I am NOT the Babysitter!

So... there I was: A newly minted father. Ready to be the participatory dad that I believe all men should be.

During Mrs G's pregnancy, I had done all the right things... gone to Lamaze; read the "what to expect..." books; made the baby's room ready (Well, I painted and lifted... Mrs G did the planning); and went to the appropriate appointments. I had all of the right gear, too!

I was ready.

Soccer Girl(SG) arrived a few weeks early, but no worries, she was (and still is) supremely healthy and hearty (and by God, my kid can eat!).

I took three weeks of leave from work so I could be with Mrs G and do as I said... be a full participant. We learned a lot, and did pretty much all of the right things. We even took turns sleeping with SG in the glider chair that my dad gave us, because SG wasn't even THINKING about sleeping in the crib, yet.

Well, those three weeks came and went and it was time for me to go back to work. Mrs G would be out for another three or four weeks, but this way, if I went back to work, I'd have more leave on the books so I could take off at need.

Since I was back at work, Mrs G, obviously had to pull more of the freight with the baby stuff, and I would return home to find her wiped out. Seeing this, I started taking SG to the local mall so her mommy could sleep, read, recharge or whatever for a few hours.

One evening, as I was walking through the mall with the stroller, SG started to cry... so I checked the diaper (it was clean/dry), I checked to see if there was anything poking her, and I figured she was just hungry. Well, no worries, I sat on a bench and prepared one of the several bottles that I had brought with me.


(No, that isn't me)

The bench we were sitting on was right outside of the Payless shoe store, and while I fed SG, the lady working in Payless stood at the entrance of the store and looked at us and smiled. Being a proud father, I smiled back. She looked up one end of the hall and down the other like she was looking for something and then walked over to us and said: "Where is her mother?", to which I replied (proudly) "At home, having a nap" The woman, in her mid-thirties I'd guess, looked shocked and said: "She LET you take the baby out... ALONE?"

I guess you won't be surprised to hear that I took great umbrage (don't you love that word?) at her question and the tone in which it was delivered. I told her that I knew what I was doing and my wife needed the rest, or words to that effect. Then she pushed all of the rest of my buttons at once, by saying: "She is a lucky lady to have dad babysit for her!, I'd never let my huband do that"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh! Danger Will Robinson! Danger! Danger!

I was pretty mad but refrained from telling her to go... er, jump in a lake. I told her that I wasn't babysitting, I was PARENTING, and if her husband didn't do any of the parenting of their babies, perhaps she should have found a better man. Oh, and what's with this crap about "letting" a father take care of his kids??? What? since when do I need permission?

It only got worse. As our evening strolls in the mall went on, I would often see other parents, all moms, walking with their babies. As much as I liked to talk to them about baby stuff, I eventually had to stop talking to them altogether, because if one more of those bitches women had said: "I wish MY husband would babysit!" I would have committed bloody murder!

I used to hear it so much, and sometimes still do, that I want to scream "I'm not a babysitter. I am this child's father! What is wrong with you people?" and then punch the offender in the face.

I'm still sensitive about it... when SG and I go to the mall or bookstore or someplace else, women get all googley-eyed because we are having fun together. I swear, I am sick of the "aw, that's so cute routine" routine.

I suppose some of you are probably laughing yourselves silly about this. I suppose there are some who would read this and wonder what business any man had being involved in their kid's life to that extent. Well, I am here to tell you that I don't think it's funny.

What kind of man can't take care of his children? I don't mean support his children... I mean take CARE of them. Feed them, clean them, and do all of the other million things that a baby needs. Men who can't, or worse, won't do those things, in my opinion, are beneath contempt. Indeed, I don't think they are real men at all.



Ladies, if you are single and reading this... take a little advice from your ol' Uncle Gunfighter: If your potential husband seems even slightly unwilling to be a FULLY participatory father... dump him immediately. He isn't a real man. Additionally, don't be a barrier to your husband's full participation.

Men: Take the time to be full participants when your kids are infants. It will be an incredible experience that will make you closer to your kids later on, and to your wife.

Inappropriate Relationships

**NOTE** I wrote this in February... I am just getting around to posting it.

I'm not talking about you and the significant other that doesn't treat you right. I'm not talking about how some NRA members relate to their guns. I'm not even talking about what some people have with their own cousins.

No.

I'm talking about some people and their relationship with their cars. Yes, their cars.

Before you start thinking that good ol' Gunfighter has been sniffing gunpowder or something, let me tell you what caused this particular train of thought to burst forth from the station that is my mind.

Today was my day to drop Olivia at school, which I did @ 9 A.M., I had to return home to switch cars, since it is against agency policy to transport anyone in my government owned vehicle, as I turned the corner onto my street, I noticed one of my seldom seen new neighbors was out in his driveway, lovingly washing his car.



Now, at first you might think that this isn't that big of a deal... after all, people wash their cars all the time, right? Well, read on, gentle friends.

Some of you live in the same geographical area as me, so you might have noticed the frozen precipitation that we had last week. You know, the ice that had area schools closed most of last week? Well, the good thing is that the weather took an upswing yesterday, with warm breezes, temperatures in the 50's, and a bit of warm pre-spring rain. This nice weather, which continues today, is melting lots of the plowed up snow and ice, leaving the wet streets slick with the gummy remains of all of the sand that the various public works people have spread to keep us all from killing ourselves on the roads.

Well, since the roads are still wet and mucky, why would you be washing your car? Now, I don't mean rinsing the muck from your car, that’s one thing, but this guy is out there with a long-handled brush, hose, sponge, and large bucket of sudsy water, actually caressing the bloody car! To tell you the truth, it was kind of creepy. It isn't like the guy drives a Jag or anything... I don't get it.

Now, if this was just some sort of aberrant behavior, that would be one thing... but this is just an indicator of a phenomenon that I have observed for years. This is mostly a male thing, but, women can be just as nuts about it as men can.

I understand that people want to get the sand, grit, and snow-melting chemicals off of their cars, but please… these same people are the ones that, before they go to work in the morning, are wiping the dew off of their cars with a chamois cloth! What’s that all about? It’s just a bleeding car! Sure, keep it clean, but wipe off the water? That’s just stupid. When I have asked people why they do that, I have been greeted with the blank stare usually reserved for the village idiot, and gotten this reply: “So I won’t have water spots” (God save us!) I just wish that these same people were the sort to be as careful about keeping the neighborhood clean, or their yards as nice, as they keep their cars.



I see this phenomenon as being a small part of one of the worst parts of American culture. You see, we tend to think that our stuff makes us special. Our stuff, our immortality symbols. We see them as things that make us better, more desirable, more valuable. People drive monstrous SUV’s that they never haul anything in, and never take off the road, despite the fact that SUV’s are considered trucks, and are therefore not required to have catalytic converters. This means that they pollute the air more than vehicles that do have converters. People drive these vehicles because they impart (in the minds of some) a certain level of status. Near where we live, there are subsidized income apartments (a great many occupied by members of the armed forces) where many of the residents drive these gargantuan, $40,000 cars. What does that say about us? We’d make a $600 a month car payment, rather than buy a house to live in?

I struggle with this regularly. I’m not suggesting that everyone drive the same kind of car as me… not at all. I just don’t get it why anyone would spend that kind of money on something so incredibly depreciable. That $40K car won’t take you anywhere that my $6K car won’t take you (and mine is paid for!)… so, what’s the point?

I know guys that I work with that drive Chevy Suburbans… who the hell needs one of those things? It costs them $70 dollars to fill the gas tank. That’s nuts! Some of them even spend money for this:



Anyway… this is just sort of spilling out because it has been on my mind (aren’t you glad you can’t see inside of it?). You can go back to your regularly scheduled programs, now.

GF

Dumb Dad

Last Friday, we were at Chick-Fil-A (yeah, we like it there, OK?) in Williamsburg.



While we were there, we saw, what had to be, the most clueless dad on the planet.

This guy was with his three children… the oldest of whom, a boy, was about 4 or 5. The next oldest was a very cute girl who was three at the most, and in a stroller, there was an infant of indeterminate sex.

This guy had gotten food, and then ice cream cones for his older kids, which was a spilling disaster. He went and got cups for the ice cream so it wouldn't all end up on the floor. He used his pen knife to cut the cups to the proper size. While he was getting the cups, the daughter squatted on her chair , and a minute or so later, a man from another table told the dad that his daughter's diaper was leaking... there was pee pooling on the chair and floor. The embarrassed dad took his daughter out to their car, to get her changed and cleaned up.

While the hapless dad, took his daughter out to their Jeep Liberty to change her, he had left the older kid to watch the infant (which I think he was too young to do, but maybe that's just me). Once he was finished, he returned and cleaned up the urine that had gotten all over the chair… and floor. While he was doing that, the daughter was playing with the guy's pen knife, which was still opened. I looked around and saw the most interesting (and wonderful) thing; all of the men in the dining area (all three of us) were zeroed in on this kid with the knife! As I was closest, I said: "Hey, sweetie… be REALLLLY careful with that" loud enough to get dad's attention. He looked up and immediately took the knife, and thanked me.

He did a few more dumb/inattentive things before they finally got out the door, including leaving the oldest kid with the youngest in the bloody parking lot, as he took the middle kid to the bathroom, again.

Once they were in their car and on the way, my fellow dads and I all looked at each other and shook our heads. I am certain that the very same word going through each of our heads: Rookie!

The Things You Learn

"…And if you aren't careful, you might learn something along the way"

Do any of you remember that last line from the introduction from the 1970's cartoon; "Fat Albert and The Cosby Kids"? Bill Cosby, the producer of this cartoon believed that kids could be entertained, and taught lessons at the same time. I happen to agree with this, and things happen in my life with enough regularity to constantly reminded of it.

For instance, the last day of our spring break getaway to Williamsburg, Virginia, we went back to the Colonial area for one last visit before making the two hour drive back home. The first place that we stopped was the home of Mr Benjamin Powell, who was a home builder in Williamsburg, circa 1763-1783. The original structure is still standing and has been restored to the original condition to the point that the original floorboards are still in place (and they don't squeak!).

Upon entering the house, a historical interpreter in period costume, told us about the house, and the things going on there, and about the business of Mr Powell. One of the first things that you notice about Mr Powell's house is that it is easily one of the largest houses in the town. You see, in those days, unless you were one of the gentry, you probably lived in a house that had two rooms, one of which was the kitchen. If you were of the middling sort, especially if you were a farmer, you may have had two rooms in addition to the kitchen. Mr Powell was neither gentry nor farmer, nor planter. He built houses. Seeing Powell's house was a present day reminder that even back then, people who were in the building trades ALWAYS did well (probably because he was using some of the paid for materials on his own house).

To the point... while Mrs Gunfighter and I were talking to the interpreter, Soccer Girl and some other kids were playing a period board game in the other room. She was having a great time, so Mrs G and I went to the kitchen to see what the cook was making. Among the many things he was cooking in the large, open, brick oven was a fragrant onion soup. He took note of my interest and gave me the recipe, which is original to about 1759.

I am making that recipe today.

As with any recipe, I have added some things that I think would either improve the recipe or at least ad some things that I believe that I would enjoy.

Shown below are most of the ingredients that I started with.

Ten medium onions
A bottle of cream sherry
A six-pack of Woodchuck Cider
Some chopped garlic and sun-dried tomatoes
Two egg yolks
A half teaspoon of flour
4 slices of bacon
A stick of butter
A quart of water
1/2 teaspoon of vinegar
Salt, pepper, etc… to taste.



Find a CD. Something cheerful and peppy. Something that might even make you dance while you cook. Music chases the blues away, you know. It aids in having a positive cooking (and blogging) experience (did I mention that I am blogging about this in real time? I'm so pathetic).

What am I listening to? Some Workout Music from The 80's CD that we bought at Target.

Chop the onions fairly small, but no need to mince.



Fry the bacon in the Dutch Oven

Melt the butter… the whole stick, in the dutch oven.

Add the onions… stir from time to time. Open a bottle of the chilled cider, and pour yourself a glass.

Fry (as opposed to saute. This is a recipe from the colonial era, friends, we weren't sauteing in those days!) the onions for about 15-20 min, depending on the doneness of the onions.



Add the garlic/sun-dried tomatoes



Add the flour



Add the water, and bring to a low boil, reduce to a cheerful simmer.

Have another cider (or sherry), if it strikes your fancy. Turn up the music and find your kids/spouse/partner and seriously rock out. If you have a girly-girl daughter, then dance with her, and make sure that you dip her. Dipping is important to at least one eight year old that I know.

Continue to simmer for about 10 minutes… the soup, not you!



Divide the yolk from two eggs, and add them to a small mixing bowl.



Add the vinegar to the yolks, whisk until smooth. Add to the simmering soup.

Simmer another 10 minutes.

Adjust seasoning.

Done!

Garnish with some crumbled cheese, if you like.. I used blue cheese, but your mileage may vary.



If you have some crusty bread, you can spread some of the garlic/sun-dried tomato on the slices and lightly toast/broil.

As an accompaniment, I tossed some thin spaghetti with some pesto sauce from a jar.

All was served with some inexpensive, screw-top Chianti. (don't laugh. I'm a peasant. I like good food, but expensive wine is wasted on me. I have a cheap palette, which makes me a fairly cheap date… so I've got that going for me, which is nice).



Tonight's dinner music is Andrea Boccelli's "Romanza" CD. It's too bad Mrs G is sick (she has a bad cold). If she weren't I might score after a meal like this. As it stands, I'll have to settle for watching the Auckland Blues (from New Zealand), play the Johannesburg Cheetahs (from South Africa) in a rugby match that I recorded yesterday.

Sooo good!

My First Anniversary!

Without much fanfare, I realize that my blog is a year old (plus a month), now.

I has been an interesting year for me... and I hope that it has been interesting for those that started with me, and haven't been bored to the point of no longer reading.

Linked, below are some of my favorite posts.

Enjoy.

What I Do
Something Is On My Mind
The Game They Play In Heaven
Resign, Mr. President
What Would Dr. King Think (1)

My Second Interview.

As you can see below, I have been interviewed again, this time by Joy.

Interviews can be fun. What I find interesting is the difference in the questions that get asked.


1) You're a relatively new blogger, it seems. What you made you start a blog and has blogging so far lived up to your expectations? Any surprises?

I started blogging because I am, at heart, a communicator. I love to talk to people, I love to listen to people... it's how I learn. I think some of it also stems from the fact that, as a kid, I wanted to teach high school history. Fortunately, I fell into a career teaching an entirely different subject. I also like to socialize, and blogging allows me to do that without expending my precious free time.

Regarding surprises... there have been a few... see my post about mommy bloggers from a few days ago. You can also check my archives where I have said similar things bout "My Lesbian Friends" (which was the actual name a post)


2) I see your hobby is making Rosaries (they're gorgeous). How did you get into that? And do you tell the guys at work;-)

You have seen my blog, and know that I take my faith-walk seriously. Mine is a mature, curious, seeking, and questioning faith, and as a result, I wanted to find out about other faith traditions than my own (I'm a Lutheran). I had always found the tradition of praying the rosary, as they do in the Roman church, to be interesting. One day, I googled rosary prayer, and I found a site called the "Ecumenical Rosary"... one thing led to the other.... I found out about the Anglican "rosary" ... saw "how to" websites and thought "I could probably do that" I gave it a try, and was hooked.

I like making things... it is so much more affirming that my profession, which is all about killing. It gives me some balance.

As for the guys I work with, yeah, they know... but most of the guys I work with are afraid of me.


3) Charlton Heston. Friend or Foe?


Foe. Charlton Heston, when not acting, is a bleeding idiot.


4) I see you are a "rugger" fan. Why does it appeal? (and why is American Football for woosses?;-))


American (Gridiron) football (which I played at school) can be fun, but it can be terribly dull to watch.

Rugby football is a game where everybody runs, everybody can score, everybody tackles, everybody can be tackled,and the play goes by much faster. Add the camaraderie of the game, and the lack of showboating and trash talking and there you are. Players of the American game think that they are tough, but 90 percent aren't fit enough to play rugby.... especially rugby union, which, to my mind, is the better of the codes.

What else can I say? Rugby is "The Game They Play in Heaven".

I'd love to play, but I'm just too damned old (and too fat) to start!

If anyone wants me to interview them, please let me know.

Interview

Greetings from Williamsburg, Virginia! We are away for a little rest/spring break. I'll be here off and on.

I have been interviewed, recently by Lawyer Mama... here is how it went:

1. How old were you when you learned to shoot a gun and who taught you?

The first time I fired a gun was when I was 12 years old, at Boy Scout camp. I was decent at it... it wasn't difficult to do since we were only using a bolt-action .22

I really learned my trade after I entered the Marine Corps at age 17... I was terrified of the sergeants, and did EVERYthing exactly as I was told. I guess they told me right. They told me that I was "a natural" I guess they were right.

2. If you had to choose another century in which to live your life, which one would you choose?

If I HAD to go back in time, not that I would want to... I guess I would have to pick the 17th century. Being a black man in America hadn't quite come to mean what it would mean in the 18th and 19th centuries, after cotton became King.

3. Who was/is your most memorable role model?

I learned to be a man from the characters in the books I read as a kid, and from emulating Captain James T. Kirk, of the Starship Enterprise. Go ahead, laugh, but it's true. My parents divorced when I was 5. My dad was a career soldier, he wasn't around much. I was also heavily influenced by two of my Sergeants when I was a young Marine (I enlisted when I was 17) Staff Sergeant Ralph Andrews and Master Sergeant Mike Wosika. They taught me to be punctual, to be proud of a job well-done, and how to lead.

4. How often (if ever) would you say that you experience racism?

Rarely. We live in a very diverse area. Occasionally a white woman passing me in the mall will clutch her purse to her side as I pass... not that it would really help her if I wanted her purse, mind you... I'm not a small guy.

This question reminds me of an incident that took place about 14 years ago... I was meeting Mrs Gunfighter for a drink after work. It was a beautiful late spring afternoon, and a white woman at the same crosswalk as me clutched her purse as we waited to cross the street. I told her to relax, and that I wasn't going to steal her purse. She seemed both relieved and embarrassed that I called her on it.

5. Is what they say about what men wear under kilts true? LOL!

Yes... as a matter of fact, it is!