It's Y'all, You All

During the 2nd quarter of MNF, the cameras panned the sidelines showing many of the signs and banners expressing New Orleans fans’ gratitude for the re-opening of the Super Dome. The NFL provided much of the $185 million to renovate and repair the facility.

One sign demonstrated the need for schools to re-open as well:

Thanks to the NFL
Thanks to ESPN
Thanks Ya’ll

Any good redneck knows that it’s spelled y’all, not ya’ll.

Some advice for the Pope

You can't open a dialogue with a group that isn't interested in the concept of dialogue.

I'm the first guy to take a shot at those of my faith that expound extremism; you don't have to look to far in my archives to see that.

This is a serious question posed to all my Islamic pals: Why is it that you take such offense at the extreme words of others, yet won't denounce the extreme actions of those who supposedly practice your peace-loving faith?

Swords and bombs can hurt my bones, but words can never hurt me.

Before you swear to kill all Christians, just remember, there are more of us than you, and our traditional practice of picking and choosing our beliefs allow us to ignore "Thou shall not kill" long enough to take care of business.

We're trying hard not to 'judge' your religious beliefs. However, if you get any more annoying, you will feel the wrath of our Old Testament roots. We'll feel bad about it later.

I'm not a Fetish Guy, but

I'm one of those sappy guys who thinks a prenatal glow is attractive on a woman. I'm not bothered by the extra pounds or the swollen abdomen.



Don't send me links to those websites, either.

Note to K-Fed

Hey, dude, how about wearing a condom? How many kids do you need, anyway?

And Brit....you swallow the birth control pills, you don't insert them.

September 11, 2006

I imagine that many here in the blogosphere are sitting down today, trying to compose some sort of meaningful message looking back on how our world has changed in the last 5 years.

I don't think you'll find that here.

I'm the guy who remarked as the second tower crumbled to the ground, "Looks like the John Hancock building just moved up two spots in the 'Worlds Tallest Building' category."

What else could be said?

Hindsight is 20/20.

At that moment, we had no idea who was behind the attacks and we had no idea when planes would stop crashing. My home is 30 miles due east of a large nuclear plant. I was trying to coordinate an "escape plan" with my wife just in case we had to snatch my daughter out of school and head north (or south) to a safer place. I was trying to track down a good friend of mine who worked near the WTC; and the husband of another good friend was stuck in the Pentagon and I was trying to hold her hand long distance as she waited for terrible news (Thankfully, everyone was safe).

I cope by being a smart-ass. That's why you are here.

I'm also known for being an optimistic realist.

I marvel at how the buildings were evacuated so that only a fraction of the intended victims were killed that day. Over 300 NY Firefighters died during the evacuation. Many others are now facing a terrible pulmonary illnesses as the price for their heroism.

I think of the passengers of United 93.

Our country has become very divided in the last 3 years, and this is sad. When you think about what it means to be an American, we should remember United 93. That is what being an American is all about. That is the spirit that our enemies hate in us.

I think it is right that we are divided. That sounds odd, yet it is uniquely American that we are able to argue both sides of an issue. We all want the same thing: Peace. The question we face is how do we want to achieve it and what is the price we are willing to pay.

The people on United 93 knew what it was going to cost. A split-second decision was required, and there was no looking back.

Our initial response to 9-11 was good. But then, politics got in the way.

Lets remember the passengers on United 93. Lets remember the courage and sense of duty of the FDNY. Their valor doesn't mean we need to stay in Iraq. It just means we need to focus on what exactly it is we want, and then move forward. Changing goals and objectives just gets in the way.

Maybe it's time to isolate. Maybe it's time to let someone else shoulder the load. We know that we are a powerful nation. There's no need to to prove it to anyone else. We know it.

Blah blah blah.

Snakes on a Plane, Trains and Automobiles

I had an 8 a.m. jobsite meeting at St Bernard Hospital on the southside today. With road construction, there is no feasible way to go from my home to this location in a manner to arrive at 8:00. If I left at 5:00, I would arrive by 7:00. If I left at 6:00. I'd get there around 9:30.

So I did the 'smart' thing...I took the CTA from Cumberland (2 stops from O'Hare), transferred downtown and got off at 63rd Street, and made it to the hospital by 8:10. St Bernard is located at 64th and Yale, and serves the Englewood Neighborhood. Although I was woefully out of place in this area (based on my skin color), I was comfortable and confident. I get along with everyone.

The meeting went well, and I got on a northbound L train around 9:00. I sat in front of a man and woman who were discussing various things. The man saw the movie "Snakes on a Plane" yesterday.

Woman: How was that movie?

Man: It was (cool).

Woman: What about all those snakes?

Man: I had no idea there would be so many snakes. I knew the movie was called "Snakes on a Plane", but I didn't know there were going to be lots of snakes on that airplane. It was (very) cool.

I have no desire to see "Snakes on a Plane". I don't think 2 hours of watching snakes scare the shit out of people is entertaining. I know that a lot of people have seen it, and they agree that it is (very) cool.

But how can you live in America and not know what this movie was about? It's called "Snakes on a Plane" for gosh sakes!

How is it that I'm plugged into Pop Culture more than that guy? I mean, he was (very) cool!

Who'll Stop the Rain?

Is it over yet? Katrina?

As if the original storm and subsequent levee break weren't enough, local Chicago media (TV, Radio and Newspapers) pushed their "One Year Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina" coverage over the edge.

Lots of self-back-patting "Here's how the City of Big Shoulders came to the rescue of the victims of that terrible storm". Lots of finger-pointing.

Yet even after a year, no one has the cajones to say that Ray Nagin is a complete ass.

Which he is.

You Didn't See This Coming?

The John Mark Karr story was fishy from the start.

Let's see....You've been arrested in Thailand (where the prisons are not very charming) and you need a foolproof escape plan.

You are a complete pervert kook obsessed with the Ramsey and Klaas cases.

You need to get the hell out of Dodge, so you admit to the Ramsey killing, even though you were never in Colorado during any Xmas in the '90's.

Voila! Lots of face time on international media, business class trip to LA, then on to Boulder, where you know that you won't be charged because you didn't do the crime!

What we need here is a little "Jailhouse Justice*", if you know what I mean.

Next prediction, Karr contests extradition to California to face his child porn charges.

* I'm pitching "Jailhouse Justice" as a Reality TV Show for the new CW Network.

Freedom's just another word

I've listened to a lot of songs in my life, and I take my lyrics very seriously.

The single greatest line written in the last 75 years is from Kris Kristofferson:

"But I'd trade all of my tomorrows for one single yesterday"

When delivered by a tortured Janis Joplin, it always brings a tear to my eye.

Yes, a New Post!

To the folks who make up the 30-34 hits to this blog every week, sorry that I’ve been lazy.

Well, not actually lazy.

My Father spent 4 days in the hospital*, lost his gas/electric due to non-payment of the bills**, and I frankly had to threaten him with something worse than bodily harm if he didn’t return to Illinois with me. The days of dignity and empowerment are over. There were a lot of tears shed, but strangely, none of them were mine. He has squandered every chance we gave him, and squandered all the money that was being sent to him*** to prop him up. That is water under the bridge. Today is a new day.

So he’s here, and Stage One of the Three Stage Program to save his life has been completed.

It took six months to reach Stage One, but here we are. I slept very soundly last night knowing I would never have to drop everything and drive to Indiana EVER AGAIN. I’ll go back one more time to pack up his home, but that will be on my schedule.

Stages Two and Three will be complete in 60 days. We’re on the clock, and it will be fun. If the house doesn’t sell by then, the bank can have it. And all the credit card companies can go to hell.

When it comes to crisis management, I’d like to think that I’m somewhat better than FEMA.

Because he hasn’t taken any of his medicine(s), he suffered adrenal shock, his heart is messed up and he also suffered a minor stroke because he wouldn’t get out of bed for 2 weeks.****

**Yet, miraculously, he thought he had enough money to re-subscribe to Direct TV.

*** It appears that he was supporting my brother’s gambling addiction in hopes of parlaying a big win into big cash to pay all his bills.

****During this 2 week stretch, my brother couldn’t make the effort to help him in anyway, and it was only when my Dad seem to go into a coma, “Fredo” decided that they should go to the ER.

Yates "Not Guilty"

There is justice, after all.

Yes, Andrea Yates killed her children. For that, she will answer to a higher power.

There were extreme circumstances that led her to kill her children. For that, she needs special help.

I hope she will get the help she needs. She needs to recover from the emotional abuse heaped on her by her husband that led her to do such a heinous thing. And once she gets that help, she'll need help to be able to live each day knowing she did it.

She won't be skipping around the institution singing "I got away with it!". She will be grieving every day, wondering how she could have killed her babies.

Strapping her to a gurney doesn't help anyone.

The Three Resilients

Another photo of Sunset Crater. Notice how these few trees have thrived on the barren hillside.

I've named the three trees in the center of the photo "Jay, Karmen, and Wade".

I'm going to make a large print of this photo, frame it, and give a copy to my sister Karmen.

She'll get it.

D as is Tao

This photo is from our Arizona trip. This is Sunset Crater, which was a volcano. The crater is on the top of the hill. This is probably as close as you can get to it anymore; public access to the top ended about 30 years ago due to excessive erosion caused by the trails made by hikers.

I studied Taoism while in college and it influences me even now. I composed this photo in the Taoist tradition. If you look closely at the bottom of the photo, you’ll see my kids. One of the many ideas found on the Taoist path is that in the grand scheme of life, our existence is insignificant when compared to the beauty that God created.

In-Dependents Day

For the last four years, we’ve spent the evening of July 4th driving to DeKalb to watch their fireworks display.  It’s held in Hopkins Park, and draws lots of people.  For that reason, we park at a shopping center nearby and set up lawn chairs and blankets.  It’s not that I’m agoraphobic (well, actually I am); it ‘s just easier to avoid the traffic snarl from hell that follows the show.

My July 4th’s are usually filled with working around the house.  This year was no exception.  Since the time we moved in 14 months ago, my garage has been a shambles.  I attempted to organize it once, when I built new shelving and moved everything from the left side to the right side.  Yet, it never fails that other people’s “shit” gets tossed willy-nilly onto my organized shelving.  Sadly, most of it is my shit, and I am the most guilty of grabbing a tool and then putting it back wherever I find an open space as opposed to putting it back where it belongs.

I started the massive reorganization just before 9:00 a.m., and finished just before 4:00 p.m.  This was a messy garage.  I then mowed the lawn and grilled burgers for our Independence Day dinner.  As we approach departure time for fireworks, I feel the dread in my soul.  I truly dislike crowds.  I’d rather stay home, drink a few beers, and enjoy watching the fireflies in my backyard.  But because I’m working on providing the idyllic life for my children, we go see the fireworks.

Lately, my kids have noticed that we keep them on a shorter leash than other kids.  Our oldest has challenged us on this, and my response is usually a form of “just because Bobby Jo gets to play in the street doesn’t mean you get to.  Some parents don’t make the best choices for their kids, and you have to follow our rules.”   If I were 10 years old, I would probably think this is a bogus answer.  And it is.  

Sometimes you need pictures to go with the words in order to get your kids to understand what you are talking about.

As we were waiting for the fireworks to begin, I noticed that a family shooting off Roman Candles down the way.  It appeared to be a father and mother and a little boy, perhaps all of 4 years old.  I pointed out to my kids that 1) Roman Candles are illegal in our state, 2) shooting off Roman Candles in a public place without access to water or first aid is a foolish thing to do, and 3) even though we were not experiencing drought conditions, a fire could start that would threaten many of the people who were sitting nearby.

As the fireworks begin, the family was still shooting off the Roman candles.  Looking down the street, I saw that the little boy was holding the Roman candle.  Now I know that this is common behavior for adults, and although I’ve never done it (I’m a sissy), I have even witnessed young men have “fire fights” with Roman candles; actually pointing them at each other in some sort of Darwinian contest of Natural Selection.  Because this is 2006, it never occurred to me that anyone would allow a 4-year-old child to hold a Roman candle while it was going off.

I nudged my two kids and pointed out this stupidity.  I said, “Think what could go wrong here.  The little boy could decide to look into the end of the Roman candle and lose one or both eyes, or he could point it at his Dad and badly burn him.  Some parents make bad choices for their kids.  Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

Thankfully, both my kids are smart.  My son asked my what would happen if the Roman candle went off in the little boy’s face.  I told him that he would have to go the hospital, that his face may be scarred for life, and he might never be able to see again.  He asked what would happen to the boy’s father.  I told him that he would eventually go to jail, but not before Uncle Dale and I ran down there and beat the tar out of him.

Many a True Word Said in Jest...

The confession that John Evander Couey made to detectives that he kidnapped, raped, and then buried Jessica Lunsford alive has been tossed out by the judge in the case.

His confession came after he requested a lawyer, but wasn’t provided with one.

There is ample evidence against Couey. I have every hope that he will be convicted and sentenced to death for this heinous crime.

But if for some reason he is found not guilty and set free, I will make it my life’s mission to abduct him and either bury him alive or drown him.

I’m accepting applications for helpers. No experience required. Must be willing to serve jail time or accept the death penalty. I had previously offered to loan Jessica’s father the money to by a gun. Perhaps he has some buddies who’d like to help.

Vacation Hotels

We spent a week in Arizona in early June.  We saw the Grand Canyon and many of the sights of Northern Arizona.

We like to stay in hotels.  We really like nice hotels.  We stayed in 5 hotels over 7 nights, and here is my Hotel Review:

Night 1:  The Homewood Inn and Suites in Scottsdale AZ.  We enjoy suite hotels because it allows us to put the kids to bed at a regular hour and still be able to stay up and relax, plan the next day, and just generally unwind.  This hotel was clean, the staff was friendly, and the free breakfast was very good.  The outdoor pool needed to be “de-leafed”, as it is surrounded by many trees, but otherwise it was very nice.  At $79, this was a great value and we would stay here again.

Night 2 & 3:  AmeriSuites in Flagstaff AZ.  The staff was great.  That being said, let’s be clear:  this hotel is not a suite hotel.  The rooms were larger than regular rooms, but there was no separate bedroom.  This causes problems because it’s more difficult to put the kids to sleep (unless I want to go to bed at 8:30).  The rooms were not very clean, the furniture was beat up, the common areas were the same.  The breakfast was above average, which is a plus.  Some type of youth group was booked on to our floor during both nights.  Instead of socializing in the lobby common area, they chose to have open door gatherings in all the rooms around ours.  We had to call the front desk both nights around 9:30 to ask them to quiet things down.  The pool was indoors, but the water was cold.  The hot tub was okay.  At $98 per night, we were hoping for more.

Night 4:  Holiday Inn Express at the Grand Canyon.  The first room we were assigned had evidently hosted a cigar party recently.  We moved to another no smoking room without problem.  You can’t have a lot of expectations with a Holiday Inn Express.  The room was cleaner than AmeriSuites.  The indoor pool was sufficiently warm.  Not a lot of frills.  The breakfast was okay, not stellar.  At $122, this was the most expensive hotel of the vacation.  The price was based on the location.  Even the Wendy’s was expensive.

Nights 5 & 6:  Hampton Inn and Suites Flagstaff AZ.  This hotel is located across the street from the AmeriSuites.  We booked a regular room.  The room was clean, large, and very comfortable.  The indoor pool had very warm water.  The breakfast was very good, and the staff was nice, too.  The lobby was great, and the hotel was one of our favorites.  The price was $114, but after spending $98 at AmeriSuites and hating it, I wished we would have spent the extra money for this hotel for nights 2 & 3.

Night 7:  Embassy Suites Biltmore in Phoenix AZ.  Hands down our favorite hotel.  Lavishly appointed with very nice rooms.  The outdoor pool was huge, surrounded on 3 sides by the hotel as if set in the bottom of a canyon.  Could have stayed there a week.  Because we had to leave at 4:30 am, we couldn’t enjoy the breakfast.  The living room part of the suite was gorgeous and bedroom was huge.  I am strongly considering going back there for a ‘getaway’ weekend with the wife (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). At $92, how can you go wrong?  Great staff.

A Rawlings Guy

During our church softball tournament last year, my beloved Rawlings "Bill Madlock" infielders mitt finally gave up the ghost. I had it for over 20 years. It was a "hand me up" from my brother who had several gloves at the time.

My first glove was a Rawlings, given to me in 1968. I still have it. When I got it, I thought that I would never need another baseball glove. It seemed huge on my hand. I used it throughout my childhood, until I stopped playing organized ball at about the age of 13. I soaked it in "glovoleum" and it could practically field balls by itself. Today, the Rawlings label on the back of the glove worn away, and I can barely fit my hand inside.

I took the kids mitt shopping last night, hoping to find a decent glove for around $50. I did a little research prior to shopping, and saw a 13.5" Rawlings for about $40 online. I also saw that I could spend as much as $280 for a fancy glove. Much to my kids' chagrin, I spent over 30 minutes looking at mitts. I picked out a Rawlings that I thought would do the trick, a dark brown model made for softball. I tried on lots of gloves, wishing that my talent could justify a larger investment. There was a Nokona glove that was gorgeous. American made from american cows. The leather was thick and soft, and even though it was only 12" glove, I had to battle my better self not to drop $100 to buy it.

I know that most mitts, and especially the ones in my price range, are made overseas. I flinch at the thought of buying a baseball glove, the crucial equipment of America's Passtime, that is not made in America. Think about how I must feel about Mizuno equipment. Major Leaguers who use Mizuno gloves are evil. What, Rawlings or Wilson or Easton aren't good enough? Yet, those Mizuno mitts are very, very nice. Especially those over $125. I am a Rawlings Guy, darn it.

I then laid eyes on a glorious glove, a Louisville Slugger glove. Again, my sensibility is offended. How dare a bat company make a mitt? Stay with your own kind, batmaker! I gotta tell you though, it was a cool glove. The leather was soft, the pocket was deep, and it had two (count 'em, 2) adjustment straps. My hands and fingers are long, but I do not have large wrists. I am scrawny. The 2 straps let me strap that baby to my arm, becoming an extension of my hand. I could see myself drifting back on a deeply hit fly ball, reaching out, and making the game saving catch with this glove.

Decisions, decisions. I really had a crisis. Do I spur my beloved Rawlings brand for comfort and performance? But it's a RAWLINGS! They were the same price. I had a similar attack last year when I bought some Sonoma brand jeans at Kohls instead of buying my beloved Levi's. How to choose? My son would have "Eenie Meenie Minie Moe'd" the decision. I was dumbstruck.

As I handed the clerk my credit card, I told her that it was a tough decision. "I'm an old fart, I've always had a Rawlings mitt. I'm a Rawlings Guy", I told her.

She put the Louisville Slugger mitt in the bag and just smiled.

I better have a good year in the field. Although I can always blame it on having a new mitt.

Open Letter to Jerry Hairston, jr

Jer,

Sorry it didn't work out here in Chicago. While we don't miss Sammy Sosa, you were still just a throw-in on a bad trade. Your desire to be an everyday player never matched your true ability on the field. I know you didn't want to be a "Major League Utility Guy", but let's face it; it's better than being a "Minor League Utility Guy" which is, in fact, what you are.

Here are some tips that I hope will help you as a Texas Ranger:

1. Learn to hit in situations. Any situation would be fine. As a Cub, I could always count on you to move the runner over on a 6-3 fielder's choice with one out. Sadly, I really needed you to get a base hit so the runner could make it to third base, allowing him to score on a sacrifice fly (or more likely, be stranded as the next two Cub hitters go down on strikes).

2. Learn to field one position. Most Utility Guys can field at least one position REALLY WELL. You are more of a "jack of all trades, master of none" kind of fielder. You sort of play at 2nd base. You sort of play outfield. But you stink at both.

3. Learn to run the bases. Yes, I know, it's hard to run the bases when you get thrown out at first all the time. But in those rare circumstances when you actually reached base, I would win free drinks betting on you to get caught stealing or nailed at third trying to take that extra base. There's a time for speed, and if you ever get any, you'll know what I'm talking about.

4. Drop the jr, Junior. Yes, your father played (20 years ago) in the Majors, but no one confuses you with him. He was a good player. You suck. It's not hard to tell the difference. Also, whenever I hear "Jerry Hairston, Jr" it makes me think of your old man, who (although not a Hall of Famer) could hit for average, run the bases, and play a decent outfield. It depresses me when I hear your name. Think how he feels. Even Ed Begley dropped the "jr" after a while.

Hustle is all some of us have. But we play church softball, not Major League Baseball.

Good luck and continued mediocrity,

Jay Hansen
Waiting for next year since 1981

Too Funny

I don't see a lot of movies, so I probably won't see The Da Vinci Code. I listened to the book on CD and enjoyed it very much.

As a Catholic, I wasn't offended, nor did I feel the need to renounce Catholicism, or doubt that Jesus was anything less than Man/God on Earth. I found it intriguing that Christ (as Man) may have married and procreated. The storyline is nothing new (as Dan Brown knows) and it's a neat discussion to have around the campfire half-gassed on Crown Royal.

I am very amused by all the 'boycott' talk by insecure Catholics and Christians.

I am even more amused by a report today noting that an Albino group is upset about the portrayal of Silas, the albino villain who commits several murders in the book. They say that albinos are caring people who do not participate in self-flagellation or murder.

Once again, lets remember: "This is a novel/movie. It is fiction. It is fiction. It is fiction".

Thank you.

For Mother's Day

My Father was born 1935 on a small dirt farm in northeastern Nebraska. It was not a successful farming operation like the ones his grandfathers had. There’s a story about how destitute the family was one winter when Grandad had to cut down the fence posts from a neighboring farm just to heat the shack. Instead of a well, water was from a cistern, which essentially a pit that collected rainwater. When my Dad was 10, he lifted the lid on the cistern and saw a dead rat floating on the surface. Terrified, he brought the news to Grandad, who said, “don’t worry about it, we’re pumpin’ from the bottom”. My Father recalls dust storms so bad that when you blew your nose, your handkerchief would be filled with mud. He once said if Nebraska had a DCFS back then, they would have taken him away from his parents.

My Dad started his first business at the age of 12. He wholesaled eggs. He would drive a wagon to farms throughout the area, buying eggs and then re-selling them to markets and stores. A few years later, Grandad gave up farming and moved the family to town. Grandma worked at a small grocery store, which she later purchased and ran until she retired. My Dad kept the egg business, and later worked for Grandad, who had started a trucking company. The family prospered, and even bought a TV in the early 50’s. Out in rural Nebraska, I have no idea how much programming was available to them.

At some point, my Father determined that the hard work of farming did not appeal to him. After he graduated from High School in 1952 (in a class of 16 or so), he was drafted into the Army, and spent two years in Germany. When he returned home, he got a job selling shoes in a nearby college town, met my mother (a coed), got married a few years later and managed a shoe department in Lincoln, then moving to St Louis in 1964. We owned a house there at first, then sold it at some point and rented houses. A millinery company hired my Dad in 1966, becoming a district manager. We got transferred a couple of times, living in Ft Wayne Indiana for eight years, Houston Texas for four years, finally moving to the Chicago area in 1981, when my Dad became the president of his company.

My Dad never went to college, and there was never any question that I would go. Actually, all four of his kids were expected to attend and graduate, but I was the only one to follow the program. I did it more for my parents than for me; this fact reflected by my disinterest for the first 3 years of a 4-½ year undergraduate career. It wasn’t until I started doing for myself that I excelled.

My Dad eventually bought his company, which he later sold (but stayed on to operate). When the parent company was eventually sold to Sears, he quit. No sooner did the ink dry on his resignation his health became to falter and he suffered from a brain tumor and then a heart attack within the next 12 months.

All this is background information to make the point that my Dad was a business genius. He was sharp, shrewd, and amazingly intelligent about retailing and merchandising. Had he stayed with Sears, he could have written his own ticket. He chose to walk away, and he and my mom moved back to Ft Wayne in 1989 and he is still in Northern Indiana widowed now these almost 6 years.

In the last 2 years, his health has betrayed him. More shockingly, though, is that his sharp mind is not there. He is in severe financial straits, and only because my beloved (yet ne’er –do-well) brother is living with him, he has a roof over his head.

Now the time has come for him to sell his home and find a new place to live. I had no idea that he was broke until a few months ago, and he refused to let me help him negotiate with his creditors. He had no money for medicine, and is about 4 beats too slow to respond to questions about just about anything.

Last week, he called me in a panic. American Express was threatening to take his home and car if he didn’t pay them $1,000. I may or may not have $1,000 sitting around, but I knew that I wouldn’t see it ever again if I didn’t make another push for him to sell his home and find more affordable housing.

I went to his home and called his creditors, starting with AmEX. It turns out that the call he got was from a collection agency, and it was the initial “send us the entire balance or we’ll have you killed” phone call. I properly reamed the collection guy and laid out the story….give us 4 months to sell the house, and we’ll settle the account. I understand that he was just doing his job, but it was MY Dad he was threatening, dammit.

My “old” Dad, the captain of industry, would have never allowed himself to get in such a situation. But my old Dad is gone. I miss him very much. The Dad I have now is simple-minded and frightened. He has to trust me to get him out of this jam, and I’ll do my best. Despite the fact that I worked my ass off to meet his expectations, I am not the child he goes to first. Rather, he goes to another sibling who instead of meeting the issues head on, just sends money to him, and then calls me and yells at me to fix the problem.

My Dad is listing his home for sale this Wednesday. He’ll sell it, and then he’ll move back to the Chicago area, near the rest of the kids. My brother will be hung out to dry, but he’s 36 and it’s time to grow up. I’m networking trying to find him a job. He has grown up quite a bit in the last 6 months, and I think he’d be a dependable worker. I can only fix one life at a time, I think.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. My Mom passed away 5 ½ years ago (yes, I could give you an exact number of days, but why bore you?). I do all this for her. She’d expect it, and she’d deserve it.