Manners

There are many lessons we try to impart to our children as they grow older. Some stick the first time and others take a little more repetition before they are fully refined. Lessons involving manners are of utmost importance because they are a direct reflection on a parent's ability to raise a child.

My oldest son recently joined the cub scouts. At our meeting tonight, I was delighted to hear that the topic of discussion for the evening was about manners. Specifically, the boys had to learn how to introduce a friend to someone new. Along with that we worked on shaking hands with a firm grip and making eye contact. Each of the boys took turns shaking my hand and practicing saying, "It's nice to meet you."

My son is brilliant, but social skills are not always his forte. Fortunately things were easy on him tonight since his dad was the one playing the part of the new guy, but the real test came later just as we pulled into the garage and were getting out of the car.

Stanley lives a few houses down. He's in his sixties, but suffered a brain injury when he was young and never returned to his previous state. He lives with his elderly dad and likes to take walks around the neighborhood. He saw us pull in and wanted to stop and talk for a minute. As I was standing in the driveway talking to Stan, he said, "Hey, I want to meet your son." He's met Zach before, but I immediately realized the opportunity that had just been presented and decided to go along with it.

I called Zach over and said, "Zach, this is Stanley," just like we had practiced at cub scouts. Of course, Zach remembered the routine, but he had a slight problem. Glancing down at his fingers, he realized that it would be inappropriate to shake someone's hand with orange Cheeto dust all over his finger tips. Being a typical eight-year-old, he did what any boy in his position would do. He licked his fingers and took hold of the outstretched hand. And Stanley didn't flinch.

Next week's cub scout lesson: How to make better use of a pair of jeans when meeting someone new.

Pants

There are many things that I do everyday. My repetitive daily tasks span a very broad spectrum of colorful duties. There are, of course, the mundane things like waking up and brushing my teeth. There are also, the more complicated tasks such as reading and responding to countless e-mails that flood my in-box throughout the day. Some daily duties are pleasant while others -- well, not so much. 

Today I spent some time pondering one of life's daily necessities: putting on my pants. What really stood out to me was the design of my pants. I really don't know if women's pants are as absurdly designed as men's but if you are of the female variety, you may want to check. The issue I have with my trousers is this: Why must there be three different places for me to fasten them around my waist in order to prevent them from falling off? The next time you put on a pair of slacks take a look and you will see what I am talking about. 

The first button is hidden inside the pants on the front left side. In order to secure this fastener, the wearer of the britches must grasp the material from the right side of the fly, find the button hole, then pull said material to the left of the fly and slip it around the button that has been sewn to the inside of the pants. Keep in mind that this complicated maneuver is for a button that will never be seen and will only serve to impede access to vital areas when nature is calling following a large Diet Coke at lunch. If is sounds complicated, just wait. This is only the beginning. 

Step two for a man of my position to find himself firmly established in his trousers is to attach the hidden hook-like fastener over the small flat bracket. Most of you are familiar with this step. The fastener to which I am referring contains one small, flat silver hook on the left and a small flat bracket on the right. It is a simple maneuver, however, it still requires the use of two hands. Keep in mind, though, that at this point, with the exception of the open fly, your pants are already fastened in such as way as to hide any colorful undergarments and prevent the pants from succumbing to the pull of gravity.

Whoever invented step three must have had some embarrassing moments in life that led to the thinking that this was a necessary evil. Perhaps pants of long ago were stretchier than they are now and men needed extra fasteners. Or perhaps men's bodies were shaped differently. Regardless, step three appears to be here to stay. It involves the excess flappy thing that remains dangling from the front of the pants after step two is complete. This excess flap must then be buttoned off-center on the right side in order to complete the task. 

Once the fly is up and my trousers have been sufficiently secured one can begin to ponder the next step. Since two of the three fasteners and the zipper are completely hidden from view, they clearly have no fashion purpose. However, the third fastener, the off center one, remains in full view, although it serves no functional purpose. This problem must be addressed through the installation of a purely aesthetic belt. Clearly the belt has no functional purpose either since the pants have already been secured into place through the use of multiple layers of security. Despite its lack of functionality, most men would not dare step foot out the door without the aesthetic belt. 

Once my pants are locked up tighter than a hotel door, the rest of the day must be spent avoiding any snacks or beverages that might necessitate the calling of a locksmith to help me gain access to critical areas should an emergency arrive. A wise man in slacks, plans his day so as to allow time to reverse the security process, take care of whatever personal business is of pressing importance, then reinitiate the lock-up sequence. If he is busy, he may even schedule a break on his calendar to ensure that he doesn't miss the opportunity before stepping into an important meeting. The even wiser man, has an alarm on his iPhone, just in case. 

Now, if only I had an iPhone. 

The Chipotle Test

The United States has often been referred to as a melting pot of various cultures. Southern California's primary contribution has been that of the Mexican variety. Along with that south-of-the-border influence has come something that every culture needs: Mexican food.

I have never actually sampled the Mexican cuisine of, say, Wisconsin, but I can only imagine that it is not the authentic variety that is available in the border states. Good Mexican food can't be found in a national chain restaurant. If you want the fullness of the Mexican flavor palette, you have to find a local establishment that is owned by a genuine Mexican.

A few years ago a new chain restaurant moved into town. With a name like Chipotle, it sounded Mexican enough, however, I was immediately skeptical. As any connoisseur of Mexican cuisine knows, a Mexican restaurant must have one of the "big four" words in its name: "los," "las," "el," or "la." Absent those articles, Mexican food cannot exist. As I ventured inside Chipotle (not even El Chipotle) shortly after its grand opening, I immediately noticed two things. Thing one: the decor. Thing two: the music.

The inside of the restaurant is modern industrialist. No sombreros, no burros, no colorful blankets or festive scenes. Don't get me wrong, it was very trendy, but Mexican food is not known for being trendy. It is known for being steeped in tradition. Sorry, Chipotle, on the tradition scale you score a zero.

The music was equally modern and, horror of horrors, it was in English. If I want English music I will go to a burger joint. I expect authentic Mexican cuisine to be accompanied by equally authentic Mexican music. I want those big, fat guitars and trumpets and an occasional "Ayyyyy-yii-yii-yiii!"

Despite the fact that Chipotle serves tacos and burritos and uses words like "carne asada" and "carnitas," they are not Mexican. The most damning proof of this lies in one simple fact: they make you pay for tortilla chips and they charge extra for salsa! Mexican culture is hospitable by nature. No true Mexican would ever dream of charging a guest for chips and salsa. That would violate the traditions of their culture.

While Chipotle serves decent food, don't let it fool you. It is as American as Taco Bell and McDonalds. If you want good, fast Mexican food, find a place that has one of the big four in its name. Then evaluate the decor, music, and price of chips.

Faith Like a Child

One of the greatest joys of fatherhood is hearing the cute, insightful, and downright funny things that your kids say. Not a day goes by that one of my kids doesn't make me smile. As I tucked my two-year-old son into bed tonight, he looked up at me and said, "I need my Bible."

"Where is it?" I asked in response.

"In the leaving room," he answered.

"The leaving room?" I asked.

"In the leaving room," he insisted.

"Oh, the living room," I said as I went on the Bible hunt. Maybe he calls it that because that is where he goes to put on his shoes when we are getting ready to leave. Or maybe its because he's two and that's the way two-year-olds talk. Doesn't matter. It made me smile.

With the Bible in his hands, I moved on to the girls' room. As my four-year-old daughter prayed in her bed, I was struck by her profound faith. She began her prayer with a simple statement, "Thank you that the baby is safe when it comes out of Mommy's tummy." My older kids will pray that God will keep Mommy and the baby safe, but Cami thanks God in advance for keeping them safe, fully trusting that he has things under control.

How often do we try to control our own lives, when a simple faith that God is in control is all that we need? How often do we charge forward with our own plans without stopping and thanking God for guiding us through life's journeys, past, present, and future?

Colossians 2:6-7 - So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live your lives in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.

Retirement Plans

Every once in a while a great meal emerges from a lonely stove and an empty refrigerator. Other times great meals come as a result of careful planning and preparation. Other times, mistakes in the kitchen can be turned into edible entrees if the right combination of other ingredients is added. Tonight's dinner had a combination of all of these.

Frequently on Sunday nights, I take over the kitchen and make something out of whatever we have in the refrigerator. The first step is always to take inventory. Tonight I had a choice of three different meats. Mommy had cooked a turkey a few nights ago and I had grilled up some steak and chicken for lunch today. By dinner time, all three were waiting to be doctored to leftover perfection.

For tonight's entree, I selected the steak. It was a little more well done than I prefer, but it was tasty nonetheless. Scanning the fridge I located a lifetime supply of corn tortillas and enough cheese to satisfy the largest families in Mexico and Italy combined. Then I went to work. Before long, quesadillas were coming off the griddle as fast as the kids could eat them.

As I cooked, I realized that, although this dinner was comprised of some Mexican food essentials, it lacked the zing that so often stings authentic Mexican cuisine. It was then that I realized something. Just because I live in a town with a Spanish sounding name and two-thirds of my neighbors hail from the southern side of the border, I don't cook like a Mexican, so why fake it?

That is when my retirement plan began to develop. Being proud of one's white heritage is taboo in our backwards thinking society, but I embrace it. That's why when I retire I am going to open a restaurant called Cheese-a-dee-ya: Authentic Quesadilla Cuisine From North of the Border. On the menu you will find things like the Gringo Asada Cheese-a-dee-ya. For this delicacy, the white guy in the kitchen will start with the finest Carne Asada (pronounced Car-Nay Uh-SOD-Uh for my white friends) and smother it in the drippiest barbecue sauce this side of Kansas City. A few minutes on the grill will finish it off before before it is chopped up, covered in cheese and squished between two two tortillas. (Tor-TEE-uhs)

Another entree from north of the border would be the burger-dee-ya. Nothing beats a little ground beef, lettuce, tomato, and maybe a slice of onion and a few pickles nestled in a bed of melted cheese between two tortillas. And what could be more American than the doggy-dee-ya for the little guys? Throw some mac and cheese between a couple of flour tortillas and you've got a mac-a-dee-ya. The possibilities are endless.

We won't serve fries, but you are sure to enjoy the Deep-fried-a-dee-ya for an appetizer. Deserts will involve things like the ice cream-a-dee-ya. For this delicacy, you start with a deep-fried tortilla coated in cinnamon, then stuffed with the ice cream flavor of your choice. Toss it in the blender and you've got a shake-a-dee-ya.

If you ask me, this is one great i-dee-ya! Anyone want to buy the first franchise?

Parents' Rights

Have you ever had a well-meaning busy body step on your proverbial parental toes? If you have experienced this, you know exactly what I am talking about. The toe stomper disguises herself as a caring motherly type with far more parental experience than you could ever have. (Sorry ladies, I have yet to meet a male toe stomper.) As the proud parent of well-behaved children, you write off her advise because in all her years of experience, she has never actually met the children you are doing such a wonderful job of raising. Often these people have had far more opportunities than you to practice public discipline, although they have far fewer children. I'm sure you know the type.

As a father of four young children I have found myself on the receiving end of such treatment on several occasions. Ironically enough it has always occurred when my children are doing exactly what I have allowed them to do. When the toe stomper sees a daddy out in public with the four little ones, she immediately goes into rescue mode and thinks to herself, "That poor man will never survive a trip into the Home Depot with all those children. He needs me."

She then looks for the opportunity when Daddy turns his back for three to four seconds and swoops in to save the day. By the time Daddy turns around, she is there with a plastered smile saying, "I noticed you weren't watching the kids so I wanted to make sure they were safe."

Am I supposed to thank such an obnoxious person? I hope not, because I never have. "They are great kids," I like to reply. The inner voice, however, says something more like, "Were my children in danger? Did they annoy other customers? No? Then back off!" Fortunately I have controlled that inner voice almost every time.

Today I encountered a toe stomper whose misunderstanding of the law caused her to overstep her bounds. Fortunately, I was simply a witness and was not the target of her behind-the-scenes attack, so it was easier for me to hold back the inner voice.

The setting was an elementary school parking lot just after the dismissal bell had rung. Temperatures hovered around 60 degrees and the sun was out with just a few clouds dotting the sky. A gentle breeze was blowing and hints of spring were in the air.

The issue at hand was that a very loving grandmother had left an infant and a six year old in the car while she went to pick up a kindergartner on the opposite edge of the parking lot, never once stepping out of a direct line of sight of her car. The toe stomper witnessed this alleged felony in progress and immediately realized that she had to act lest the children die as a result of over exposure to a beautiful day. Her concern for the helpless children at the hand of the cruel grandmother was more than she could bear. Most rational adults who see such atrocities might feel compelled to intervene.

Given that her concern had to do with the fact that the children were in imminent danger of death due to a lack of adult proximity, a logical response would be to do as the Home Depot toe stomper had done and stay by the car until Grandma returned just to be sure the kids were safe. A professional toe-stomper however prefers to be as dramatic as possible, so she marched into the school office demanding that someone do something about those poor children.

Moments later a call went out on the school radio and a swarm of school personnel surrounded the car to rescue the children from certain death only to find them in the car happy and healthy and eagerly awaiting Grandma's return.

By now, some of my readers are mocking my own sarcasm. Many of you are on the side of the toe stomper. You are also unaware of the law. According to "Kaitlyn's Law," children under the age of six are not to be left unattended in a car unless there is someone over 12 in the car with them. The law also indicates that two factors must be present in order for a parent to have violated the law.*

(1) Conditions must exist that present a significant risk to the child's health or safety.

(2) The vehicle’s engine is running or the vehicle's keys are in the ignition, or both.

In the case of this proverbial parental toe stomper, neither of these factors was present and the grandmother had done nothing to violate the law nor endanger her grandchildren. There was no risk of overheating nor a risk of freezing. The car was parked in a safe location and Grandma was close enough to keep an eye on things. There were no seedy characters in the area nor a history of abductions of children from unsupervised cars. Simply put, there was no obvious risk to the children's safety.

Fortunately we live in a state that, for the time being, has yet to completely strip parents of all their rights. Provided it is a cool enough or warm enough day, parents still have the right to decide for themselves what is best for the children they know and love. And love is something a state can never legislate.

*CALIFORNIA VEHICLE CODE SECTION 15620

Sometimes You Just Can't Win

Often, despite our best efforts, we still fail. Failure can be devastating, but it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes we just have to step back, shake our heads, and laugh it off. Today was one of those days.

It all started last night when I attempted to put my girls into bed, but was thwarted by the maze of obstacles on the floor. After a brief discussion about the state of the room we reached an agreement that resulted in some fast cleaning. A few hours later as I drifted off to sleep, I thought about the what else the girls could do to learn some better housekeeping skills.

This morning before heading off to work, I presented them with a challenge listed on a Post-It note. “I’m going to make you a list of a few chores and you see if you can have them done before I get home,” I said in the most exciting voice I could come up with. “You can even put a check in the box next to each chore as you get it done!” Eager to please, they agreed to challenge.

At the top of the list was to vacuum their room followed by vacuuming the living room. The premise here is that if the floor is clean enough to vacuum, then there can’t be anything left on it. Right? The theory is true, the reality, however, is slightly different.

As soon as I walked in the door this afternoon, Maddie came running to meet me in the garage. “Daddy, come see my room!” she squealed taking my hand and escorting me down the hall. Her enthusiasm was was genuine and her room was indeed clean. I glanced at the carpet and saw the vacuum lines confirming that she had done exactly as instructed.

“What about the living room?” I asked.

“It’s vacuumed too!” she said. I went to investigate and confirmed that she had done that chore as expected as well. I lavished her with praise in hopes that we can turn her into the neat freak that her brothers appear to be.

An hour later I had to step back, shake my head, and laugh. The girls had been playing in the freshly vacuumed living room and I decided to check on them. Imagine my surprise when I peeked around the corner and found that they had decided to get into the mood of the season by creating a snow storm in the formerly clean living room. “What happened to the clean carpet?” I asked in disbelief staring at what must have been hundreds of pieces of torn up paper scraps all over the floor. Sometimes you just can’t win.

As the girls started cleaning up the snow storm, I instructed my youngest son to do some cleaning as well. “Can you go pick up the ‘B’ book?” I asked him gesturing to a book on the floor. The “B” book is part of a series of 26 books, each featuring one letter of the alphabet. Being an obedient two-year-old, he picked up the book and took it to the shelf.

“Good job, Little Guy,” I said, returning to the kitchen to help Mommy with dinner. It didn’t take him long to catch up to me. Glancing down as he toddled in, I looked in his hands. “What do you have?” I asked shaking my head, stepping back, and laughing.

“C Book,” he said with a grin. So much for getting the house picked up. Sometimes you just can’t win.

For years I have had a hard time buying my wife Christmas presents without her knowing I am doing it. The reason it has been so challenging is that I only worked a mile from home so it was tough to take a detour after work without getting caught. This year, I work a little further away and there are plenty of opportunities for stops on the way. Today I made arrangements to leave an hour early so I could stop for some Christmas shopping on the way home. I knew exactly what I wanted so the stop was quick and I was back on the road in only about twenty minutes.

Just before dinner, Mommy decided to make a quick run to the store. Not really thinking that she would take my car, I didn’t mention that she needed to avoid the trunk where her gifts were stashed. The minute she walked in the door I noticed a twinkle in her eye as she said, “Can you help me bring the groceries in? And don’t worry, Honey. As soon as I saw the bags in the trunk of your car I closed it and put the groceries in the back seat.” That makes me 0 for 3 for the day. Sometimes you just can’t win.