internet.                                                                                     You simply just gotta have it-go for it, go for it.  It'll fit so conveniently easy into your pocket-go for it, go for it.  You'll end up with an impressive criminal jacket-go for it, go for it.                    Unfortunately creating a mandatory parenting course for potential parents isn't within my power. Besides which no single course could possibly completely prepare anyone for many possible pitfalls of parenthood.  The best prepared parents can run into trouble.   Even "Mary Poppins" couldn't handle much of the world we live in today.  A billion variables influence the growth of each individual child.  If you need help along the way, get it, don't cower and cringe in shame and let your children pay the price.  My final word on parenting: NEVER TAKE OUT YOUR FRUSTRATIONS ON YOUR CHILDREN!!!  That's about it for my impersonation of Dr. Spock.  That concludes my back-seat tour of child-raising.  All I can do is hope and pray people start to take more responsibility and stop ignoring the obvious.                                              Your conscience exists for a reason-listen to your heart, listen to your heart.  Your greed can tear it apart-listen to your heart, listen to your heart.  Don't let selfishness blind you, your best bet will always be-listen to your heart, listen to your heart.                                                                                          Keep at pursuing your goals while still keeping an eye on your moral values.  It's not nice to keep others down just because you can't keep up. If you should happen to find yourself keeping company with the wrong crowd learn to keep your distance instead, keep your eyes open for any opportunity that you might keep step with.  Keep your hands in prayer and keep an eye on where you step to help your soul keep pace so you won't end up being kept back.  Don't keep the secrets or rewards of your success to yourself.  Care enough to be your brother's keeper and you may earn a keepsake that'll last forever.                                                                                                        Following that considerable parental side trip I now return us back to my courier route.  After spending 2 hours criss-crossing the city of ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Sumter half of my cargo was transformed into empty inter-stacked tote piles and a few sealed return totes.  I had delivered to  7 drugstores, Tuomey Regional Medical Center, Shaw Air Force Base,  and a half dozen assorted parcels for local factories, offices, schools, an appliance service technician, drop shipments for the Post Office,  and the occasional home or farm.  The Air Force Base, an Industrial Park, and a State Forestry Nursery were among some of the more longer detours in the Sumter area..                                                                           Frequently I had to dip down into Pinewood for a delivery or two before finishing off Sumter.  I've passed under the wooden-covered walk bridge separating the two halves of Sumter's Swan Lake and Iris Gardens on numerous occasions.  Momentary glances of the detailed landscaping and bird life made me an extremely temporary tourist.  It was surprising to find an oasis of such magnitude with no admission price.  I actually took a look around the park and crossed the bridge once during the early days of my employment, never had the opportunity to return once work piled up.  Naturally it wasn't when the irises were in bloom.  Still it was an impressive landscaping marvel, especially considering there wasn't any admission fee.                                                      The Sumter Post Office was waiting. Two package logistics companies hired  us to deliver catalog orders to Post Offices via Plant-Verified Drop Shipments.  The official government letter carriers would then dropped them off with the regular mail.  Just as well since post offices, firehouses, and police are usually the best source of directions for the rare unknown and hard to find stops.  You could almost always phone the delivery point for directions, not surprisingly getting reimbursed for phone calls was next to impossible.  At $8 per hour I pinched every single penny until my fingers turn blue.  The United States Post Office, United Parcel Service, and Federal Express were all leagues above us in size, benefits, vehicles, equipment, and pay.                                                                                                                                           Located five miles south of Sumter on US15 was Sumter's Industrial Park.  Composed of about a dozen and a half factories and warehouses the industrial complex was larger than one would expect not being located directly on a interstate.  The Bosch Brake plant closed recently and I expect that stung Sumter's economy a bit.  At least Sumter's industrial base was large enough to absorb the blow.  In smaller towns a large plant closing could result in a ghost town.  If the Tupperware Plant in Hemingway or the Wellman Plastic Plant in Johnsonville were to shut down half of the small town's population would evaporate overnight.  Sumter still has Golden State Foods, Cooper Tools, Caterpillar, and at least another dozen productive plants to help keep the local economy in line.                                                                                                              The Appliance Technician was a nice guy.  He had a fair-sized region to cover by himself.  His nearest co-workers were located in Florence, Conway, and Columbia.  He and his wife often stopped what they were doing to take the time to say hello.  Spasmodically I would run across him driving his service van on one of his missions to bail another housewife out.  Counter parted by the "Maytag Repairman" he also responded to people phoning a corporate hotline for service to their major appliances.  Unlike the Maytag guy he kept busy.  My company wasn't the only one to deliver repair parts to his house.                                                                                                                                 The Official Repairman and his loving wife had an addition to their family while I was stopping by.  Shortly after that Mr. Fixit  added another chore to his list.  He took it upon himself to add an addition to his house.  Not just a small nursery, no sir, he about doubled the size of his house as of the last time I saw it.  Not a bad job, either, I doubt I could have done as good.  The world wasn't exactly handed to him on a silver platter.  He literally built his "American Dream" with his own bare hands and a little help from his friends; lucky, hardworking S.O.B.   I have only the best wishes for their expanding clan.  They happen to be Black so don't take the "clan" remark the wrong way.   In many small ways he and his family were a source of inspiration.  It would be rude of me not to have said hello.                                                                                  Pennies from heaven never just fall in your lap-make it happen, make it happen.  Dedicated hard work creates your own luck-make it happen, make it happen.  Don't expect anyone else to do it for you-make it happen, make it happen   .                                                                                                        Next on my schedule was a relay with another driver who passed on bank work that wasn't ready when I departed base at my early hour.  It was a crap shoot whether or not he would be there on time; I was stuck waiting when he wasn't.  The relay times also varied almost every day according to when the Federal Reserve released their latest batch.  When I had to wait I spent my "break" peeling labels off empty totes and reorganizing the remaining cargo for maximum delivery efficiency.  The stuff next to be dropped off was placed by the doors.  The returns were put toward the core where they would remain out of the way until the end of the day.  The domino effect on really bad days made it an alternating game of racing and then waiting anxiously.  I received my bank work, delivered to 4 local Sumter banks and then continued on.                                                                                                                                           If I was lucky enough to be on time the second leg of my journey began at 10:50 am.   By that time I should have been done with all Sumter deliveries.  You could call this the half way point.  I'd been on the road for nearly six hours and would be back at base camp in about the same length of time.  I usually looked at it as the top of the daily hill, the rest of the day would be downhill in my mind.                                                                                                                                    Once again I left the city streets for the open rural roads.  Now I hit the highway for a twenty minute leg to Turbbeville.  Approaching the Interstate overpass, I spot a herd of white haired CEO's taking a board meeting on the community golf course.  I wonder if any of them is one of our fine State's Congressmen.  Could it be he's being lobbied for a political favor or two?   They seem a little bit like fish out of water without their stiff necks being strangled by silk ties.  I suspect their greens and cart fees are completely tax deductible or at least covered by an expense account.  All I know about golf is that it's definitely not in my budget.                                                                              As I cross over the I -95 interchange I glanced down at the river of traffic below.  During spring break and in the summer months I hoped and fantasized for an impossible voyeuristic glimpse of some bikini clad coeds heading to or from Myrtle Beach or Hilton Head Island.  Many old trucker's tales included scantily clad goddesses in convertibles, regrettably I know better; a citizen's band version of an improvisational on-air reading of a Penthouse letter.  Just as well, wouldn't want to strain my neck while simultaneously maximizing my risk of breaking it just for a quick and distant thrill anyhow.  I already had enough aches and pains to last a lifetime.  My lecherous lustful lavish libido will rear its naughty head a few more times before we're through, I'm sure.                                                                                                                         Turbbeville pretty much says it all.  A rustic name such as that just has to describe a typical quaint small town.   Southern Main Street is lined with mom and pop shops, a cubical of a post office, a small public park, a handful of religious sanctuaries, a school complex or two, a single grocery store, two gas stations, and five and dime.  Of coarse there's an overshadowing water tower with the town's name proudly decorating its rusting carcass.  The only differences between Turbbeville and most other tiny towns consisted of the Turbbeville Correctional Institute (Prison) on the out skirts of town plus the slightly unusual practice of the local constables using unmarked SUV's instead of the usual unmarked car for ensnaring tourist flies in their speed trap.  Being located on one of the two main ways to the beach had its advantages.  I imagine the local antique shop does a surprising amount of business over the summer.  Higher fuel prices are standard in remoter areas.  Those running low have no choice.  Pay up or end up stranded.  The local restaurateurs don't have to compete with fast food chains, as of yet.                    The local Turbeville motel didn't inspire much confidence.  It may have been a prime spot in its heyday 50 years ago.  Today its architecture was worn out and out of style.  Reassembling an old black and white horror movie set I half expect "Norman Bates" to walk on by and give me a sly little grin.  The innkeeper barely stays in business by offering the lowest rates for miles around.  Norman's built on a do-it-yourself mini car wash as well.  I suspect business picks up on weekend nights when younger couples on a fixed budget use my imagined not so splendid rooms for a weekly quickie.    Instead of being up on a hill, our southern boy's mama sits across the street set a ways back, rocking in the breeze on the front porch of her old plantation style homestead.                                                                                                                While passing the graveyard in the shadow of a church's steeple I have taken notice of seasonal decor variations.  In summer, after the Fourth of July, the local tombstones are decorated with tiny American Flags with the full complement of color coordinated red, white, and blue ribbons.  Later at the end of the year, in the winter time shortly after Christmas, red poinsettias comfort the dearly departed.  So far no old pumpkins have appeared after Halloween.  I figure that time of years a little too spooky for roaming the graveyard.   I hope the town's people don't hold an Easter egg hunt among the tombstones; an interesting concept of recycling holiday decorations.                                                                                                                   The roads getting a bit boring; it's about time to leave the pavement for a more spiritual path.  I'm not a particularly religious person; still I don't like to push my spiritual luck.  A soul is a terrible thing to gamble with.  I do try to live by the "Golden Rule" as best as I can.  Doing unto others as you would have them do unto you just feels like the decent thing to do.  Saints may be able to better, but not me.  During my most formative years I was raised under the tutelage of the Roman Catholic Church.  My parents didn't take a hands on approach to teaching me right from wrong.  They just left it in God's hands.  Just as well since they were hardly happy with their own lives and therefore, in my childhood opinion not well qualified to advise.   If you have to get a moral center somewhere other than home, the Church is probably the best place to locate it.  I would have been a much better balanced person if my family wasn't as dysfunctional as it was.  I know there were families that were much worse, still there had to have been families that were much better as well.                                                                                                                                Catholicism classes every Monday afternoon were where I found most of my moral values, direct from the source, The Holy Bible.  A child's mind figures if anyone knows right and wrong it's probably a Nun or a Priest.  Those who study the Bible and make a living at it, are bound to inspire at least a little residual Biblical respect.  They're among a "chosen" few able to claim to be doing God's work. The dedicated few swore an allegiance to follow God's plan.  I saw nothing to contradict that claim.  In any case there wasn't a surplus of superb role models in my neck of the woods, at least not any childish me could recognize.                                                                                    In the movie Simon Birch, Simon says :"Good sense makes a man slow to anger and it is glory to forgive the offense." I believe Simon (Ian Michael Smith) was quoting from the Bible.  In my case as well the Biblical passages studied seemed to concentrate more on the passive "turn the other cheek" approach rather than an "eye for an eye" vengeance mentality.  Lions lying down besides the sheep and the meek shall inherit and all that jazz.  Forgiving your enemies and not fighting them seemed to be the consensus among my chosen spiritual guides. Forgiving those that trespass against you has no earthly rewards. All I ever reaped for my effort was heartache. Yet I never fought back, not even once.                                                                                                       My Dad was my Arch Nemesis in those days and I certainly couldn't win any battles opposing him.  In fact I never really dared oppose him.  His tremendous temper tantrums could teach even the most spoiled brat a thing or two, they were notorious for their sheer thunderous volume alone.  Kowtowing to my Dad's overbearing will, along with several other personal factors have made me one of the world's biggest "wusses."  That's assuming that genes and chromosomes have little to do with it.  At least the Church's immovable stance against suicide never made that a possibility for me.  Otherwise who knows?                                                                             In the past few years Altar boy molestation scandals have rocked the Archways of the Archdiocese.  Any religion that expects a man to completely give up the temptations of the flesh is bound to be ambushed by an occasional man's weaknesses.  Blaming the entire Church on the acts of such a few of its members was overkill.  Yet I wish The Church admitted its members' sins openly and honestly.  Politics and religion never mesh well.  The first you know you can't trust, the second you want to trust wholeheartedly.  Granted the offenses were as of such a nature to bring things to a rapid boil.  I don't know what I would have done if I had a kid enrolled Catholicism classes when the scum boiled to the surface.  At the least me and my child would have had a significant interrogation session.  Don't put your faith in man, not even in those supposedly devoted to faith.   Mankind still has potential, it's just harder to find these days.  Rely on God instead.   It's the only way you won't be disappointed in the end.  What may seem an impossibly jumbled miss-matched jigsaw puzzle in our eyes is a detailed blueprint on His Devine workbench.  Have a little faith that God knows what He's doing.  He is omnipotent after all.   I figure the Almighty will punish any pervert far worse than the Church, even if the Diocese were extremely inclined to make the sinners repent for their sins.                                                                     The apparent attempted political cover-up resulted in many Parishioners' desertions to other faiths.  I completely understand even though I didn't jump ship along with them.  When push comes to shove I still consider myself Roman Catholic even though I haven't been inside a Catholic church for at least a decade.  The Church always had too much trappings of formality for my liking, besides the repetitiveness was so boring.  As Senator Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) put it in Star War's The Phantom Menace: "There is no civility, only politics."  The Church's leadership failed it's congregants, but you must remember their only human too.  A dedicated congregation shouldn't forget to err is human, to forgive Devine.  How strong can peoples' faith be when traditional family religion is changed like switching a television station?   The official stand on homosexuality definitely didn't win them any kudos.  It also didn't help matters that earlier the Church didn't want to recognize women preachers only nuns.  That lost them much of the women's vote.                                                                                                                     My mother and sister now attend Lutheran Churches, introduced to them by my Sister's in-laws,  my brother has chosen the Baptist faith, following his spouses introduction.  I don't think any of us officially call ourselves Roman Catholic anymore, at least I don't claim another religion. To me It seemed a little strange to abandon the religion you were raised on for another so arbitrarily.  It doesn't matter if you call God: Buddha, Allah, Jesus Christ, Jehovah, Brahma, Shiva, Vishnu, Devi, or just The Almighty One; to me there all the same entity.  Decency is decency, good is good, right is right and benevolent is benevolent.  I think if your religion preaches anything that directly encourages destructive behavior you're on the wrong side.  I don't believe in sacrificing a life for your God, not even animals.  I fear many people may be worshiping the Devil and not even know it.  It's Satan's business to deceive.  Lucifer has a multitude of temptations to work with.  Beelzebub's smooth talking falls on death ears when they're attached to a clear-thinking mind.  I think anybody in their right mind strives for Nirvana.  Balance is always fair and just.  You should want to be at peace with the universe.                                 When push comes to shove I'll usually still call myself Roman Catholic, although I don't really prescribe to a particular faith anymore.  Not that I have anything major against most religions, except for the few that get a little too arrogant about their point of view being the only correct one.  Plus too many seem to imply it only takes a little prayer to repent and all is forgiven.  While I believe prayer can only help, I don't believe it grants anyone carpet immunity.  What you reap is what you sow. I'm a very passive person and as such I prefer my religion as tolerant , permissive, and open minded as possible, but I do have my limits. Narrow minded people rarely see the big picture. One-track minds tend to end up at a dead end.  I haven't really considered myself Roman Catholic since I graduated High School and my parents stopped making me attend masses.  Sometimes I miss the actual knelling in Church experience.  Literally humbling yourself before God reminds you of the bigger picture.  For the remaining Catholics out there: "Peace be with you" and "The Lord be with you," you all know the appropriate response.                                                                                                                                      

  Now I discuss tips on raising your kids, take them or leave them, they're only suggestions 

                                                          Chapter 25 : Back Seat Parenting Tips                                                                Parenting is extremely subjective.  Every family is unique and has its own set of problems.  As long as you don't abuse them it's your right to raise your kids as you see fit.  I'm merely attempting to warn you of possible pitfalls.  It's far too easy for parents to brainwash their prodigy without even realizing what they are doing.  My parents put out enough negative energy over the course of my lifetime to power a black hole.  One of the first things sucked in was my confidence.  Shortly after went my self-esteem and any ability to stand up for myself. If you sour the seeds you sow don't expect a bumper harvest.  As a parent you are a primary role model, even if it seldom seems so.  Like it or not whatever you choose to tell your children during their formative years will far outweigh what anyone else tries to teach them.  Be responsible-think before you speak!                                                                                                                               For starters, never be a hypocrite.  Telling your "mini-mes" not to do a bad habit you've picked up only guarantees they will mimic you, probably twice as bad.  Lead by example, not by theory.  Don't kid yourself, being a good role model is mandatory for being a good parent.                                                              By all means let your children know when you're disappointed in them. They're going to make mistakes and ignoring them only assures repetition.   History always repeats itself when nobody points out where things went wrong.  Point out their mistakes and explain where they went wrong and how they can fix things when possible.  Also tell them options to what they should have done, but don't harp on it, the last thing you want is to make them feel stupid or evil.  Believe it or not children need hope far more than parents.                                                                                                                                                       I can't stress this enough-DON'T YELL! I know parenting can be more frustrating than anything else you will ever experience, but you need to maintain control. Maximum volume should only be used in the direst situations.  If you throw a fit for every little thing your criticism will lose its potency. You may think you're driving a point home, but actually you're driving it in one ear and out the other.  Your children will pretend to listen, humoring you, while actually tuning you out. Kids tend to interpret shouting as you losing control. Nobody wants to take advise from a madman. People respect others who can keep their calm far more than those who blow their tops. Besides if you over-react they will too.  The last thing you want is for the argument to escalate into a shouting match-then both of you have lost control. Remember to keep a calm but authoritative tone and reason with your offspring at a reasonable octave. Use logic not intensity to win over your kids.                                                                                                        Criticizing your child will be necessary from time to time.  Just be sure and emphasize the times they make you proud much more than the times they done you wrong.  You're embarrassment shouldn't be magnified down onto them.  You should absorb the blunt of the blow, protecting your children is part of the package deal.  Sprinkle your offspring with criticism, but shower them with praise.  The scale should never be balanced. Praise should outweigh criticism by at least 10 to 1.  That's how you install confidence, the most important gift you can give.                                                                                                                                             Lavish your youths with as much compassion, love, kindness, and generosity of spirit that you can spare. Be as positive an influence as you can be.  Be there for your kids like you wish your parents could have been there for you.   Remember what your parents did right and correct where they went wrong.  Have the type of relationship with your children that your parents only dreamed of, be a showcase family for others to emulate.  It's not impossible; it just takes an incredible amount of effort.  The sooner you start-the better.  Benjamin Martin (Mel Gibson) claimed: "I'm a parent, I haven't got the luxury of principles," from The Patriot.  Don't hesitate a second.  Show your children that you care-right now!  Do it before it's too late to get through to them. It's not a sign of weakness, but rather confirmation of your strength and integrity. The best laid plans for your children will fall apart if you don't spend any time with them.  Don't think your method is infallible, even if you think you worked it out to the smallest detail.  Something will come along and throw a monkey wrench into the works.                                                                          If you need to sacrifice some luxury to install principles in your kids-do it.  You might think working hard to provide your family with the finer things in life is proof enough that you love them.  Children have a different point of view.  Quality time is worth a thousand times more than a quality life to a young mind.  Unless you make the time to spend with them you're kids are likely to believe you don't really love them.  If The Patriot quote didn't catch your eye, perhaps this thought hits a little too closer to home: "Wrong?  What could be wrong with our child...We're beautiful people, aren't we?"  That word-for-word quote happens to be from one of the The Omen's parents.  What wasn't wrong with Damien?  If you don't want a little demon on your hands spending quality time with your children is essential.                                                        The first duty of being a parent is to ensure proper health of your charge. That means both physically and mentally.  It's not just about providing room and board.  Personally I believe if you put mental needs first the physical will normally take care of themselves.  In my mind job#1 of any parent should be to make his or her kid feel good about themself.  Without self-esteem and confidence your kids have little chance of getting anywhere in life.  Take it from one who knows the pursuit of happiness requires you first believe in yourself.  I grew up outside the comfortable box of self-esteem.  I've clawed desperately trying to tear my way in to no avail.  Now even if I ever manage to reopen it, I'll likely never fit inside.   At the very least it'll be an uncomfortable fit.                                                                                                                                 Never take self-esteem and confidence as given. Don't assume your kids will find it on their own.  Don't expect teachers or caretakers to install it for you.  Family takes care of family.  Family should come first, it's a jungle out there.  After all how can you expect your fledgling little birdies to ever leave the nest unless you've personally installed the courage for them to take that very first gigantic leap?  A fledgling will never soar high until it has first overcome its fear of heights-that takes confidence, and that doesn't grow on trees.                                                                                                                            Parents usually claim they won't settle for anything except the best for their offspring.  I trust they mean the best care and love and not the best toys.  Cold cash rarely adequately reflects a warm heart.  Love is priceless.  Why not spend more time with your prodigy?  Don't just pay lip service to your kids.  Really get to know them.  Look into their eyes, read their emotions, and hear every word.  The only way for you to appreciate your kids and your kids to appreciate you is by getting to know each other to the fullest.   Don't give me it's the quality and not the quantity routine, your kids want and deserve both.  If the rug rats spend more time on the streets of Vice ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />City or San Andreas than with you is it any wonder when things turn south.  If you're around don't expect your children to pick you as a role model, they will turn elsewhere, count on it.                                                                                                                                                             Where do lost youths look for direction these days?  After their peers, television is often their source for moral fiber.  Trust me, now-a-days the majority of television shows that take a strong stand for family values fall short in the ratings.  There are a few good shows left, but what are the odds of your kid focusing on them?  Even if you actually use the "V" chip that allows parental control on newer T.V.'s, more often than not your kids will find away around it.  Richard Dawson as a future game show host explains the necessity and power of government controlled T.V. in The Running Man by the fact that: "American's love television.  They wean their kids on it."  Prove him wrong.  In the long run spending quality time with your children does far more good than spending more money on them, in every case, no exceptions.                    Kids say the "dangest" things. These days there's little they won't say. Sometimes what comes out of the mouths of babes would be shocking coming from the ugly pusses of a herd of teamsters.  No matter what your children say or do deep inside they want you to love them.  Everyone needs someone who cares about them.  Until they're ready to admit it all you can do is show them that you care.  The bond between parents and offspring should be undeniably, irresistibly strong.  Parents really are the first line in the war against drugs, the genuine "anti-drug" as the public service announcements declare. If your kids can't get that connection from their parents they will look for it elsewhere.  Run-a-ways, gangs, drug addiction, promiscuity, teenage pregnancy, and prostitution frequently have a perceived parental love-loss as their root causes.  They're all symptoms of the lack of love, which, by itself, is child abuse.  Putting a roof over their heads, clothing, feeding, medical, and dental visits are all a good start, however they're not enough.   Many children consider those the minimum requirements required by law, if you did any less you'd be in jail, so where's the love?                                                                                                                            Children seldom appreciate everything you do.  What seems obvious to you may never even occur to them. You must attempt to explain your actions as much as possible, especially when your children express a differing opinion. Kids need more apparent indications of how you truly feel, preferably action over words.  Treating your child as a burden instead of a bundle of joy will only make them predisposed toward becoming beasts of burden when they hit the workforce later in life.  Parents must prove beyond an unreasonable doubt that they care.  Tell them you love them at least once a day.  Hug them as often as possible as long as they'll let you.  Take a genuine interest in their lives.  Listen to them and not only ask questions, but offer sound advice.  Let them know when you're proud as well as when you're ashamed.  Leave nothing unsaid.  Don't take anything for granted.                                                                               Growing up us children of the 70's only had network T.V., which limited us to the three major networks, public television, and a couple of local stations at best.  And still I spent more time than I should have squatted down in the glow of a black and white television screen.  Today your kids have access to 200 channels, digital, and high-definition broadcasts.  25 inches was  the biggest screen in day, now it's dwarfed by today's 60 inchers.  Even if you're among the few without cable or satellite, your kid knows somebody with access.  Then there's the video and computer gaming plus the internet.  I'm envious of all the new toys both my nephews have at their disposal, still I worry for their health.  Despite being overweight as a kid I still road a lot on my bicycle, at least till the middle of High School.  When do your children find time for playing outside?                                                                                                                                                    Do you want your children to grow up to become couch potatoes?  I hypocritically recommend limiting television hours to two on school nights and four on weekends.  You're free to make exceptions for special family movies or holiday classics; still I'd try to get you children out more.  Good luck enforcing that unless you start them off early.  I wouldn't even think about cable or satellite T.V. for kids under the age of 10.  The biggest problem is the only way this works is if you, too, sacrifice some of your television programming.  Remember role models lead by example.                                                                                                                                Believe it or not, in my day we didn't plant ourselves in front of a television or computer screen all weekend; we actually stepped outside and played in the bright sunshine.  A half-generation ago children still went out-doors to try to break their necks on skateboards, roller-blades, scooters, and even paint-ball wars.  Most of those pastimes have passed.  Virtual living is replacing actual living.  What can you expect?  If I had all the modern conveniences of today back then I doubt I could have resisted them.  It's a technological evolution, for better or worse.  Unfortunately for their health, kids are spending most of their leisure time in front of a television or computer screen these days.  Today's youth avoid the outdoors like the next ice age has arrived and all that awaits out there is a frozen tundra, a vast sub-zero wasteland to expose themselves to as little as possible. The next generation's multi-tasking capabilities may be impressive, however, playing simulated combat on the computer while watching television and chatting on a cell phone isn't nearly sufficient exercise.                                                                     Physical fitness means little to a child until he or she starts playing sports and/or dating.  Unless you have a gym in your home children need to go outside for proper circulation.  Even if you have a complete workout studio a little fresh air never hurt anyone.  The best way for parents to assure any result is to play with them.  Remember the good ole' days of playing catch, shooting hoops, or bike tours of the neighborhood?  Back in my day even radio-controlled cars were too expensive for most.  Back when Pong was the only video game and many still only watched black and white televisions. We would tie string to our Tonka trucks and drag them about mud holes for fun.  Remember rip-cord fly-wheel powered STP vehicles? Chasing after them was a work-out too. I'm forced to wonder how many children's bicycles are rusting out before they even worn out their first set of tires?  I see more kids shopping for video games than I do playing in their yards.  I'm not saying to give up the technology, only to strive for a more healthy balance, for both you and your offspring.                                                                               Family trips to Putt-Putt Golf or Chuck E Cheese-fun for all, fun for all.  Community parks and recreational areas waiting to please-fun for all, fun for all.  Tossing a ball or Frisbee and work those knees-fun for all, fun for all.                                                                                                                          Making a baby is as easy as pie.  It just comes natural, even those who haven't a clue can reproduce.  Raising junior, on the other hand, is a different story.  Good parenting isn't supposed to be easy; it takes dedicated time and effort.  A parent needs to listen to his or her child's life story each and every day.  If you absolutely have to work and at least phone home daily from work for childhood updates.   I suggest sometime in the first hour they should be home after school, don't give them a chance to unburden themselves on someone else before you.  You must show your progeny that you're in it for the duration that requires a significant expenditure of energy to prove to them that you care!                                                                                           Weekends just aren't enough.  Parenting isn't a part time job.  Children, especially teens, need daily booster shots of self-esteem. Parents should never forget that part of their responsibilities as primary care givers is to supply that fix.  Don't expect your kids to respect themselves without your help.  They might, but what if they don't?  A good parent wouldn't dream of risking it.  If children don't feel family pride and confidence is it no wonder so many of them look elsewhere.  Many end up taking more pride in "Gang Colors" than their own family names.  In addition daily "my world is coming to an end!" disasters strike every pubescent life.  They can't wait for the weekend.  They demand answers immediately.  Any hesitation and impatient teenagers will seek advice elsewhere.  Too many parents take too much for granted.  You just can't raise children on autopilot.  Haven't you ever seen or read Lord of the Flies?                 The most precious things you have are your children-find the time, find the time.  Be rewarded daily in ways you never dreamed-find the time, find the time.  Before you know it they're grown and gone-find the time, find the time.<SPAN style="mso-tab-count: 1">                                                                                                                      Do your best to control your temper at all times.  If your pack of rambunctious children wake you up before the sun rises just do as Dracula (Bela Lugosi) would do and say to yourself: "Ah the children of the night...what beautiful music they make."  Parenting is one job that requires a generous sense of humor.  Parenting requires a lot more than just a big mouth.  Don't count on just laying down the law to get Biblical respect.  Screaming at your kids only ends up giving them nightmares.  I ought to know, my father passed away 7 years ago and I still get night terrors once in a while.  No parent has enough respect, cunning, or charismatic charm to set the rules without question.  Approaching children with unabated intimidation may work a little while, until eventually it backfires.  Parents always think they're getting away with it.  Don't think for a minute that your experience guarantees respect.  Never assume you outsmarted your kids every time you think you've won a battle.  Don't expect them to respect you simply because you command them to.  Regimental authoritative attitudes only build resentment.  True respect can only be earned.  Quality time spent with your kids reaps numerous rewards.  Treat them with respect and you'll receive respect in turn, eventually.  Do it for a lifetime and you'll be treated with reverence in your old age. Keep on ignoring them and soon they'll be ignoring you and your rules.  Confide in them if you want them to confide in you.                                                                              It's beyond my compression yet many childhood victims become victimizers when they get older. I'm hardly one to talk, but some people never grow-up. There seems to be a "wait till it's my turn" juvenile mentality at work. When push comes to shove the bigger physical presence always dominates.  Role models really drop the ball when they result to intimidation instead of reasoning to control their charges. What are supposed to be adult parents start behaving as immature schoolyard bullies because they now have "the power." Narrowing your vision to worse-case scenarios leads to irrationally acting out of fear and missing the big picture. Authority figures focus on discipline instead of far more important issues, caring and love. Don't be oblivious to what really matters. Living at home should never be tantamount to training at boot camp. Grown-ups can easily forget all about the nurturing love they wish they had as kids.  Callously choosing to embrace power instead of their own offspring. No child believes "This is going to hurt me more than it will you," no matter how many times they hear it." Because you love them" or "tough love" are not justifiable excuses for abuse.  Such phrases are the world's cruelest oxymorons. Such trains of thought are actually self-serving platitudes parents tell themselves to be able to live with the results.  It's as ironic as Hell, but it's still a reoccurring pattern. Power is intoxicating, even over your own kids, handle it wisely or you don't deserve it.  There are no justifiable excuses for abuse, period!                                                                                                  We're all supposed to learn from our negative history so as not to repeat it, but too many don't. Your attitude and approach to parenting is likely to be handed down to your grandchildren. Remember the way you treat your children is the way they will more than likely raise their own kids someday.  Today, tomorrow, and yesterday are all linked together. You're setting the mold for generations that will follow your example, make it a good one.  Family traditions are handed down form one generation to the next.  Start a new one and then add a few good ones to the list.  Insure your decedents get beneficial inheritances more valuable than mere money.  Assure that your progeny are proud of their bloodline   .                                                                                                                         Your family tree may be filled with rotten apples; however that doesn't mean it can't bear ripe fruit.  You don't have to allow the poison to spread any further.  The buck stops here, it's upon your broad shoulders.  You have the parental duty to turn it around, it may be your only real opportunity to be a hero, don't blow it!  Stranger things have been known to happen.  The best bet we have for a better world starts with better parenting.  Don't be the one to let the future down.                                                                                                                            Communicating fully with your children has some definite advantages.  The more you get to know your kids the harder it will be for them to keep sneaking things by you.  You'll be able to read their tell signs.  The youngster's bluffing, trickery, and "sneakery" will become much more difficult for them to get away with.  Hoodwinking you will become much more difficult when their young and almost unused conscience eventually starts to bother them.  The better your kids get to know you the more they can appreciate your efforts.  The more you shine, the more likely your progeny will take after you, next thing you know great things are happening all around you.                                                                                                                                                The sooner you start the better.  Time is of the essence.  For all intensive purposes I am the boy I was in the 8^th grade.  We're all still kids at heart.   By the 8^th grade I had the majority of my values and manners imprinted permanently.  People say you can change at any age, although I haven't found that to be true in my case, at least not yet.  At my core I'm still a shy bumbling 8^th grader being picked on by corporate bullies.  Kids today seem to be growing up much faster.  They have easier access to much more information than we did.   If you're lucky you have that much time.  On the other hand don't count on it.                                                                                                                                 Parents never underestimate your adversary.  Young awake minds usually observe a lot more than they are given credit for.  Don't let those innocent eyes fool you.  "Who knows what evil lurks" behind them.   Kids aren't as stupid as adults tend to think they are.  In fact they're often too smart for their own good. Parents hardly ever give them proper credit for childish clandestine accomplishments.  The clever little monkeys get their mitts into everything, even top secret stuff supposedly out of reach in back on the highest shelf in the house.  The little imaginative magicians can pull off acts that would baffle their parents.  Even toddlers manage to uncover hidden compartments and ways to pick simple and not so simple locking mechanisms.  No hidden treasure stays buried for long.  Children have a 6^th sense when it comes to discovering what you wish would they didn't.  I doubt that there's a single adolescent male's household with a hidden copy of Playboy without the teen's fingerprints all over it.                                                The scary part would be to know how many guns out there also need fingerprinting.  Dangerous items are particularly alluring to the juvenile delinquent mentality.  Even after lighting his own head on fire playing with matches and gasoline my own nephew still carries a torch for lighters.  I learned patting out a fire can be done bare-handed without getting burned, if you're extremely lucky.  He learned little from his slightly scared ear.  If you must have a gun in the same house as a kid put it in a secure lock box.  Use a combination code and never open it when the child's in the room.  Tiny hands can lift keys from exhausted parents pockets or purses at moments when they're vulnerable.  My mom tried to keep her personal stash of Snickers under lock and key to no avail.  Needless to say, if you're stupid enough to keep drugs within the reach of children you're begging for an overdose.  Wise up before it's too late and foreseeable tragedy strikes.                                                                                                                                           Your children are likely far less ignorant than you'd like to believe. The child intellect soaks up information like a sponge.  Many juveniles would make superb spies for the C.I.A.  Their smaller size would also make it easier for them to play international hide and seek.  Small feet are capable of all the stealth of a light-footed panther when they want to be.  Parents are surprisingly inept when it comes to hiding their own misbehaver from their kids.  Children are amazingly adept at spotting even the slightest hint of hypocrisy, undoubtedly any double standard will be held against you. Don't expect them to practice what you preach if you don't practice it yourself.   Children are among the leaders in protesting the dreaded dastardly double standard.  You can rest assured that your pride and joy has a mental log book of every parental infraction of every rule.  Even the slightest bending of the law will be duly noted for posterity.  Children will use each and every perceived violation as an excuse not to listen to you.  Do your best to lead by example and not by theory.                                                                                                      Put your money where your mouth is-lead by example, lead by example.  Show young minds a proper role model-lead by example, lead by example.  Get true respect by earning it-lead by example, lead by example.                                                                                                                                   We all learn through our mistakes and hope to keep our kids from repeating them.  Yet your advise may not mean a thing unless your child admires you and considers your life nearly a complete success story.  Remember how well you headed your parents' unsolicited advice and expect your kids to do no better.  Teenagers want to believe many of their peers live in fairytale households consisting of perfect T.V.-land parents who hardly ever make mistakes.  Reality often has a ferocious bite to it.                                                                                                  Grounding your children in reality is often an unpleasant job, eventually it must be done.  The earlier you do it the less stressful it will be for parent and child alike.  You have to explain why your advise is just with a reasonable motive and in detail.  Pointing out all the flaws in your own life isn't going to impress anybody, especially your children.  In fact too many juveniles think you're blaming them for your troubles.  Guilt is necessary to build a strong moral foundation, yet using excessive guilt to over-manipulate young minds only creates dysfunctional families.  Too many adults erroneously think putting the blame on their offspring helps keep them in line.  Anytime you make a young person feel bad about his or herself there is a high probability of it turning out bad.                                                                                                                   When you keep complaining about how messed up your life is don't be too surprised if your kids don't worship you like housewives fawning at Opra Winfrey's famed feet.  It's much more likely that later in life your kids will probably need to spend more than a few sessions with Opra's head shrinking sidekick Dr. Phil.  Your little loved ones would rather seek advise from "Dear Abby" or "Anne Landers" before coming to you.  Despite what most parents would like to believe respect has to be earned, it's not guaranteed through your blood-line; even if blood is thicker than water.                                                                                                                    Those of you that think your children are your own personal indentured servants, shame on you!  The simple ability to reproduce wasn't meant to create a cheap labor force.  "King of your castle" mentalities are only dressed up ego trips, you're not fooling anybody.  Despite what some may think, our children are a Heavenly gift to you, and they don't owe you a thing. You shouldn't want your kid to kowtow to you at all.                                                                                                                        Families are supposed to stick together.  Parents are the glue that makes that indestructible bond possible.  Defective parenting can lead to weak a bond that break easily, that's when families come apart at the seams.  Truth is parenting is just like any other relationship, you get back what you put into it.  Treat your kids well and you'll be treated well in return.  If you as Simon and Garfunkle put it: "teach your children well," then, and only then, do they owe you your due respect.  Young people need to learn how to stand up for themselves.  Tearing down kids' self-esteem for a personal parental "little kingdom" ego trip is the last thing any family needs.  Being a self-declared head of a household doesn't give you that right. That's a large part of what screwed me up so bad!  I'm a prima facie example of what becomes of a kid whose been programmed to do what he was told without question.  Case closed the persecuted prosecution rest. If you can't stand up and be counted at home the likelihood is you never will be heard.  You can easily end up in a prison of your own making.   You may find it ironic that although I don't speak very highly of my parents I showed them more than their due respect, and still do.  I'm one really messed up dude!  Welcome to my world.                                                                                                                    Like it or not, when it comes to parents and their kids, we all just can't always get along.  Parents can't just be friendly peers either, not all of the time.  Parental leadership is a necessity for a health family unit. Role models have to show some strength of character after all.  Every once in a while you're going to be left with no choice but to lay down the law.  The trick is to have built up enough respect and trust with your family in the periods in-between; when you encounter resistance demand logical explanations.  Give your children an honest opportunity to change your mind and be sure they know it.  Never end an argument with: "because I said so!"  Always give honest reasons for your side of things.  Children may not like it, but they will be more apt to hear you out.  Getting younger minds to see things from your perspective is a key step to parenting, don't try to skip it.                                                                                         Unfortunately for the parents, success requires leading by example. Barking out desired commands with a "do as I say-not as I do" mentality frequently has the opposite effect.  Without a significant role model young people go with the flow.  Peer pressure steers their way.  John Tunstill (Terance Stamp) in Young Guns points out: "These boys are promising young men.  Acquiring an education."  Their education consisted primarily of bank robbery, saloons, and cat houses.  Without parents as role models children turn to the street for answers.  Peer pressure dominates their lives.   Every transitional fad becomes a necessity, something they simply can't live without.  Spoiling them by throwing money at the problem isn't the answer.  Cash is just manure for a "bad seed" to grow on.   In the most drastic cases killing for popularity or even just for a "Walkman" doesn't seem too ridiculous or absurd.  Some kids become flaky as h-e-double hockey sticks from bending any which way the prevailing wind blows.                                                                Have sex before you're ready just to say you did-bend with the wind, bend with the wind.  Experiment with booze and drug cocktails to look cool-bend with the wind, bend with the wind.  Jump off a cliff if they tell you to-bend with the wind, bend with the wind.                                      We all want to be loved by our children.  "To err is humane to forgive divine" except for the fact that if you let juveniles get away with it they'll end up walking all over you.  Unless you're blessed with a perfect child some level of tough love will be required somewhere along the line.  Giving in to tantrums only encourages repeat performances.  Without punishment spoiled brats are created who don't stop to consider the consequences of their actions.                                                                  The most effective punishments aren't physical.  As far as I'm concerned a parent's first duty is the same as a medical doctor's: "to do no harm."  Physical or emotional bruises make you a very bad guy. Anger is a brief madness so beware.  Abuse from a parent is a thousand times more powerful than similar inflicted by strangers.  The scars are deeper and never fade away.  The resulting devastation last a lifetime.  Discipline should be handed out with a calm yet authoritative tone.  Abusers become an enemy of the state of childhood.   The heavy-handed parent shouldn't be respected or trusted by their own children or by society in general.                                             If you raise your children properly they should want your respect.  Achieving parental respect should be one of their earliest goals in life.  If they ever lose your respect they should be hurt deeply enough to be willing to work hard to get it back.  Be open and honest with your feelings.  Nine times out of ten grounding or "no desert" is the most punishment that's required.  Try erasing downloaded ring tones from their cell phone or deleting saved progress on their video games if more stringent punishment is required.  You should know better than anyone what your prodigy spends most of his or her time doing, odds are that's where the most effective punishment should be targeted.  For more extreme circumstances taking away use of the computer or video game system may be required.   As a last resort the most desperate act of delaying the acquisition of a driver's license may be necessary.  In extremely dysfunctional cases don't hesitate into checking out family counseling.  Trepidation has no place when your family's mental health is at risk. Feel free to call a professional before implementing any of these suggestions; they may have better ones more suitable or convenient to your needs.                                                                                                                                               Nobody's perfect.  Experience leads to wisdom but that doesn't make you infallible.  You have to admit to your mistakes in order to learn from them. Parents do err.  "Fess up" to your blunders, don't try to deny or cover them up.  Be an adult and apologize to your children when you make mistakes; how else can you expect them to come clean when they, too, foul up?  Maturity starts with the parents and is passed down.  Don't be embarrasses or ashamed.  Honesty has no bounds.  Live a decent life and time will bear you out as a better person worthy of true respect.  Don't forget to forgive your child's mistakes.  If you want to be forgiven by them later you must show them some mercy now.  Worrying about giving them the wrong idea or dreaming up worse possible scenarios is a waste of time.                                                                        

 this chapter deals with the war in Iraq-keep in mind my opinion changes dramatically since the war began

I also discuss the growing deliquency inour youth  

                                          Chapter 24: Oh What a Mess                                                                              During the summer of 2004 I saw Bill Moyers on The Tonight Show.  What I heard him say threw me for such a loop; I just had to bring it up.  The supposedly intelligent interviewer made a comment that "perhaps Iraqis aren't ready for freedom."  He may have been joking in a dry wit sort of way; however, it didn't seem so.  Sorry Billy Boy, but I'm afraid I have to strongly disagree.  Remember that Iraq is a country that's been under the oppression of one dictator or another for an extremely long time.  Traditional tyranny takes time to obliterate.  Generations of brainwashing that need be reprogrammed.  Furthermore many of the more Religious Iraqi people have been brought up to think of the Western World as Devil-worshiping barbarians.  In many minds we tend to be a little too loose with our morality for their liking. Why give the job of Supreme Dictator to overseas interests when they know they have more than enough qualified candidates right at home.  It's easier to understand the motivation of a fellow countryman than some miss devious troublemaker from abroad.  At least he speaks the same language and can claim to be of the same Faith, although the despot's dirty deeds usually prove he has no real faith.                                                                                                                                 As the greatly underestimated Jar Jar Binks(Ahmed Best) said: "Gungans have grand army.  That's why you no liking us meesa thinks."(From Star War's The Phantom Menace)  The United States of America has the greatest fighting force on the face of the planet.  We fully stock our armed forces with all the latest technology designed for combat.(Or at least it seemed that way until news of lacking armor came back from the front lines)  Of coarse that's going to intimidate the hell out of other countries and the United Nations, no matter what our intentions.  That's why I think the ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />U.S. occupation isn't being welcomed with open arms like we all hoped it would be.                                                                                                                                                   As far as I can tell most Iraqi citizens are convinced America isn't there to free them.  They believe The President is just another dictator; an Outsider who just wants to plunder their country's oil.   Most feel that they'd be better off with a local tyrant.  At least someone from their region would have a good chance of following the same Religion as them.  The good fellows that want to believe in America don't dare show their support in fear of repercussions.  After a year or two, when the U.S. military is supposed to leave what's to keep a new tyrant from seizing power?  American sympathizers will catch hell at that point.  Whatever creature took over for Hussein would certainly go medieval on their ass.    In time, if the U.S. Government doesn't desert them, they will eventually get a taste of freedom and then be grateful.  I believe the large voter turn-out for their first election proved my point.  I just pray we keep our pledge to them and drop them as a "political hot potato."  Only time will tell.   A new dictator would step in and eventually we would find ourselves in another war.                                                                       You can bet the local drug and war lords do everything in their power to convince gullible and desperate minds that America is their enemy.  Democracy threatens their little empires.  An elected government with a trained army could quickly abolish their mini dictatorships.  At the very least a bureaucracy of red tape would require numerous bribes to stay in business.  Just like corporate C.E.O.'s, gang leaders don't like to share their profits either.  Keeping the government from stabilizing for as long as possible allows the greedy bandits to keep most of their ill-gotten goods.  They will keep it up as long as there are those stupid enough to let them.                                                                                                                                 Some Muslims tend to look down on Americans as infidel pigs that don't respect their traditions.  I think they need to respect our traditions if they want us to reciprocate.  The bloodiest war in American history was the one fought over slavery.  More Americans died in the Civil War than any other conflict since.  What about the civil rights movement?  Let's not forget the women's suffrage movement.  We respect our ancestors by speaking up against oppression in this country.  We take responsibility for being the most powerful nature on earth by deliberately trying to meddle in other countries affairs when we see oppression there as well.                             The people of  Islam want America's respect.  Well than I suggest you start with the following:  If you're going to insist on stoning your women to death for adultery you had better start stoning the men as well.  The Bible's been misinterpreted countless number of times for evil purposes.  I know little of why Muslim women run around outfitted like black ghosts.  I can only assume the dark color full-coverage outfits can't be too comfortable in a desert environment.  Nobody's saying they should be running around in bikinis, not even horny old fart me, just that women have the right to be able to chose what they wear.  They should at least be able to be as comfortable as their men.  The barbaric treatment of woman by men of their same faith tells me the Qur'an has fallen to the same illness.  Women create life.  They bear all the pain of childbirth.  They should be revered not mistreated.  The Qur'an is being used to justify keeping women in servitude to their men.  Stop living in the dark ages.  How can giving women the same rights as men be evil?  The men are the ones encouraging all the killing.  Deep down they're cowards who fear losing control of their women.  One day your women will wake up to your oppression.  The next day many of your men will wake up to find the Lorraine Bobbit special in their laps.                                                                                                                                                                          It's not just the Middle East that treats women badly; parts of India have a tendency to punish women for not having male babies.  Their patriarchal society depends on a male child to take care of his parents in their golden years.  Too often if a wife has several girl children, but no males either the husband or her in-laws will douse the female baby-bearer in kerosene and light her on fire.  Bride burning is an abomination and has no place in a civilized world. In fact in these supposedly modern times any country or culture that treats its women as second class citizens or worse is just begging for trouble.  Just thought I'd serve you up some food for thought.                                                                                                                                                          I'm certain women are treated worse than men on every corner of the globe.  But I'll have to settle for those two prime examples for now. Men are physically stronger and it's been my experience that bullies almost always have their way.  Historically it's always been those in charge that record history in their favor, and nobody will deny men have held a monopoly on running things for way too long. Unequal and unfair treatment of women is also another problem I have with most organized religions.  When are we stupid men going to admit women are at least as good as us if not better?  Personally I think women were given the miracle of childbirth to help make up for that tremendous injustice, besides men could never handle it.  Things are definitely changing, but like most beneficial developments at a rate far slower than it should be.  Sorry, I'm not a woman, so I can't continue on without feeling like a traitor to my sex.                                                                          It's December 2004 and time for an update on my feelings about the U.S. occupation of Iraq.  A large part of my original opinion has sharply changed now.  I can't understand why the public and the press want to mollycoddle President Bush.  I worry about our country's I.Q., I really do.  It would be sadly ironic if we're giving up our freedom of speech to avoid being seen as traitors.  Patriotism demands we speak our minds.  With no signs of weapons of mass destruction as of yet I've got serious doubts about President Bush's original claims for starting the war.  If JFK could risk national security by disclosing the U-2 Spy plane photos just to justify boycotting Cuba shouldn't some tangible evidence of why we invaded Iraq have also been disclosed.  The Administration still hasn't admitted their "Shock-and-Awe" campaign didn't exactly live up to expectations.  I'm glad Hussein's gone and feel we should still ensure Iraq finds true freedom.  Not that we're there we need to follow through to ensure we won't have to return in the future.  We need to prove the Stars and Stripes still stand for something.             During the 2004 Elections President Bush jumped all over Kerry for pointing out the 380 tons of explosives that supposedly vanished from an Iraqi weapons facility while are troops were merely 30 miles away.  The President criticized Kerry for "...denigrating the actions of our troops and commanders in the field..."  I feel the lack of armor and flack jackets was far more disheartening than that.  Osama bin Laden still at large is an even bigger "buzzkill."    I still can't believe Kerry lost.  As of yet I don't know if any answer was found about the missing explosives.  911 seems to have left the American public seeing red, white, and blue.  I wouldn't mind if it wasn't blinding them to reality.  It seems too many questions go unanswered under Bush's Administration.  There seems to be a press blackout with much of the war.  That I heard we had 1330 American casualties, I have no idea what the total body count is up to now.  That number should be predominantly displayed on the front page every time it goes up.  Those dying for our country deserve immediate recognition for their sacrifice. It's one thing to be patriotic, quite another to turn a blind eye.  That's how monstrous events always go down in history.  It's always bothered me that the Bush family has so many members in politics; three governors and two Presidents and still counting. Ironic that what's supposed to be a democratic society allows such a monopoly on political offices.                                                                                                                     July 2005 and time for another Iraq update.  Recently a suicide bomber blew up a bunch of children while they were being given toys by the U.S. Military.  Blowing up your own children is more than just insanity, it's pure evil.  There's nothing more innocent than a child at play.  To push your prejudicial bias and hate onto the next generation shows you no longer respect God or Allah.  Just goes to show what can happen when men push their own arrogant pride into religion.  Pride comes before the fall.  I pity those fools destined to take the biggest fool of all.  Still I can't forgive their heinous acts.                                                                             Don't be surprised that if in twenty years school kids look back at our Homeland Security measures from the same prospective we now look at McCarthyism.  The Committee on Un-American Activities was strictly small time compared to today's National Security witch-hunt.  No government likes to admit to its mistakes.  Who do you know that lost their job due to the unpreparedness on 911?  Shouldn't someone in the intelligence community been held to account?  My own little conspiracy theory bets the farm that the imbeciles who were supposed to be protecting our butts were to preoccupied covering their own. What about the continued failure to find Bin Laden?  I thought we were smarter than that, I continue to be disappointed with the system in oh so many ways.  Our government has a slightly illegal and morally bankrupt tendency to cover up it's own ineptness by trampling over our civil rights. Blacklisting pales in comparison to wrongful imprisonment without due process and deportation.  Subversive Communists are now National Security Risks.  The terrorists can take some victory when Uncle Sam uses terror tactics on his own citizens.  Western civilization has taken a de-evolving step backwards I'm ashamed to say.  What will you tell your children you were doing while the government exceeded its Constitutional Charter?  Personally the heavy-handed Gestapo tactics of our own Government scares me more than a terrorist bomb, at least for now.                                                  No doubt about it, bureaucratic red tape strangled many lives that fateful day in September. Things are supposed to be better now under Homeland Security; all for one and one for all and all that.  But How long will it be before the old school political machine goes back to the familiar route of running in circles? How long before differing agencies start circling their wagons and looking for a scapegoat in the other guy's corral? You can't let fear run your life or your government.  There is no clear-cut answer. Still I think trials should be held for any imprisonment.  If National security is at issue hold closed-courts, but keep permanent records for review later when National Security is no longer directly threatened.  Government has to be held responsible for its actions.  When authority stops answering to the people corruption grows exponentially.  In the end absolute power corrupts absolutely.  Things can escalate to near dictatorship levels in the blink of an eye.  Martial law has no place in a true Democracy.                                                                                                                                                        Professional politicians scare the crap out of me.  Their pandering sways to and fro to whatever special interest they happen to be courting at the moment. Make no mistake about it, they're consummate liars, with no tells, much too hard to read.  You can't predict what they'll do since you're never certain what motivates them.  I figure they have a lot to do with what's wrong with our country.  All I ever get is the "heebie-jeebies" when I hear one of their sidetrack-the-issues speeches.  At least Bush finally brought up the dead end Social Security is heading for, who knows maybe he has some potential?  It's too early to tell, but part of me fears another war will erupt in perfect timing for the next election.  I almost pee my pants thinking the third world nuclear arms race will be the excuse they'll use. As Saturday Night Live's Church Lady would say: "Isn't that convenient!"  God only help us if that's true.                                                                                                                                                                       Don't forget what's really important-taste life, taste life.  Don't allow yourself to get numb with indifference-taste life, taste life.  Don't spend all your time chewing the fat-taste life, taste life.                                                                                                                                                  April 2006 and still no luck with publication.  Only one agent supposedly read my book.  Time to bring you up to speed with a political update.  Alone with the rest of the Country my opinion of President Bush's performance has dropped extremely. It's looking more and more like we went to war under false pretenses.  I can't help wondering where most of our tax dollars are going. Why our troops still seem to be under supplied? What percent is being spent on rebuilding schools and hospitals and what portion's being used on oil wells and pipelines?  If the numbers are extremely out of skew with what the priorities should be, then the war will have likely resulted in more terrorists instead of less. The soldiers are there fighting for their Country, for freedom and democracy; each and every marching boy and girl doing their sworn duty.  There's no doubt in my mind about that. The troops are honorable. But what motivates the politicians who sent them there?  That's where the questions arise. Even a nonsense spouting nobody like me recognizes that the further up the chain of command you go, the more the strategy turns away from battlefront victory towards economic concerns. Even I know that the biggest life and death decisions are being made by people whom never wore a military uniform. Those more concerned with what money can be made rather than winning a war.  Those that focus solely on the dollar count while ignoring the body count. Then that's precisely whom Hell is for.                                       I personally believe that if our soldiers were allowed to fight this war the way they were trained to, it would have ended a long time ago in victory.  But then the underground rivers of ill-gotten cash would be dry. As it stands now they'll be running wild for quite some time to come. And there will never be a clear victory, just a "strategic" withdrawal when the country has had enough.  It doesn't take a brain surgeon or rocket scientist to figure out something's rotten in Iraq.  I get the impression that since El Presidente got away with invading Iraq with "weapons of mass destruction" being a mythical entity, he believes he can get away with just about anything.  Being a former Texas Governor meant he was already in petroleum's pocket, who knows whose deep pockets he's dipped in since?  How can you trust a leader who's own Cabinet seems to desert him?  I'd go into detail, but I fear censorship and treasonous accusations.  I heard Bush was trying to sell millions of acres of national forest, has he expanded his interests into the lumber industry as well?  The President's suggested solution of making dirtier gas to help with gas prices also implies he's no friend of the environment. Gee cheaper refinement costs for the oil companies that might reduce prices by an even slimmer margin then the new profits, let's all jump on that bargain...sheesh! Even kindergartners are starting to see right through him. It's a pity they're the one's that'll paying for our mistakes. The scariest part is all the politicians who'll be following in suit.  The whole Country might as well be run by a self-serving herd of used car salesmen.  Any real change will be put on hold while spin control rules. Eventually they're all going to think they're above the law.  Greed will be pursued to dizzying new heights in the years to follow. New Orleans needs new levees but our elected officials are more concerned with building walls to stem the tide of illegal immigrants instead.  The government seems to think they can do whatever they like and use national security as a legitimizing excuse.  It forces me to wonder how many of the victims of 911 are tossing in their memorial graves?                                                          This Country has a bad tendency to take one small step forward followed by two giant steps back.  I'd say "Our Country" but I expect plenty of you would rather not be clumped together with the likes of me. It's looking more and more like Orwell's "1984" was only a quarter of a century off. It may not be an oxymoron, but I believe it was the work of freedom squashing morons. The Patriot Act started out as a euphemism, became a misnomer, and will more than likely be thought of by historians as an antonym.  I'm sure the politicians who named it hoped people would stand proudly behind it as their "patriotic" duty.  The ones who try to protest are shunned and reminded of the terror of 911 for their noble efforts.                                      You just know the laws will continue to get more and more restrictive with every successful attack.  When terrorism strikes on American soil once more they'll only use the opening to tighten the loose on us even further.  Our Capital is full of addicts. If you think who you vote for actually ran to "serve the people," don't make me laugh.  Maybe a very few candidates start of in minor positions that way, but I'd be very surprised if any of the elected feet treading the pavement in Washington give a damn about the Country. Washington's wagon-wheeled streets are a well-dressed battlefield for monstrous maniacal super egos.  Each and every supposed leader selfishly believing what's best for him or her is what's best for the Country.  I'm not talking about jonesing for the freebies and cash under the table lobbyists supply, that's just icing on the cake for most professional politicians. Neither am I referring to elected officials addicted to love, although I'm sure many interns would disagree. Not even our national drug problem, although I sometimes wonder why so many act as if their out of their minds.  No, I'm talking about getting down to basics. What most politicians play the game for is power.  I honestly don't believe we've ever had a President who didn't find control the ultimate aphrodisiac.  Politicians will use our own fear against us to seize as much power and control over us as they possibly can.  With great power is supposed to come great responsibility, unfortunately politicians don't know the meaning of the word.  Passing the buck is more their style. Political agendas are being advanced over the dead bodies of terrorist victims and our own troops, although that's nothing new. Politicians in Washington D.C. are losing touch with the common man and that never ends well. When freedom gets smothered revolution frequently breaks out in order for the people to breathe. I fear the Patriot Act will do far more damage to the American Way than any future terrorist attack could ever manage. I hope and pray I'm wrong.             I've never been to war. Neither have I ever personally witnessed a violent crime or other atrocity.  Other than bullies, employer abuse, and freaky Fred, the most disturbing aspect of my life has to be politics. Where to we find the flim-flam artists and scoundrels we chose to put in office?  Why do we insist on dredging up such low-lives to put into public service?  Why do we take it for granted that they know what they're doing when all the evidence points to the contrary? We convince ourselves they're all "Do-Gooders" with noble intentions and admirable ambitions; despite being betrayed time and time, election after election. Why do we let them get away with all the shit?  Why aren't they prosecuted to the full extent of the law?  Most deserve a life term of imprisonment. Too many than I care to mention deserve a public firing squad. How do they get away with it? Because they write and re-write the laws and we sit by and do nothing. Not a single one of them crooks has any place leading anyone; wolves in three-piece suits and experts at putting on sheep's clothing to boot; power-hungry greedy fiends that are friends to no one but themselves; two-faced back-stabbing, issue flopping, incompetent buffoons. The type of people your Momma and Preacher warned you not to trust; of the lowest character and moral fibre known to man; non-committal side-stepping spin-controlling pole-taking snake oil salesmen. Not a single one genuinely interested in public service, yet Washington D.C. has more per capita than any place on Earth.  It's easy to see how so many decent people have given up...too easy.                                                                                                                                                           John Q Public needs to wake up and open his eyes. The sheepish American citizen has been following the collective flock for too long. Many have stopped paying attention to who's at the head of the pack. Standard voting procedure is to pick the lesser of two evils. Many follow their faith and pick the supposedly more pious choice.  But they need to check out all the issues.  Many vote for whomever they think will raise taxes the least. (That's a waste of time since few actually honor any commitments in that area.  They'll promise you the moon and give you a handful of imaginary green cheese.) Still others pick the one with the most photogenic smile. Personally I'm afraid far too many are using the traditional "eeney-meeney-miney-mo" method. Few bother to demand where the candidates stand on all the issues.  Few bother to think for themselves.  We all suffer for it. The "man" wants you to give up, in fact he's counting on it.  We do our best to oblige him and he gives us as little as possible in return. Doing your bit for King and Country with no questions asked is how the government has gotten away with so much for so long. That's why the system only truly works for those who run it. Why power is money and money is power.  Why those whom posses wealth never give it up and why they can never get enough.                                                                                                                                                             Only fools follow a leader who doesn't have a clue. It's becoming painfully evident that we're a country of indifferent idiots. Complacent critters that have given up on a system that gave up on them long ago. That's why we've all been led so far astray. As far as I'm concerned all contenders for the Presidency should have to put their intentions for the Oval Office in writing, in as specific detail as possible. Then held to it or impeached.  To assume a candidate is qualified for office simply because he or she has the backing is tantamount to sheep being lead around by their collective horns. It doesn't take a sheepskin on the wall to deduce that the taxpayer gets fleeced repeatedly by the very shepherds he or she put in office.  I don't know about you, but I'm tired of getting the wool pulled over my eyes. In the years between elections Congressional salaries have skyrocketed in comparison to minimum wage which hasn't budged an inch.  Benefits for a working Joe are disappearing never to be heard of again. While the working stiff is being stripped clean his Congressional counterpart is getting fat-n-fluffy.  It's only a matter of time before we're all lead to the slaughterhouse with a friendly handshake and a smile.                                                                                                                                                    As the most powerful Nation on the planet we have many responsibilities. We need to set the standard for the rest of the world to follow. Politicians are supposed to be the noblest form of public service.  Public officials should be individuals the rest of us admire, people their home states could easily take pride in.  When's the last time you can remember being proud of your Commander-n-Chief?  Your Governor?  Your Congressman?  Anyone you helped put into office?  You could say it's just a sign of the times.  Red tape bureaucracy so tangled it will never be free of knots of corruption.  A world polluted with phonies and those willing to sell their souls and our Country to the highest bidder. You can continue to tell yourself "That's just the way it is, and I can't do a damn thing about it."                                                                                                  I say it's all a sign of us letting them get away with too much for too long. Wake up and smell the rotten Rose Garden. Patriotism and politics should be synonymous. Politicians should be using their clout to make a difference instead of a filthy buck. We need to start selecting only top-choice candidates.  We need to settle for no less. Any Presidential timber should have "integrity" as his or her middle name. They should have a spotless reputation and a clean bill of health. They should be well-known for giving and keeping their word. There shouldn't be any doubts. He or she should be an outstanding citizen and a patriot beyond reproach. There shouldn't be any wiggle room for liars leading the free world. No flip-flopping allowed for our true Commander and Chief. Politicians are slippery enough as is. I want a realistic idealistic candidate before I'll even consider casting my vote. The race wouldn't even be close.  The election should be a landslide for the proper candidate.                                                                            I probably shouldn't get political, it raises my blood pressure. I'll bet it does the same for many Americans. I'll just have to let it go, knowing full well all trespassers pay for their sins.  If President Bush started a war for personal reasons he will pay a Hell of a price, literally. Same goes for any political hack who thinks a position of power puts him or her above it all.                                                                Getting back to my route; after Shaw Air Force Base I headed into Sumter.  Upon entering the city a barrage of traffic lights then encumbered my mission.  I grinned when fate or timing smiled upon me and several of the three eyed traffic controllers let me slip by.  Of coarse, eventually one of the pesky critters would stop me solidly with a single harsh red stare.  Sometimes a tempting yellow glow baits me to accelerate through an intersection while scanning desperately for any blue bubble lights.  The lights and traffic signs dictate that what was once a wild frontier has now been regulated by civilization.  I pushed the limits on most days and it was getting old fast.  I knew I won't last much longer.  There's a limit to how much crap one can swallow.                                                                                                                                                              Less often than not I actually surprised myself and arrived a little early.  Usually time was of the essence when I hit my first stop. Then again time was always a scarce commodity.   The drugstore employees had a much harder time stocking shelves when the customers started to pile up.  Impatient customers expected their prescriptions to magically be filled immediately.  Running noses, sore throats, fevers, and multiple aches and pains have little patience.  Every case was a matter of life and death.   The Mad Hatter of a Chemist doesn't have the sorcerer's eight arms of an octopus hidden under his or her white coat.  No Pharmacist or their pretty little assistant posses E.S.P.   It takes time to properly mix the potions prescribed by their Doctors.  Not everything comes premixed, vacuum sealed and ready for immediate consumer consumption.  Dosages have to be adjusted.  Custom tailored combinations require retrofitting.    Some needy people are usually expecting medication that still has to be unpacked and inventoried; the earlier the better.  I've seen the mayhem on a really late day when the you-know-what hits the fan.                                                                                                                                                              The later you were running the more the domino effect piled up.  Murphy's Law took effect and a chain reaction ensued.  Universal constants turned a bad start into a really, really bad day.  Hindrances grew at an exponential rate.  More police cruisers than normal would magically appear whenever you fell behind schedule.  On four lane highways the left lane would stubbornly refused to pass the right.  Entrepreneurs closing deals on their cell phones or rubber necking tourists came out of the woodwork.  Traffic lights and the "force" all turned against you.  College kids in parallel cars practiced their mobile flirtation and semaphore techniques.  Eighteen wheelers decided to perform slow motion drag races, on the spur of the moment, uphill.  Construction sights sprouted up every other mile with orange signs and cones.  It became necessary to close lanes and merge traffic in order to perform the roadway's more necessary facelifts.    The ever present distracted dimwit inevitably waited for the last second to cut in front of you; like the barricades were going to be pulled away at the last minute just for him.To save a couple of seconds people continuously risked life and limb, not to mention putting other drivers in peril.  Highway manners have gone the way of the dodo bird.  Speed demons will tailgate and cut you off in a heartbeat.(I shamefully admit to being one of them while covering the Greenville area) Nothing surprises me anymore.  You started to expect every day to be a game of road tag and run. Flipping the finger has become the official salute of last minute commuters. Benevolence isn't as common as it used to be. Good Samaritans have become an endangered species.  In Lethal Weapon, when Murtaugh and Riggs argue over who should drive, Mel Gibson puts it nicely: "Anybody who drives around this town is suicidal."  Oh well every job has its frustrations.                                                                                              Drivers beware if enough delays and obstacles enter your path you may become susceptible to highway rage, especially if you're in a bad mood to begin with.  On my job that was happening more often than not. When aggressive driving replaces defensive it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out.  It took me a while to train myself to avoid applying extreme tailgating to intimidate slower drivers out of the left lane.  That was over and above the call of duty.  I never enjoyed doing it, but desperation sometimes got the better of me.  I never liked being the pacesetter.  Outflanking traffic doesn't end up saving you that much time.  Tailgating usually didn't work anyway, most of the time it only spreads the rage and they slow down even more to spite you.  Patience is sometimes a virtue that has to be learned.  When you take the time to think about it the risks simply aren't worth the returns.  I've lost count of how many times drivers have zig-zagged through traffic and passed me by only to be found 10 feet in front of me sitting at the next red light.                                                                                              It saddened me when I saw vehicles broken down with banners placed in their window to "please call police."  I've been known to fantasize about coming to the rescue of a maiden in harm's way from time to time.  Just follow the standard hero blueprint.  Like Rick in The Mummy who put it: "rescue the damsel in distress; kill the bad guys, save the world."  There's nothing like imagining the purr of a satisfied "pretty kitten."  Deplorably women can't rely on a knight in shining armor to come to the rescue anymore.  If someone tries standard procedure is not to trust him.  If someone dares stop they're frequently too scared to unlock the car, can't really blame them.  Read the headlines and you know why.  Maniacs and freaks come in all sizes and shapes these days.  You'll never know what will set one off.                                                                                                                                              If you see a fellow traveler in despair-lend a hand, lend a hand.  Chivalry isn't dead even in the middle of nowhere-lend a hand, lend a hand.  Certainly feel better about yourself afterwards-lend a hand, lend a hand.                                                                                                                            Our capital city of Columbia has an official emergency truck patrolling the Interstates surrounding the city for stranded motorists.  That particular notion seems to be working fairly well.  I've spotted his yellow bubble lights helping many a relieved civilian over the past few years.  His officially badged vehicle lets stranded motorist know he's a Knight in Shining Armor and not the Dark Knight or a plundering highwayman.  The mechanic often helps fix minor problems or change a flat.  In matters beyond his ability he arranges for a tow; must be nice to be paid to be a "Good Samaritan."  Not so nice in inclement weather or sunny, scorching summer afternoons.   I hope the concept spreads to cover more regions.   I doubt state budgets will permit it.                                                                                                                                                          South Carolina is mostly a rural state, and Southern hospitality beams from the smiles of most of its residents.  People take the time to greet others properly.  You can't get through a typical day with at least one thank you or come back soon Ya'all.  I originally a Jersey Boy and I can tell you it was a totally different atmosphere up north amongst the Yankees.  Hopefully that's changed since I left in the summer of '79.                                                                                               Unfortunately we do appear to have a few bad apples in the Deep South.  Here, there, and everywhere I found indications of civilization's decay.  Abandoned vehicles I sometimes passed on my way out were usually broken into by the time I came back.   I've even seen several cars on blocks with all four wheels stolen. Lately gang violence and vandalism is on the rise.  Graffiti and taggers marked their territories in some pretty remote areas, don't ask me why. Other sights that caught my eye brought on flashbacks to the northern climate as well.  Convenience store robberies were on the rise and making the news on a weekly basis.  I expected that sort of thing in bigger cities; consequently I now see it happens everywhere.                                                                                       You think you're tough now that you earned your colors-don't back down, don't back down.   Tattoo on your neck means you stand your ground-don't back down, don't back down.  Put yourself on a one way track to nowhere-don't back down, don't back down.  Pardon me if I stepped into your territory Tom Petty.                                                                                                                                        The rise in juvenile delinquency reminds me that it's time to start discussing proper parenting suggestions.  I believe that crime and vandalism may be largely the result of two income households.  Latch-key kids are given more responsibility than they can handle. We need to bring wages back up to where only one parent needs to work.  With both parents gone 40 plus hours every week neither has the time to teach their children right from wrong.  Try to decide what you really need versus what you want while considering the consequences to your kids.                                                  All the creature comforts you can imagine aren't worth losing the love of a single parent.  Nanny's are a poor substitute for the real thing.  Even if you get a good child care provider your child will resent it not being you.  When calculating a family budget try to account for the extra money saved by not needing daycare.  That combined with the bonding benefits of one parent staying home shouldn't be discounted to quickly.  I know many can't afford to live on a single income, still many others can.  Some of the meanest little monsters sprout up in two income homes that don't have to be.  Set your children's emotional needs at the top of your list of priorities, that's what makes good parents.  There's nothing wrong with comfort and luxury as long as emotional needs come first.  Too much focus on the physical at the expense of the emotional.                                                                                                                                                 You've learned from your mistakes-pass it on, pass it on.  Take the time to communicate with your kids-pass it on, pass it on.  Plan activities to share together-pass it on, pass it on.                                My parents are far from the monsters I may have implied them to be.  They just assumed too much.  Remember the old slogan: never assume anything because you just end up making an "ass" out of "u" and "me;" turns out that's especially true with parenting.  My eventually defending myself, my becoming an engineer, and my finding a wife to bear grandchildren with are all among things my parents assumed would take care of themselves, yet never came to pass.  I offer you sound advice based on where I feel my parents went wrong.  I also use feedback from surprisingly deep discussions with my nephew to remind you of your kid's more valid points of view.  Don't take them too lightly.  Wisdom can come "from the mouth of babes."                                             

this chapter deals with the litter of the highway

also discusses the stress of a school bus driver

and brings up Shaw Air Force Base

 Chapter 23: Ah Something That Stinks Worse Than Me                                                                                                               Rolling along I quickly accelerated anytime my nose picked up the unmistakable reeking scent of an approaching slow rolling steel stench bucket. Chugging along at the speed of a chubby kid on a bicycle a cigar-chewing driver attired in a grungy orange jumpsuit clutches the wheel.  Mr. Trash is on his dedicated route as well.  If it's one that handles households and not just dumpsters then the wagon of many odors rolls along even slower since there's two muscular assistants hanging on the back for dear life.  I'm forced to wonder how often one of those clinging can men slip off and get hurt. Mysterious stains eat away at his tin-can's paint job while clumps of God-only-knows what are strung across his rigs appendages and undercarriage. The rig is referring to the guy's truck de garbage, no vulgar double entendres implied. The cigar smoke must mute what little sense of smell the tormented nostrils can still manage.                                                                 The home life of such a committed civil servant must have some unique aspects. The scruffy treasure hunter probably has to go through a surgical scrub down routine before his wife allows him anywhere near her dinner table.  The household pantry stocks up on tomato juice whenever it's on sale. His better half more than likely makes him pass a smell test every time company is expected.  I wonder how many tetanus shots he's had to endure and if his insurance covered it.  Such are the burdens of a true working man.  I'm sure he makes more than I did, but still I can't manage quite to envy him.  Naturally if I had the job my own personal junk pile would quadruple in no time.                                                                                                   Twenty minutes after sunrise and I was nearing ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Sumter.  Traffic really had picked up by then and I started to run into school buses as well. The yellow-orange educational paddy wagons haul rambunctious hyperactive youths off to the establishment. Even with the advances in diagnosing ADD and Ritalin treatment programs, children still will be children. You can't keep a good hyperactive maniac down, they can only be tamed when their ready. As Samantha (Molly Ringwald) best put it in Sixteen Candles: "I hate the bus.  There has to be a more dignified mode of transportation." The juvenile wildebeests try to squeeze as much fun, socialization, and  play as possible into their first herd gathering of the day.  You can't really blame children for trying to get the most of their freedom before being confined to stifling classrooms all day.  The party's over when the school bell rings and the learning begins.                                                                                   Other than a few good teachers that enjoyed their job, I have no fond memories of my school days.  I never found my niche.  I couldn't bend in the wind and go with the flow of my peers. Neither could I stand up for myself, not even once.  A timid spineless wimp has no chance in the "run with the pack" mentality of student minds.  Without social skills the weak quickly fall prey.  By the time I entered the third grade I was a complete social outcast, more on that later.  I only pray today's youths don't gather in peer-pressure packs to take down the weakest of the herd, yet I know they still do. Some things will never change; I just hope they don't get worse.                                                                    Remember how you got to school-that yellow crate school bus commute.  Behind the bus's big wheel a frantic, hair-pulled, and teary-eyed driver battles for civilized behavior.  I picture her cross between a lion tamer outfitted with a whistle and whip and a mother hen. "Mother Hubbard" silently prays for the fevered ruckus to calm down to an easy going murmur.  There are times of anarchy when I'm almost certain the Disheveled Lady would sell her soul for a taste of tranquility.   Glancing continuously up into the oversized rear view mirror, the Mother Clucker keeps one eye on her gaggle of chicks while scanning the road for hazards with the other.  Taming the circus animals must make the Ringmaster a major stockholder in Tylenol.  She's lucky if she doesn't suffer a breakdown and utter a well known Forrest Gumpified: "Stupid is as stupid does" at her charges.                                                                                                                 Parents frequently have difficulty with only one or two kids in the back sit; imagine 50 or 60 screaming miscreants sitting behind you.  Add to that the fact your vehicle moves at a snails pace and you have to make more than a dozen stops. I'm just glad it isn't me.  I wonder if a good day for the Parental Substitute was one in which she avoided belting out a primal scream at the end of her route.  Parents of her flock should try to remember her around Christmas time.  If you can remember your mailman you certainly should give credit to one who transports a much more precious and volatile cargo.  I do my best not to look at the juvenile giggling audience while I pass the yellow crate. Along with everyone else I tried to maneuver around the lumbering yellow behemoth before she stopped to pick-up her next curbside flock.                                                                                                                    On the western outskirts of Sumter, I passed Shaw Air Force Base.  If I was on time it was about 6:45 am, about an hour later I would be swinging back around to deliver to the airbase hospital.  A little shudder ran through me on the stretch of 378 where I once broke down. I recalled my earlier near death loss of steering experience with a smirk in the corner of my mouth.                                                       During maneuvers the mighty thunder of the F-16s sent patriotic vibrations quivering through your bones.  Envy of the power and speed entrusted to our "Top Guns" equally balanced against the almost unimaginable millions that each ultimate dog-fight flying machine cost the taxpayer.  There's a bound to be a cost to freedom, and I prefer the cost to be in dollars rather than in American lives. Thinking of the rigorous training and G-Forces the pilots endure forces me to give our troops an unseen salute.  Personally I get air sick on a roller coaster.                           I give our brave pilots their due partly because technology has advanced to the point where unmanned drones may soon be replacing piloted aircraft to fight wars of the future.  The Iraq war had the Predators, small propeller driven remote control camera planes to relay live battle conditions to our commanding officers; a larger  jet powered model, the Global Hawk, was used to a lesser degree for higher altitude surveillance and dropping some demolitions.  Had more pilot-less aircraft been available they would have been used.   "Nova" on ETV showed a small intelligence-gathering model the size of a "Frisbee" in the works.  They're even working on mimicking the common house fly for police surveillance.   Driverless scout trucks are also in the works or at least on the drawing board.                                                                           Personally I think out-sourcing pilots will only be temporary. Any weapon system with massive fire power needs a human hand to ultimately control the situation.  As life-saving as long-distance-piloting might be I have severe doubts to it's long term effectiveness.  It only takes one hacker to pirate away one plane and use it against our own troops to put the human finger back on the cockpit joystick.  I know top secret security measures will be in place to prevent such an upstart.  Unfortunately no system will ever be foolproof.  It won't be easy, but eventually some "nerdy" computer genius will find a hacker's way to turn our own weapons against us, it might not even be a terrorist, just a kid trying to show off his computer skills.                                                  Back home at Shaw Air Force Base F-16's take-off on nearly a daily basis. It could be that the brave souls were flying off to war.  Just because they're brave doesn't mean they're crazy.  Nobody sane wants to be put under live fire.  Putting your life on the line gets your adrenalin flowing, however, nobody really thinks that rush alone is worth the risk. The dedicated pilots know what they're fighting for, democracy doesn't come cheap, never has.  Fighting for freedom often requires spilling some blood. Who knows what foreign soil they may have to fly over next or who might never return? Our Nation's responsibility for stability and security doesn't stop at our boarders, only small minds think it does.                                                                                                 Time to discuss what I can only pray will be the worse day in my life.  On September 11, 2001 I heard the radio announce that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center.  Believe it or not, I had just left Shaw AFB for Sumter at the time.  My first response was "O. K. somebody's really got a bad sense of humor." I didn't believe it for a second; I couldn't even comprehend the possibility.  Such an outlandishly evil thing couldn't have happened, especially in The United States of America.  My ears were deceiving me; there was no way that it could be true.  About a half hour later, as events continued to unfurl and several of my stops confirmed the impossible, it finally sunk in.                                                                                                                   To this day I still can't believe that the twin towers fell so seemingly easily, what had stood for so long had come down so quickly.  My personal foundations were deeply shaken when the dust settled and all that remained of 200 stories of office space was a horrendous pile of rubble. I knew someone incredibly stupid linked up with the Devil and had surely damned himself for the dastardly deed.  We all get our faith tested at one time or another. All I could do was pray and continue reluctantly on with my route. You felt like you should do something, but what?   For most of the Country prayer was the only answer.                                                                                                     What I'll never understand about The World Trade Center's demise is the political aftermath.   While the evening news' commentaries all felt, almost without fail, that Osama bin Laden was the dirt bag behind the deed, yet our government waited months before entering Afghanistan.  Why didn't we at least have Osama under constant surveillance before then?  Is our intelligence community much less competent than we've been led to believe?  Probably, they are government employees after all, never a cause for confidence.  Government employees rarely prove to be very efficient at their job, that's just the way it is, and has always been. Still you like to expect better from our "intelligence" agencies.  Politics never runs smoothly, especially when it's a matter of life and/ or death. The people call it the "tangled red tape of Bureaucracy."  Such is the illogical nature of the politically motivated machine.                                                    Terrorism will never weaken American Unity-strength in numbers, strength in numbers.  The deranged lunatics had the opposite effect-strength in numbers, strength in numbers.  We'll march to the corners of the world to set things right-strength in numbers, strength in numbers.  I know even if we don't get all those responsible, God will!                                                                                            Immediately after 9-11 barricades and a vehicle search lane were added on my delivery to the Air Force base hospital, adding a new tactical delay to an already impossible situation.  The bullet proof HumVee with its 50mm machine gun roof rack overlooking the line of vehicles took a little getting used to.  Suddenly every enlisted soldier boy seemed to have a M-16 strapped over their shoulder as well.  Understand I knew the new procedures were necessary, just that they were also inconvenient. The delay shortened a bit after the methods became.                                                                                             I found a portion of entertainment watching the trained dogs sniff through my cargo.  Not exactly the friendly puppy I frolicked with in my childhood, these canines took their job seriously.  They're a real force to be reckoned with.  I'm sure hundreds of new 4 legged soldiers, police officers, and air port security members have been recruited since then.                                                                    Say what you will about the poor pay grades of the lower ranks of the military.  The poverty stricken Dogface G.I. might not have much cash in his pockets although there are other things to consider.   I have first hand knowledge of at least one fringe benefit few civilians know about.   I delivered to the base hospital and I can tell you there sure are some fine specimens of the female form among the lieutenants and captains in the U.S. Air Force.  I'm surprised that on the busier days I didn't see Hot Lips Houlihan (Sally Kellerman) running around ranting "This isn't a hospital!  It's an insane asylum!"(Obviously from M*A*S*H)   In fact quite a large variety of starlets are encased on the base.   Polynesian, Oriental, Hispanic, Indonesian, European, Nubian, and even the plain old American princesses have all strutted across my path while I delivered within Base boundaries; an unofficial local live version of the somewhat presumptuous Miss Universe Pageant.  If I listened closely I think I could hear the faint sound of Neil Diamond singing "Coming to America" in the breeze.                                                                      The U.S. Air Force may very well be the enlisted angels travel agency.  So much the better, the better half followed the Army's motto of "being all they could be."  The ladies are all clever enough to take advantage of all the military has to offer.  Excellent medical and dental coverage keeps them looking fine as well as feeling fine.  Physical conditioning helps maintain the swimsuit models' physiques.  With all the free tuition plans and professional training available most become officers.  The Femme Fatale Force can retire with a full armed services pension in a mere 20 years on top of all that; the entire time rightfully taking pride in doing service for their Country.  That's the icing on the olive-drab cake. Unfortunately the camouflaged contestants had to wear their hair up while on duty yet the beauty still managed to radiate from beneath their olive drab caps.                                                                    Terrorism had another effect on my job as well.  After the Anthrax scare many of the drivers started wearing gloves and a few sorters even wore masks for a short while.  I never did bother; odds are they wouldn't have done much good anyway. When my time comes it comes, there's no use worrying about the inevitable.  Faith can carry you through a lot.  All you have to do is let it.                                                                                                                                     When referring to The Miss Universe Pageant, what did I mean by  "presumptuous?"   Ask Stephen Hawking, Gene Roddenbery, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, or even M. Night Shyamalan.  I think they have a good idea.  I guess "universe" sounds better than "world", "planet","globe", or "earth", except for the fact that it is a bit arrogant of the human species, isn't it?    Somewhere in the future a surprise may await us.                                                                                                     I do watch the occasional Beauty Pageant, despite the fact that they're normally far too snooty and arrogant for my preference.  I'll admit they're less stiff than they used to be.  During The Miss U.S.A. 2005 Pageant the previous year's winner wore an evening gown with more cleavage than I ever dreamed pageant officials would allow-Yeohza!  I know some of the girls come from humble homes, but still they all have an air of future political aspirations.  The ones that don't go into politics themselves way to often marry into it; the ones that don't usually end up married to some billionaire and/or going into show business.  I can't help but think very few, if any end up as normal housewives or working class citizens.  Contestants' speech making adds a rather fowl implication of political manipulation to my mind.  And you know how I feel about politicians, at least half the time you get the feeling they don't believe what their saying.  The other half you get the feeling they don't know what they're spouting off about.                                                       Confidence is usually a good thing, vanity can help build it.  However becoming vain and conceited is a real turn-off for me.  The professional pageant competition can get a little too heated for ladylike behavior to apply; some of the contestant's mothers treat it as if it were the Olympics.  The cat fight rivalry is far from being light-hearted. The beauty coach in Miss Congeniality indifferently expresses it best: "Smilers win a crown, losers wear a frown."  The last thing the world needs is another form of stiff competition setting one contestant against another.  We have trouble enough getting along together as it is.                                                                                     Hypocrisy seems to thrive on the pageant circuit.  Some of the prancing peacocks claim to make lifelong friendships from spending the brief time together, I find that a little hard to swallow.  Sounds more like a campaign speech to me.  Every contestant spews out politically correct rehearsed propaganda too good to be true.  The propaganda machine puts spin control on everything; all the answers to life's difficult questions come out coated with a layer of sugar and spice.  It's like a political debate with the issues used for questioning candidates. Asking the privileged what they would to bring about world peace would be more significant if the answers were more than campaign slogans.  As far as I'm concerned far too high a percentage of the beauty queens end up either in politics or married to it; trophy wives with trophy husbands always brings out the envy in me. Many claim to be more studious and heading for noble professions, only to end up going into show business instead.  Far too small a percentage actually achieves noble aspirations still that is better than none. The pageant circuit does spread good will to the outside world at least.  Different countries hoping to take home the same crown is a form of common ground I suppose.                                                                                          There's no denying the double standard exploitative qualities of beauty pageants. You ever realize that there are at least 3 major pageants broadcast every year but no male Mr. Universe pageant hits the airways.  As far as I know there's still some Mr. Universe pageant somewhere. Where's the beef?  I wouldn't watch, but I'm certain the ladies would.  As for the female pageants the diagonal sashes strapped across their hour-glass torsos makes the sexist exploitation a little too evident. Each banner brands the fine feminine physiques as belonging to one particular country or state.                                                                                                           Aren't we the "United" States of America or not?  The U.S.A. and America Pageants strive to nourish competition between citizens of the same country.  It seems a little unpatriotic to me. But, then again, so do the National and Major Leagues, as well as the other sports leagues.  I guess competition is part of the spirit that makes America great.  I could understand a friendly motivated test of skills between buddies, what I don't get is cut-throat competition.  The way pageants contestants and sports' teams go overboard.  I suppose it's got to do mostly with all that money and prizes on the line.                                                                                                          Who am I kidding?  You certainly can't deny that the wide white banners block the view.  Why not just scrape a white strip diagonally across the Mona Lisa?  When I watch, I particularly enjoy the swim suit competition, at least if the labels aren't too wide.  My top 3 picks never win, so the endings are always a disappointment.  If I'm of good taste that year one of my favorites might make it to the top 5 at best.  The judges do ask the girls some questions that reflect a glimmer of some rehearsed knowledge and award a scholarship or two.  The high-heeled fleet gets to wear expensive fashion and sometimes jewelry which enhances their self esteem.   Hence the "Women on Parade" spectacles serve a semi-legitimate purpose.                                                                                                                       Then there's the fact there's only one winner which leaves at least 50 losers.  How can anybody stand that many girls getting their hopes and dreams crushed in a single moment.  Even though I never been on spring break give me an old-fashioned wet T-shirt contest any old time.  At least the barkeeps keep the exploitation honest and out in the open.  And usually there are far less losers, all the contestants get cheered and applauded, plus those that don't win can at least drown their sorrows in beer. Many are drunk to begin with and may not even remember competing the next day.  Unfortunately the prizes are far less extravagant; regrettably they don't televise those, yet.                                                                                                                                     Forgive me; I got a bit off-track there for a moment.  Back to Shaw Air Force Base and the Military in general.  In the military you don't have to necessarily travel overseas to meet exotic ladies.  The enlisted ones come complete with the English language.  Many Goddesses date and end up marrying enlisted men.  I guess that's one way to do a quality check.  You have to be of fairly sound mind and body to pass boot camp and psychological screening before the U.S. Government will teach you to fire weapons.  The Feminine Force also has first shot of many of the Nation's Heroes.  Fighting for your country is not something to be taken lightly.                                                                The cockiness and confidence of Top Gun-Top Dog pilots isn't an exaggeration.  The newest F-22 Raptors come with a hefty price tag of $100 million each.  Take a lad that's just started shaving, strap a multimillion dollar jet engine between his legs and what else to you expect is going to happen?  He's bound to go on one hec of an ego trip.  That's probably the reason they call it the "cockpit."  In addition to that most women won't deny appreciating how much better men appear in full dress uniform.  Neatness and proper grooming almost always mean more to women then men, but the military has a sharp-dress code, no slouches permitted, especially in the lower ranks.  Civilian women know how rare knights in shining armor are.                                                     Before security was beefed up spectators and family members would gather at the runway's end whenever squadrons flew off or landed on scheduled missions. The crowd's wide-eyed looks contained equal doses of awe, best wishes, admiration, and concern.  Binoculars and telephoto lenses tried to capture the moment or at least bring it a little closer.  After a spectacle like that you can't help to feel a swelling of pride and patriotism.  The whole State swells up every time any of its military bases are mentioned.  I never saw any of the protesting anti-war rallies similar to what television news broadcasts of Washington, D.C. or some of the bigger cities.  They may have occurred, but I never witnessed any.  I suggest those protesting on religious grounds take in a viewing of Saving Private Ryan and listen to the comments of Private Jackson (Barry Pepper) before throwing stones.                                                                                    In Dr. Strangelove President Markin Muffley (Peter Sellers) breaks up a fight between two generals stating: "Gentlemen you can't fight in here.  It's a war room!"  Such is the madness of war. When it comes to war I'm usually not a fan, but I've just realized recently that sometimes you have to stand your ground.  That includes standing up for what you believe in, both domestically and internationally.  I'm not sure where I stand on the Iraq war.  Monty Python's Grim Reaper claims "all we ever do is talk, and talk, and say 'Let me tell you something.'" That's from Monty Python's Meaning of Life, and "we" was referring to Americans.   During the Cold War it was often said "that if you wish for peace than prepare for war."  If our motives for invading Iraq were truly self-defense and dethroning a despot, then I'm all for it.  If the motives are more economical or political than I must have serious doubts.  Problem is you can never be sure what the true motives behind the act were.  In The Hunt for Red October Captain Mancuso (Scott Glenn) remarks: "Central Intelligence Agency...now there's a contradiction in terms," and I'm not too sure I wouldn't agree with him.  I saw nothing to impress me with our intelligence agencies.  Being government agencies they're naturally encumbered by miles of red tape.                                                                     Tommy Boy's Ray Zalinsky (Dan Akyroyd) explains: "What the American Public doesn't know is what makes them the American Public, alright."  Regardless of what you use for justification, you simply can't risk weapons of mass destruction being released.  Especially after terrorist proved their commitment and resolve on September 11.  Innocent lives were and still are at risk.  If reasonable evidence of weapons of mass destruction was presented to President Bush then I think action was necessary, and will continue to be necessary until the world comes to its senses.  At least now the world knows Americans, and British for that matter, are more than just talk.                                                                                                                                                                    Unfortunately I didn't see the evidence of those weapons of mass destruction or any obvious connections to terrorism.  Then again, it's not my job to read classified information.  I can't judge President Bush's actions without see the reports that he read.  I refuse to believe there was no evidence.   Bush just doesn't have that much moxie.  Only a crazy or incredibly greedy man would invade another country without proof of why. The moral cost of such a gesture would be devastating. The Middle East has been a boiling sea of turmoil for centuries.  Technology has brought that mess to our doorsteps.  I still wonder why we didn't go back in immediately after Saddam Hussein starting mass murdering crowds during the Kurd uprising.  Near as I can tell we abandoned our allies in their time of need, shame on us if that's true; shame on us for not finding out the truth.  I think South Park had it right when they put Satan and Hussein in bed together.  He truly seems to be an unspeakable evil.                                                                                     If you're the most powerful country on earth, claim to be a force for peace, and really want to benefit humanity sometimes war is unavoidable.  You shouldn't stand by and allow atrocities to occur just because they happen overseas.  You can't reach out to help worldwide humanity with just open hands, sometimes, in defense of a just cause, a sword is required.  Organizations giving humanitarian relief with medical, spiritual, economic, and social aid can't fight every battle.  Sometimes blood must be spilled, it can't be avoided.  Spiritual irony on its largest scale that inevitably in order to stop cruelty and oppression the insanity of war must be released.  Some of the most appalling, abominable, barbaric, horrifying, horrendous, and atrocious acts are done in the name of peace.  The world's a scary place, it always has been, and more than likely always will be. Reality can be harsh beyond belief, sometimes war can't be avoided. I'm just glad I don't have to make such decisions.  Tyranny and Despotism shouldn't be tolerated during any age of reason, at least not by reasonable men.                                        

Mother Nature and Planet Earth

                                       Chapter 22: Bambi is a Good Friend of Mine                                                             I may not spend much time wandering the woods behind my house, but don't let my laziness fool you.  I would definitely miss the trees if they were gone. In fact I miss the half of the forest that's disappeared since we moved in. A casual observer might notice much more wildlife than birds and squirrels, but in the wee morning hours you can still see rabbits and possums.  Box turtles, lizards, and toads will appear if you know where to look.  There's an occasional snake in the pine straw as well. I'm afraid what's left of my little neck of the woods is too small to support deer, although a few nomads might pass through once in a while. Half of the wooded acreage that vanished went to another housing subdivision, the remainder to a softball complex with a small playground and magistrate's office.  We live in an area of prime real estate, it's only a matter of time till what remains becomes housing as well.                                  The great outdoors is miraculous in infinitely immeasurable ways, I just don't bear well in the heat and humidity of the South. Yet I do manage to enjoy the wonder and splendor that Mother Nature's magnificent bounty has to offer.  Nothing any man has ever created can quite compare to the elegant beauty of a single rose, or even a single leaf.  The majesty of the mighty oak or even just a plain Southern Pine can easily overwhelm you if you ever bother to stand at one's base and look up. An evening stroll through the pines is a splendid way to unwind.  The serenity of a babbling brook or skipping stones across a smooth-as-glass lake can put the most restless heart at ease.  Nature walks can reveal more ways to meditate than I can count. Gazing at all the stars on a clear autumn night always gives me a new humbling perspective on things.                                                                      The panoramic scenery available to one and all comes in all shapes and sizes. Consider the multitude of wondrous species that inhabit our planet. I'm no relation to Marlin Perkins and I've never worked for Mutual of Omaha, still the nearly infinite variety of critters amazes me.  Even the ones we've been studying since science began can still hold my interest.  Every dog does have his day and the curiosity of a kitten is oh so fun to explore. You ever just sit outside and really watch the daring acrobatics of your average song bird?  Watch the fluffy-tailed squirrels dance their canopy ballet from tree to tree and then tell me you ain't just a little envious. Ever watch a little 3 inch green lizard proudly strut his stuff and puff out hid ruby red throat prancing  atop the upper rail of a chain-link fence?  Ever wonder just how many miles of tunnel those pesky little productive moles have excavated under your lawn?  The humble bumble bee floating from flower to flower, his job never done, he's responsible for pollinated so many crops it'll make your head spin. Even the over-industrious ant mound with individuals dragging back whatever they can salvage for the benefit of the whole colony can teach you a thing or two.                                                            Sure, without a doubt, sometimes nature can be a little scary.  And I'm not just speaking of lightning and thunder bolts.  Vicious territorial dogs barking and snapping at me don't make me feel warm and cozy all over. Glowing eyes of a mysterious four-legged phantom prowling in the night can eerily get my neck hairs to stand on end.  Neither do I cotton to stumbling across a snake that might chose to spring into action.  I get a tiny shiver down my spine every time I see the red diamond on the tiny back of a Black Widow spider.  I even get more than a disturbing buzz every time I run across a wasp's nest too close to home. Nature has some thrills and chills hidden amongst her children, still I have to admire and respect them all.  No matter what phobia animals might inspire, they have just as much right to be here as we do; besides most forms of life are beautiful in their own way.  All it takes is looking at things from the right perspective.  The proper point of view can change everything.                                                                                        We should strive to learn everything we can from our natural environment. All nature, whether it be cosmic, animal, plant, field, stream, or ocean holds within itself answers to many problems.  From the largest whale down to the tiniest insect come solutions to riddles that have been baffling man for ages.  Anything that lives, breathes, or bleeds has something beneficial to offer.  Upon careful close examination new discoveries are made every day.  Take a little time to appreciate and respect what's out there. We should think thrice before agreeing to give any of it up.                                                                                                                                                       Life is a gift from God. The instinct to persevere is hardly limited to the human species. The struggle to survive is the thread that binds us all together. We should do whatever we can to share the planet and live together in harmony. The Devine spark that burns within us all should never be extinguished needlessly.  I like to think Star Wars may have had it right with the concept that all life is connected through the "force."  Indeed all living organisms are linked together by their need to survive.  We all share the common ground on planet Earth.                 Don't dismiss it lightly.  Think about just how precious life really is, how it fights to exist just about anywhere and everywhere it possibly can; plants that can grow almost anywhere; animals, insects, and lower life forms that adapt to survive in incredibly harsh environments.  In the middle of the hottest deserts, on top of the highest mountains, in the depths of the deepest seas, even on the coldest ice cap, just about anywhere on this planet you can explore has life. Scientists are still finding life in places where previously none existed.  We think we know so much, yet we are only beginning to learn.                                                                                            A hunter once asked Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen, while they were examining the dead deer strapped across the hood of his car: "What are you, soft-hearted?  Did you cry when you saw Bambi?"(From the movie Starman) I don't see anything wrong with caring about our furry friends.  Just like Jenny Hayden (Karen Allen) and her out-of-this-world traveling companion, I can't tolerate animal cruelty or abuse.  Our four-legged friends have just as much right to be here as we do.  As long as they let me live in peace I see no reason not to reciprocate.                       Here's where I put my foot in my mouth once again.  I told you I was going to keep it honest. I have to admit that the hypocrite in me knows I will never give up meat, at least not as long as I personally don't have to put the livestock down. It's one thing to eat the flesh of an anonymous critter you've never met, quite another to look into a pair of eyes without losing your appetite.  Even though I definitely have crossed the vegan line, I still can have respect for those that don't.  It takes a lot to stand up for people or any life form that can't stand up for itself. God seems to favor vegetarians with a longer life-span; coincidence or not?  As far as I'm concerned they earned at least that much.  Oh well, there are a lot of things I should do but don't, becoming a vegetarian isn't anywhere near being number one.                                                                       Instincts aren't as easy for some of us to ignore. Primitive man was a hunter/gatherer. The carnivorous caveman in me can't remove half the equation.  Wildlife comes in both meat-eating and vegetarian forms. I may not have the killer instinct, but I sure can eat like I do. As far as I'm concerned man has always been a predatory animal.  I love the enticing smell and taste of meat and can't resist indulging my craving whenever I can afford it.  Why do barbeques, fried chicken, turkey and ham feasts, and not to forget bacon have such an enticing aromas if we weren't meant to partake?  Devil's influence-perhaps, but few of us, if any, are without sin.                    Like I said, I don't have any trouble eating meet as long as I'm not the one putting the poor critter out of its misery.  Just call me a back-seat eater. I've never been very strong in the willpower department.  Until I find a way to manage my cravings I'll have to settle for the Native American tradition of thanking my brother animal for his sacrifice to supply me sustenance and hope it'll be a while before I have to return the favor.  In fact it's only honest that I admit I consume more than my share of natural resources.  I'll try not to allow their sacrifices to be in vain.                                                                                                                                I'm not perfect.  I'm not above engorging myself on what nature provides.  I am a man and therefore act like a pig on occasion.  I do have a greedy side even if it's not fulfilled very often. I can't deny the gallons of animal blood that have flowed through my digestive track.  I can never wash that blood off of my hands. But I've also consumed a fair bit of fruits and vegetables, particularly potatoes, over my lifetime.  My hands are equally stained by their sap.  After all plants are a life form too, just because they don't have faces doesn't mean they want to die. I do some woodwork on the side and do have a fair share of sawdust on my hands as well.  Like most of mankind I have dirty hands. At least my obesity should lead to a shorter life span. I don't mind leaving in a decade or two.  In a measly 50 years or so this planet is likely to become a mighty inhospitable place. It'll take drastic changes for that to be avoided and man will wait until it's obviously too late. Such is the corporate mentality ruling the world, for now.If at all possible I prefer not witnessing any of the suffering yet to come. Plus my plus-sized corpse should make more fertilizer and worm food once they plant me, after they've harvested whatever they could.                                                                                                                                         Organ donation is just another way to contribute something back as well as lightly touching immortality.  Ironic since fear of their own mortality is why most people don't become donors. It seems such a waste to deprive others of a second chance just to hang onto parts your no longer using.  Even more wasteful when said parts are cremated, talk about opportunities to help others going up in smoke.  Do you really believe you won't get into heaven until all your parts show up?  If you literally want to show them what you're made of try donating blood and/or bone marrow.  I believe the martyr in you is even permitted to donate spinal fluid, skin cells, and even a kidney while you're still around to brag about it if you have the nerve.  Fact is just about anything extra your body has or can produce is likely to be needed by someone else with an injury or ailment. If you like the feeling of giving it doesn't always have to be money.  You can usually literally give a piece of yourself if you're brave and generous enough to be so inclined.  As for me, the best I can dare is donating at my departure gate. Checking a little box when renewing your driver's license has got to be the easiest way to be a hero these days.  It seems downright silly and selfish not to do so.  People come up with the silliest excuses not to donate.  Their paranoia on the subject is nothing short of astounding. If you're still hesitant to sign on the dotted line, ask yourself how you'd feel if your kid ever needed a transplant and couldn't get one. When I can afford it I may eat a lion's portion of meat, but I'm not a hunter or so inclined.  Just because I don't understand how they can do it doesn't mean I condemn anyone that hunts to put food on the table.  I can easily emphasize with the pioneer spirit that settled this land in the first place. The cheapskate in me appreciates the cost per pound of grocery shop meat and can certainly understand hunting deer to eat or feed my family.  You take nourishment where you can; survival has to be your strongest instinct.                                                                                                                                                        Killing your own food is a more honest approach at the very least. Not everyone has a "green thumb" or the acreage to grow crops on. Buying your meet at your local grocery doesn't mean there's less blood on your conscience, just on your hands.  If I thought I could stomach looking into wildlife's eyes and still pulling the trigger, not to mention gutting and filleting the carcasses, I probably would have tried back-yard butchery at least once.  I can easily sympathize with living off the land if you need to, I can even understand people taking pride in doing so.                  What kills me is the needless killing. What I don't appreciate is slaughtering, maiming, or injuring animals purely for sport.  There's no sport in hunting a defenseless animal down, it's a one-sided competition.  It's little more than moving target practice with targets that bleed.  Winner gets all and in the end the winner's always the man with the gun. Taking any life should never be pleasant. Anyone who gets their thrills that way has got worse problems than me, and that's really saying something.  Annihilating ducks with a 12 gauge shot gun seems a bit too extreme just to brag about how good a shot you are.  Killing a deer just to use its horns as a hood ornament on your pick-em up truck, or slaughtering a bushy tailed varmint to place said fluffy tail on a radio antennae, seems like a tremendous waste.                                                                                                                                               Bill Murray, playing the deranged groundskeeper in Caddyshack, after realizing the boss wanted him to kill gophers and not golfers, calmly remarked:  "We can do that.  We don't even need a reason." People do too much damage already without believing they need a reason to do so.  The last thing we need is people with guns running amuck shooting things for no significant reason. Proving how good a shot you are isn't nearly sufficient reason to terminate a life. Too many "great white hunters" fit his disturbing red neck profile where they, too, don't feel they need a reason to kill.  In addition often killing isn't enough, they must overkill with as much firepower as they can possibly muster.  One of the more "macho" traits I'm glad I don't posses.                During hunting season on my courier route you would inevitably spot numerous pickups parked at spaced intervals along the side of the road besides wooded areas.  Most of them had portable dog kennels filling their beds.  Atop many of those kennels are would be "Elmer Fudds."  The more lavish rigs include outdoor carpeting and a La-Z-Boy customized with a rifle holder.  Keeping up with technology the "Sportsman" had what resembled mini television antennae in his hands.  Elmer's not after a "waskily rabbit" this time.  Nope, he's set his sight on Bambi or preferable her 16 point Papa.  I know most eat what they kill, still I wish they had to work a little harder for it. The way he points his gadget at the trees while drooling in anticipation tells he's tracking his pack of trained dogs as they drive the game to him. Why bother to trek into the woods when nature can be driven to your doorstep?  The shoulders of a stretch of roadway between ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Lake City and Indiantown were frequently blanked by Fudd and his gang.                                                        I may not have spent much time on coastal routes; however, I do have an opinion on the creatures of the sea as well.  For land, air, or sea life the same ideals apply.  All life on planet Earth originated from the oceans, yet man fails to give the sacred water proper respect.  When you're out on the water in the middle of nowhere with no witnesses around dumping your trash or sewage can be tempting.  Try to keep it in mind what you're fishing for swims in that very same water-what you dump may very well be what you eat. Many assume adding poisons to such a large volume automatically means that mass dilution will make it harmless quick enough. How soon they forget they're not the only ones doing it.  If any of them were chemists they'd realize not everything dilutes easily as well.  With man's ever increasing consumption, the world and it's oceans may not be enough.  I do fear that when it comes to water pollution the damaging effects might be spread much further than on dry land. Only other difference between land and sea pollution is that I'm not much into seafood, just the occasional tuna sandwich-hold the dolphin.                                                                                                                                                Many people will tell you animals aren't intelligent and that no critters have a soul. Therefore animals were put here to serve man, who was meant to exploit the animal kingdom. Jeff Bridges in his lead role of Starman observed "I think you are a very primitive species."  Later in the same movie Mr. Bridges also said "...strange species...intelligent but savage."  Mankind shouldn't be so arrogant as to consider any life form other than his own inferior or inconsequential.                                                                                                                                     Man has reached the top of the food chain through evolution. If he wants to stay there he should learn to show a little restraint and respect. The human animal's egotism is uniquely his own, he refuses to have it any other way.  That position doesn't give him freedom to do whatever he wants to the lower life forms, even if he thinks it does. Intelligence demands taking responsibility for our actions.  No man has the right to wipe out any species, except for maybe the more deadlier ones created by man in a lab whenever he tries to play God.   Every species brought to extinction by man leaves a permanent mark of shame in the journals of ecological terrorism.                                                                                                                                                        I can't be sure if any animals have souls, but I wouldn't bet against it.  Many show signs of intelligence and emotions.  Dogs, cats, gerbils, killer whales, dolphins, lions, tigers, and bears, oh my! Many wild animals as well as domesticated ones have all been trained to bamboozle audiences with their tricks.  Dolphins supposedly have their own language.  Dogs seem to bark gossip from one yard to the next, especially in the wee hours of the morning.                                                                                                                                                                   Most dog owners will describe affection and loyalty as common traits of their adopted animal family members. Try to come up with a legitimate non-emotional reason for a dog's tail to wag so fast whenever his owner comes home.  I don't think it's a decoy for you to attack while he gets away.  Neither do I think Fido has his heart on getting airborne.  If you're tempted to go with the scientific, I expect you'd say he's excited because he knows food will soon fill his plate.  To that all I can reply is: "Have you ever smelled pet food?"  It meets the bare nutrition and minimal taste more often than not. Why else do you think under dinner table begging is a trick all dogs seem to know?                                                                                                                       To me cats seem to be in it more for the food and shelter.  Loving owners will attest to the feline's capacity for affection as well.  How do you explain a dead bird brought into a house and dropped at a master's feet?  Or is it an offered gift of gratitude?  Or is it just kitty showing off her hunting prowess?   I don't see how it fits into instinct; a biologist will probably call it some sort of submissive behavior to the alpha male.  I'm not sure how else you'd explain purring, perhaps as a digestive aid; hopefully not as a mating ritual.                                                         I recently saw an episode of Nova on PBS about the Bower Birds of Australia and New Guinea.  The host, David Attenborough had little difficulty comparing their mating rituals to man's.  Seems the male bower bird will collect things and place them in a very specifically arranged order around a little shine of twigs he's constructed; the purpose being to attract a mate; the less colorful the particular species the more elaborate the bird's collection.  Beatle wings, bottle caps, leaves, nuts, flowers, and even children's toys end up placed on the altar of love.  Those little winged shoplifters will accumulate just about anything.  Turns out the bird with the most toys gets the most chicks, literally.  Sounds a little too typical, kind of hits home doesn't it.  If even a bird brain can display such ingenuity, then who are we to declare big brains are better?                                                                   If mankind's greed doesn't drive himself into extinction, man's arrogance will be his undoing.  For a species at the top of the food chain we certainly have plenty of flaws.  I can't agree with Qui-Gon's (Liam Neeson) analysis that "the ability to speak does not make you intelligent."(From Star War's The Phantom Menace)  Just because we can't translate the dolphin's language doesn't mean there isn't one.  The same can be said for sounds and movements other animals make as well.  Barks, meows, chirps, nays, grunts, growls, and groans may all make up a menagerie of languages.  Who's to say what intelligence is and what's instinct?  What constitutes valid communication or gibberish nonsense?  Almost assuredly most species have a more limited vocabulary than man's, then again animals don't feel the need for lies or exaggeration.  Men, on the other hand, never seem to know when to shut up. I've never seen a mole make a mountain out of a mole hill. Our four-legged friends could be simply telling it like it is.                                                                                                                                   Let's examine man's supposed superiority a little closer shall we?  There can be no denying man has had all the advantages with his opposable thumbs, ability to stand upright, and bigger brain.  Man reached the top of the food chain by using that bigger brain of his to harness fire and to create technology to make killing even easier.  Does power over other species determine intelligence?  To me it's more of an indication of ruthlessness.                                                                                                    Over the eons, or at least over the centuries, we've developed technologies to make all aspects of our lives easier.  Indoor plumbing, electricity, the Model-T, and my beloved air-conditioning all make things much more comfortable.  Pretty smart-undoubtedly, but does that make us superior?  Modern conveniences have spoiled us rotten, and now they're beginning to ruin our health as well.  To me it's more an indication of man's inherent laziness.                                                                How about the more negative aspects of technology?  The first use of the submarine wasn't to explore the depths of the ocean, it was to sink ships. When mankind took to the skies it wasn't long before those magnificent men in those flying machines started dropping bombs from above. Do I have to remind you of what the first use of harnessing the power of the atom was? It wasn't electrical power now was it. Scary part is the first atomic bombs weren't good enough, we had to make better ones a thousand times more devastating.  Knowledge and science are supposed to benefit mankind, although way too often the opposite is true. Researchers involved in genetics and disease not only try to find cures, but they try to create new deadlier viruses.                                                                                                      Then there's genetic research.  Killer bees resulted from an attempt to breed African bees with the American Honey bee.  Why?  To increase honey production and profit margins unnaturally.  When man tries to play God he usually arrogantly blunders.  Conspiracy nuts will tell you A.I.D.s has a similar origin.  Who knows what horrors will sprout from the Human Genome project's results?  Once the human genetic code is mapped how well will the newly discovered roads be regulated?  What started out as a noble endeavor to find cures to ailments that have been plaguing mankind for generations will end up going where the money takes it.  It will be contaminated and perverted like everything else man has invented or discovered. Old money and conceited new will be spent in a vain effort to find the Fountain of Youth. You know some governments will use that information to try to build a perfect soldier. Professional sports teams would love to be able to design the perfect athlete as well. Man will do anything for money.                                                                                                                                       Take an even closer look at medicine. Sure advances have been made in every field, but where is the most money being spent?  And where are the biggest advances occurring?  We have plenty of diseases that still need cures, unfortunately most of the pharmaceutical money is directed towards trying to lengthen life spans or at least looking younger longer. What isn't genetically engineered to keep the rich around a little longer is designed to make them look younger till they take their final dirt nap. What was the biggest breakthrough in drugs in my lifetime-Viagra.  We still haven't found a cure for cancer, diabetes, or AIDs, but erectile dysfunction is now a thing of the past-enough said.  I'm no medical expert, but I'll bet if you look at the leaps and bounds in brain, heart, kidney, or spinal surgery they'll pale in comparison with those made in the cosmetic surgery.  Since they can't take their wealth with them they don't want to go. And while they're here they want to look as good as possible.  The powerful people would sell their soul to keep their earthly thrones. Can't really say I blame them.                                        Does the creative spark mark man's superior destiny?  Art history will teach you man has always had an inspirational instinct to manufacture works of art.  He's always felt the need to express his innermost feelings. This book is an extension of that very notion. But does art represent the best in man or the worst.  I suppose like everything else, it covers the full spectrum. It can show what inspires man most or what terrifies him utterly.  Artwork can be an attempt at immortality or simply marking territory.  To me mainly it's just an indication of man's incredibly humongous ego.                                                                                                                                     If a friendly stray dog runs up to greet you with tail wagging do you trust him enough to bend over and pet him?  You're exposing your vulnerable throat to an animal with sharp teeth, yet you don't think twice about it.  If a strange man came up to you with a smile and a handshake, what's your first reaction?  Mine would be thinking to myself: "Crap what's this grafter after? He ain't getting any money out of me!"  Most people wouldn't trust him either.  Many would have even worse thoughts.  Fact is it's easier to trust a stray animal than a stranger.  Why is that?  It's because animals seldom, if ever have ulterior motives.  Mankind on the other hand always does.                                                                                                                                  Take a closer look at our own behavior.  The human animal doesn't always do what's good for him.  Alcohol, cigarettes, and other drug addictions show man's more negative and dumber side. Have you ever considered the crime rate?  We Neanderthals kill each other for the silliest reasons. What other species finds so many ways to be self-destructive?  Where's the logic in that?  Are you still as arrogant as you used to be?  Not me.                                                                                    Once again back to traveling down the highway.  Telephone lines and power lines adjourn the roadside to infinity and converge at a vanishing point on the horizon; reminiscent of Native American trail markers or of the pioneer days when the telegraph line was the only direct communication link between most townships.  The poles seem to sparkle with street lamps every time you enter a settlement.  I once fantasized of the Jolly Green Giant's children stringing a thread from pole to pole in order to find their way back home.                                                                                         An overnight storm with heavy winds and/or ice accumulation frequently resulted in utility workers dangling from their cherry pickers.  The hard-hatted monkeys delicately danced to repair the downed lines, resembling gargantuan spiders dangling from the jolly green kid's structure.  Many people don't realize the public service they perform.  When bad weather's about and most sane people are indoors the "linemen of the county" are on patrol scanning for downed lines.  Their yellow hard hats narrowly dodge fallen branches as they clear the limbs mangled by the fierce north wind.  Back when Hurricane Hugo visited us he was quite an untidy fellow.   By the end of the day the only remnants of some of the shadiest trees were their mighty roots.  The mighty guardians' feet that once clenched mother earth were upturned in a topsy-turvy surrender.  Indicating just a hint of the power Mother Nature can release in one of her tempests.                                                                                      Neither rain nor sleet nor snow... just like the mailmen the drivers usually got sent out in bad weather.  Our state residents handle snow as if it just wasn't there or as if it were a solid sheet of polished black ice.  Inexperienced drivers either ignored it or imitated a legally-liable bull in an antique store.  Those two outlooks clash horribly, a genuine perfect recipe for fender-bender disaster; so much the worse if the snow accumulated more than an inch or turned into freezing rain.  Ice storms usually took out power to half the State, including traffic signals.   If you only knew the troubles I've seen.  It must have been in the delivery contracts that as long as we attempted delivery we got paid, successful or not.  I was sent out on days when a sane man would have stayed home and battened down the hatches.  Numerous times I would miss stops because they were closed due to snow or other inclement weather conditions.  Sometimes banks would call in that they were closing early and I would have to reroute accordingly.  That was one of the many reasons standard issue equipment included a pager.