Gut Rumbles

November 28, 2010

Better now

Originally published September 23, 2002

I believe that I am over that horrible funk that possessed me last week. I had a wonderful weekend with my son, and I didn't go into the usual Sunday Evening Spiral that I usually experience when he leaves. After he was gone, I smiled a lot, remembering the fun we had. I slept well last night and felt sharp and energetic at work today, except for a sore right arm from throwing too many unaccustomed long passes with a regulation football.

I wrote a humorous blog for the recuperating SULI and she was nice enough to post it today and send me a very flattering email. Thank you, darlin'!

I also worked up the nerve to write a sycophantic email to MOMMABEAR to alert that most interesting person to my presence in blogdom. I didn't get shot, either, although I DID learn about a certain love for "banging" with large caliber weapons in the nice email I received in reply. A bullet-shootin,' gun-totin' person may scare fainter hearts than mine, but I believe that an appreciation for firearms is a GOOD THING in anybody. Thank you, too, MommaB.

When I shoot beer cans with my 9mm or .45 pistols, I don't just shoot the can, I attempt to hit the top bubble on the "B" in Budweiser. I also drive 10-penny nails with a .22 rifle. My aging eyes require a scope for the latter (can't focus the goddam front and rear sights anymore without help), but I still do fairly well.

All in all, I had one of the best weekends I've had in a long time. I feel good again. I may even go to my son's soccer game tomorrow evening.

But, contrary to DJ's opinion, it won't be to reconcile with my ex-wife. I'm going to watch my son play ball. There's way too much crap between me and the ex for me to forgive or forget what she did to me. The truth is... I wish I could.

But I can't.

November 21, 2010

Discipline Vs abuse

Originally published September 23, 2002

I have a real problem with any parent who BEATS UP A CHILD. If I recall correctly, I have spanked my son three times in his eight years of life. Every time, I warned him beforehand that if he didn't stop what he was doing, I was going to whup his butt. He didn't stop, so I whupped his butt, just like I promised that I would do.

I didn't beat the shit out of him. I didn't pull his hair or hit him in the face. I didn't abuse the boy.

I walked up to him and said, "What did I say I was gonna do if you didn't cut that out?"

The bottom lip started trembling ahead of time. "Spank me," he replied.

"Did you cut it out the way I asked you to?"

"," with tears beginning to well in his eyes.

"What happens now?"

I...I...I GET A SPANKING!" And yes, he did, knowing full well what it was for. I laid a couple of slaps on his ass, sent him to his room to contemplate the error of his ways, and forgave him immediately thereafter. He got what was coming to him, but once he paid toll to the troll, the unpleasantness was over. He's a good, smart boy, and I don't have to spank him anymore, because he knows that I WILL, and a word to the wise usually is sufficient to correct unacceptable behavior anymore.

I spanked my boy to teach him right from wrong. I spanked my boy because I want him to grow up straight and strong and SOMEBODY has to set the rules and enforce them in his young life; otherwise, he'll grow up like wild grass and have no grounding to work from when things get tough and life deals him the bad cards that come to everybody. I spanked him because I love him.

I didn't spank him because I am bigger than he is. I didn't spank him to take out my frustrations because I had a bad day. I didn't spank him just because I COULD.

The woman in the video did what I consider to be an unforgivable sin. She beat up HER OWN child, for no good reason, just because she could. She's a sick puppy.

And I feel sorry for the child.

November 14, 2010

My boy

Originally published September 29, 2002

My son came to visit yesterday, much to my surprise. He never hooked up with young Jack, who was off somewhere with his sisters, so the pup and I ate boiled peanuts, played football and did manly things together. I may be wrong, but I believe that for an eight year-old, he has a lot more strength per square inch than most boys his age. He's like a goddam coiled spring.

After one tumultous play, I called time-out. "Daddy, will I ever be able to beat you at football?" he asked. Gasping, spent, wasted and sore, I said, "No, you'll never beat the Tall Dog." I needed a nap and a handful of Alieve.

Not today, he won't. But I see a serious ass-whuppin' coming in the near future. I hope I can see the exact moment, because the day before that happens is the day I retire from football, hang up my jockstrap and become a non-participatory COACH.

November 07, 2010


Originally published September 29, 2002

Have you ever seen a real, live porcupine in the woods? I have. I was hiking in the Cahutta Wilderness in North Georgia on a crisp fall day. The trail was fairly steep, overhung with rhodadendrum, and I was in bulldog-low-gear, holding the straps on my pack and trudging along with my mind engaged in astral projection. I learned to do that a long time ago on steep trails. I keep putting one foot in front of the other, start a song playing in my head, and leave my body to do the grunt-work while my mind soars somewhere far away. The plan was working well that day until I heard a tremedous rustling in the brush on the downhill side of the trail.

I retreived my astral self and stood still, ready to duck and cover, waiting for a wild hog or a rutting deer to come charging out of the woods and run me over. That's when the damned porcupine came waddling out onto the trail right in front of me.

It paid me no attention whatsoever as it waddled and snuffled its way up the trail. I followed for a few yards, then walked right up next to the critter. It still paid me no attention, but I was paying CLOSE attention to it. A porcupine is an amazing construction. It sports several different lengths and shapes of quills all over its body and the bristling array is VERY impressive. No wonder it pays no attention to anything around it.

COP 3 was about 20 yards behind me on the trail, and I yelled for him to come look. He did. "Goddam! That's a porcupine," he said. (Cop 3 is very astute about such things.) We walked alongside the porcupine for about a hundred yards. It stopped occasionally to sniff a particularly interesting scent on the trail, and we stopped, too. It started waddling again, and we followed along. Finally, it made an abrupt left turn off the trail and went crashing through the underbrush down the mountain.

"Reckon you could eat one of those things?" I asked.

"I don't see why not," Cop 3 said. "It comes with built-in toothpicks."