The New Duct Tape and People Even Worse than OurDad

If you want to have a seat at Christmas Eve Mass you better get there a half an hour early. And since we are usually half an hour late to regular Sunday mass, GreatMom shoots for an hour early. Some years we make it just in time to sit in the cry room or stand in the back of church. This year OurDad painted himself as the hero who got us to church in time to grab the last four seats.

We got to sit, in church, for Christmas mass, and all because be didn't waste time messing around with the shoe polish. "We're in a hurry. Who needs shoe polish when you've got a Sharpie pen". Oh God can OurDad embarrass us. At least he didn't whip out that black Sharpie to unscuff his wingtips during mass.

However, we were able to make the best of it because Christmas mass is one of those extraordinary events that allows the BoyChild and I to see people even more embarrassing than OurDad. Christmas mass is like a county fair or the airport, full of freaks you'll never see again.

This year was no disappointment.
There were two women who apperentyly thought that fishnets were the new Christmas stocking. And what's with the earth tones, for Christmas? You can't work something out with red, green, blue, silver, and gold? Blue yes, blue jeans no, but if you must, make it your good pair that doesn't have a hole in the knee. And then there was the the lady that froze out half the church out by opening the door over and over. I'm really sorry you had hot flashes on Christmas.

We may not be safe from Duct Tap and Sharpie pens, but we can get through the holidays because Christmas mass shows us there are people even worse than OurDad.

Could OurDad be a Pedophile like James Perry?

Yesterday OurDad said something disturbing, “My pee is radioactive.” I just don’t think my brother and I should be exposed to such cryptoeroticism, and it made me wonder what other weirdness we’ve been exposed to throughout our young lives. Then I read today’s Detroit Free Press article on the conviction of James Perry for molesting children.

The evidence against Mr. Perry is shocking, and even more shocking are the similarities to OurDad!

Perry is a teacher. OurDad is a teacher.

Perry has hundreds of pictures of children in his house. OurDad has hundreds of pictures of children in our house.

Perry has videotaped children. OurDad has videotaped children.

Perry had hundreds of children’s films like The Lion King, or Harry Potter. We have those same movies. We have more kid’s videos and DVD’s at our house than I can count.

Experts quoted in the Free Press article stated that pedophiles often become teachers, scout leaders or coaches to get closer to their victims. OurDad is all three! He coaches the BoyChild’s soccer team, and he’s the leader of the BoyChild’s Cub Scout den.

Perry has been warned not to sit children on his lap. We have sat in OurDad’s lap like a gazillion times.

Perry lived next door to a school. We live close to our school.

I know that pedophiles are adults that like to do weird sex things to boys and girls. OurDad is always doing weird stuff, but I’m not sure if it’s sexy though. Maybe if someone coached me I’d get it right. Now that I think of it OurDad has seen us naked. In fact, and the BoyChild confirmed this, he wasted no time and peered at our exposed naked bodies. He saw us naked on the very day we were born.

I’m really scared, please someone tell me, Do you think OurDad is a pedophile?

They Pay him for This? or A Day off from School...

At some time before 5 am on Monday morning someone, or someones, executed a flawless plan to relive the Monday morning blues for the entire WoundTight School District. They let the air out of the tires of all 50-some-odd school buses. Hoooray, you Jerks! I had to spend the entire day with OurDad at the old CC. The GirlChild had a friend call this morning so she had a play date all day. Does OurDad call anyone for me. Noooo. Some such and such about, “We don’t just invite ourselves over, bla, bla, bla.”

I think he just wants me to see the college atmosphere. I’m Ten, give it a break already. Ok so we get to the old CC and I find out what he does all day-- Nothing! No-things-at-all! I mean it. He walks into class and hands out a test, and he just sits there and reads a book. And he complains about adjunct pay?! I brought books today too, two of them. And I finished them both so why don’t they pay me? Look I know OurDad’s salary helps pay for a few things around the house, but after what I saw today... I’ve gotta be objective. I don't know what they are paying him for. What he’s complaining about? He’s making a killing. Look, he teaches two classes and I saw him “teach” both of them today. He did nothing! For the love of god some one has to stop the madness and cut adjunct pay or OurDad will never go find a real job.

Eragon Stinks

The movie that is. Ok OurDad was right, but he’s the one who hyped the whole thing in the first place. Our Family loves the Eragon story, even the GirlChild. We’ve all listen to the audio version in the car a couple of times, and GreatMom and I have read the books one and two.

(Warning, don’t get OurDad started on audio books. He’ll go on and on about how he doubles his reading in the car. At least he’s not trying to write while he’s driving, yet.)

Anyway he got everyone all excited about the movie version. He actually started a “This Many Days to Eragon” count down on the family marker board. But then as the day approached he starts warning us about screen adaptations. “How do you turn a 544 page book into a movie?” “You Don’t! I don’tr want you kids getting your hopes, it’s gonna stink.”

Ok the right characters were in it, but that’s about it. Even the Dragon, Saphira, looks wrong. Did the animators even read the book, leathery not feathery. The whole movie turned into a game with each of us racing to see who’d say, “wrong”, whenever the script went awry of the book. OurDad got a little carried away keeping score and all, but I think the people that came in the theater with the flashlights distracted him. From then on we just hummed uha uha to each other.

Even GreatMom said, “Did Paolini approve of the script?” But OurDad was leading the critique as usual: editing this, voice-over that, plot lines, character development, I warned you guys, bla, bla, bla.

After an hour or so of Eragon (the Movie) bashing it hit me: OurDad hyped the whole thing back in November only to shift gears at the last moment so he could tell us he told us so. And boy did he tell us so.

That’s OurDad

Sorry Christopher, but the movie version isn’t going to boost book sales, but we’re still looking forward to the next book.

Really when's the last time you saw a good movie that was a book first? No The Lord of the Rings doesn't count.

Ten Bucks?! But I already paid for that!

Apparently someone at the old CC isn’t sure OurDad actually graduated from anywhere, and they are demanding official transcripts from both of the schools he claims to have attended. The GirlChild and I love OurDad’s sense for loopholes, but GreatMom told him to, “Put those diplomas back on the wall”.

Defeated again by GreatMom’s over overruling sense of “things you just don’t do” OurDad got on the Internet, the solution to all problems, and soon Great Mom was wishing she’d let him drag the diplomas, frame-in-all, down to the old CC.

“Ten Buck for a transcript?! Ten stinkin’ dollars! What the hell was all that tuition for at MooCow U.” Hick State doesn’t charge a dime for transcripts, and that’s where I got my Ph. D. Lucky I don’t have a whole bunch of jobs or we go broke just trying to prove I gradated.” He was so mad he called the registrar’s office at MooCow U not to complain, but to ask how much a replacement diploma costs--$30.

GreatMom threatened to revoke his phone privileges and told him to quit making a federal case of it, and just order the transcripts like every one else.

“For ten bucks a shot I otta just fold up my diploma and carry it around in my wallet.”

We’re still not sure if he’s teaching next semester or not. God help us if he’s home all day by himself.

That’s OurDad

The Tattletale Loophole or Revenge is a Dish Best Served by Dad

Ourdad and great Mom are always pester the BoyChild and me to learn every detail of our day. News Flash: we don’t want to tell you every thing we do, and we don’t even remember most of it. We told you: School is, except recess, booooring. However, today I let OurDad know all about it: See the boys in my class are mean especially one named K. They push you and grab you and pull you. OurDad actually said I could push back, but if I do K will tell on me and I’ll get in trouble. I hate him, and I’m not allowed to use that word. I wanna hit him, but if I do that I’ll get in trouble. I’m not gunna tell the teacher, because they don’t like tattletales. OurDad calls it a lose, lose or lose situation. I told him the whole thing; I was so mad I was crying!

And then OurDad said something brilliant, “What do you want me to do, email Mrs. F (that’s my teacher) and tell her what a bad boy K was, and that she should beat him.” “Yes!” It was great. I couldn’t believe he would something like this for me. Then he lunched into yet another rant about sarcasm, and gullibility, bla bla bla. I knew my teacher wasn’t about to beat K even if he deserved it, but ourDad had stumbled upon a great loophole. If he told on K I wasn’t the tattletale. I repeated my story heightening every detail of K’s brutal attacks on girls and his uncanny ability to know just when a teacher’s head is turned or when the principal is coming. When a teacher is looking he just pretends to be a nice; he is bad.

OurDad soaked it all in. He listened to every word, asked questions and made positive declarations and gave me exasperated looks. I was sure K would suffer. The letter OurDad would craft would have K parents in the office the very next day to discuss terms of his expulsion. My problems were solved, no tattling, no fighting, and no more K. But then I had to settle for the following email to Mrs. F. He actually cced me to prove he’d sent it.

Dear Mrs. F.

My daughter is frustrated with the social stratification among her classmates, which appears to fall along gender lines. I’m bringing this to your attention because apparently it only rears its ugly head when yours is turned due to the evident supernatural powers of at least one boy in the class. Thus allowing the boys, free reign to push, shove and grab my daughter and other girls. I think it’s a girls will be girls and boys will be boys issue, and I'm not too worried. In fact I'd chalk it up to dramatics. "I don't want to be a tattletale, but this is really getting to be a problem," she said. I’m not sure if my telling you the sorted details of third–grade politics clears her of tattletale status, or if that distinction has now fallen upon me. Please let me know where you stand on the assignment of the tattletale condition so that we can avoid any such emails in the future.

Sincerely ,

SourDad

PS

If you could let her know that you got an email from me I'm sure that will make her feel much better.

Four Legs Good, Star Wars Baaaaad

Boy child here: Newsflash, I have all the reading material I will ever need, thanks to the extensive network of authors working in cooperation with Lucasfilm Ltd. Sure I’ll read the last Harry Potter and Eragon books too, but I’m not waiting around for those to come out. I love the Star Wars books, there’s Jude Watson’s Jedi Quest series, Elizabeth Hand’s Boba Fett series, the Jedi Apprentice books, and the Last of the Jedi books, there’s books set between the movies, and even before the movies start and end. There’s too many to count, it’s amazing. You should read them!

But at our house they’re practically banned books. “How can’t expect to become president some day if all you’ve ever read is this Star Wars stuff,” says OurDad. I have to hide this Lucas limited contraband in my backpack, and I’m forced to read it in the dark with a flashlight. Can’t a kid be a kid? It’s bad enough that we have to listen to all his Lit land books on tape whenever we are in the car with him. Oh the curse words the Girl Child and I hear. I’ve tried reading his recommendations but they are booooring, and now he’s insisting I read some book about animals that take over the farm. I got as far as the singing sheep and I couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe if they had laser cannons it would be more fun.
“You can’t do any more book reports on Star Wars”, he says.
I don’t care if the animal book is short, I don’t want to read it or the book about king of the flies, or the pearl thing or the one about the pony, and please no biographies real people are boring.

So what’s a kid to read?

God help me if he wants me to read the special issue of Witness on Exile in America that just came in the mail today.

That’s our Dad

We're Back

The Girl child and I got away from the blogging thing, and we’re actually sorry. We stopped for lots of reasons: First of all we thought we’d get caught, but now we think Great Mom has a bit more of a sense of humor than we give her credit for, and so what if we spell out some of OurDad’s frustrations at the old CC he might actually get a real job if he got fired. Our second excuse: We were too busy or maybe we just were being too creative with the posts so we are going to take it easy on ourselves. Our new blog motto: More posts, less quality.

Wow, Boy Child how “Jerry Maguire” of you, but he’s got a point, with no entries there’s no quality. When we think back on all the things we didn’t blog over the summer and the first half of the school year we were really bummed that we didn’t get them blogged, there was our trip Camp Grandma Gandpa Gandma Grandpa all by ourselves, and OurDad’s beating all his teammates a the big race up north, loosing soccer seasons, the great homework blowout of 2006, how about OurDad's daily rants against the war and president Bush, the democratic takeover, his never ending book recommendations and too many more. The mere fact that we can’t remember it all was proof enough we needed to ease off the home work and get back to blogging because he is still driving us crazy, just don’t tell GreatMom or OurDad.