Football, Phones, and A.D.D.

I'm a creature of habit. I'm a creature of habit, and I tend to get lost in my thoughts. If I perform some little act enough times, I'll repeat it, even when the occasion doesn't require it. In Pee Wee League football, I played center on the offensive line. One of the things centers had to do those many years ago was gather the team to the huddle by yelling "Huddle Up!" at the end of a play. Another football behavior that Coach Baggett, and other coaches of yore, taught us was to yell "Fumble!" whenever we saw a loose ball. Sometimes, my body'll be one place, and my mind somewhere else. Any of my coaches could tell you that many times my body'd be on the field, but my mind was God-only-knows where. Sometimes, my mind was on the field when my body wasn't. In my youth, I've yelled both "Huddle up!" and "Fumble!" when answering the telephone. This was, of course, not an appropriate response, as there were no footballs around, nor any teammates, and because it confused the people on the other end of the phone. Now, phone have changed since my youth. Like a lot of newish cars, my Ford Fusion has a "hands-free" phone feature. I use it all the time. I press a button on the steering wheel and tell the car to "call home" or whatever other contact I might have in my phone. The car responds- usually correctly- and after my conversation is done, I press "end" on the steering wheel to end the call. My thoughts and actions are one. In a pretty brief time, the action is as natural and scratching an itch. Okay, now where was I? Oh, yeah. I friend of mine has been having some troubles, of late. I said I'd say a little prayer while I rode to work. And I did. After my prayer, I pressed the "end call" button on my steering wheel. It probably wasn't necessary, but I figure God understood okay. At least I didn't yell "Huddle up!".

Food Fight.

Dan Cathy, grand poobah of Chick-fil-A, has opined that marriage is a union of a man and a woman. If the leader of a chicken empire says it, I guess it must be so. Of course, he's not the only food vendor with opinions on matters of national import: Pizza man Herman Cain had plenty of opinions. If it turns out he's right, maybe we should seek the advice of other food vendors in other things: Want to know what to do about nuclear weapons advances in Iran? Consult with, oh, I don't know, Famous Amos? For the record: I like Chick-fil-A's chicken, and I like Chick-fil-A. Do I like their theology? Not so much. I'm no scientist, but my anecdotal observation leads me to believe that homosexuality is not a choice. Is it a sin? Guess that depends on how you read Chapter 15 in Matthew's Gospel, and how much of the list of "unclean" activities Jesus declared no longer verboten. I'm inclined to believe that homosexuality is not a sin. Although Jesus does mention "sexual immorality" in Matthew, he spent a lot more time putting down the establishment's abuse of traditionally disenfranchised folks than he did peeking under people's sheets. I'm inclined to agree with http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garry_Wills
that Jesus would've sided with the outcasts instead of the establishment on that one. I gotta say I'm relieved that I don't have millions of people relying on my interpretation of Gospel, as the leaders of the Episcopal Church and as the Catholic Church, and all the Protestant churches do.

I may not totally agree with the Cathys' politics, but I don't doubt their sincerity. I worked for Chick-fil-A back in the day, both back home in Tampa (thanks to my old Chick-fil-A supervisor, Dan P.,  for the picture at left, circa 1978), and also for the mothership in Hapeville, Georgia. They always treated their employees well, including me, and my experience in the Summer of 1979 (including a "witnessing" story that I might or might not blog one day) is what led me to seek another Christian employer in 1980 (see Alpine Camp for Boys, two posts ago). Dan Cathy is saying the same things he and his family have always said. They're not hypocrites. In fact, his father, Truett, took about thirty of us who were working for the "Blitz team" to his church, bought minibikes for us to ride on his ranch outside of Atlanta, and paid us to go to a Christian seminar, not to help sales, but because he cared about our souls. 


So, will I eat at Chick-fil-A? Of course I will; they make great chicken sandwiches... but I didn't go Wednesday.

Alpine Camp for Boys, Circa 1980.

I got a call from an old buddy of mine the other day. Jim and I were camp counselors at Alpine Camp for Boys in Mentone, Alabama in the Summer of 1980. Two of my friends from the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Sewanee, Woody (with whom I played football) and Margaret, hooked me up with Alpine. When I got there, I wanted to teach/coach football, or some other team sport, but was assigned to teach non-competitive sports, a/k/a "Earth Games", where Jim had also been billeted. In honor of our unsolicited appointments, Jim took the moniker "Earth Lizard", and I appropriated "Earth Duck". Jim forwarded the picture at left. I'm in the middle; he's to the far left. I think we were teaching them how to sing "Swing low, sweet chariot", in the picture, but I'm not positive. E-Lizard and I had a blast. There were some loose guidelines on "Earth Games": we had a parachute that we'd all flap up and down, and there were a few more or less organized activities, but mostly we just led the kids in whatever silly game we could imagine. If a kid scraped his knee, we'd celebrate it by giving him a stick or a pine cone as an award. We'd be patient about most things, but didn't brook bullying... or whining. If a kid was moping about, Earth Lizard would give him a "woodgie", which consisted of an exaggerated pout.  Egregious behavior might rate "the pit". I'm not gonna explain that one. Maybe Jim will. I also remember lots of little things, like drinking Tab, and doing laundry at the "disco-teria" in Ft. Payne; as well as some bigger things, like being grateful to talk about Jesus to kids who wanted to hear about him, and  the spiritual growth that I had. It was a long time ago, but I don't think I've ever had a better Summer. Thanks, Jim, for bringing it back.

William Shakespeare, Franz Kafka, and Emilio Estevez Walk into a Bar...

Lady Di and I saw two of the plays featured at this year's Spoleto Festival: The Cripple of Inishmaan and "The Understudy". The Irish production of "The Cripple of Inishmaan" has gotten rave reviews in performances throughout the U.S. I haven't checked the reviews for "The Understudy", but I can tell you I enjoyed it immensely. Both plays focus on the absurdity and futility of life. You know: the meaning of life is that there is no meaning to life. That sort of stuff. The Understudy does it overtly, as it is centered around a play about Existentialist writer Franz_Kafka. The Cripple of Inishmaan doesn't refer to Existentialist writers, but, well, it's Irish, and absurdity is sort of in their DNA.

That got me thinking about some of my favorite existential quotes through history. Here is a sampling:

"For who knows what is good for a person in life, during the few and meaningless days they pass through like a shadow? Who can tell them what will happen under the sun after they are gone?" Ecclesiastes 6:12 (NIV)

You think that Bible verse might've influenced the World's greatest playwrite?

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

William Shakespeare, "Macbeth" Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

Charlie isn't the only of Martin Sheen's kids that's into absurdity and futility: AndyMan likes to quote Emilio Estevez (who was playing the role of William Bonney in Young Guns II, and has this discussion upon being cornered by folks that meant to kill him): "You remember the stories John use to tell us about the the three chinamen playing Fantan? This guy runs up to them and says, "Hey, the world's coming to an end!" and the first one says, "Well, I best go to the mission and pray," and the second one says, "Well, hell, I'm gonna go and buy me a case of Mezcal and six whores," and the third one says "Well, I'm gonna finish the game." I shall finish the game, Doc."

Today's "Luanne" comic strip has a nice spin on team existentialism:



What's the meaning of life? Douglas Adams told us the answer in "The Life, The Universe, and Everything":



You guys do what you like. As for me? I shall finish the game.

Ash Wednesday.

On last year's Ash Wednesday, I wrote a serious post on the meaning of Lent, and on sacrifice generally. As you can tell from the stock photo at left that I poached from the Net, the priest or bishop in charge marks members of the parish with ashes in the sign of the cross. Episcopalians and Catholics have this service every year, generally using ashes taken from the palms collected from the previous year's Palm Sunday service. We walk around all day with soot on our forehead, while our well-meaning friends from other denominations point out that our morning's shower was not 100% effective. It's not forbidden for other Christian denominations to do it, but most Protestant denominations don't celebrate with an Ash Wednesday service.

There is something to be said for sticking with what you know how to do. A few years ago, I noticed that Tommy, a Methodist friend of mine from days gone by, had a red mark on his forehead. "Tommy, what's with the red mark?", I asked. "Let me tell you, Dave", he offered. "The Pastor at our church decided to impose ashes on us for Ash Wednesday, just as a new experience. He'd done this to about half the congregation, and one of the guys up front said, "I'm burning!". I thought he was just moved by the sermon, but then I noticed my forehead was really hot, too. Well, since that church didn't have any Palm Sunday palm leafs to burn, the Pastor just burned whatever he had around, which, on that particular day, turned out to be treated lumber". Anybody want to guess what you get when you mix hardwood ashes with water? Rookies!

Lent.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. It's a time of penitence and self-examination, representing a period of 40 days that Jesus was supposed to have spent in the wilderness examining himself and getting ready for his ministry. If Easter is the dessert- an up-beat culmination of Holy Week, then Lent is the Brussels Sprouts that we have to eat first. Discipline is a tricky subject for me. If I'm the one making the rules, I don't have a problem with it. In December, I completed a Marathon. Even though I wasn't real fast, the training took months, and involved getting out of bed way early to run in the cold, dark mornings before work. I played football from the time I was eight years old until I was 20 years old, and went to practice for hours and worked hard. Oddly, even though nobody made me play football (well, not after I was about 14, anyway), I always held a little something back. I was very fast for a guard, and I probably could have won all the windsprints at the end of practice, but I'd usually only try hard on the first couple of sprints, then "dog it" for the rest. If Coach told us we'd have ten sprints, I'd budget myself so I wouldn't be too tired at the end. I felt that the most unfair thing in the world was when Coach wouldn't tell us how many sprints we had, because I wouldn't know how much to save up for the end. I retrospect, it was very unlikely he was going to kill any of us (though with Coach Kolinski, you couldn't know for sure), but I just couldn't let go and go all-out. Couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it. I was a pretty good football player. No telling how much better I would have been if I would've given it my all. Maybe Lent's like that. Can I learn to accept discipline from anyone or anything else? Maybe. Maybe not.

Cross Training.

Got General Sessions criminal court for the next two weeks. They're supposed to be picking on somebody else next week, so I might find some time to post, but I can't be sure. I've also got stuff going on this weekend. S'posed to run 10 miles tomorrow morning, then limp over to the Church for weekend festivities. "Episcopal revival" sounds like an oxymoron, but then again, I'm pretty oxymoronic. Reminds me of a car I saw in Beaufort one weekend. Based on his bumperstickers, it was obvious that the dude had two main interests: distance running, and his Christian faith. Bunch of stickers advertizing both. A baseball cap by the dude's rear window contained a slogan apparently mixing the two, but it came off just sounding... wrong. Hat had the phrase "Running for Jesus". I saw it and thought, "I didn't know there was a vacancy". I wondered why anyone would want the job, anyhow. All the loaves and fishes you want, but, well, they kill you just a few years into it.

You Got to Stand For Something.

I love to read. I don't get to do as much of it as I'd like, but I do love it. Though I have a disdain for fundamentalists of any stripe (folks who can't change their minds and won't change the subject), I love my faith (such as it is), and my Church (such as it is). I also like exploring different points of view, to the extent I am able. That mishmash of competing instincts led me to Christopher Hitchens' anti-religion diatribe "God is Not Great".



He trots out a variety of arguments for the proposition that "religion poisons everything" from Islamic and Christian Holy Wars to ad hominem attacks on defenders of religion (calling C.S. Lewis "dreary and absurd". I love Lewis. Read "The Screwtape Letters", if you get the chance). Some of his arguments- for example: that the rituals and particulars of religions, and the writings of those religions are composed by fallible people and not by any deity- have traction; some of them- for example: that Christians' failure to stand up to German fascism was somehow the same thing as killing millions of Jews- do not. He trashes the teachings of Jesus as derivative and the Ten Commandments as more conducive to creating "sin" than effectively helping people. He says that we need a new Enlightenment emphasizing, as many have done for at least hundreds of years, that the proper study for humans is humanity.

While he quotes liberally from both the Pentateuch and the New Testament, Hitchens seems to miss the point: Religions, at least the ones I understand best, are all about relationships between people. You wanna love God? Love his people and treat them the way you want to be treated. The Golden Rule is in both Leviticus (not my favorite chapter, but I liked this verse, anyway) and Matthew (Matthew's account here is very active and specific). Hitchens is a clever fellow, and an atheist since his childhood, but by adopting an "anti" philosophy he's painted himself in a corner. He admits that the pervasiveness of religion strikes at some basic need humans have (citing Freud's "Future of an Illusion"), and his own struggle to find truth included embracing- then rejecting- Marxism. He takes glee in his attempt to knock down religious faith, but he offers no answers other than the "Care-Bear" weight argument lifted from Animal House's Faber College that "Knowledge is Good". Come to think of it, Hitchens isn't that different from his early hero: Karl Marx did a pretty good job trashing capitalism, but in the end, he offered no plausible alternative to it. History judged Marx wrong; I can't imagine Hitchens will do much better.

Happy Easter.

I thought about going with "He is risen, indeed. Hallelujah!" or something like that. Ultimately, I went with chocolate bunnies. I'm gonna get the Lads to church this morning. So far they have not risen. I figure a chocolate bribe might help. 'Course, there might be some negative fall-out once I get them there, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

R.I.P. Millard Fuller.

I'm a smart-ass, as you probably already know; consequently, when I saw the headline "Habitat Founder Recalled" my first reaction was, "Obviously, Millard was made by Chrysler". But it's not that kind of recall, and the founder of Habitat for Humanity deserves more than a bad pun to note his passing. Like God's best workers, Millard Fuller walked the walk. He didn't just talk about God's love, he did stuff to help poor people because that's what he thought God's love meant. Like every one of God's children, Millard had his faults, I'm told, but he wasn't some bloodless ghost preaching empty platitudes. By God- and for God- he did something. You know, maybe Millard was recalled by his maker, afterall.

The Giants.

The Lads and I have been reading the Book of Genesis lately. No, not a primer on an old Sega videogame system; the other Genesis. From the Bible? First book? No? Anyway, their is some really cool stuff in Genesis. Including this passage:

Genesis 6:4 (New International Version)

4 "The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown".

Or, if you'd rather, here's the King James:

Genesis 6:4 (King James Version)

4"There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown".

I try to sort through the stuff that seems to me to be instructive, but probably didn't really happen, from the stuff that may have actually happened. I've really never known what to do with the Nephilim: there doesn't seem to be any real instruction in their inclusion, but if the Nephilim actually existed, why don't we have any scientific proof of them?

'Course, maybe it was like the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, where they just store the artifacts away where nobody can find them. You remember Raiders of the Lost Ark, don't you? Well, here: let's melt some faces!



What the heck, I'll Google it. Maybe there are Giants out there.

Not these Giants.

These giants.

Ah, finally, the following video proves conclusively the existence of the Nephilim:

Apocryphal Account.

Okay, following the Yoshida Brothers (which I think is pretty cool), I'm going off on one of my tangents. Feel free to watch the Yoshida Brothers, then skip the rest.



I've mentioned my Denomination (Episcopalian) and my Parish (St. Jude's) before. I've published a picture of the church building and commented on the Church bulletin before. Sometimes the choice or timing of a particular hymn strikes me as funny. There was a stretch at my previous parish, Holy Trinity in Grahamville (Ridgeland), where the choice of a communion hymn for several services was "Stand Up for Jesus". The communion hymn is played at the one time where most of the congregation is sitting. Ironic, no? The music preceding the processing in today's service included three instrumentals, and one hymn by the choir. The hymn? "Let all mortal flesh keep silence". The only way this could not be ironic would be if the choir was comprised of immortals, I suppose. It's not; so it was.

I really do love the Episcopal Church. The readings each week are from a lectionary in three-year cycles, so you always know what you're getting. The lessons this week are among my favorites: Ecclesiasticus 27:30-28:7 for the Old Testament lesson; < Romans 14:5-12 for the Epistle; and Matthew 18:21-35 for the Gospel. All about forgiveness. Cool stuff. Equally cool? The inclusion of Ecclesiastus. No, not Ecclesiastes; Ecclesiasticus. Go ahead. Look it up. What? Didn't find it? That's because it is from the Apocrypha, and your Bible is obviously not Catholic, Anglican or Orthodox.

The Apocryphaconsists of writings penned after most of the TANAHK or Old Testament was written and before the first of Pauls letters was written, and are included in the Old Testament of Catholic, Anglican and Orthodox Bibles. Some of the books included in the Apocrypha are considered Canonical or "Bible" in some Denominations, but not others. The Anglican Church considers none of them Canonical, but all of them helpful for instruction, or Deutero-Canonical. It may seem odd that "The Bible" does not necessarily mean the same thing to all of the Faithful, but it doesn't. Even books now well-established in all denominations weren't always shoe-ins to make the cut. Right around the time of the Council of Nicea when Constantine was looking for a standard list of the books that should comprise the New Testament early-Church historian Eusabius listed the books. Among the borderline books that got in was Revelation. It made it because the writing was attributed to John the Evangelist. You can't keep his stuff out. Hebrews was attributed to Paul. Nobody really thought Paul wrote Hebrews, but it was good stuff, and the was the only sure way to get it in was to say Paul wrote it.

According to my Harper-Collins Study Bible, Eccesiasticus was written by a fellow named Jesus ben Sirach about 180 years before the death of the more familiar Jesus. The more familiar Jesus, being a student of Scripture and of the times, may well have been familiar with it. Certainly the following from Eccesiasticus sounds mighty familiar:

"Anger and wrath, these also are abominations, and the sinful man will possess them. He that takes veneance will suffer veneance from the Lord, and he will firmly establish his sins. Forgive your neighbor the wrong he has done, and then your sins will be pardoned when you pray. Does a man harbor anger against another, and yet seek for healing from the Lord? Does he have no mercy toward a man like himself, and yet pray for his own sins? If he himself, being flesh, maintains wrath, who will make expiation for his sins? Remember the end of your life, and cease from enmity, remember destruction and death, and be true to the commandments. Remember the commandments, and do not be angry with your neighbor; remember the covenant of the Most high, and overlook ignorance".

Ah, religion could do so much good. Could. The problem, as stated by "the Master" in Anthony de Mello's More One Minute Nonsense, is that "...people mostly pick up enough religion to hate, but not enough to love". True, dat.

Faith, Fayth, and Fireflies

I saw two articles in the Charleston paper today that seemed at odds with each other. Even more oddly, they seemed kinda like- don't laugh- the videogame I've been playing of late. I won't bore you with the details (ask QJ about the details in Final Fantasy X storyline, if you want), suffice it to say, the heroine, rejected by her religious institution, continues on a journey she knows to be terminal to save the faithful. The Church, essentially, may be corrupt, but the people who believe in it are still worth saving. Against that background, I saw an article about a man who is suing the diocese of a Charleston church who diagnosed one of its members as being possessed by a demon, but refused to perform the "exorcism" unless the dude permitted the Rite to be videoed, and unless he signed away any ownership in the video. I love lawyer's rationale in trying to invalidate the consent form to give up ownership of the video: if the dude's possessed, he probably isn't competent to waive consent. Essentially, it was the devil who signed the consent form. Are there demons to expel? If there aren't, the the whole thing is a scam. If there are, than it is shameful that the Church would parcel out salvation like rationed gas.

But just when I was ready to join Voltaire in demanding that we "crush the accursed thing" (the Church), along comes a story in the same paper about a forensic psychologist, of whom I have long known. "Bart_Saylor" has testified a bunch of times in various courts in SC. I haven't had any cases in which he testified, but I've reviewed some of his reports for cases that ultimately settled. He's about as well-adjusted a person as you'll find (well, for a psychologist, anyway), and the dude says he SAW prayers when he was on the operating table. Saw them in the form of fireflies above him, protecting him. Surely this is either traumatic manifestation of the pain he was feeling, or an effect of his surgically necessitated drugs. But this is someone who is already familiar with the medical and psychological factors that go into such a diagnosis. He knows about the side-effects of drugs, of hallucinations and paranoid schizophrenia. He must know that his peers would probably ask him to, you know, just stop by so that they could, you know, just sorta talk about the stress in his life. But this is not some crackpot, and he doesn't act like someone who is cracking up. Maybe, just maybe, prayers are real. Maybe they mean something. So, maybe, we all need to continue our pilgrimages. Even with theives in the temple.

A Flower Grows in Walterboro.

Lately I been whining a bit. Got my tax and money problems. Kids haven't been classroom stars of late. The SpongeBobMobile has not been doing right by me lately. Wah, Wah, Wah. When you get in that sort of mood, you start looking for things to go wrong so you get a bigger crowd at the pity party.

But it really ain't all that bad. We all have problems, but we all have blessings, too. Just like my troubles aren't necessarily the same as yours; My Blessings may not may not be either, but I got plenty of them. I got a family I love; friends in five states; a job I love working with people I care about. So, what's it take to wake up and realize things are no worse and no better than I choose to see them? Heard about, but don't remember reading, "A Flower Grows in Brooklyn". Maybe I read it. Can't recall, but the title, at least, sticks with me.

I walk to work most days, since I live less than a half mile from my office. Right in front of the Sheriff's Office a couple of spots have been recently re-landscaped. The flowers look really pretty. I looked around to see who was doing the work. It was a Trusty: an inmate at the jail, who has been given a little freedom in exchange for working on the public grounds. The dude is in for a year for not paying his child support. He could easily keep his job as a Trusty by just logging a couple of perfunctory hours, and taking a nap under a tree. But he doesn't do that. He works his tail off so that the grounds look pretty.

When I pass the guy, I give him a thumbs up and tell him how good his grounds look. He's grateful. He smiles and waves back. This guy's in jail for a year. Has to sleep in a smelly, noisy lockup with no privacy, no t.v., no games (not even a deck of cards), nothing to read except, if he wants, a holy book of his choosing. The food's not particularly good, either, but he's not bitter. If this guy's not complaining- if he's working hard to try to make things nice for other people, the people who ARRESTED him- what right do I have to shake my fist at God and ask how he could break my big screen t.v.?

Pharisees and ADD

I don't like Hillary Clinton. I'll probably vote for her if she wins the Democratic party presidential nomination, but I don't like her. It's not fair, really, because I don't know her. I don't like her because she reminds me of Ms. Green.
Ms. Green was one of my elementary school teachers. She was wan and humorless. Granted, I was a pretty awful student in elementary school (and worse in Middle school), but Ms. Green was a robot who represented all I hated about authority. "Conform", she'd say. "Why?", said I. "Because I said", she said. "It's go time!", I thought then (The Pink Floyd image at left was inspired by Mags, who included a "Floyd" link in a comment a month or so ago).

I'm pretty ambivalent toward authority. This should strike a note of irony, since I'm a lawyer and a former (part-time) Magistrate. That ambivalence is why I liked Bill, but don't like Hillary. Bill had a quality of mischief that I don't perceive in Hillary. When Bill lies to you, he's winking at you. Kind of like Reagan denying knowledge of trading guns for hostages: you figured he wasn't telling the truth, but dammit the guy had style. Anyway, Hillary, when she's not spinning things, seems a little sanctimonious to me. Which brings me to this morning.

I managed to get the lads up, showered and ready for Church today. This is not an easy thing, particularly since they didn't especially want to go. As my brother, amazing Ultra-Runner, AndyMan, used to say, "I like Church: it reminds me there's something worse than school". Frankly, I wasn't red-hot on the idea myself, but I think bringing kids up in some sort of religious environment is important. Trying to understand the meaning to life, and addressing that part of most of us that wants to understand and commune with the eternal- those are important things. Sanctimonious and superior attitudes are not.

Anyway, I leave the videogames and the Sunday paper, and get the Lads to Church. "The Peace" is a transitional part of the Episcopal service where you go from "the lessons" to the Eucharist. The priest says, "the Peace of the Lord be always with you", and where the Parish responds, "and also with you", then greets each other and shakes hands or nods or whatever. Instead of high-fives and pats on the back that I figured I deserved for getting two reluctant adolescents to Church, Sister Smellssomethingbad in the pew (maybe that's what smelled bad. Hee hee. "pew") in front of me gives me a "tut-tut" for the boys' behavior. Okay, they did sock each other a couple of times. A couple. Fairly light punches. Shoot, they didn't even raise any knots. Actually, they were more like jabs that only the gal in front of us noticed. I separated them immediately, and they made not an inappropriate peep thereafter. Here, I suppose I also owe a debt to Chase for his "Kids gone wild (and not in a good way)" post of a coupla weeks ago. Maybe this is a response. It's tough to raise kids. It's especially tough if you are trying to get them inculcated into an authority scene about which you have your own doubts.