Childhood Memories (old and new)

I don't pretend to be a child development expert. I simply observe the goings on in my son's life and try to report them here so others might remember their children and smile or look forward to having their own kids someday. One of the most important things to look forward to in life is seeing your kids excited and happy about some big event.

The type of event isn't all that important but what is important is to remember when you were a child. Remember what it was like to go to a 4th of July parade? What about your first trip to the local lake each year? Remember what it was like, on a hot summer day, to pull a Popsicle out of the freezer and suck on it until you had brain freeze? Luckily when you have children those memories we would otherwise loose come back as we watch our children live through those life events.

At age three, Zack began to understand that Christmas was a big deal and that birthdays were nice. By age four he realized the titanic magnitude of these days. It was incredible seeing Zack look forward to Christmas this year; to see the anticipation of Christmas morning rise to almost unbearable levels.

But as good as Christmas was, Zack's 4th birthday was even better. After Christmas was over Zack asked if we could have Christmas again. I explained that it only came once a year. Although saddened by the fact, Zack accepted it the way one does April 15th. Then he heard the really good news, his birthday would come soon.

At first, this didn't seem to help him with the Christmas blues but as time progressed and his birthday got closer, the excitement began to build all over again. Then something amazing happened; Zack realized this was going to be HIS day. No one else would get presents, no one else would have their name on a cake, and best of all, no one get to blow out candles.

As a quick side note, the daycare in which Zack is enrolled has five children. Two other children there have birthdays within a week of Zack. We went to those parties last year but didn't invite any non-family members to Zack's previous parties. The theory was he was too young to know the difference. I think we might have been wrong.

When his friends arrive he was as excited as any four year old I've ever seen. The thrill of having his friends over, riding his motorized Jeep in the his yard, and playing in his room made for one happy Zachary.

But even that level of happiness was trumped when it came time for cake. Not just any cake, mind you, but Zachary's birthday cake with Zachary's candles. Candles which would be blown out by Zachary after THE SONG.

As everyone began to sing THE SONG, Zack began to tremble with excitement. He was literally shaking. It was finally here! His birthday with his song and, best of all, his candles to blow out. Somehow he avoided the stroke or heart attack that would befall any adult exhibiting such shear joy and excitement.

The present opening was almost anticlimactic. He received lots of cars. He's known as a speed freak and so most of his friends brought things that rolled. He also received a few other toys, some clothes from grandmothers, and a bicycle from Deb and I. But is wasn't the material objects he loved the most. His greatest joy came from having his friends over and having his birthday song sung to him.

The cars and other toys will break, or wear out, or become lost, the clothes will become too small but the memories of this day will linger. Oh, Zack may be too young to remember his fourth birthday party but I'll remember Zack's fourth birthday forever.

For you see, children are God's gift to memories. Seeing Zack live through these important events lets me remember what it was like when I went through them. And if not for Zack, I wouldn't remember them at all.

Barack Obama and the Aggie Chainsaws

I don't normally have odd dreams, at least not ones that I remember but Saturday night brought on doozy of a dream.

It started with Deb, Zack and I returning home from a relative's house. I recognized the land marks up to a point then realized I was lost. There were sign posts everywhere but none of them pointed to Austin (home).

The wife said she thought the road to Houston would get us there so I turned South and found myself in a great valley filled with toy electric trains. I drove carefully to avoid running over the small devices.

The wife said "I'm so tired of this cracked windshield. Would you finally fix it?" I looked up and saw a broken windshield. It wasn't a single crack but looked as though a large rock had hit the windshield causing a spider web of cracks right in front of my wife. Luckily for us, I saw a windshield repair place just ahead.

So we drove into one of the car bays at Doc's Windshield repair and got out. They said they would have it fixed shortly. We walked into the waiting room and discovered Doc also sold denim overalls; the kind with the two straps that go over the shoulder and connect to a bib in front.

The wife and I found this amusing and walked around the store. We discovered a locker room where folks viewed their overalls. There were some extremely odd body shapes that walked in to view their purchase. Deb and I laughed.

Zack wanted to go outside so we walked out to find the other side of Doc's was a Rocky Mountain forest looking over a beautiful lake and Doc's had somehow turned into a log hunting lodge.

I heard a phone ring and several overalled workers answered by activating a speaker phone. The voices coming out of the speaker were two folks I recognized. It was the Earl brothers who run an IT consulting shop. They were telling the workers of a large job of running computer cables across the country and were informing the workers of their tasks.

At the end of the call I said 'Hi' and the two recognized me. While we were talking my wife called my cell phone telling me KASE 101 (an Austin radio station) had a contest and I should go there immediately and try to win a turkey. I asked where she was and she stated she was already there. I had talked to the Earl brothers for so long that the car was ready. While she was test driving it she heard about the contest and drove out to it.

"I've got no way to get there," I said.
"Bum a ride with someone," she said.

So I asked some of the overalled guys with odd body shapes if they would take me. We drove to the contest which was in the middle of a corn field. There was a poor turkey stretched out on a huge tree stump. The contest, it seems, was to chop the turkey's head off. The person overseeing the contest was none other then Barack Obama, presidential candidate.

Many others tried to sever the turkey's head and failed. So as soon as I arrived someone handed me an ax. I said, "this is too small."

Barack just smiled and said, "Don't worry. I have just the thing."

He opened up his campaign van. It was full of axes. He had large and small axes but what he had most of was Aggie chain saws.

FYI: An Aggie chain saw is a normal tree saw which consists of metal tubing bent with a saw blade connected to either end. The Aggie version of this has a length of chain in place of the saw blade. It supposed to be funny. I was just confused as to why Barack had a campaign van full of them.

Barack handed me a huge, headsman's ax like the one used in Braveheart. Everyone was standing around yelling, "Chop! Chop! Chop!" so, I chopped. The task was quickly done but no one was around after the ax fell. Even the poor turkey was gone.

The overalled workers called me back to an old Chevy pickup truck saying they had to get back. We listened to KASE 101 on the way and I chatted with the DJs Bama, Rob, and Julie on my cell phone. Bama said he didn't know how I chopped the turkey's head off since when he tried, he just screamed like a little girl. Rob said that wasn't that unusual for Bama to scream like a little girl. We all laughed.

My wife called again to say how happy she was that I won then the phone went dead. In the distance I saw mushroom clouds, the kind you get from a nuclear explosion, but these were phantom mushroom clouds. Not real but dangerous all the same. I started worrying about Zack and Debbie and how I would keep them safe. Panic set in and I awoke.

Not sure what all that means but it was odd enough to share.

Happy Monday

Automatix on Ubuntu Linux

one of the forum guys, I loaded in Automatix which, amoung other things, provides links to the various multimedia codex. So far it just looks like a list of popular downloads. Seems like this could have been done with a web site vs. an application but it may download and install things that are in a non-debian install file.

I'll update the blog with the things I install from Automatix but below you'll find the intstructions for loading the software on Ubuntu Edgy.

 echo "deb http://www.getautomatix.com/apt edgy main" | sudo tee -a /etc/apt/sources.list

Second Step:

 wget http://www.getautomatix.com/apt/key.gpg.asc

Third Step:

 gpg --import key.gpg.asc

Fourth Step:

gpg --export --armor 521A9C7C | sudo apt-key add -

Fifth Step:

 sudo apt-get update

Sixth Step:

 sudo apt-get install automatix2

Uncivil Air Patrol

An alternate title for this argument might be 'Confessions of an egomaniac and future security guard.'

Some confessions are in order here. I was in band: not a band, the band. The band was a marching band and I began this ultimately uncool endeavor while in 7^th grade. Oh, its not like they make you geek march at first. Oh no, the plot is much more insidious.

First they introduce you to an instrument. Me, I played the trombone because I thought it looked cool. Hey, I was twelve. Anyway, you start down your road to hell in 6^th grade. In Greenville they had one, and only one, music store from which to buy instruments. The fact that the owner of the store was the ex-high school band instructor is, I'm sure, purely coincidental.

Later in life I realized this must be some sort of retirement for old band teachers. Put in your time as a teacher for a bunch of off-key, tone deaf, rhythmless teenagers, then retire and make a fortune on low quality band instruments sold to unwitting parents who will think their children have talent no matter how badly they play. I have to admit its one hell of a deal.

At any rate, the owner of this store would do his best to bring in musicians to play at various churches and functions to ensure parents that playing an instrument in the band is a good thing. No, it can't be something innocuous like piano, which you can disavow any knowledge of later in life. He convinces them that playing a stupid looking instrument IN FRONT OF HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE is a good thing. Thus most children are given a choice of play or die: much like homework.

So, there I was a gawky kid playing a gawky instrument in a gawky band uniform marching around a football field looking…well gawky. Was this bad enough for me? Hell no. Me, I had to make things worse and join the Civil Air Patrol.

The CAP's intended purpose is to act as an auxiliary to the Air Force. When an aircraft goes down, the CAP is called upon to go find it. This involves waking up a bunch of teenagers from a perfectly good sleep, dragging them hundreds of miles to an airport, telling them they are going to look for a plane, then having them hang around said airport while the adults actually search for the plane. Of course this is how it works in theory. In reality, it's much more frustrating.

So I joined this rag tag group of ultra geeks for the usual reason: a friend said it would be cool. The fact I played the trombone and marched around a football field should be an indication as to my ability to judge coolness. So, of course, I joined.

Looking back it wasn't that different from band. We marched a lot, we sat around in a room and learned first aid that could be used while standing around at an airport, and we took tests in order to progress in rank. Rank was very important since it allowed you to tell others what to do based on the fact you'd taken more tests.

It was here that I met a young man of Polish decent. He enjoyed giving orders. He enjoyed pretending the rescue people. He enjoyed the perception of power even if the reality of it was a bit thin.

I'll call this young man Don. Don had the honor of being in band as well. If possible he played an even more inane instrument than I: a barisomething. Baribone, baritone, boonsoon. Hell I don't remember. I've done my best to repress all memories of band.

Don loved the Civil Air Patrol. He loved barking orders. He loved standing at attention (which he somehow did even while sitting) and he loved pretending to bandage the wounds of others with substandard gauze and white tape. I suspect he practiced on his dogs at home. Not that I know for a fact he had dogs but he definitely was more a dog than cat person.

After a year of marching, taking tests, and taking orders I decided the CAP wasn't for me. I think the final straw was going on a 'mission' and sitting around another airport and seeing some drunk old guy with a haphazard uniform dress down a firend of mine for wearing the wrong kind of belt buckle.

Don and I remained friends until graduation, then parted ways. We met a few years later. He'd put on about thirty pounds and was wearing a mall security guard outfit. Oddly enough, he looked at me as if I were some sort of criminal. After a few abortive attempts at conversation, I walked away confused.

I saw the guy every few years. He continued to gain about ten pounds a year. He made it to my twentieth high school reunion but barely made it through the door. He still wears a security guard uniform.

I guess there are a few lessons to be drawn from Don. One is never play the bari-something. I may have a detrimental effect on your future. Another is, if you are a control freak, at least be a control freak that doesn't involve a mall and a uniform. There are good jobs in a mall but I can think of none that involve a semi-cop uniform. And lastly, never, ever, under penalty of jail time, show up to your twentieth high school reunion in a security guard outfit. You'll be talked about for years.

Where every you are Don, good night and good luck.

Love is the True Measure of Success

Note: I wrote this back in my idealist early thirties but I think it still holds true today.

With what is a man born?

What allows him to survive to adulthood?

Food, Clothing, Shelter?

None of these allow a man to grow up secure and safe unless the child is loved. Without love there is no joy and without joy there is no life. This love is freely given by parents, family, friends, and guardians. For Love is something that cannot be found, cannot be gained through deeds, and cannot be stolen. Love must be given by another.

For what does a young man quest?

What drives him forward into the peril of uncertainty?

Honor, Devotion, Ambition?

All these pail in comparison to the man who quests for Love. For Love is something that cannot be found, cannot be gained through deeds, and cannot be stolen. Love must be given by another.

What makes a man great?

When a man arrives at greatness what brought him there?

Hard Work, Luck, Fate?

First we must define greatness. Many of the rich and powerful are broken, lonely souls with no one to love. Therefore, I say a man is as great as the love others bestow upon him and by the love he bestows upon others. For Love is something that cannot be found, cannot be gained through deeds, and cannot be stolen. Love must be given by another.

How do we measure a man's worth?

When he dies, how is his wealth divided?

Money, Possessions, Titles?

His wealth is seen in the people that loved him and mourn his passing. When we love someone, we give up a portion of ourselves. When that person is separated from us, we feel the pain of that part being taken away.

We don't think of love as pain but it is. There is a tribe in South America who's word for love translates literally into "pain of the heart". Only someone we love can truly hurt us through word or deed. The only tears some adults shed is when a loved one dies. The pain of eternal seperation is simply too much. And so we must decide whom to love and whom not to love; knowing that someday we may be separated from them forever..

But Love is also happiness. The joy we feel when loved one surround us is that love being returned. Thus love returned is happiness. And so we go through life, wanting to be happy but afraid of being hurt. The circuit of love given and returned is the true path to joy and happiness.