Well, as anyone who follows me on Facebook or Twitter knows, Thanksgiving night I received some rather bad news. My grandfather has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. We had our suspicions that he had it for a while now, there were the signs. The forgetfulness. The telling the same stories over and over. The confusion. But, being told that he was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on a cruise when we called Thanksgiving night? Yeah, that was pretty much a dead giveaway. The phone call to my aunt confirmed it. What's sad is how many years we went without speaking to each other for a while.
See, after my dad died, there were things said from both sides that were hurtful. He had been told some things that were incorrect about us, and unfortunately, he believed them. I fired back, and he didn't speak to me for nearly 8 years. Almost a whole decade.
We would send him Christmas cards and gifts, never expecting any back, and never receiving any back, that wasn't the point. We didn't care about that. What we cared about was the fact that he wasn't sending ours back to us. When A.J. was born, I had hoped to hear something from him. Anything. We heard nothing. From my aunt and great aunt we did, sure. But, not from him.
Finally, one day, I asked my aunt to put him on the phone. We talked. And talked some more. We drove up when A.J. was three. We met. We talked. We hugged. He cried. I told him with a smile to knock it off. We can't change the past, we can only learn and move on. We then made an annual trip up to see him with A.J. and later, of course, Chris.
He loves his great-grandsons. They love him. And, this is what's going to make it hard. The next time we go up, we have no idea what his mental state will be like. He may fine, he may not. But, you know what? Who gives a shit? He's my grandfather, their great-grandfather, and dammit, we love him no matter what. We'll get through this. We're LaPraths. It's what we do. We're too stubborn to know any better.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
I Ain't 'Fraid Of No Ghost
I'll come out and say this. Yes, I believe in ghosts. Laugh all you want, but I have seen crap I can't explain logically. Since it's Halloween, here's one of my encounters. Yes, this is entirely true, no bullshit. First, however, there needs to be some back story.
When I was four, we were driving back to my Great Aunt's house from dinner. We got stuck in traffic and moseyed our way up. There was a lot of flashing lights, several cop cars and an ambulance. I asked what happened. "Looks like someone got hit by a car," my dad said from the driver's seat. "Looks like they were killed." I remember looking out the window and seeing the body laying covered by a sheet on the road. That gave me the chills. Still does. Well, we make it through the accident scene and continue on our way. We get to my Great Aunt's house. There's a cop car waiting there for her. Yeah, that accident we drove through? Turns out it was my cousin Kim that had been hit by that car. It was my cousin, who I loved dearly, that was lying on the street under that sheet.
Flash forward four years now. I'm 8. I was at my Great Aunt's house, playing in the backyard while everyone else was in the dining room. Everything's fine, middle of the day, a warm summer day, when suddenly I get cold. I don't mean a slight chill, I mean freaking cold. I look around the back yard, but there's nothing there. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I could feel someone watching me. For some reason, I looked up at the second floor, to Kim's room, and I saw her looking out the window at me and smiling.
I didn't scream, I got up and ran inside the house. Everyone asked me what was wrong. I didn't answer, I bolted up stairs. Kim's door was shut, just like it always was. I took a deep breath, grabbed the handle, and opened it slowly.
The room was empty, the air still. Her dresser and bed were still there, untouched. Her black light posters still on the wall (It was the 70s after all), the closet doors shut. At that point I was sure it was my imagination until... My gaze fell upon the rocking chair by the closed window. It was aimed towards the window, like if you wanted to sit and look out of it. And, it was moving. I don't mean a slight moving back and forth, I mean the damn thing was rocking. Yeah. Now I was kind of freaked out.
I went back downstairs and asked if anyone had been in Kim's room. The answer was a unanimous "no." I come from a long line of pranksters, but, everyone knew you didn't joke about Kim. For years, when we stayed with my Great Aunt, I'd swear I'd see lights on the stairs, hear footsteps on the stairs and in Kim's room, and hear the rocking chair. It was freaky, yes, but, I never really felt at harm from it.
Once, I asked my Great Aunt about it. She seemed relieved to know that she wasn't the only one who'd seen and heard these things. I always half-joked that Kim, once she died, became my guardian angel. Part of me wants to go back to the house and try doing an EVP session, like you see on Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures, and part of me doesn't. My Aunt still lives in the house, so if it was anything malevolent, you'd have thought she would have bailed by now.
Well, that's one of my ghost stories. What about you all? Had anything freaky happen?
When I was four, we were driving back to my Great Aunt's house from dinner. We got stuck in traffic and moseyed our way up. There was a lot of flashing lights, several cop cars and an ambulance. I asked what happened. "Looks like someone got hit by a car," my dad said from the driver's seat. "Looks like they were killed." I remember looking out the window and seeing the body laying covered by a sheet on the road. That gave me the chills. Still does. Well, we make it through the accident scene and continue on our way. We get to my Great Aunt's house. There's a cop car waiting there for her. Yeah, that accident we drove through? Turns out it was my cousin Kim that had been hit by that car. It was my cousin, who I loved dearly, that was lying on the street under that sheet.
Flash forward four years now. I'm 8. I was at my Great Aunt's house, playing in the backyard while everyone else was in the dining room. Everything's fine, middle of the day, a warm summer day, when suddenly I get cold. I don't mean a slight chill, I mean freaking cold. I look around the back yard, but there's nothing there. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I could feel someone watching me. For some reason, I looked up at the second floor, to Kim's room, and I saw her looking out the window at me and smiling.
I didn't scream, I got up and ran inside the house. Everyone asked me what was wrong. I didn't answer, I bolted up stairs. Kim's door was shut, just like it always was. I took a deep breath, grabbed the handle, and opened it slowly.
The room was empty, the air still. Her dresser and bed were still there, untouched. Her black light posters still on the wall (It was the 70s after all), the closet doors shut. At that point I was sure it was my imagination until... My gaze fell upon the rocking chair by the closed window. It was aimed towards the window, like if you wanted to sit and look out of it. And, it was moving. I don't mean a slight moving back and forth, I mean the damn thing was rocking. Yeah. Now I was kind of freaked out.
I went back downstairs and asked if anyone had been in Kim's room. The answer was a unanimous "no." I come from a long line of pranksters, but, everyone knew you didn't joke about Kim. For years, when we stayed with my Great Aunt, I'd swear I'd see lights on the stairs, hear footsteps on the stairs and in Kim's room, and hear the rocking chair. It was freaky, yes, but, I never really felt at harm from it.
Once, I asked my Great Aunt about it. She seemed relieved to know that she wasn't the only one who'd seen and heard these things. I always half-joked that Kim, once she died, became my guardian angel. Part of me wants to go back to the house and try doing an EVP session, like you see on Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures, and part of me doesn't. My Aunt still lives in the house, so if it was anything malevolent, you'd have thought she would have bailed by now.
Well, that's one of my ghost stories. What about you all? Had anything freaky happen?
Monday, September 19, 2011
I Pledge Allegiance to the Flag....
I’ve been called names before, and I’m sure I’ll be called them again. No big deal. I’m a big boy, I can handle having names hurled at me. I watch my Twitter feed and will jump in occasionally with a comment. Today, I was watching, and saw a small debate about the United States as a Republic or a Democracy. Well, one Tweet from Cynthia Boaz, @cynthiaboaz, a Political Science professor, stated “Both @adamsbaldwin &@WR_Systems have said that the US is not a democratic state. Which puts them in the same category with Chomsky & Zinn.”
Well, as most of you know, I’m a smart-ass. And, according to Ms. Boaz’s Twitter bio, she is “3/4 smartypants and ¼ smartass.” So, I made an admittedly somewhat smart-assed Tweet, “@adamsbaldwin @cynthiaboaz Perhaps Ms. Boaz hasn't said the Pledge in awhile "... And to the REPUBLIC for which it stands..." #BlackAndWhite.”
The response I received was a little surprising. “@ToryLaPrath That's incredibly ignorant. But thank you for revealing yourself as opposed to democracy.”
Ignorant, fine, it’s a name, an insult designed to make the insulter feel superior to the one that they’re insulting. But, opposed to Democracy? Opposed because I quoted the Pledge of Allegiance to the United States? The Pledge, adopted by Congress in 1942, identifies us a Republic, because we are one. We elect representatives to make decisions for us. We don’t do “town hall meetings” on every decision that needs to be made on every government level.
I posted these two links as well: http://thisnation.com/question/011.html
The second one, in particular made a great example of Athens vs. Rome and how they did things, government wise. There’s a reason the Founding Fathers chose the Republic version with Rome vs. the purely Democratic way of Athens. It works.
So, I wrote back, with those two links and saying all I really did was quote the Pledge. The response? Even better than the first time. “@ToryLaPrath Implying that concepts of republic and democracy are mutually exclusive is what's ignorant. And disingenuous. And ridiculous.”
So, I asked for where I ever said or implied any of that. Basically, she couldn’t because I didn’t do that. I had the audacity to quote the Pledge and find two good examples to substantiate my point about America=Republic, including one from the Huffington Post, where Ms. Boaz has her own page as well. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/cynthia-boaz Hey, it’s not like I posted a Wikipedia, link. I actually did some research.
(Oh, by the way on that… http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_system_of_government Look at the number of Republics on that list. Go ahead, I’ll wait)
And now, back to Ms. Boaz’s Tweet. More insults aimed at me. Well, maybe not an insult. Perhaps “blatant lie” would be more apropos. Perhaps, perhaps not. However, what was disingenuous and ridiculous was twisting what I quoted, from our own Pledge, into saying my views are anti-Democracy and the two were mutually exclusive.
Now, to be fair, she did respond with this. “@ToryLaPrath If we agree that they're not mutually exclusive, what was point of invoking the line from the Pledge? I know it's a republic.”
I didn’t answer that question because: A- I was driving at that point. B- I wanted to spend time with the boys and Steph, C- the response, as you can see now, was more than 140 characters.
What was the point? Well, the original Tweet that said if [one] said America was not a Democratic state then that put that person in the same category as Chomsky and Zinn, well, that chafed me a tad. That would imply that every time I proudly say the Pledge of Allegiance, than my views align with a self-described “fellow traveler to the Anarchist movement” (but a ferocious defender of free speech and I applaud him for that) and someone who has advocated smuggling in ZEP materials in class and have teachers “go against the rules” and “depart from the curriculum.” As a father with two young sons, the Zinn reference especially was the one that was most disturbing.
There is a reason, and as a professor, I am sure that Ms. Boaz is well aware of this, that the school districts lay out a curriculum. If a teacher uses the classroom to depart from the curriculum and tries to impart their personal views on my children, I am going to have an issue with that teacher, whether their views are Right or Left. It’s not the teacher’s place, especially in the elementary/junior high age brackets, to do that. It’s my place as the father, and my wife’s place as the mother.
So, that was the point of my Pledge quote; to show that I too was saying that America was not a Democratic state, and my views are no where near Chomsky's and Zinn's. The best part is, by quoting the Pledge, I was then also lumped in as being against Democracy and disingenuous and ridiculous. Yep, that’s me, a Democracy hating, disingenuous and ridiculous proud American Citizen. (Okay, I am ridiculous sometimes, I’ll admit that)
Well, at least I’m in good company with the billions of Americans who recite the Pledge of Allegiance every day. Wait a tick… President Obama said the Pledge at the end of his televised press conference after it was announced that Osama Bin Laden had finally been killed…
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Power of Twitter
Twitter. Yes, it's a form of social media. Yes, CNN and Ashton Kutcher had a race to see who could get to 1,000,000 followers first. Yes, Charlie Sheen set a record for the most "follows" in a 24 hour period. (I'm not one of them) Twitter is a great way to follow sports teams, breaking news stories, celebrities, make new friends, market products, and sometimes just sit back and read. It has its own language and nuances, but once you get the hang of it, it's great fun.
But, Twitter is also a powerful tool. There are three recent stories I am going to share about this. The first one was the Japan earthquake. Twitter blew up with firsthand pictures and videos from people who were actually there as it happened. Libya and Egypt's protests were the same way. People with cell phones and laptops were able to images and stories out long before any of the big news organizations could get there.
The second is a personal one. We went to dinner at a Pei Wei the other night and had totally crappy service. The manager on duty really didn't do anything to make it right. So, when we stopped at Target, I told all about the experience and "tagged" Pei Wei's corporate Twitter account so they'd see it. However, all of my followers saw it as well. That's close to 300 people. And imagine if any of them had "Re-Tweeted" it? Then all of their followers would have seen it, and so on, and so on, and... well, it would have been like that old shampoo commercial.
Now, Pei Wei responded quickly and they made it right and are sending me gift cards. You know the old days of telling the manager or whoever face to face that "I'm going to tell all my friends about this!" and it never worked? Well, just threaten that you're going to put it on Twitter for the world to see. I'll bet in this day and age that will get a better response.
Okay, the third one is a little tougher. First off, I am a registered Independent voter. You can look that up. What this story is about was a website that writes "opinion pieces" called Wonkette.com. On April 18, they wrote a particularly nasty one recently about the Palin family. Not about Sarah, no. Rather, this story blasted Trig, her son with Down's Syndrome. I'm not going to go into all the gory details, and the website has since pulled the article with a half-assed apology. What's really impressive was the speed with which this story blew up on the "Twitterverse."
Politicians are used to being made fun of. To make fun of an innocent Special Needs child takes an asshole, regardless of who their parents are. Now, someone on Twitter read that story, and noticed a Papa John's ad on it. They promptly sent Papa John's a Tweet about it. Papa John's promptly read the Tweet and the article and pulled their advertising on the site. I noticed a Phoenix Children's Hospital ad on it and told them, and they too are looking into it. The Twitterverse rallied around Trig, from people on BOTH sides of the political spectrum.
Twitter is a great fun way to interact with people both famous and not. And, it's also a great tool. Use it wisely, Twitterverse.
But, Twitter is also a powerful tool. There are three recent stories I am going to share about this. The first one was the Japan earthquake. Twitter blew up with firsthand pictures and videos from people who were actually there as it happened. Libya and Egypt's protests were the same way. People with cell phones and laptops were able to images and stories out long before any of the big news organizations could get there.
The second is a personal one. We went to dinner at a Pei Wei the other night and had totally crappy service. The manager on duty really didn't do anything to make it right. So, when we stopped at Target, I told all about the experience and "tagged" Pei Wei's corporate Twitter account so they'd see it. However, all of my followers saw it as well. That's close to 300 people. And imagine if any of them had "Re-Tweeted" it? Then all of their followers would have seen it, and so on, and so on, and... well, it would have been like that old shampoo commercial.
Now, Pei Wei responded quickly and they made it right and are sending me gift cards. You know the old days of telling the manager or whoever face to face that "I'm going to tell all my friends about this!" and it never worked? Well, just threaten that you're going to put it on Twitter for the world to see. I'll bet in this day and age that will get a better response.
Okay, the third one is a little tougher. First off, I am a registered Independent voter. You can look that up. What this story is about was a website that writes "opinion pieces" called Wonkette.com. On April 18, they wrote a particularly nasty one recently about the Palin family. Not about Sarah, no. Rather, this story blasted Trig, her son with Down's Syndrome. I'm not going to go into all the gory details, and the website has since pulled the article with a half-assed apology. What's really impressive was the speed with which this story blew up on the "Twitterverse."
Politicians are used to being made fun of. To make fun of an innocent Special Needs child takes an asshole, regardless of who their parents are. Now, someone on Twitter read that story, and noticed a Papa John's ad on it. They promptly sent Papa John's a Tweet about it. Papa John's promptly read the Tweet and the article and pulled their advertising on the site. I noticed a Phoenix Children's Hospital ad on it and told them, and they too are looking into it. The Twitterverse rallied around Trig, from people on BOTH sides of the political spectrum.
Twitter is a great fun way to interact with people both famous and not. And, it's also a great tool. Use it wisely, Twitterverse.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
One Fan
The clock is ticking on the Phoenix Coyotes’ future here in Arizona. We all know it. If you listen to some media members, the decision has been made to move the franchise back to Winnipeg. Others, including the principals involved in the sale say nothing’s decided yet. On Twitter and Internet message boards, Americans and Canadians have been going back and forth, some of their arguments turning ugly. I’ve tried to stay out of those arguments the best I can.
I have tried my best to refrain from bashing on Winnipeg for several reasons, the first and foremost is, I’ve never been there, so I don’t feel I can bash a place I have never been. Some of the other arguments I’ve read and even had a few directed at me in an effort to bait me into bashing include “You don’t know what it’s like to have this sport in your blood since birth.” “You have no idea what it’s like being a hockey fan from Canada.” “You can’t skate.”
You know what? Fair enough. You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be a hockey fan from Canada. But, guess what? That also means you have no idea about what kind of hockey fan I am. We’ll get to the skating part later.
My dad grew up in the Bay Area of Northern California and started liking hockey when the California Seals (later Oakland Seals and then California Golden Seals) came about. He’d gone to a few games and loved it. He was never a big sports guy, but he loved hockey and followed this team. He wanted to take me when I was a little older, but they left in 1976 to become the Cleveland Barons.
We moved to San Diego shortly thereafter. San Diego had no NHL team. The closest NHL team we had was the Los Angeles Kings, but, growing up in San Diego you’re bred to hate all things north of Orange County. So, dad and mom would tell me about hockey, watch the occasional game on TV, but that was about it. And then it happened.
1980 Winter Olympics. Lake Placid. The Miracle. I started getting into hockey a little more after that. But again, with no local team, it was a little hard. I tended to follow players more than teams. About that time, there was some kid named Gretzky that was already showing brilliance on the ice, as his Hart Trophy showed. Add Messier, Lemieux, Robitaille (even though he was a King) and I followed them and rooted for them.
I moved to Phoenix, and still followed players more than teams at this point. When it was announced that the Jets were coming to Phoenix, we were excited and sad at the same time. I’d already gone through a franchise leaving town when the San Diego Clippers packed up and headed to Los Angeles. It’s not a good feeling. We felt bad for the people of Winnipeg, we really did. But, Phoenix was finally getting an NHL team.
Now, at this point, I had yet to actually go to a live hockey game. That first season, we had seats three rows behind the home goal. From the first game, I was hooked on this sport even more than I had been. Seeing the NHL live is the best sport in the world to watch in person, no question. The first home playoff game against the Ducks in 1997? I still get goosebumps remembering that feeling walking into that building.
That first season I also went out and bought some Bauer inline hockey boots and several sticks. A bunch of coworkers and I started playing pickup games. Most of these guys had played some hockey as kids, so I was at a disadvantage. I practiced with them, and got better. Don’t get me wrong, I still can’t skate backwards to save my life, so my career as a defenseman is out. However, as a right winger I did okay. I play the old Keith Tkachuk style. Park my butt in front of the net and redirect shots. We found that once I planted there it was extremely difficult to move me.
When we moved to Colorado for work and family reasons, we’d go to Avalanche games wearing our Coyotes gear to cheer on our guys. We had a team to follow now. When Ray Borque was traded to the Avs, and the Coyotes were out of it, we rooted for the Avs. Why? We wanted to see Ray lift Lord Stanley’s Cup, finally.
We came back to Phoenix, excited to start going to the games, and it happened. The lockout. We weathered that storm and started going to the games, A.J. who was two now, in tow. By the end of that first season, he knew #19 = ShaneDoan (He said it as one word), #2 = Keith Ballard, and #31 = Cujo.
Doaner is A.J.’s hero. And now, his little brother is howling along with him, and also pointing out #19. Both want to be hockey players when they grow up. Skating lessons are going to happen this summer.
And, unfortunately, I’ve been having to have talks with A.J., who’s now 8, about what he’s been hearing in the news for the past two years about the Coyotes leaving. He once asked recently why they didn’t call themselves the “Arizona Jets” since that’s what they were called in Winnipeg. He knows about Greztky’s greatness as a player through old videos and me, and he has firsthand experiences with Gretzky’s failure as the coach of the Coyotes. I’m making sure he knows this sport’s proud history.
Mostly though lately, I’ve having to help prepare him in case the Coyotes do move. It’s not a fun conversation by any means. Ask him his favorite sport, he says hockey. His favorite team? The Coyotes. His favorite athlete? Shane Doan. Just one more storm to weather as a father.
Why did the NHL come here? Look at the kids in the Valley who are now playing hockey because of the Coyotes. Is it Canada? No, it’s not. But, it is growing and has been ever since they’ve been here. These kids love this sport and this team. Growth. In that respect, the Coyotes have been winners here in the Valley.
I have tried my best to refrain from bashing on Winnipeg for several reasons, the first and foremost is, I’ve never been there, so I don’t feel I can bash a place I have never been. Some of the other arguments I’ve read and even had a few directed at me in an effort to bait me into bashing include “You don’t know what it’s like to have this sport in your blood since birth.” “You have no idea what it’s like being a hockey fan from Canada.” “You can’t skate.”
You know what? Fair enough. You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be a hockey fan from Canada. But, guess what? That also means you have no idea about what kind of hockey fan I am. We’ll get to the skating part later.
My dad grew up in the Bay Area of Northern California and started liking hockey when the California Seals (later Oakland Seals and then California Golden Seals) came about. He’d gone to a few games and loved it. He was never a big sports guy, but he loved hockey and followed this team. He wanted to take me when I was a little older, but they left in 1976 to become the Cleveland Barons.
We moved to San Diego shortly thereafter. San Diego had no NHL team. The closest NHL team we had was the Los Angeles Kings, but, growing up in San Diego you’re bred to hate all things north of Orange County. So, dad and mom would tell me about hockey, watch the occasional game on TV, but that was about it. And then it happened.
1980 Winter Olympics. Lake Placid. The Miracle. I started getting into hockey a little more after that. But again, with no local team, it was a little hard. I tended to follow players more than teams. About that time, there was some kid named Gretzky that was already showing brilliance on the ice, as his Hart Trophy showed. Add Messier, Lemieux, Robitaille (even though he was a King) and I followed them and rooted for them.
I moved to Phoenix, and still followed players more than teams at this point. When it was announced that the Jets were coming to Phoenix, we were excited and sad at the same time. I’d already gone through a franchise leaving town when the San Diego Clippers packed up and headed to Los Angeles. It’s not a good feeling. We felt bad for the people of Winnipeg, we really did. But, Phoenix was finally getting an NHL team.
Now, at this point, I had yet to actually go to a live hockey game. That first season, we had seats three rows behind the home goal. From the first game, I was hooked on this sport even more than I had been. Seeing the NHL live is the best sport in the world to watch in person, no question. The first home playoff game against the Ducks in 1997? I still get goosebumps remembering that feeling walking into that building.
That first season I also went out and bought some Bauer inline hockey boots and several sticks. A bunch of coworkers and I started playing pickup games. Most of these guys had played some hockey as kids, so I was at a disadvantage. I practiced with them, and got better. Don’t get me wrong, I still can’t skate backwards to save my life, so my career as a defenseman is out. However, as a right winger I did okay. I play the old Keith Tkachuk style. Park my butt in front of the net and redirect shots. We found that once I planted there it was extremely difficult to move me.
When we moved to Colorado for work and family reasons, we’d go to Avalanche games wearing our Coyotes gear to cheer on our guys. We had a team to follow now. When Ray Borque was traded to the Avs, and the Coyotes were out of it, we rooted for the Avs. Why? We wanted to see Ray lift Lord Stanley’s Cup, finally.
We came back to Phoenix, excited to start going to the games, and it happened. The lockout. We weathered that storm and started going to the games, A.J. who was two now, in tow. By the end of that first season, he knew #19 = ShaneDoan (He said it as one word), #2 = Keith Ballard, and #31 = Cujo.
Doaner is A.J.’s hero. And now, his little brother is howling along with him, and also pointing out #19. Both want to be hockey players when they grow up. Skating lessons are going to happen this summer.
And, unfortunately, I’ve been having to have talks with A.J., who’s now 8, about what he’s been hearing in the news for the past two years about the Coyotes leaving. He once asked recently why they didn’t call themselves the “Arizona Jets” since that’s what they were called in Winnipeg. He knows about Greztky’s greatness as a player through old videos and me, and he has firsthand experiences with Gretzky’s failure as the coach of the Coyotes. I’m making sure he knows this sport’s proud history.
Mostly though lately, I’ve having to help prepare him in case the Coyotes do move. It’s not a fun conversation by any means. Ask him his favorite sport, he says hockey. His favorite team? The Coyotes. His favorite athlete? Shane Doan. Just one more storm to weather as a father.
Why did the NHL come here? Look at the kids in the Valley who are now playing hockey because of the Coyotes. Is it Canada? No, it’s not. But, it is growing and has been ever since they’ve been here. These kids love this sport and this team. Growth. In that respect, the Coyotes have been winners here in the Valley.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Look Before You Sit
I have my quirks. I have to go to sleep on my right side. I always eat one thing at a time on my plate, and no mixing of food, unless it's mashed potatoes and corn. And, I always, ALWAYS look down before I sit my butt somewhere. This comes from advice my dad gave me when I was about nine.
"Tory," he said, in his best "Ward Cleaver" voice, "no matter what, son, always look before you sit."
"Don't you mean look before you leap, pop?"
"Nope," he said, smiling. "Sometimes half the fun of leaping is not knowing where you're going to land. But, looking before you sit can save your ass. Sometimes literally."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
At this point, he launched into a story about when he was in Viet Nam. Now, he swore up until his dying day that this story was true, and it never got "bigger" whenever he told it, so I'm inclined to believe him. He was one of the top officers in a fire base outside of Da Nang. One night, he was just settling into his rack when an explosion sounded near his quarters. He jumped up, grabbed his boots and his .45 and went running outside in his Army-issued t-shirt and boxers.
He came up to a private standing in front of some smoking remains. The private looked like he was covered from head to toe in mud. "Private!" dad yelled. "What happened?" By the this time other soldiers were around, many looking off into the night waiting for an attack. The private didn't say a word, just kept staring at the smoldering wood in front of him.
"PRIVATE!" dad barked. I know that tone well. That was his "pull your head out of your ass and pay attention to me now" tone. The private turned and looked and realized that Captain LaPrath was standing in front of him. "What happened?" dad asked again.
"S-s-sir," the private stammered. "I went to use the latrine, sir." Dad cocked an eyebrow at the private. "I opened the door, sir, and a cobra stuck its head out of the hole sir." About this time, the wind shifted, and dad realized that the private was NOT covered in mud.
"What did you do, son?" dad asked. He looked at the private's bandoleer, and noticed an empty spot where a grenade should have been.
"I fragged its ass, sir. I hate snakes!" The kid had blown the shit out of the latrine. Literally.
At this point, dad was trying his hardest not to laugh. He wound up giving the private a month on latrine duty. However, dad said, ever since then, he always checked the area he was about to park his butt after that. And now, I do too. I'll pass this story along to the boys, it's too good not to, but I'll also impart some of their late grandfather's wisdom as well. After all, the ass you save will more than likely be your own.
"Tory," he said, in his best "Ward Cleaver" voice, "no matter what, son, always look before you sit."
"Don't you mean look before you leap, pop?"
"Nope," he said, smiling. "Sometimes half the fun of leaping is not knowing where you're going to land. But, looking before you sit can save your ass. Sometimes literally."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
At this point, he launched into a story about when he was in Viet Nam. Now, he swore up until his dying day that this story was true, and it never got "bigger" whenever he told it, so I'm inclined to believe him. He was one of the top officers in a fire base outside of Da Nang. One night, he was just settling into his rack when an explosion sounded near his quarters. He jumped up, grabbed his boots and his .45 and went running outside in his Army-issued t-shirt and boxers.
He came up to a private standing in front of some smoking remains. The private looked like he was covered from head to toe in mud. "Private!" dad yelled. "What happened?" By the this time other soldiers were around, many looking off into the night waiting for an attack. The private didn't say a word, just kept staring at the smoldering wood in front of him.
"PRIVATE!" dad barked. I know that tone well. That was his "pull your head out of your ass and pay attention to me now" tone. The private turned and looked and realized that Captain LaPrath was standing in front of him. "What happened?" dad asked again.
"S-s-sir," the private stammered. "I went to use the latrine, sir." Dad cocked an eyebrow at the private. "I opened the door, sir, and a cobra stuck its head out of the hole sir." About this time, the wind shifted, and dad realized that the private was NOT covered in mud.
"What did you do, son?" dad asked. He looked at the private's bandoleer, and noticed an empty spot where a grenade should have been.
"I fragged its ass, sir. I hate snakes!" The kid had blown the shit out of the latrine. Literally.
At this point, dad was trying his hardest not to laugh. He wound up giving the private a month on latrine duty. However, dad said, ever since then, he always checked the area he was about to park his butt after that. And now, I do too. I'll pass this story along to the boys, it's too good not to, but I'll also impart some of their late grandfather's wisdom as well. After all, the ass you save will more than likely be your own.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Of Fathers and Sons
If there's one thing you need to know about me, and my Facebook and Twitter feeds will show this, is I love my boys. Unabashedly, unconditionally, and I will brag constantly on them. I'm proud of them and I don't give a crap what people think about that. My one big regret is that my boys will never know their grandfather.
It's hard to believe, but it will be 11 years in May since my dad died. I am trying to live up to him, hoping he'd be proud of me. You know in The Lion King, when Simba puts his paw in Mufasa's paw print, and it's dwarfed? Yeah, that's how I feel. Like I have some big ass shoes to fill. And believe me, I do. (which is ironic, because my dad had small feet for his height)
When dad died, you know how many people actually saw me break down and cry? Two. Steph, and my mom. The rest of the family I hid it from. They were all in major denial and someone had to be the strong take charge one. Why? Because I know dad would have done the same thing.
My dad was many things, and one of them was a prankster. Gee, wonder where I got that from, eh? He and I would pull shit on each other all the time, often times causing embarrassment to each other. But, it was funny, dammit. This is one of the better ones he pulled on me.
This also happened to be the story I told at his funeral. Giving the eulogy, seeing everyone sad and some in tears, what'd I do? Figured I'd do what dad would have done. Ignore the sad crap and try and lift up everyone's spirit. So, that's what I did.
I was about 16, my girlfriend had just broken up with me, and I was a depressed, sullen teenager. We were coming home from a day at the beach and the surf, and pulled into the Poway, CA Burger King drive thru. We place our order and pull up to the window.
The girl pokes her head out to take the money. She was about the same age, blond and cute. Dad looks at her, looks at me and says, and this is verbatim, "What time do you get off of work? My son's girlfriend broke up with him and he needs a date." She just looked at him, and I tried my damnedest to crawl through the floorboards to hide under the car. She never appeared again. The manager came back to give us our food. We left. My dad looked down at me and just gave me his crooked shit-eating grin. Incidentally, I have the same crooked shit-eating grin, just on the opposite side. Kept copying him as a baby.
So, there it is. One example of how I am who I am because of him. (Jeeze, I sounded like Popeye almost there) Am I going to embarrass my boys? Oh, without a doubt. That's a dad's job. Will they get me back? Yep, because that's their job. And, thus, the Circle of Life continues....
It's hard to believe, but it will be 11 years in May since my dad died. I am trying to live up to him, hoping he'd be proud of me. You know in The Lion King, when Simba puts his paw in Mufasa's paw print, and it's dwarfed? Yeah, that's how I feel. Like I have some big ass shoes to fill. And believe me, I do. (which is ironic, because my dad had small feet for his height)
When dad died, you know how many people actually saw me break down and cry? Two. Steph, and my mom. The rest of the family I hid it from. They were all in major denial and someone had to be the strong take charge one. Why? Because I know dad would have done the same thing.
My dad was many things, and one of them was a prankster. Gee, wonder where I got that from, eh? He and I would pull shit on each other all the time, often times causing embarrassment to each other. But, it was funny, dammit. This is one of the better ones he pulled on me.
This also happened to be the story I told at his funeral. Giving the eulogy, seeing everyone sad and some in tears, what'd I do? Figured I'd do what dad would have done. Ignore the sad crap and try and lift up everyone's spirit. So, that's what I did.
I was about 16, my girlfriend had just broken up with me, and I was a depressed, sullen teenager. We were coming home from a day at the beach and the surf, and pulled into the Poway, CA Burger King drive thru. We place our order and pull up to the window.
The girl pokes her head out to take the money. She was about the same age, blond and cute. Dad looks at her, looks at me and says, and this is verbatim, "What time do you get off of work? My son's girlfriend broke up with him and he needs a date." She just looked at him, and I tried my damnedest to crawl through the floorboards to hide under the car. She never appeared again. The manager came back to give us our food. We left. My dad looked down at me and just gave me his crooked shit-eating grin. Incidentally, I have the same crooked shit-eating grin, just on the opposite side. Kept copying him as a baby.
So, there it is. One example of how I am who I am because of him. (Jeeze, I sounded like Popeye almost there) Am I going to embarrass my boys? Oh, without a doubt. That's a dad's job. Will they get me back? Yep, because that's their job. And, thus, the Circle of Life continues....
Friday, January 14, 2011
Decorum and the Fan
Okay, for starters, I'm not a fan. I'm a fanatic. I live and die with my teams. I follow every player on my teams on Twitter that I can find, and will vehemently defend my teams to people. Coyotes have a home game? I'm there. Chargers, Coyotes, Padres or Suns game is on TV? I'll watch it. Chargers aren't on TV? I'll go to Hooters to watch the Chargers. Padres are in town playing the Diamondbacks? I'll go to the games if I can. I'm a fanatic almost to the point of being obnoxious. Well, okay, I am obnoxious.
And that leads me to this. I've said it before, but after the past few home games of the Phoenix Coyotes, I'm going to say it again. Buying a ticket to a sporting event of any kind guarantees the following: The right to a seat. The right to cheer for your team. The right to boo the other team. It does not, however, guarantee you the right to be an asshole.
I'll be honest. I swear. Look at the last sentence. Listen to me when I play XBox online with the guys. Martin Scorsese would blush during those gaming sessions. However, there are places were swearing isn't acceptable, such as around my kids. And, another one of those places is in the stands of a sporting event.
Look, I know emotions run high. The last game against the Toronto Maple Leafs showed that. Ed Jovanovski was blindsided with a cheap shot and went down. Tensions ran high on the ice and in the stands. Spectators around us were swearing up a storm and yelling at each other. All while little kids were around these people, including my two year old son.
People, look around you. Just because your kids aren't there doesn't mean that other kids aren't. When my boys aren't there I still don't swear. Sure, I yell at the refs for lousy calls, but, no swearing. There's no need for it.
At the season opener, the Coyotes played the Red Wings. The Coyotes lost in overtime. As we were walking out, a Red Wings fan saw the dejected look on my older son's face, pointed and laughed. A wave of emotions went through me, none of them good. What'd I do? Bit my lip and kept walking my son up the stairs. Another Red Wings fan, joyous in his team's win, came running down the stairs, against the river of people trying to get out of the arena. He physically shoved my mom out of his way and if I hadn't of moved A.J., he would have done the same to him. What'd I do?
Well, this time I shoulder blocked this guy and got his attention. He started to say something, but I cut him off and basically told him he knocked over a family member and almost did the same to my son. He laughed and told me to do something physically impossible. Again, I bit my lip, turned and walked out with A.J. Later that night on Twitter, I let it out. But not there at the arena. And not in front of kids.
Now, before you think I'm only talking about the visiting fans, I'm not. I'm talking fans in general. There have been plenty of times I've asked Coyotes fans to watch the language in front of the kids. For the most part, people on both sides get what I mean and stop.
Again, emotions run high during sporting events. I get that. But, at some point, you have to be able to gauge your surroundings and act accordingly. Be a fanatic. Cheer, boo, heckle, talk smack, have fun there. Just leave the swearing to the guys playing the game.
And that leads me to this. I've said it before, but after the past few home games of the Phoenix Coyotes, I'm going to say it again. Buying a ticket to a sporting event of any kind guarantees the following: The right to a seat. The right to cheer for your team. The right to boo the other team. It does not, however, guarantee you the right to be an asshole.
I'll be honest. I swear. Look at the last sentence. Listen to me when I play XBox online with the guys. Martin Scorsese would blush during those gaming sessions. However, there are places were swearing isn't acceptable, such as around my kids. And, another one of those places is in the stands of a sporting event.
Look, I know emotions run high. The last game against the Toronto Maple Leafs showed that. Ed Jovanovski was blindsided with a cheap shot and went down. Tensions ran high on the ice and in the stands. Spectators around us were swearing up a storm and yelling at each other. All while little kids were around these people, including my two year old son.
People, look around you. Just because your kids aren't there doesn't mean that other kids aren't. When my boys aren't there I still don't swear. Sure, I yell at the refs for lousy calls, but, no swearing. There's no need for it.
At the season opener, the Coyotes played the Red Wings. The Coyotes lost in overtime. As we were walking out, a Red Wings fan saw the dejected look on my older son's face, pointed and laughed. A wave of emotions went through me, none of them good. What'd I do? Bit my lip and kept walking my son up the stairs. Another Red Wings fan, joyous in his team's win, came running down the stairs, against the river of people trying to get out of the arena. He physically shoved my mom out of his way and if I hadn't of moved A.J., he would have done the same to him. What'd I do?
Well, this time I shoulder blocked this guy and got his attention. He started to say something, but I cut him off and basically told him he knocked over a family member and almost did the same to my son. He laughed and told me to do something physically impossible. Again, I bit my lip, turned and walked out with A.J. Later that night on Twitter, I let it out. But not there at the arena. And not in front of kids.
Now, before you think I'm only talking about the visiting fans, I'm not. I'm talking fans in general. There have been plenty of times I've asked Coyotes fans to watch the language in front of the kids. For the most part, people on both sides get what I mean and stop.
Again, emotions run high during sporting events. I get that. But, at some point, you have to be able to gauge your surroundings and act accordingly. Be a fanatic. Cheer, boo, heckle, talk smack, have fun there. Just leave the swearing to the guys playing the game.
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