"There are no rules here - we're trying to accomplish something."

That was Thomas Edison's famous quote on rules.  To him there there were rules, and then there were rules.  And while for most of us, we aren't competing exactly with Edison's level of achievement, we nonetheless have to deal with certain rules governing or defining our existence.

I often joke with my son about how there are "SmallTownDad Rules."  Nothing new for me - my parents had them too.  For my dad, one example of those rules was: "Don't ever shine your flashlight down the outhouse..."  For my mom, the teacher, her famous rules were much more refined but nonetheless as practical as dad's.  One famous one was "If you want an answer right this second, I'll give you an answer right this second. I'm pretty sure you won't like it, but you'll get your answer."
 
So, I am preserving here for my kids a few of my "rules."  I am not sure if any of them mean anything except that nearly always - well around half the time anyway - they end up true.

1.  There is always a closer parking spot.  Now this one doesn't work at the local 7-11 or gas station.  But at the big-box store and the mall it is a near certainty to be true.  You just have to be patient.

2. In a small town, the person in traffic that you made that obscene gesture to at 9:00 am?  Yeah, that person almost certainly will be at the 10:00 am meeting you were rushing to.  Always always always...  I was at a birthday party at a local zoo, parked in the parking lot 8 miles away from any other car - just waiting for my daughter to come out when this little car zipped into the spot next to me like I was in some kind of dog-fight with her.  I can only imagine the look on my face, having watched this daredevil come within a hair's breadth of smashing into my car.  As the stuntwoman...I mean driver...exited her vehicle, I realized it was a woman I worked with for years who was volunteering at the zoo.  The 9:00 am rule always is true.

3.  There is always one more meal's worth of fuel in the propane tank, until there isn't.  I have two propane tanks for my grill - and propane compared to other fuels is relatively cheap - so there is really no excuse for not keeping the spare filled up other than a) I like the action of gambling a family dinner of strip steaks and corn on the cob against the odds that the grill will go stone cold two minutes after ignition; and b) keeping a second full propane tank in the garage is like keeping a second bomb sitting around.  Yes, I am well aware of the school of thought that says a real artiste would only work in charcoals - but I make no pretense of being an artiste.  I am a dad. 

4.  The Mirth Curth - just when I get up a good head of steam yelling at one or the other of these two kids, they will invariably crack me up.  It is no wonder there is no good order or discipline in this house.  Plenty of mirth, but certainly no good order or discipline :-)

5.  The more you blow off your wife's worrying about the sump pump not working, the more you virtually assure that the sump pump will stop working...in the middle of the night...in between pay days.

6.  The word "now"; while effective as a command to those younger than 10, is of no possible utility to a married man in his relationship with his wife.  Think of it - you can say to a kid "get in there and brush your teeth, Now!" and the kid will listen or at least understand you.  "Now" is an important word for kids.  But consider the difference it makes in the following, seemingly innocuous, sentences:  saying "What's wrong?" to your spouse takes on an entirely new meaning when presented as "what's wrong now?"

7.  The second you draw a line in the sand with that child, you know the one, who tells you she has to go potty every time there is a chore to be done; the second you say "No. Baloney.  You do this to me every time.  You can hold it until we finish cleaning the kitchen..."  Well that second will be the time you end up with a wet and smelly line in the sand and your wife asking you "what did you do, now?".

8.  Chocolate milk and fudgsicles are a terrible home remedy for Rota Virus.  That's all that needs to be said about that, ever.  Again.

9.  No matter how small the amount - liquid dish soap is never an acceptable alternative to dishwasher soap for the dishwasher.  If you doubt me, try it once. I promise you that in the aftermath you will achieve a new appreciation for the word "astonishing."

10.  Vernors and vanilla ice cream will cure all manners of scrapes, bumps, bruises, hurt feelings and suds-flooded kitchens.

So, a few of the rules of this house - shared for your utility and commentary.  Wherever you are tonight, I hope you find yourself in the company of those who would celebrate in your unusual and contradictory rules; those who would forgive your cold grill, and those whose glad heart will make you laugh even after you catch them writing on the walls in magic marker.

Thanks for stopping by my blog tonight - please feel free to share the basic or unique rules of your home here.

Dennis
smalltowndad@hotmail.com

An Ordinary Extraordinary day with Scouts...

"Courage is doing what you're afraid to do.  There can be no courage unless you're scared."

That great quote from WWI flying ace Eddie Von Rickenbacker is one that is oft repeated or emulated by others.  My dad, without the benefit of Google or the internet, shared a nearly identical version of it with me as a child growing up.  On an extraordinary, ordinary Saturday morning we in my family saw, in miniature, what that quote really means.

This particular Saturday found us up at the crack of dawn, heading off to yet another terrific Boy Scout adventure.  Groggy family piled into the family grocery getter, we all headed off to Camp Kiwanis in Central Lower Michigan for a day of service to others.  Michael's Boy Scout Troop was volunteering to help with an event called "Webelos in the Woods," an opportunity for Cub Scouts and Webelos to earn merit badges and participate in some of the greater aspects of scouting, camping, and  achievement.

Planned for the younger kids were activities like Archery, Engineering, Camp FIre building and a climbing/rappeling opportunity on the camp's famous "Tower of Strength."  Parents were invited to come and hang out while the older Boy Scouts volunteered to help out at different activities around the camp.

During break periods and down time, the Boy Scouts who were present were permitted to engage in some of the same activities that were set up for the younger Cubs and Webelos.  It was during one of these times that I asked our nearly 11 year old son if he thought he wanted to a take a crack at mastering "The Tower of Strength."

Call her what you will - "The Widowmaker," "Old Cranky," or "The Plywood Pariah"; the Tower of Strength is a four sided climbing tower of ancient construction with a rock course on two sides and a rappelling surface on the third.  It is central to the parade grounds at Camp Kiwanis and casts an imposing shadow there for all of the visitors to see.

I was expecting some hemming and hawing and an eventual "no" from Michael.  He is my conservative child; my "why cannonball into the pool when the steps are right here?" child.  He is as deliberate, purposeful and cautious as my youngest is wild and carefree.  So it was that he surprised me by meeting my gaze with a huge freckly smile, and said,  "Sure, Dad, I'll give it a try."

I was doubly surprised because I knew how exhausted he must have been.  The night before there was a Walk-A-Thon event at the local school and Michael ran the entire three hours he was there; stopping only twice for water.  He logged nearly 14.5 miles in three hours of solid running merely 15 hours before we arrived at the base of Old Cranky.  So, I expected him to flop down into the camp chair next to me and tell me "maybe next time, dad."

But - he made a bee-line for the Tower.  He was suited up, given an expert safety instruction and assumed his place on the right side of side by side climbing stations set up to assault the west side of the Tower of Strength.

The Tower is a seductive temptress to those adolescents who come within its presence.  Its rock course, straight up a 90 degree wall using only your brain, arms, hands and legs, tests strength, courage, and flexibility.  The reward for reaching the top? Rappeling down the other side.  That's the rule of the Tower - the only way you get to rappel down is if you can find the grit within you to climb up.  It's not uncommon for kids to have to use successive trips on different visits to the camp to work up their courage to make it to the top.

Now the fact is that anyone climbing is first and foremost in the hands of trained, certified climbing instructors.  So, thing one - the kids are always safe.  Thing two - they are tied off in expert climbing fashion and, if everyone has done their job right, should be able to make the effort at climbing the wall with no real possibility of falling.  Those things being certain, however, try convincing a ten year old 15 feet off the ground and 15 feet from the top that he is no danger whatsoever.

So it was that Michael approached the course.  He is lean, and strong, and very flexible and the first 15 feet up were achieved without even breaking a sweat.  Then, at the midpoint of the wall, he became uncertain of which handholds to take and had the courage to tell one and all "I'm afraid, can you lower me please?"  He didn't cry or scream out, but there was no doubt he wanted down.

Anthony scales the wall to help Michael

What he didn't see was that a fellow scout, Anthony, a whirling dervish of a kid with wild hair and a broad, energetic smile, was preparing to assault the second route on the exact same wall.  He called out "Hang On Michael!  I'm coming, I'll show you the way!"

The crowd around the Tower also called out to Michael "Hang on, Don't quit!  You can do it!"

In a flash, Anthony, a confident and skilled climber two years older than Michael, zipped up the left hand side of the wall and, pausing ever so slightly when he got next to him, said to Michael, "c'mon, you can do this.  Follow me."

Michael, all eyes on him now, re-mounted the wall with vigor and commitment and, when he couldn't find a foothold, used his hands and arms to pull himself up to the next spot where his boots could find purchase.  Families from Scout packs we had never met before called encouragement to him "You can do it!' came a call from the archery range.  "Don't quit, Michael!' called out a dad from behind his young son. A complete stranger standing next to me called on to Michael as if he was his own, "You can do it buddy!  You're almost there!"

Slowly and surely he made his way to the top and successfully summited The Tower of Strength on his first try.  We all cheered.  I cheered hard, knowing how tired and afraid he must have been.

Rappelling down !

I watched with pride as he rappelled down the smooth side of the Tower.  I wondered what I might tell him later of his extraordinary ordinary day in Scouts and it occurred to me that not a single person in the world would have held it against him if he said "I'm tired, and scared, and for crying out loud gimme a break I ran almost 15 miles on 10 year old legs just last night." No one would have judged him if he insisted on being lowered from the Tower.

But...instead...

Instead of having done something no one would have held against him, he (with help from fellow scout Anthony) achieved something now that no one will ever be able to take away from him.  He saw his fear, and mastered it.  He stood fast and colored in the lines of his character with bravery and achievement and did the very thing he was sure he couldn't do.  He did on an ordinary day what is the ordinary mission of Scouting and the parent volunteers who work so hard at making these days possible.

And, in that regard, he had an extraordinary, ordinary day at Scouts.

So thanks for stopping by my blog.  Wherever you are today; whoever you are with - I hope you are spending time with people whose courage lifts you, inspires you, and reminds you that there is bravery yet within all of us, if we just look for it and sometimes have the help of others to find it.

Dennis
smalltowndad@hotmail.com

Reflections on September 11, and on today...

I have started this blog post many times over the last 15 hours without being able to settle into something that strikes the appropriate tone.  Osama Bin Laden is dead – killed in a boots on the ground military operation in the previously unheard of city of Abbottabad, Pakistan.  The last thing in this world he saw before he met his end was the grim face of a US warrior. The face of conviction and resolve; the face of justice delivered courtesy of the Navy SEALs.  And while I do not cherish the idea of celebrating any person’s death; it seems just so unseemly, I can say that the events are remarkable. Like the slamming of great and terrible door while simultaneously opening a beautiful window.

The news of Bin Laden’s death brings to the mind many memories from September of 2001.  Ten years in my rearview mirror - I remember September 11, 2001 distinctly. It was a Tuesday morning – perhaps the most stunningly beautiful morning I had seen in a long time.  I recall the sky was gorgeous and there was a slight late summer breeze blowing through trees still full with leaves.

I was at work when news reports of the first plane hitting the towers came in.  We all thought it was an accident – I remembered reading a story in fourth grade about how a bomber lost in fog had crashed into the Empire State Building and the sheared off propeller killed a woman.  I remember thinking that the weather must be a lot worse in New York City than it was here if that happened.

Then came news of a second plane, and immediately we all knew it was an act of terror.  Around the same time my mother-in-law called me at work, her voice anguished and very emotional.  “We’re under attack” she screamed and then reminded me that I had left the house that morning with the computer still on so she couldn’t reach my wife and our then 1 year old son to check on them.

I left work, without permission of my supervisor, and went to the bank where I drew out 500.00.  I filled the car with as much gasoline as it would hold and then went to our local discount retailer where I bought diapers, baby food, bottled water and bread.  Having not lived through this before – I had no idea what to expect but those seemed like wise choices.

On my way back from the store to our modest home in Lansing, I noticed the gas stations wildly raising their prices – prices ranged from 3.00 per gallon to upwards of 5.00 a gallon.  I felt a small tinge of relief at having gotten gas for right around a buck fifty per gallon.  I can also vividly recall stepping out of the car and, for the first time in my entire life, realizing that there was virtually no air traffic flying.  That morning was so beautiful and turned so dreadfully quiet. I remember every car at every stop light had an American; tears flowing, making regular eye contact with his or her neighbors at the light.  I remember feeling that day like I was part of a nation; moreso than ever before in my life.

Once home, as I reached for the front door, I remember thinking that nothing would ever be the same in our lives again.  I remember thinking that my new son would grow up in a world stained by war and terror – that his parents would be forever changed in the way that my parents and theirs were forever changed by Pearl Harbor.  I turned the knob and there were my wife and son, playing in the front room – TV off.  My wife asked me what I was doing home from work, and what was wrong – had I gotten fired?  “Turn on the TV,” I told her.

The rest is just such a blur – the whirlwind moments in the days and weeks and months that followed.  The eerie, haunting sounds of the firefighters’ distress beacons - "beep beep beep" that carried over to the news accounts from Ground Zero. The catheter of fear that is “news ticker” and its never ending torrent of information – mostly wrong. I remember crying, a lot.  And I remember the rage, and patriotism, followed much later by a deep and sinister cynicism that we had been allowed down a path of war by those among us who wanted war.

On vacation in 2002, I asked a man from Pennsylvania if the effects of 2001 were more local, more potent to him living closer to New York City than to those of us in the Midwest.  I remember he started to cry, and told me a story about having dinner at Windows on the World, and then being left wondering the next week if “that kid who brought me a pizza and a beer” was still alive.

I remember my visit to Shanksville, Pennsylvania in September of 2002 – and what a powerful and moving experience it was to be there with my family.  The passengers and crew of flight 93 voted before they took action – how uniquely American.  They voted.  I remember walking away from that field in Shanksville thinking I would never again forgo my ability to vote in any election.  

I also remember wondering what it would feel like when we finally caught up with Osama Bin Laden.  That was a decade ago.  So much of my life; all of our lives really, now gone - spent.  And while I have never forgotten our troops in the field; never spent one moment taking their sacrifice for granted – I have to admit that over much of the last several years I have given as much thought to Osama Bin Laden as I have what I might cook for dinner.

So today, he is gone and we are here.  I don’t know really how to feel about it.  I don’t want to cheer the death of another.  It’s just not my values.  But I think it is good that he has had justice brought to him.  It is good to show that whatever the costs there will be an accounting for terror; and I think it is good that it was Americans who did it.

I’ll go to bed tonight so very proud of our servicemen and women, our President, and our country.  I do not know what will come of this – if there will be more peace or less in the weeks and months to come.  But for today, we can rejoice in the notion of justice and a difficult job well done by those whose pledge is to keep America safe.

Two final remembrances of 9/11/2001 – before the advent of blogging, my writing indulgence was exercised only by writing an annual Christmas newsletter.  Once per year I would sit down and punch out a couple of pages on whatever.  A lasting change, after 9/11/01, was that I would sign each newsletter with the words “Peace in our time.”

The second is more a tradition than a remembrance. Each September 11, I stop by my son's school and ask the secretary to call him to the office.  I tell her "I have to give him something he might have forgotten at home this morning."  I then wait in the hallway for him and, when he appears, I give him a hug, a kiss and I tell him I love him and how proud his mom and I are of him.  It is never lost on me that all who were lost on 9/11/01 were just ordinary people just leading their ordinary lives.

Thanks for stopping by my blog today.  I hope that wherever you are, whoever you are with tonight – you find yourself in the company of those you love; those whose lives are precious to you and you are warmed by them. I hope you reflect on your mythology lessons and remember that, after Pandora opened the legendary vessel loosing all of the evils unto the world, therein remained just a solitary occupant of the box – hope.  Tonight, hold those that are closest to you and hope and pray for a lasting peace in our time.

Dennis

Smalltowndad@hotmail.com