Last weekend my 10 year old son had a "Boys' Extreme Team" camp out that we both attended. The following is an accurate description of our itinerary:

6pm- Arrival. Dads and their boys scramble for a bunk in one of the many cabins to avoid sleeping on the floor.

6:15- Most dads now realize that unless they took the afternoon off and got to camp two hours earlier, they are sleeping on the floor somewhere. Sons have picked up the "I Told You So" look from their mothers.

6:30- Even though we all ate at home, the cook fires up the grill for hotdogs, which don't count as food anyways. At the same time, two other dads set out to start a bonfire.

7:00- Every kid in camp and most of the other dads are now surrounding the two 'fire men' to offer words of encouragement, such as: "You really suck at this." and "I have a can of gasoline in the truck..." One boy states his  belief that dropping a grenade on the wood is really all we need to do. Discussion ensues on how that wouldn't help at all, depending of course on what TYPE of grenade was used and how quickly one would have to pick up the smoldering pieces after the explosion.

7:30- The fire has been started and all males are sitting around it as they fill their faces with hotdog.

8:00- Interest has gone from "Eating" to "Finding A Long Stick And Poking The Fire" The following rules ensue:

1. You may find a stick and place one end in the fire.
2. If you get up to leave and find a stick you can't save your seat, even if you have been sitting there since yesterday.
3. Setting fire to the end of your stick is okay.
4. That end stays in the fire.
5. You may not, under any circumstances, remove the burning end from the fire, even if it is to show your dad, who is not paying attention.
6. You may not remove the burning end from the fire to wave it around and pretend it is a light sabre.
7. You may not remove the burning end from the fire to wave it in front of your friend's face, even if he did it first before he stole your seat.
8. Do not run anywhere with a burning stick. Even to the bathroom.

9:00- In a very timely move, one of the dads announces that it is time to start "Carving Wood". All of the boys grab the non-burning ends of their sticks and start hacking feverishly away.

11:00- Still burning and hacking the same sticks.

Midnight- Dads announce that it is time for bed. The fire is doused and everyone heads for the sleeping bags. To avoid a lineup for the bathroom, boys are reminded that "the world is your toilet".

12:30- Lights out. As soon as darkness settles across the camp, the air fills with fart sounds and stifled giggles.

2:30- Most of the giggling has stopped.

6:00- Dads wake up to the sounds of more farting and more giggling. Time to start the  bonfire again.

8:00- Breakfast followed by more carving by the fire.

10:00- Time for a 43 mile hike.

Noon- Time for lunch. Boys begin to doze into their chili. More fart sounds, this time the boys aren't the culprits....

2:00- Time to leave. There is a mad rush to the bonfire to find "the stick", then a strained discussion in the parking lot over how to store an object that is needle sharp on one end and still smoking on the other.

My Wife: "It doesn't sound like you did much at all this weekend. I hope Ben isn't upset..."

Ben (bursting into the room): "DAD! Thanks for the best weekend EVER! Fire! Knives! Camping! You're the best dad!"

Me: "No problem son! It was a lot of work to organize but you are worth it!"

The other day I had an important and disappointing conversation with my wife:

Me: "Honey, have you looked at my face lately."

My Wife: "No."

Me: "I'm getting more wrinkles across my forehead."

My Wife: "Yes."

Me: "My hair is turning more grey."

My Wife: "Yes."

Me: "In fact, all of my skin looks more wrinkled. My hands, my neck...its no longer as smooth and firm as it was. I look like an old balloon. Somehow, I'm starting to DEFLATE!"

Even my dental hygienist is against me.

Her (peering into my mouth): "How often do you floss your teeth?"

Me (lying): "Lots of times. Every week."

Her: "Hmmm"

Me: "What is 'hmmm'?"

Her: "Well, as you get older, you have a greater need to floss because the bacteria in your gums can cause problems if you don't get rid of it."

Me: "Like, how old are we talking?"

Her: "Your age. Right now."

Me: "You're telling me that I'm at 'the age' where I have to floss more or the bacteria in my gums will start eating me?"

Her: "Yes. Now please sit back and try not to breathe on me. I don't want to be eaten by your angry bacteria either."

Me: "I wonder if that would make my used floss a lethal weapon?"

Her: "I can tell you that I'm burning my instruments after you leave."

I can't even sleep at night, just thinking of my mouth bacteria waiting for me to doze so they can start digesting my tongue. Or at least what will be left of my tongue after it deflates...

So now the battle is on. I will not let my body fail me without a fight. Unless it is already too late.

Well, it’s been two months and there is still no sign of head lice in our home or at our school. When I say “at our school,” I mean I have no idea if any or all of the other students at school have head lice. And I don’t want to know. This is because getting head lice is like yawning. Once one kid does it, everyone follows suit.

The common misconception about head lice is that they are spread by sharing hats. This is a blatant lie. Head lice spread from kid to kid by a variety of means, including thinking about them.  In particular, thinking: “Man, I would hate for our children to get head lice.” They also seem to spread by petting the dog, wearing blue socks and sitting down.

Once you have them, they are very easy to get rid of if you follow this Two Step Procedure:

1.      Burn down your house.

2.      Leave the country.

Last year when we got the notice that head lice were “going around” in school, we did what every other parent would do in this situation. We looked at the date of the memo. It was already six weeks old! Teachers, for some reason, still believe that children will pass important documents from their backpacks to their parents, even though they (the teachers) have been with them (the students) all year and are fully aware that they have the memory of kumquats.

It was my sister-in-law who first discovered them on our kids and let us know using the subtle, understated tone that adults use when they want to convey an important message without getting dramatic. “EEEEEK! I found one!” She then, in a non-panicky sort of way, herded all of HER kids into a different room and coated their heads with Ben-Gay. “Ha Ha!” she laughed when we found her. “No problem here! I routinely confine my kids to a dark room and oil their hair! It’s a game we play!”

There is no way you can feel anything but terrible when your kids get head lice. “But I try to be a good mother!” moms will think to themselves. “Why is that kid home?” dads will wonder.

Your first response will be to grab your child’s head (which, depending on how upset you are, may or may not still be attached to her body) and give it a thorough scrubbing. This will affect the lice in the same way that cleaning your son’s room will affect him.  “Thank you!” they (the lice) will say in their inimitable insect way by wiggling their antennae, and then they’ll go back to their work, namely pumping out a thousand eggs a day and gluing them all to hair follicles. (If you had that many kids to keep track of, you would too!)

This year, our strategy will be to avoid looking in our kids’ backpacks at all. Just to be safe, I’ll also be getting a jumbo pack of Ben Gay…

Boxing Week Balk

I love the traditions inspired by the Christmas season.
First, people who love you spend time thinking about you and trying to choose a gift that will make you happy. Later, after you've unwrapped it and they've gone home, you run out to the mall and stand in line for an hour because, as nice as your friends are, their taste reeks. I mean, no offense, but there is NO WAY you would be caught DEAD wearing Boxer shorts that say 'Home of the Whopper' or whatever it is that they picked out for you. With these timeless traditions in mind, my wife and I farmed our kids out and headed for the local mall.

We knew that we were smart. Not only did we jettison the children in favour of maximum speed, we had waited a whole week AFTER Boxing Day in order to avoid the crowds. Unfortunately, every other person in the free world had EXACTLY the same idea (and showed up forty-five minutes before us). In fact, I'll bet that on Boxing Day retailers were panicking, wondering where the hordes of shoppers were. "Why aren't our stores overcrowded with pushy, desperate consumers wanting to save an extra 50% on the George Foreman Girdle?" they asked themselves. Well, no worries.
The shoppers were out in full force seven days later. Particularly at the Old Navy. This store is a mystery to me. The clothes that they sell have nothing to do with the Navy. They are not even exclusively navy in colour. They do look old, though; I will give them that. In fact, I believe that the Marketers of Old Navy are sheer geniuses. Or genii.
Their strategy is to take every t-shirt that they can from the Eighties, wash it a hundred times until you can barely read the writing on it, then sell it as new for twice the regular price! And it works! I bet Old Navy was started by guys my age trying to prove a point to their wives.

"You see, honey? These shirts ARE worth something! I can't believe you wanted to throw them out."

I'll give you a word of warning here , too. If you need to do some jean shopping, wait a little longer than these Boxing Day sales. Say, til the end of June. At Christmas time, stores that sell jeans attract teenagers like heights attract lemmings. Maybe this phenomena is not limited to this particular season but I can only tell you what I know. And I know that a quick trip to try on some jeans meant wading through a sea of pimples and bubble gum while having my sinus cavity drained by the latest hiphop/dance/metal 'artist.' PLUS I left thinking, "HOW CAN THE LATEST PANTS STYLES BE BOTH SUPERLOOSE AND SUPERTIGHT? AND HOW CAN THEY HAVE ENOUGH MATERIAL TO RIG A SAILING VESSEL BUT STILL NOT MAKE IT UP TO THE ACTUAL WAISTLINE?"


This whole scene was depressing to both my wife and me, so we headed for the nearest shoe store. Nothing brightens my wife's spirits like ten aisles of new footwear. In fact, all I had to do was find the right section.

Me:"Look, honey, shoes for babies."

My Wife:"Oooh. How tiny! They are soooo cuuuute!"

By the time our spirits had lifted, it was time to go. We plan to return just as soon as the jean stores empty out and I
can talk Old Navy into opening up a factory outlet in my closet.

There are some guys in the Bible that I don’t like. I mean, hey, I don’t like the devil and Judas and the Pharoah that wouldn't "Let His People Go". But there are also some “good guys” that I wouldn’t go camping with either.

Elijah? Too depressed. The guy makes it not rain, then rain, he can run faster than a speeding chariot but he still ends up saying “my life sucks”. What a buzzkill.

Abraham? Probably had halitosis.

Apostle John? Never bragged about his close relationship with Jesus but all the way through his Gospel keeps saying things like: ‘Peter, Andrew and the one that was Jesus best friend.’ Is this subtle?

John The Baptist? A little on the crazy side. True, he was on a mission. An important one at that. But how did eating bugs in the desert figure into that. Suspected carrier of beard chiggers as well.

Keith Green. I know, this guy wasn’t technically IN the Bible. But he was around the Bible a lot and his music ministry was one of the reasons I got saved when I was 18. However I just finished his biography No Compromise and I have to say, he wouldn’t be eating hot dogs at Chez Hollingsworth. Was he a believer? Yes. Was he on fire for God? Definitely. Could he have been a little nicer to everyone else around him. Oh Yeah! The man was one intense ball of black and white fundamentalism. But he sure had a powerful ministry and I’m sure God was happy with his work.

So this makes me think: I wonder if there are people out there, even believers, EVEN IN MY CHURCH, who don’t like me.

Probably (I’m just playin’ the odds here).

I can’t do anything about that if we just don’t see eye to eye on some issues. It may be healthy for us both. On the other hand, I could have been a complete jerk. That is one of my superpowers.

My point is this: it is not my job to get everyone to like me. It would be nice and I would get way more free lunches (Cressman). But in the end, it’s my job to do my job—the one God has for me—in this church, in my home, at work. First I’ve got to make Him happy. Then I need to try to live in peace with all men/people/others.
All the rest is gravy.

There is one thing that men will never understand about Christmas and that is How To Decorate In A Modern Way.

You see, when you read any magazine about decorating your house for Christmas (yes, guys, they do have magazines about this stuff) you will not recognize anything that you see. Expect to see them in your house. Soon.

Case in point: my wife was very excited about a purchase she had just made.

My wife: "Hon! Take a look at this beautiful wreath I just bought!"

I immediately started leafing through her shopping bags. "Hmmph", thought I, "Nothing in here but compost and twigs."

My wife: "CAREFUL! Don't break it!"

Me (holding the pile of leaves and twigs in one hand): "Break what?"

My wife: "LET GO OF MY WREATH

Me (feeling desperate to please): "WHAT WREATH?"

My wife (pointing at the items that, until recently, were a part of someone's lawn): "THAT. IS. OUR. WREATH."

Me (slowly looking at what is in my hands): "Oh. THIS is our new wreath? To hang on our door? For Christmas?"

My wife: "Don't you LOVE it? And it was only THIRTY DOLLARS!"

As much as my heart was broken, I kept my mouth shut. There is nothing worse than a broken heart followed by a black eye and a split lip...

My plan was to find someone to talk some sense into her before I had to nail the "wreath" to our front door. The next day we were at her parents' place. As we sat in the living room I was working up the courage to mention our newest decoration when, out of the corner of my eye, I spied something that made me gasp.

There, perched on the end table by the upholstered chair, was a one foot tall Christmas tree...made entirely of FEATHERS. And I'm not talking about pretty Budgie feathers either. This thing appeared to be made of the remains of a crow. Or possibly two. In fact, the whole thing looked like something you would use to give an Ostrich a suppository.

Broken-hearted, I kept my mouth shut.

Men, are your marriages in trouble?  Are your wives constantly complaining about things that you have no control over? Listen up, because I think I can help (at least, I can help you to understand what is going on. Don't count on anything useful after that...)

At the Thrice household, my wife's chief complaint is that I don't "see" things. Actually she has a lot of chief complaints including "Why would you spend money on THAT?", "Why would you say that when you KNOW how moody I am?" and "Why do you think Monty Python is so funny when it's actually stupid?"

What she means by "seeing things" is "noticing things that are important to her" ie wearing a nice shirt and NOT accessorizing with my favourite sneakers; wiping the mirror off after I brush my teeth and closing all the cupboard doors after breakfast. 

Yes, I can sense your disbelief from here.

I keep telling her that it's not like I am consciously deciding on doing something that I know she wouldn't like, or that I am conscious at all. It's just that I truly don't see those things--until they are pointed out to me with a very angry frown. THEN I see them...

I was so relieved the other day when I made a discovery: wives have the same problem except not for useless things, such as the position of the toilet seat, but for important things such as the world of electronics. Yes, its true and here is the proof:

For our anniversary, I decided to get my wife the big screen tv I knew she wanted for our bedroom. I wanted to have it bought and installed as a surprise so that it would be harder for her to return for a refund. The first step was to get my friend PomPom to put in a receptacle. 

"But wait," you say, "wouldn't she SEE the new receptacle on the wall and be alerted to your tomfoolery?"

ANSWER: If I decorated the room, the receptacle would have been obvious. HOWEVER, I did not decorate the room, hence the quilt rack and quilt-that-is-not-a-REAL-quilt-we-would-EVER-use-on-our-bed. These two items have been living, nailed to our bedroom wall for the past 5 years. (guys, don't ask.) 

Anyways, after I took the quilt rack ensemble down and PomPom installed the receptacle, I replaced everything exactly as it had been. That night, IN THE DARK, my wife said: "Has that quilt moved?"

Exactly one week later, while we were on a date, my friend Joe removed it completely and replaced it with the new television. Later that night, when we returned, my wife left her shoes at the door and went immediately to the bedroom to get her PJs on. We were all expecting a scream of delight (or at least a scream) but heard NOTHING! NOTHING!!

She was in our bedroom for five minutes and it's not like its this HUGE cavern where you could miss a big screen tv because you are looking at the fine art on the wall...

Nope. She was two feet away from her brand new big screen television for five minutes AND NEVER EVEN NOTICED IT. And the lights were on. 

So the next time your wife is on your case about not noticing something that you should have seen, just remember that she has her weaknesses too. In fact, if you hide behind the entertainment centre, she might not even see you.

Early morning at the Thrice household is one of quiet bliss. The children are all sleeping soundly. A gentle breeze stirs the kitchen curtains where crickets chirp lazily together. 

The reason that crickets are now residents in our house in mid October is that we, as a family, have decided that having pets will teach our kids responsibility (responsibility is the most important thing you can teach your kid. Discreet nose-picking is a close second) It follows, then, that my 9 year old son owns a lizard.

Lizards eat crickets.

Kids who feed lizards clumsily drop crickets (purchased in batches of 24) onto their bedroom floor and neglect picking them up immediately while they (the 9 year olds) hastily attempt to pull said lizard out of her terrarium so that SHE can get all the crickets herself.

By the way, I'm not sure what the life cycle of a cricket is, but I'm pretty sure that it has increased ten-fold by eating whatever radioactive Cheerios and Cheez Doots it finds under the fridge. In fact, I'm convinced that "under the fridge" you will find a cool little tiki bar for crickets and 5am is the perfect time for them to hang out, rub their legs together and mate amongst the dust bunnies.

But that is all part of raising a family and teaching the value of responsibility. You just get used to it.

Another thing we get used to is our new Shi-Poo puppy's schedule. In fact, every morning we get up at 6 am to let the puppy outside to pee. Then up again at 6:15 to let the puppy out again because she forgot about pooping. Then we let her onto our bed where, for the next ten minutes, she commits acts of intense personal hygiene. This is not the quiet type of personal hygiene one would expect from a distinguished pet, such as a Schnauzer. These acts involve lots of loud slurping and force her to take on a variety of poses that one rarely sees outside the circus.

By way of contrast, Toby, our other dog, has one pose--head down, droopy-eyed and depressed. We're not sure if he REALLY IS depressed  or if he is trying to throw suspicion off of himself. You see, one of our dogs is a stealth pooper. No matter how quickly we find the evidence, it seems that both dogs have an alibi.

Last night, after discovering a "Cleveland Steamer" on the downstairs carpet, I found Toby standing beside our bed, staring at our book shelf. "I'm looking for some help with my self-image," he seemed to say, "and I left no steamer."

The puppy, by contrast, was beside the fridge barking at the tiki bar. "Not me!" she protested, "I'm too cute! Check with the 9 year old."

It seems the only responsibility here is the one Dad has for cleaning up his family's messes.

A bunch of my friends got together the other day to practice with our paint ball guns. Now before you readers of the female persuasion start rolling your eyes, let me remind you that paint ball is almost an Olympic Sport and we need to practice in case we are suddenly called upon to represent our country for the Gold.

We encouraged the youngest (14 years old) of our group, Gage, to run through the range as we were shooting in order to help him learn how to dodge and weave (great practice for a starring role in most action movies including The Gauntlet starring Clint Eastwood)
Gage's Dad: "Gage, how fast do you think you are?"
Gage: "Fast enough!"
And he was! Our only mistake, besides bad aim, was neglecting to remind him to keep his mouth shut.

Later on that evening, as the ladies gathered to make sure we were still alive, Gage was bragging to them about how fast he was:
Gage: "We were playing paintball and I only got hit once!"
His Mom: "I thought you were all just shooting at targets!"
Me, breaking in to save the day: "We were. Some of them were moving."
His Mom: "You shot your gun at my son?"
Me: "Not just me. We ALL shot our guns at your son. And we only winged him. He's quick like the Road Runner!"
(Gage beams with pride)
His Mom: "I can't believe you would endanger my child..."
Me: "Hey, it was all safe. He was wearing his hoodie AND his Dad didn't even participate for the simple reason that he himself is such a good shot."

You see, women do not give men the credit they deserve.

But your question may be: why are men like this? Where do they learn to be so violent?

The secret is this: we don't learn it anywhere. It is planted deep inside our noggins from birth and there is really nothing we can do about it. It's not about peer pressure. It's not about hurting other people. It's about wondering...as in "I wonder what will happen when I jump onto the trampoline from the roof. Or i wonder what will happen when I shoot my aquarium...

Which leads us to more proof.

My friend Joe has a seventeen year old son, Luke. Luke is a normal guy who likes sports, has a pet fish and a variety of weapons in his bedroom. One afternoon, while sitting on the end of his bed, he thought to himself: I wonder what would happen if I shot my aquarium with my Airsoft gun.

IMPORTANT NOTE: he was NOT thinking something useless such as 'I feel like breaking something and walking around in wet socks for the rest of the day '. In fact there are a lot of things to wonder about when pointing a pellet gun at your aquarium, such as: 'which way will the pellet ricochet?' 'Is there a chance that I'll get hit by the ricocheting pellet thus allowing me to brag to my friends?' and 'what else can I shoot in my room?'

What he didn't expect, of course, was that there was NO ricochet--unless by 'ricochet' you mean 'the pellet went through the glass of the aquarium'. What proceeded next was lots of manly-type action indeed! The sound of glass breaking! The rush of water and goldfish poop onto the bedroom floor! The voice-cracking gasp of a young man who suddenly realized he had no duct tape in his room!
But the point is, Luke now knows for sure what will happen when he points his pistol directly at his aquarium.  Now he can move on to other pressing questions, such as 'I wonder what will happen when I shoot at the aquarium on an angle?' 'I wonder what will happen when I shoot from inside the aquarium towards my bed?' and 'I wonder why my goldfish won't come out from behind his rock?'

So remember, the next time you see a bunch of guys together and they look like they are doing something useless and violent-- you are probably wrong--at least about the useless part. Just ask them what they learned and keep plenty of duct tape handy.

Being a parent is tough in today's world. Not only do we have to deal with 'body piercings' and a new style of music called 'dub step', we also have to deal with things that are on the market that our kids can get addicted to. I'm referring here to the proliferation of SOUR candy that is filling our candy shelves, replacing the reliable sweets we as parents trust, such as jujubes and Oh! Henry's. 

Not that I have any problem with sour candy. I think our nation's composters are sorely in need of filling. The problem is that candy companies have gotten on the "bandwagon" and decided to be "copy cats" in order to "sell more stuff". For instance, in Watford in the 1970's, you could go to the Dairy Case or Terminal One and buy any candy including, if you wanted to prank someone but never for personal consumption, Sweet Tarts. These were little tablets that, when consumed, were so sour that they would magnetically draw your lips through your teeth and towards the back of your mouth. You could be momentarily blinded as your face shriveled up like a raisin. But that was the only sour candy we had to contend with and if you knew what they looked like out of the package, you were safe.

Today, we're not that lucky. We adults have to work much harder to keep our weight right where we can see it (around our middles).

I came home the other day with a bag full of treats and ended up very disappointed:

Me: "I got some treats for us for tonight's movie!"

My Wife (as she digs through the bag): "Great honey! What did you get?"

Me: "I got some gummy bears..."

My Wife: "Uh...SOUR gummy bears..."

Me: "Licorice...."

My Wife: "SOUR licorice..."

Me: "Jujubes..."

My Wife: "SOUR jujubes..."

Me: "And a couple of chocolate bars..."

My Wife: "SOUR chocolate bars..."

Me: "What? Really?"

My Wife: "No, not really. But you did buy the dark chocolate version of your favourites and I know you're going to hate them."

Me: "Alright. Tell the kids that Dad is being generous again...and see if we have any sugar cubes."