Uh, I have a BFF. In my worldly travels I have met 4 women I would call BFF. They live all over the globe. They are the four people on the earth that I know if I called for anything they would be on the first flight to rescue me from whatever predicament. I don't randomly make BFF's. BFF has criteria in my world, strict criteria, and crazy as hell gets you off the list ... but apparently someone didn't get the memo.
Drew's scout leader came to the house last week to explain the scouting program here, badges, patches, etc. etc. I still think it is the fleecing of America (do a task, get a badge, pay for a badge at the scout store, have to attend 21 campouts for your eagle, more badges, more cash, I could go one and on but this particular subject I have already blogged on before. The scout leader seemed nice enough, a little off, but well intentioned and very into his scoutarama. He told me he was convinced hiswife and I would really hit if off. Okay, well, have her call sometime. I was polite. First mistake. You can't be polite with crazy.
The next day at noon ding dong at the door (figuratively as in crazyding dong and ding dong as in thesound the door bell makes). There stands scoutarama's wife, two kids ages 14 and 11 (I think). Guess they don't know how to work a phone (and if you know me, nothing ticks me off more, call, call, call, it gives mea second to at least decline or put a bra on. Always call. I was right in the middle of something, but thought I would be polite enough to sit down with her... the kids went downstairs to watch tv, play the WII, XBOX, whatever, and hour after hour passed. First one, then two, then six. Yes, she stayed from noon - 6p.m. The only reasonshe went home was because Jon came home from work and she figured we could go ahead and havedinner as a family without her family.
The visit: There needed be 6 hours of vissiting because "Cybil" couldn't seem to settle on one of her many personalitites. In her life (she was a little older than me) she had been a teacher, sherriff, super model (if you saw her your jaw would have been on the floor like my own), and one more think I forget. Mayby lion tamer, but I'm adding that one for the ridiculousness factor.
She asked if anyone from church had come to visit. I told her no with the exception of after 2 1/2 months the next door neighbor came over to indtruduce himself as our home teacher (first time I'd met the guy and he's the nextdoor neighbor ... don't get me started), BUT, we were literally walking in the door from Jon's rece3nt vasectomy. Jon was high as a kite hobbling up the stairs muttering random nonsense and the boys wereasking Jon ifthedoctor cut his balls off. Their timing could not have been worse. Of course, they wanted to sit and chat at the door. I finally had to tell them Jon was a danger to himself and others so it was time for me to leave.
This whole story was accompanied by her story. Apparently 11 years ago her husband had a vasectomy. He now has (I don't know if this was immediately following the vasecotomy or an old age thing) "performance problems" and has to take a pill ... which gives him a headache ... but really gives her a headache because it takes so excrutiatingly long for "it" to be over with. Uh, uh, uh. "Well, Jon seems to be fine so for, uh, uh ..." I was stammering for the words to possibly come up after she tells me her husband is impotent and she's sharing this information with an essential stranger!
So, on to her super model days. She apparently married a millionaire and they had two children. Therewas an ugly custody battle, people threatening to kill people, including one fellow who wanted her mother to give his kids piano lessons for free so he offered in trade to kill the ex husband. Uh ... the same ex now flies over her house in his plane (real plane, papaer airplane, not sure) to check in on her because he is obsessed with her and wants to kill her. She lost custody of the two oldest kids (shocker). They are now adults. One ofthem wants to go to school at one of the most prestigious schools in the country, but she wants in state tuition so she asked to use her Mom's Utah address. I asked which school thinking, "thesearen't exactly honor code chicks, I think BYU frowns on living with your boyfriend". Her response, "Dixie College." "Dixie? Dixie? Dixie?" I felt like I was in a new dimension. Since when did Dixie college become one of the most prestigious schools in the nation? I repeated, "Dixie?" "I mean, okay, I can understand if you lived in Massachusetts and your kid wanted to go to Harvard and wanted in state tuition, that makes sense to me ... but Dixie?!"
I don't think she liked my response, butshe continued. "And I told her since she doesn't live with me than NO she could not ue my address because then every school in Utah would know and her kids would not ever be able to get into a college (I think Dixie would let them in) or University since they knew they family was dishonest (my friend suggested only BYU would look at this situation as an immediate honor code violation screwingtheir chances of going to God's school).
Speaking of school ... of course ... she home schools. But not for most of the other reasons I've heard, "better education, crowded classrooms, more one on one time with the kids ..." No, she home schools because her 14 year-old moose of a child (we're talking at least 6'2" and well over 230lbs) was threatened by two "no hablas" (my sister in law married to a hispanic guy tells me this is the PC term when referring to other mexicans). The daughter apparently has some form of tourettes, undiagnosed except by the mom, and her needs aren't being met at the school ... and she slaps at random things in the air if you put a light above her head. Cool at parties, not cool at school. So her kids, bullied and disabled.
We then started in on women issues. Close your ears Cousin Andy. She told me she had a thyroid problem and was on synthroid. Oh, me too. She almost fell off her chair, "I KNOW what's wrong with you!!!!" Huh, what, get back on your chair lady. "How are your periods, heavy light ... how many days do they last ... how many days between your cycles?" WTF? I said, "uh, they seem normal, all systems working." She infromed me she had no health insurance, but her and the kids saw some holisitc vodoo shaman of sorts that has them hold empty bottles in their hands representing their ailments and then they are cured after some session. Huh. Of course you do.
There is so much more to tell ... but I can't possibly fit it into one blog (and yes, while staring at her I thought, "lady, you're gonna need your own blog page because I can't clog up mine with stories about you ... because you are crazy as a jack hare and provide me with to much raw crazy talent"). On a final note, I will say she informed me of one important factor: Captain AirSoft "so you know I'm a cop, right" up the street, he carries weaponry to church. A loaded pistol down the back of his concealed back holster, and one down his sock. She was reconfirming what her husband told me the night before ... but added he is one of about three people packing the heat at church. Crazy does NOT get to pack heat to church. I'm asking to be on mandatory greeter pat down duty at the front door.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Prison Rules
Prison Rules essentially means, no rules accompanied by possible violent outbursts. Since God decided in His wisdom to give me not one, two, or three, but four, count them, four boys, Prison Rules is a phrase that we sometimes throw around. Prison Rules occur when the boys are in the basement out of eyesight. You might here a winny, whine, or even full throttle scream of terror, but in prison rules boys won't tattle. If one of the boys threatens to tattle, I have never seen this so I am just assuming, I think the prison rules code of honor allows every other boy in the basement to drag said whiner/tattler back down the stairs, physically or verbally beat the Prison Rules honor code back into his mentality (never, ever, never tattle you little whining ninny).
Prison Rules exist in our home on almost a daily basis. It isn't for lack of parenting, it may be fear, or (to sound like a good parent) it might be "allowing the kids to work it out for themselves." Sure, a verbal and or physical assault may get hurled along the direction, but isn't that what boys do? Isn't that the best part of having boys and not girls? Girl whine, have to get everyone within a 50 mile radius involved, always hold a grudge, and when you think all is well, the whole event may rear its ugly head 20 years later when the offended and offendor least expect it - see High School Girl Fight references (the hostility started early with barbies when one little girl always had to be ken and the other was always skipper or barbie ... one day the ken barbie holder knew she would prettier, or more talented, or smarter, or have a better boyfriend, one day she knew that pent up hostility would manifest in the High School girls bathroom over lip gloss.)
Boys. Prision Rules. When a boy hits a boy, the other boy hits back. This could result in a hit, hit, hit, hit situation that last a few minutes, but never longer than an hour. Their brains get tired along with their muscles so they both declare themselves victrious and walk away. The thing about prison rules is that it also resembles mini anarchy. Testosterone levels that reach a certain level seem to explode into all of the cousins ability to think with some form of cognitive ability - gone, I mean it's just gone. They then share their one combined brain cell, which I might add, isn't always functioning on all cylinders. Prision Rules, anarchy.
Prison rules is enacted at my mom's house when all 10 male cousins and the one female (better start Judo early little one) gather. We immediately send the male cousins into the basement where within 10.2 seconds they have ripped every chair off of Nana's couch, unfolded every blanket (not for huts, just to strangle one another) and dumped the toy bins from here to China. It might be seen as a thing of mastery, but to the mom's, and especially the Nana, it's a thing of complete and total frustration! She has even had to put a padlock on her "craft room" since the recent discovery that the youngest of the prison rules detainees decidedthe 2" foam letters looked far more decorative strung all over the floor, stiars, and general 1500 sq. ft basement than in their protective jar. Poor Nana. But as parents, we know ... let them be ... let them be ... and don't get sucked into prison rules.
Occasionally we do hear the whine or winney and the three sisters go silent. "Is it mine, no it's yours, no it's mine ..." silence. Then a wail ... "Moooooooom" We look down the stairs to see whichever our children had been whining is being dragged back down the stairs via prison rules to have the crap beat out of him so he realizes prision rules have a code that does NOT include tattling. One one particular occasion the whiening was hitting an ear peircing decibal level. My sister looked at her husband and said, "Jake, go down there and regulate." Jake looked her straight in the eye and said, "I'm not going down there, YOU go down there." Even the adults fear prision rules. You could be tied to a chair, blindfolded, held under a flashlight, waterboarded, who knows what these little guitmo prioson guards are capable of. Occasionally one of the boys will manage to excape the basement for some mom time. He stays away from the basement for at least 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, the boys will forgive/forget this prison rules "turn and went red coat" he can again be one with the crew.
Since prison rules reign supreme at Nana's, most of the adults spend our time hoping and praying there is no real harm done to one or all of our children that we won't know about because of said prison rules. When there is a moment where we can transfer the prisoners to another destination for OTHER people to deal with them, we jump at the chance. A few weekends ago this happened. The three youngest members of the prison rules gang, Caden (3), Noah (4) and Emerson (2) were going to stay at Nana's while the REST of the gang (all flipping 7 of them) went to the pool. My sister dropped them off, told them not to drown, (we are a nurturing bunch after all) and came back to Nana's.
Ahh, relax. My two sisters, my mom, my new niece, and myself. The three little ones had a watering hole (small pole) in the backyard, a trampoline, lots of sunscreen and an unlimited access to Nana's garage refrigerator with every drink under the son appreciated by the palate of small boys (juice squeeze nasty things, hawaiian punch, etc). We all sat in mom's bedroom oohing and ahhing over the new niece while the boys played outside. The bedroom window was open so we could hear them laughing and giggling so all seemed well. Never, ever think all is well when you hear boys giggling. It's not. It never has been. It never will be.
I left Mom's (Nana's) room for about 30 seconds to get a glass of water from the kitchen. I heard giggling on the back porch and looked outside to see three little butts facing me, leaning over the side of the deck, laughing. "Gentlemen!" All three of them turned and looked at me like cats with birds in their mouths. "What are we doing?" Prison rules, prison rules, never rat out a fellow felon. "Uh, nuffin'" they say in tandem. Then I hear my sister laughing from the back room and she and my Mom come out to the kitchen to share the funny news.
Apparently in the 30 seconds it took me to get from Mom's room to the kitchen, the three toddlers had discovered that if you launch a can of Hawaiian punch as fast as a little chubby hand can hurl down into the stair well, it will either explode or splash everywhere. If you drop more than one at the same time, well, I cannot begin to explain to you the massive entertainment value for these three idiots. While I was in the kitchen, sisters and mom in Mom's room, Mom suddenly hears Caden (my child of course) say, clear as a bell mind you, "oh my gosh ... Nana's gonna be sooooo mad." Giggle, snort, giggle.
Mom immediately went to her window and scared the crap out of all of them when she said, "and why is Nana gonna be so mad?" This was at the same time I was saying, "gentleman!" They lied, all three of them in prison rule honor, they all lied. Needless to say, they were banned from all future trips to the outside freezer for liquid refreshment and forced to drink water during the rest of their tenure. Prison rules ... a couple of hours later the 7 returned. I saw them driving up the street and all I could manageto say was, "ladies, batten down the hatches, they come." The rest of the evening was spent in crowd control. This poor youngest niece. Hope she studies prison rules.
Prison Rules exist in our home on almost a daily basis. It isn't for lack of parenting, it may be fear, or (to sound like a good parent) it might be "allowing the kids to work it out for themselves." Sure, a verbal and or physical assault may get hurled along the direction, but isn't that what boys do? Isn't that the best part of having boys and not girls? Girl whine, have to get everyone within a 50 mile radius involved, always hold a grudge, and when you think all is well, the whole event may rear its ugly head 20 years later when the offended and offendor least expect it - see High School Girl Fight references (the hostility started early with barbies when one little girl always had to be ken and the other was always skipper or barbie ... one day the ken barbie holder knew she would prettier, or more talented, or smarter, or have a better boyfriend, one day she knew that pent up hostility would manifest in the High School girls bathroom over lip gloss.)
Boys. Prision Rules. When a boy hits a boy, the other boy hits back. This could result in a hit, hit, hit, hit situation that last a few minutes, but never longer than an hour. Their brains get tired along with their muscles so they both declare themselves victrious and walk away. The thing about prison rules is that it also resembles mini anarchy. Testosterone levels that reach a certain level seem to explode into all of the cousins ability to think with some form of cognitive ability - gone, I mean it's just gone. They then share their one combined brain cell, which I might add, isn't always functioning on all cylinders. Prision Rules, anarchy.
Prison rules is enacted at my mom's house when all 10 male cousins and the one female (better start Judo early little one) gather. We immediately send the male cousins into the basement where within 10.2 seconds they have ripped every chair off of Nana's couch, unfolded every blanket (not for huts, just to strangle one another) and dumped the toy bins from here to China. It might be seen as a thing of mastery, but to the mom's, and especially the Nana, it's a thing of complete and total frustration! She has even had to put a padlock on her "craft room" since the recent discovery that the youngest of the prison rules detainees decidedthe 2" foam letters looked far more decorative strung all over the floor, stiars, and general 1500 sq. ft basement than in their protective jar. Poor Nana. But as parents, we know ... let them be ... let them be ... and don't get sucked into prison rules.
Occasionally we do hear the whine or winney and the three sisters go silent. "Is it mine, no it's yours, no it's mine ..." silence. Then a wail ... "Moooooooom" We look down the stairs to see whichever our children had been whining is being dragged back down the stairs via prison rules to have the crap beat out of him so he realizes prision rules have a code that does NOT include tattling. One one particular occasion the whiening was hitting an ear peircing decibal level. My sister looked at her husband and said, "Jake, go down there and regulate." Jake looked her straight in the eye and said, "I'm not going down there, YOU go down there." Even the adults fear prision rules. You could be tied to a chair, blindfolded, held under a flashlight, waterboarded, who knows what these little guitmo prioson guards are capable of. Occasionally one of the boys will manage to excape the basement for some mom time. He stays away from the basement for at least 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, the boys will forgive/forget this prison rules "turn and went red coat" he can again be one with the crew.
Since prison rules reign supreme at Nana's, most of the adults spend our time hoping and praying there is no real harm done to one or all of our children that we won't know about because of said prison rules. When there is a moment where we can transfer the prisoners to another destination for OTHER people to deal with them, we jump at the chance. A few weekends ago this happened. The three youngest members of the prison rules gang, Caden (3), Noah (4) and Emerson (2) were going to stay at Nana's while the REST of the gang (all flipping 7 of them) went to the pool. My sister dropped them off, told them not to drown, (we are a nurturing bunch after all) and came back to Nana's.
Ahh, relax. My two sisters, my mom, my new niece, and myself. The three little ones had a watering hole (small pole) in the backyard, a trampoline, lots of sunscreen and an unlimited access to Nana's garage refrigerator with every drink under the son appreciated by the palate of small boys (juice squeeze nasty things, hawaiian punch, etc). We all sat in mom's bedroom oohing and ahhing over the new niece while the boys played outside. The bedroom window was open so we could hear them laughing and giggling so all seemed well. Never, ever think all is well when you hear boys giggling. It's not. It never has been. It never will be.
I left Mom's (Nana's) room for about 30 seconds to get a glass of water from the kitchen. I heard giggling on the back porch and looked outside to see three little butts facing me, leaning over the side of the deck, laughing. "Gentlemen!" All three of them turned and looked at me like cats with birds in their mouths. "What are we doing?" Prison rules, prison rules, never rat out a fellow felon. "Uh, nuffin'" they say in tandem. Then I hear my sister laughing from the back room and she and my Mom come out to the kitchen to share the funny news.
Apparently in the 30 seconds it took me to get from Mom's room to the kitchen, the three toddlers had discovered that if you launch a can of Hawaiian punch as fast as a little chubby hand can hurl down into the stair well, it will either explode or splash everywhere. If you drop more than one at the same time, well, I cannot begin to explain to you the massive entertainment value for these three idiots. While I was in the kitchen, sisters and mom in Mom's room, Mom suddenly hears Caden (my child of course) say, clear as a bell mind you, "oh my gosh ... Nana's gonna be sooooo mad." Giggle, snort, giggle.
Mom immediately went to her window and scared the crap out of all of them when she said, "and why is Nana gonna be so mad?" This was at the same time I was saying, "gentleman!" They lied, all three of them in prison rule honor, they all lied. Needless to say, they were banned from all future trips to the outside freezer for liquid refreshment and forced to drink water during the rest of their tenure. Prison rules ... a couple of hours later the 7 returned. I saw them driving up the street and all I could manageto say was, "ladies, batten down the hatches, they come." The rest of the evening was spent in crowd control. This poor youngest niece. Hope she studies prison rules.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Air Soft Guns, Law Enforcement, Papa Smurf
There are four facts you must understand so this story makes sense.
1) The above picture is an "airsoft" gun. It is a toy. A toy male teens and 30+ adults D&D, livin in their parents basement and eat dpritos and ding dongs all day, blog, chat, research, and love.
2) Air Soft guns are required to have a large orange tip on the end so they are not confused with "real" guns. This gun above, does it look like a "real" gun to you? I say no, some say yes, some are morons.
3) We have one set of friends here in righteous cloud floating Saratoga Springs., Utah County, Utah. Mike and Jen. Mike works at the prison (I won't say which prison to protect anonymity, but it's in bluffdale). Mike and Jen were the first family to build a house in our neighborhood 4 years ago. Across the street, let's call him "Pat", built his home. "Pat" and Mike already knew one another. "Pat" was a former prison worker with Mike ... and according to Mike, "Pat" cried, daily, because he was a "puss" and the other prison guards found great joy in exposing his lack of machismo at every turn. I did ask, "seriously, he cried EVERY DAY?" Mike said, "Cort, I'm not kidding, every day, it was pitiful and hilarious all at the same time."
4) "Pat" tried for years to get out of the prison system. He applied "everywhere", and was finally employed by the DMV. (I think it's a step above mall cop). He does have an unmarked cop car, with a light. He has been given permission to write tickets if so deemed necessary. He has given a ticket to Mike's wife for running a stop sign ... while his kids were in the back of his cruiser ... as he was taking them to school. Guess those days of crying in the prision are still with him. "Pat" apparently gave alot of tickets while cruising, running errands with the family, in said unmarked cop car. For sure, macho, and his family needs to know. The ticket he gave Mike's wife? Mike handled that. "Pat" no longer uses his unmarked cruiser for family errand time ... and his ticket giving days have been suspended. He's now in charge of driving around looking for stolen cars.
This is a long, but necessary explanation of the REST of the story.
Drew has made one friend here. His name is "Steven". He's a good kid, we like having him around, and he too loves the airsoft guns. One day Steven brings said airsoft gun to the house, and somewhere between shooting and cocking the gun, it was broken, over cocked, or something, and Drew was the last to use it. I entered the scene when the two of them were at the kitchen table trying to super glue the part of the mechanism on the gun back together. Steven seemed "terrified", Drew looked like he was going to lose a friend (he felt horrible). So I asked what happened, etc. "It's a toy guys, don't sweat it." Steven's response, "you don't know my Dad ... you don't know my Dad ..."
It's true. I didn't know his Dad. We had not yet become friends with Mike and Jen. I didn't know Steven's Dad looked like Papa Smurf, cried daily at the prison, worked for the DMV, and had his cruiser privileges revoked. I was "concerned" at Steven's terrified tone over this toy. A kid scared with that phrase ... somethings not okay at home. "Should I call my Dad?" Well, honesty is the best policy in my experience, and if it's really that big of a deal, we can look into replacing the gun.
Steven called his Dad. I hear screaming in the other end of the line. Steven didn't get many words in through the screaming of, "what's wrong with you, not replacing, how dare you, etc." Daddy dearest then hung up on Steven. "You don't know my Dad ... he gave me this gun a year ago and it was $180." Huh. Seconds later Steven's mom calls. She yells the same comments, then hangs up. "You don't know my mom." huh. So apparently his parents were both highly rational people. Minutes later, Jon arrives. "Steven, Jon can fix just about anything, let him try and fix this." Ring, ring, Steven's Dad instructs Steven to come home for dinner. Michael tells him Drew's Dad is trying to fix his gun. Steven's Dad, "Pat" says, "NO! Bring the gun home, now"
So here we stand. I HAD told Steven we COULD replace the toy gun. Drew gets a text from Steven, "when are you going to buy my new gun?" WTH? Jon and I discuss the situation. I want to talk to the parents. Jon doesn't want Drew to lose a friendship over a toy. The saga goes on for weeks. Steven texting Drew, "when are you getting my gun?" and sprinkling in other "what's up" comments. Jon researches said gun. #1 It was recalled 5 years ago for the exact piece that broke when the two of them were playing with it #2 It was recalled, not new a year ago, and brand new it was $50 #3 Someone lies.
I let this simmer. I posted on FB for ideas. Everyone had great ideas. I let it simmer longer. Jon bought a new gun. I didn't agree. Steven has not been given the gun. And as luck would have it three days ago I turned the corner after running some errands and a beam of heavenly light shone down on the front of Michael's house. There was Steven and his Dad, "Pat" working in the front yard. PERFECT opportunity to talk to both of them, get "Pat's" take on the situation, and have Steven confirm or deny his new gun $180 story.
By this point of the situation, I knew of Pat's prison crying DMV cruiser ticket revoking days. I had, however, never seen him in person. I am tall. 5'10". Steven is at least as tall as me. "Pat" on the other hand is no bigger than Papa Smurf ... as I approached his front porch he stood up on the first step I can only assume to put himself into a posturing position wherein he stood only 6" shorter than me rather than a full foot. This was not his smurfiest moment and judging from the size of Michael I could only assume his mother must be a gorilla.
Papa Smurf removed ONE of his ear buds. He was on his "IPOD" listening to tunes. The removal of one ear bud is the same thing my 13 year-old son does to me when he doesn't want to listen to me but wants to act like he is. long story - short version. I introduce myself. Tell "Pat" how much we like Michael, he's a good kid, and we want he and Drew to be friends. Then I launch into, "so the parents' haven't had a chance to talk and I just wanted to see where all of us stand on this situation." In a non smurfy way, Papa Smurf informed me of the following, "well, in our fammmly, we teach our kid that if he breaks sometin belongin' to someone, he replaced it." (these aren't typos, this is real) Okay, this was their parenting style.
I responded, "okay, well, our concern is we jsut want both boys to learn a lesson of responsibility." I then told "Pat" about Jon/s reseach of said gun, recall of said gun, no way said hun was a year old, and brand new 5 years ago it was $50. Pat wasn't having it, but I continued, "Jon has found a similar gun for $50, we've spoken with Drew, and Drew has agreed that he will earn half the cost of the gun to repay the broken gun given the whole situation." Pat repeated his caveman parenting philosophy of toy replacement followed by the following ... hand to God, I can't make this up...
"So you know I'm a cop, right?" Uh, yeah, we're friends with Mike and Jen, so I heard that. (In my head I am thinking about his "cop" status, the crying at the prison, the DMV status, etc. but I held myself together from falling into hysterical laughter.) Pat put both hands on his hips and said, "well, since you know I'm a cop (again, now biting my lip to avoid hysterical laughter), I can tell you that the gun isn't a year old, it's a few years old. It's been sitting in my closet waiting for the time when I thought Michael was old enough to be responsible to use it. Because (again, hand to God I can't make this up), you know, I use this gun in law enforcement." "Uh, you what?" "Well, yeah, you know, when people have this rifle pointing at them they don't know it's not real and they don't want to get shot so they submit." (In my head I am thinking the following: this is a clear, bright orange tipped gun. I know NOTHING about guns, but I know this is not a real "rifle".
Sometimes when my head has a thought my mouth doesn't take a moment to clear the thought before I speak. This was one of those moments when I said, "huh, well, note to self, if I ever decide to go on a crime spree in Utah county I'll just keep running when the airsoft rifle is pointed at me because I know all I'm gonna get is a small plastic pellett to the ass, and Bradyn's been hit in the butt by one of those pellets, and it just left a mark for a few days." Papa Smurf ... not pleased... not happy ... not amused.
"Well, let's just let the boys work this out amongst themselves, I mean, if you and your husband just want to get him the $80 gun then that's fine with me and my wife." The what? Did I hear you correctly? The what? Brand new this "toy" was $50, before recall, 5 years ago. He repeated his $80 comment and said, "but if it's an issue of the money, then I mean you can just get the $50 rifle." Again, thoughts left the mouth. "It's NOT an issue of the cost, I assure you, we could buy Michael 20 airsfot rifles if we wanted to, it's the principle of the lesson being taught to these boys that I am worried about .. it was the terror Stevven exhibited at the thought of telling you the gun was broken that concerned me to suggest we could replace the toy if we needed to. He was terrified of your reaction ..." "Well, he should have been." I held it together, I wanted to waterboard him on the spot and ask him to apologize profoundly for being an ass, but somehowthat seems lillegal and there would then be air soft pelletts flying all over Utah County looking for me.
Papa Smurf decided to repeat lettign the boys work it out, and he put his ear bud back in. He took out his ear bud, "is Drew in scouts?" Uh, no, rainman, where did that come from? "Okay, well, I used to be the sscout leader (really, that inspires faith and hope that this douche bag was in charge of young minds) but it's someone new." I had it at this point. I looked at Michael, who had stood silent the whole conversation and said, "hey, send me the scout stuff okay, I'll call the guy if Drew's interested, oh, and come on by the house anytime, Drew would love to hang out."
I politely said goodbye, but Papa Smurf was already back with both ear buds in listening to what could only I think he was ticked for 2 reasons a) I have a uterus b) I'm a foot taller. This does not bode well for an individual sufering with "little man syndrome". People suffering with this syndrome usually drive big trucks with giant wheels and bumper stickers that say "no fat chicks". Probably because a fat chick would beat the hell out of them.
School starts August 23rd. Please pray Drew makes another friend. Papa's Smurf's behavior is not smurfy. His wife must be a gorilla judging from Michael's size. There is no way I could handle a friendship with a smurf and a gorilla.
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| AIR SOFT GUN (notice BRIGHT ORANGE tip) |
There are four facts you must understand so this story makes sense.
1) The above picture is an "airsoft" gun. It is a toy. A toy male teens and 30+ adults D&D, livin in their parents basement and eat dpritos and ding dongs all day, blog, chat, research, and love.
2) Air Soft guns are required to have a large orange tip on the end so they are not confused with "real" guns. This gun above, does it look like a "real" gun to you? I say no, some say yes, some are morons.
3) We have one set of friends here in righteous cloud floating Saratoga Springs., Utah County, Utah. Mike and Jen. Mike works at the prison (I won't say which prison to protect anonymity, but it's in bluffdale). Mike and Jen were the first family to build a house in our neighborhood 4 years ago. Across the street, let's call him "Pat", built his home. "Pat" and Mike already knew one another. "Pat" was a former prison worker with Mike ... and according to Mike, "Pat" cried, daily, because he was a "puss" and the other prison guards found great joy in exposing his lack of machismo at every turn. I did ask, "seriously, he cried EVERY DAY?" Mike said, "Cort, I'm not kidding, every day, it was pitiful and hilarious all at the same time."
4) "Pat" tried for years to get out of the prison system. He applied "everywhere", and was finally employed by the DMV. (I think it's a step above mall cop). He does have an unmarked cop car, with a light. He has been given permission to write tickets if so deemed necessary. He has given a ticket to Mike's wife for running a stop sign ... while his kids were in the back of his cruiser ... as he was taking them to school. Guess those days of crying in the prision are still with him. "Pat" apparently gave alot of tickets while cruising, running errands with the family, in said unmarked cop car. For sure, macho, and his family needs to know. The ticket he gave Mike's wife? Mike handled that. "Pat" no longer uses his unmarked cruiser for family errand time ... and his ticket giving days have been suspended. He's now in charge of driving around looking for stolen cars.
This is a long, but necessary explanation of the REST of the story.
Drew has made one friend here. His name is "Steven". He's a good kid, we like having him around, and he too loves the airsoft guns. One day Steven brings said airsoft gun to the house, and somewhere between shooting and cocking the gun, it was broken, over cocked, or something, and Drew was the last to use it. I entered the scene when the two of them were at the kitchen table trying to super glue the part of the mechanism on the gun back together. Steven seemed "terrified", Drew looked like he was going to lose a friend (he felt horrible). So I asked what happened, etc. "It's a toy guys, don't sweat it." Steven's response, "you don't know my Dad ... you don't know my Dad ..."
It's true. I didn't know his Dad. We had not yet become friends with Mike and Jen. I didn't know Steven's Dad looked like Papa Smurf, cried daily at the prison, worked for the DMV, and had his cruiser privileges revoked. I was "concerned" at Steven's terrified tone over this toy. A kid scared with that phrase ... somethings not okay at home. "Should I call my Dad?" Well, honesty is the best policy in my experience, and if it's really that big of a deal, we can look into replacing the gun.
Steven called his Dad. I hear screaming in the other end of the line. Steven didn't get many words in through the screaming of, "what's wrong with you, not replacing, how dare you, etc." Daddy dearest then hung up on Steven. "You don't know my Dad ... he gave me this gun a year ago and it was $180." Huh. Seconds later Steven's mom calls. She yells the same comments, then hangs up. "You don't know my mom." huh. So apparently his parents were both highly rational people. Minutes later, Jon arrives. "Steven, Jon can fix just about anything, let him try and fix this." Ring, ring, Steven's Dad instructs Steven to come home for dinner. Michael tells him Drew's Dad is trying to fix his gun. Steven's Dad, "Pat" says, "NO! Bring the gun home, now"
So here we stand. I HAD told Steven we COULD replace the toy gun. Drew gets a text from Steven, "when are you going to buy my new gun?" WTH? Jon and I discuss the situation. I want to talk to the parents. Jon doesn't want Drew to lose a friendship over a toy. The saga goes on for weeks. Steven texting Drew, "when are you getting my gun?" and sprinkling in other "what's up" comments. Jon researches said gun. #1 It was recalled 5 years ago for the exact piece that broke when the two of them were playing with it #2 It was recalled, not new a year ago, and brand new it was $50 #3 Someone lies.
I let this simmer. I posted on FB for ideas. Everyone had great ideas. I let it simmer longer. Jon bought a new gun. I didn't agree. Steven has not been given the gun. And as luck would have it three days ago I turned the corner after running some errands and a beam of heavenly light shone down on the front of Michael's house. There was Steven and his Dad, "Pat" working in the front yard. PERFECT opportunity to talk to both of them, get "Pat's" take on the situation, and have Steven confirm or deny his new gun $180 story.
By this point of the situation, I knew of Pat's prison crying DMV cruiser ticket revoking days. I had, however, never seen him in person. I am tall. 5'10". Steven is at least as tall as me. "Pat" on the other hand is no bigger than Papa Smurf ... as I approached his front porch he stood up on the first step I can only assume to put himself into a posturing position wherein he stood only 6" shorter than me rather than a full foot. This was not his smurfiest moment and judging from the size of Michael I could only assume his mother must be a gorilla.
Papa Smurf removed ONE of his ear buds. He was on his "IPOD" listening to tunes. The removal of one ear bud is the same thing my 13 year-old son does to me when he doesn't want to listen to me but wants to act like he is. long story - short version. I introduce myself. Tell "Pat" how much we like Michael, he's a good kid, and we want he and Drew to be friends. Then I launch into, "so the parents' haven't had a chance to talk and I just wanted to see where all of us stand on this situation." In a non smurfy way, Papa Smurf informed me of the following, "well, in our fammmly, we teach our kid that if he breaks sometin belongin' to someone, he replaced it." (these aren't typos, this is real) Okay, this was their parenting style.
I responded, "okay, well, our concern is we jsut want both boys to learn a lesson of responsibility." I then told "Pat" about Jon/s reseach of said gun, recall of said gun, no way said hun was a year old, and brand new 5 years ago it was $50. Pat wasn't having it, but I continued, "Jon has found a similar gun for $50, we've spoken with Drew, and Drew has agreed that he will earn half the cost of the gun to repay the broken gun given the whole situation." Pat repeated his caveman parenting philosophy of toy replacement followed by the following ... hand to God, I can't make this up...
"So you know I'm a cop, right?" Uh, yeah, we're friends with Mike and Jen, so I heard that. (In my head I am thinking about his "cop" status, the crying at the prison, the DMV status, etc. but I held myself together from falling into hysterical laughter.) Pat put both hands on his hips and said, "well, since you know I'm a cop (again, now biting my lip to avoid hysterical laughter), I can tell you that the gun isn't a year old, it's a few years old. It's been sitting in my closet waiting for the time when I thought Michael was old enough to be responsible to use it. Because (again, hand to God I can't make this up), you know, I use this gun in law enforcement." "Uh, you what?" "Well, yeah, you know, when people have this rifle pointing at them they don't know it's not real and they don't want to get shot so they submit." (In my head I am thinking the following: this is a clear, bright orange tipped gun. I know NOTHING about guns, but I know this is not a real "rifle".
Sometimes when my head has a thought my mouth doesn't take a moment to clear the thought before I speak. This was one of those moments when I said, "huh, well, note to self, if I ever decide to go on a crime spree in Utah county I'll just keep running when the airsoft rifle is pointed at me because I know all I'm gonna get is a small plastic pellett to the ass, and Bradyn's been hit in the butt by one of those pellets, and it just left a mark for a few days." Papa Smurf ... not pleased... not happy ... not amused.
"Well, let's just let the boys work this out amongst themselves, I mean, if you and your husband just want to get him the $80 gun then that's fine with me and my wife." The what? Did I hear you correctly? The what? Brand new this "toy" was $50, before recall, 5 years ago. He repeated his $80 comment and said, "but if it's an issue of the money, then I mean you can just get the $50 rifle." Again, thoughts left the mouth. "It's NOT an issue of the cost, I assure you, we could buy Michael 20 airsfot rifles if we wanted to, it's the principle of the lesson being taught to these boys that I am worried about .. it was the terror Stevven exhibited at the thought of telling you the gun was broken that concerned me to suggest we could replace the toy if we needed to. He was terrified of your reaction ..." "Well, he should have been." I held it together, I wanted to waterboard him on the spot and ask him to apologize profoundly for being an ass, but somehowthat seems lillegal and there would then be air soft pelletts flying all over Utah County looking for me.
Papa Smurf decided to repeat lettign the boys work it out, and he put his ear bud back in. He took out his ear bud, "is Drew in scouts?" Uh, no, rainman, where did that come from? "Okay, well, I used to be the sscout leader (really, that inspires faith and hope that this douche bag was in charge of young minds) but it's someone new." I had it at this point. I looked at Michael, who had stood silent the whole conversation and said, "hey, send me the scout stuff okay, I'll call the guy if Drew's interested, oh, and come on by the house anytime, Drew would love to hang out."
I politely said goodbye, but Papa Smurf was already back with both ear buds in listening to what could only I think he was ticked for 2 reasons a) I have a uterus b) I'm a foot taller. This does not bode well for an individual sufering with "little man syndrome". People suffering with this syndrome usually drive big trucks with giant wheels and bumper stickers that say "no fat chicks". Probably because a fat chick would beat the hell out of them.
School starts August 23rd. Please pray Drew makes another friend. Papa's Smurf's behavior is not smurfy. His wife must be a gorilla judging from Michael's size. There is no way I could handle a friendship with a smurf and a gorilla.
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