...Sticks & Stones & Words...

Remember the old saying, “Stick and stones may break my bones, but names and faces won’t hurt me.” Even though we may have said it in a lyrical sort of way, ending with a nah, nah, nah, nah, nah nah. It’s a dangerous lie. Words have spiritual value you know. They can create life in our spirit or they can produce death. Cruel words crush the soul and wound the spirit of the person.

I posted this quote on Facebook and after I did, a barrage of memories of my childhood in the early 60’s came flooding back. I remember my mother telling me to say this when I was at the mercy of some mean nasty kid that made me cry. I remember screaming it at the top of my lungs with tears in my eyes a few times at someone who hurt my friend’s feelings or mine. Sometimes it’s just hard growing up. We took the dose of childhood with a spoonful of caster oil, pulled up our big girl panties, and went forward. I was talking with my husband about our different childhood memories and he chuckled and gave me that look, you know the kind that says, hold on, stop right there, and then he blurts out, “Sounds to me like you were one of the mean kids.” Naturally, I gasped, “Not me,” I replied. “Well,” he says. “Sounds to me any kid that screams at another kid, ‘Your mother wears Army boots,’ is kind of a mean kid, don’t you think?”

“Humph.” Back in the early 60’s that was a common thing for kids to say if they wanted to be spiteful. “But, they said it to me,” I retorted. Any comment made towards someone’s mother was a personal attack. Fightin’ words to be exact. I grew up with a close-knit group of neighborhood kids. We were all born and were raised on the same street. We were the next generation of kids whose older brothers and sisters were in high school or already graduated. Our street was our territory and those who invaded it, most of the time weren’t welcomed. Hmmmm…come to think of it, what I just wrote makes us sound like a bunch of little bullies. I assure you we weren’t. And, we were not the new generation replicas of the Little Rascals either. But there were a couple times someone was initiated into our spur of the moment clubs. We did stupid things to them, like blindfolding someone and making them smell a concoction of rotten fruit that fell off the trees and ended up throwing rotten fruit at everyone in rotten fruit tag. We made up stuff to do and yes, there were a couple kids who were picked on more than others, but no one was ever immuned. Eventually everyone was the blunt of a prank, you know how the saying goes, what goes around comes around. It came around that eventually our school peers picked us on…something like a rite of passage without the ceremony. No one is inoculated from being victimized once or twice in his or her lives.

This leads me back to the beginning of why I started to write today’s blog. Words. Words are spoken from being hurt. Words are written when you’re hurt and can’t express them any other way. Both forms have hurt me. I have hurt others by both. Words can be vicious hooks with enormous power, becoming a living entity that grows, spreads, and influences others directly or indirectly. Words can be taken out of context. I am not above saying I have held grudges because of spoken and written words, hell, I’m the Queen of Grudges! One word, just one frickin’ word out of place driven by emotion can submerge a relationship. I know. I think of my mother cautioning me, “Don’t ever put in writing what you wouldn’t want repeated. You can never take it back.” She was a wise woman in many ways. Now, I will close and let you ponder the power of the written and the spoken word. Notice how it provokes and divides or calms and connects. Does it create and produce change? I have pondered the same questions and my own faults. I am increasingly more cautious in what I say and how I listen to the words around me.

Oh, and one last thought, if you ever hear a kid scream, “Your mother wears Army boots!” Tell them that you personally want to thank her for wearing them and God Bless Her!

Peace everyone...

...Another example of, "Here's Your Sign"...

Setting: A warm sunny afternoon in the mountains.  We’ve been driving with no place in particular enjoying the colors of autumn when the thought of ice cream becomes desirable. There weren’t any ice cream parlors nearby, so we pulled into McDonalds.

Voice: “Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try a warm apple pie?”
Spouse: “No thank you. Two ice cream cones, please.”
Voice: “Your total is $1.08. Pay at the first window.”
Spouse: “I ordered two cones.”
Voice:  Hesitation. “Yes, I got that. Pay at the first window.”
Spouse: Do you suppose she took two separate orders? I shrugged my shoulders and considered where we were. “Who knows,” I replied.
Spouse: Pushes the order button and states, “I ordered two ice cream cones.”
Voice: “Yes, I know. Please pull up to the first window.”
Spouse: Shakes head and pulls up to the first window to pay. “That will be $1.08,” she says with her hand out.
Spouse: “I ordered two cones.”
Voice: “I know. It will be $1.08, and another $1.08 for the second order.”
Spouse: Hands the attendant $2.16 for both orders.
Voice: “Your change is $1.08,” and hands him back $1.08. “The second order will also be $1.08.”
Spouse: “Really? No kidding.” He scrunched his face and looked at me in disbelief. Shook his head and handed her the $1.08 for the second cone. “Stupidity knows no boundaries,” he says.

We drive up to second window to receive our order, another employee slides open the window and my husband chuckled, (I was really hoping he wasn’t going to comment on the first employee who I am referring to as ‘the voice’) and said, “Now I really got my laughs for the day,” pointing to the vinyl sign on the outside of the drive thru window.

I noticed the employee had a puzzled look on her face and once again, my spouse pointed to the sign that read, ‘Braille menu available.’
Spouse: “Duh…Now why would a person at a drive thru window need a Braille menu?”

Employee Two: She shrugged her shoulders. Dumbfounded she says, “I don’t know, but if you come inside you can see the whole Braille menu.”
I am trying to control my laughter as he hands me my cone. “I don’t think she got it,” I whispered, not wanting to hurt her feelings.
Spouse: “I’m sorry, but could you clarify this for me? If I am driving, why would I need a Braille menu?”

I was sure from the pissed off look on her face she was ready to get the manager to take care of the smart-ass patron harassing her. Obviously, she still didn’t get it.

Spouse: “I’ll answer for you,” he said amused. “If I needed a Braille menu I certainly wouldn’t be driving.”
Employee Two: “Why?” She shook her head and with a sarcastic expression, she let out a loud sigh.
Spouse: In a slow and deliberate manner he answered her question, “Because it would mean I would be blind.”
The girl at the window laughed, “Oh yeah.” You know, the kind of laugh that tells you she still didn’t get what blindness had to do with a Braille menu. We lost it when she said, “Remember, the next time you come back you’ll need to come inside to read the Braille menu.”

We were still kidding about the McDonald’s incident when we arrived at the mall a short time later. Dillard’s was offering a gift with purchase that I like to take advantage of. I didn’t recognize a couple new faces at the cosmetics counter among the familiar ones who were assisting other customers. The girl who waited on me certainly was pleasant enough and got the product I came to purchase. Then she came out with a great sales pitch about a similar product I should try. I told her no thank you because I was pleased with the results of the moisturizer I always use. Not wanting to lose a probable high dollar sale, she asks, “Can I ask which eye cream you use?” I mentioned that I get the same results from using the same moisturizing cream for my face, neck and my eyes. Her eyes widened and with complete astonishment, and she leaned closer to me as she assessed my skin. “Oh no,” she said shaking her head. “You can’t use the same products for your eyes that you use on your face. You could have some serious affects because of it…you could go blind or worse yet, the area around could melt or worse.”

I couldn’t help myself. I really didn’t think she was serious and I broke out laughing, my husband had to walk away because I thought his head was going to explode. “You’re kidding, right?” I giggled.

No, I honestly don’t think she was, kidding, that is. I’m not sure how to exactly describe the expression she displayed towards me. Was she appalled that I laughed? I don’t know. But, I am certain she was genuinely misinformed. I regained my composure and calmly mentioned that I’ve been using the same product for several years, and if I used all the products the company suggests a woman use to maintain a youthful appearing complexion, I would go broke.

Bill Engvall’s tag, “Here’s Your Sign” comes to mind in situations like the ones I just described. Engvall metaphorically gives these people a sign declaring their stupidity as a warning to others interacting with this person. Who knows, maybe we just happened to interact with some nice folks who were having less than a perfect day. We caught them off their game and therefore, seemed a little off-balance. Admit it, we all have those “dork fish” moments, I know I have. Some people refer to them as blond moments, senior moments, brain farts, or a barrage of other sometimes, unflattering terms when an ordinary person momentarily loses their sense of logic, and says or does something dumb. Abraham Lincoln’s quote also comes to mind in these type situations, “Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

Have you ever watched ‘The Tonight Show’ when Jay Leno interviews random people on the street when he’s Jay Walking? The last interview I remember was when Jay asked a twenty-something year old woman, how many stars were on a flag that was whipping in the wind? She said she couldn’t count them because it (the flag) wouldn’t stop moving. What did these clueless people learn in school? It’s obvious from her answer she would also be clueless about the meaning of the stars, stripes, and what the colors of the flag represented. I know common sense is not taught, it is learned from basic practical knowledge and judgment through experience. But come on people, what are our young people being taught in school? This is the generation who will be making the decisions when we are old. Scary, isn’t it?

Peace...

Failure is only a delay...

...Bad Boys & Why We Love Them...

“…Sometimes I'm a strong man

Sometimes cold and scared

And sometimes I cry

But that time I saw you

Knew with you to light my nights

Somehow I'd get by…”

~Stevie Nicks, Leather and Lace

The setting: Menacing clouds continued to move in and hover our little cabin. Thunder rolled and lightening eerily illuminated the darkness. The rain plummeted against the windows and roof with force. It’s nearly midnight and a few friends, girlfriends to be specific, got together. The torrential rain made it impossible to travel unlit flooded roads. The local radio station broadcasted tornado warnings for several more hours, and with the affects of too much wine, we declared it a sleepover. After all, no one had to be anywhere specific the next morning.

I suppose one wouldn’t think of middle-aged women having a sleepover, but the thought of our younger days made us giggle at the suggestion of having an old-fashioned pajama party. Why not, we may be getting older, but some of us refuse to grow up! Candles burned and the conversations varied like the shadows on the wall from the flickering flames. The last and the longest topic we talked about was about boys. Yes, even at our age we still talk about boys like we were teenagers again. Specifically, the conversation was mainly about bad boys and what the attraction to them is. We all dated a few of these stereotyped boys, and a couple of us married them. (Most guys are probably rolling their eyes, you don’t have to finish reading the blog, but I invite you to stay.) Many of the women who have read the first sentence have their eyebrows raised and are now sitting on the edge of their chairs, thinking this may be juicy reading. The rhetoric from a few lit women won’t nearly be as spicy as it was that night, so, I’m just going to highlight the night in a PG rating.

I believe the conversation started when one of us mentioned she wouldn’t mind if a particular movie star, put his shoes under her bed, and naturally, the more recent parts he played were about the proverbial bad boy. Well…after we wiped the drool from our lips, and some racy comments, one thing triggered another and what followed were some observations about the bad boys we have known.  
Some women/girls just happen to think bad boy types are more fun than the jock type guys. Often their boyish mannerisms, no matter what their age, these naughty guys take themselves less seriously, and are often the sexiest. Besides a simmering sensuality, these guys possess a strong physical presence…part primal, part alpha male, with a big dose of testosterone mixed in. They’re the sorts of men most women want to be with. The problem is, they’re likely to be in bed with someone else while you sit around waiting for a phone call.

The bad boys I’m talking about are not the social renegades wreaking havoc in society or the pretty boy toy types. It’s the rugged, Clint Eastwood kind of guy, not the accountant, or in the terms of my generation, the greaser, not the frat boy. Remember all the girls who fell for “The Fonz” in the TV series Happy Days? With the snap of his fingers, girls came cooing from all directions. It certainly wasn’t ole Potsy or Richie Cunningham they were interested in going after. Then there’s John Travolta in the role of bad boy, Vinnie Barbarino in Welcome Back Kotter, or the greaser part Danny Zuko, which the good girl Sandy Olson (Olivia Newton-John) fell for in Grease. The list of examples goes on and on. You see them at the movies, you read about them, and they are the subjects of country songs. These bad boys tempt women because most women find them hot, unpredictable, and mysterious. As outsider types, they are misunderstood or in need of redemption. They’re not bad men/bad boys, they just don’t play by the rules. They often have secrets, and often have been wronged in the past, making it a journey to have their faith in humanity restored.

When we got together for our little tête-à-tête, none of us imagined that we’d talk about this particular subject for the length of time we dedicated to it. (I see you guys rolling your eyes again…Quit! Unless, you’re one of the bad boys, I’m talking about! In that case, read on and let me know if we were off base.) These are some more qualities we discussed to be intrinsic of a bad boy. Bad boys tend to be a lighter sort of guy, not light enough to be considered happy-go-lucky, optimistic, or in any way traditional. The bad boys we’ve known were rule breakers and full of sass and brass, some came with a swagger and a deliberate grin that made you blush. They drove motorcycles and wore leather; they loved hot cars and drove them way too fast. There is something a little dangerous, sexy, irresistible, and macho about a bad boy. They are usually flawed, they’re risk takers, and they are impossible. We feared them and we loved them. They are the type of men women/girls are attracted to despite their mother’s warnings. They’re rebellious and yet magnetic, sort of like heat seeking missiles. Some of the bad boys even come from the wrong side of the tracks, and hated authority. Yet, they were memorable because they were often the most honest and even principled guys we dated. I wondered if the bad boys I crossed paths were somehow emotionally tortured, and haven’t reconciled their needs for love and family.

Most of the time, they avoid or have a hard time admitting they have vulnerabilities. And, the women who are drawn to them stay for the excitement and the thrill of the ride they provide. These bad boys were usually interested in freedom and adventure, over security and safety. Usually, they were unconstrained, untamed, highly promiscuous, and some considered themselves the black sheep of the family. They were not interested in maintaining a certain reputation. They were cocky, straightforward, and extremely self-assured. Bad boys are typically less than noble, or as under control as the straight-laced good guy. The overall conclusion is even when these bad boys are breaking hearts, seeking revenge, or walking barely on the right side of the law, we sometimes empathize with them and are truly fascinated by what makes them tick.

Are you wondering if the women/girls who are drawn to bad boys are bad girls? No, not necessarily. Many times, it’s not the aggressive female who is attracted to these types, but the good girls. The quiet, awkward, don’t make waves kind of girl who were never accepted into a group by their fellow peers, or the wallflowers that were bullied. They are magnetically drawn to the bad boys to be rescued, for protection and acceptance. Perhaps, some women/girls are able to express themselves more honestly and freely with a bad boy, finding friendship and not necessarily a relationship. Unfortunately, for most good girls who hook up with one of these alpha males types, they are sorry to say, penned with the same title, many times strictly by association. It’s the way society thinks. Oh yes, don’t get me wrong, there are the bad girls, and there are the bitches, an entirely different breed from the Pollyanna types who does a complete 180 because they no longer want to be someone’s verbal punching bag. But, that’s entirely a different blog for another day.