Kix -- Kid tested, Mother approved.
When I first saw Kix cereal I was pretty excited. Finally, a commercial product that legitimized what I spent hours doing every day. It was all about soccer, from the box to the commercials. This stuff just didn't happen in the 70's. Maybe all the hype was true and soccer really was going to be the next big thing here in the U.S.!
Then I tasted it. This cereal is nowhere near as much fun as playing soccer is. I think I kind of expected a party in my mouth. That's when I looked much closer at their tagline. It says "Kid Tested", but it never says that the kid approved it. His mother did.
I was conflicted about Kix throughout my childhood. Now that I think it tastes okay without a lot of sugar on it, it's too late. Maybe if that "Mother" remembered what it was like to be a kid, my childhood cereal memories would be a lot better.
Soccer is cool!
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Last Act of Defiance
Mom wants a 5th grade story. This may be a bad decision on her part.
Have you ever seen the cartoon where the bird of prey is attacking a mouse? It's talons are sharp, extended, and ready. It's swooping down at full speed, and the mouse has no chance whatsoever at survival. The mouse is calmly standing there flipping the bird (somewhat literally in this case). The point is that the mouse knew he was done for either way, so he might as well get in his last shot.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you feel like a mouse being attacked by a very large bird.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you get suspended -- and when you're 38, you won't even remember why you got suspended "that" time. You may have to go get your coat from class as part of your "walk of shame" after being suspended. You may even call your teacher the "B" word as loud as you can while you're grabbing your coat. My last act of defiance! (That day)
I remember the conversation I had with my dad that night:
"Sean, do you know what that word means?"
"No" (I know that it means she's really mean, that people don't like to be called it and that it's going to get me some attention when I return to school.)
"Well, it's a word that means female dog. Do you think that Mrs. Carl is a female dog?"
"No" (Heck yes, I do. She totally deserved it and now I can tell my friends what it means!)
"Do you think you should apologize?"
"Yes" (No!)
Now, Mrs. Carl retired from the Air Force which means a couple of things to me:
Have you ever seen the cartoon where the bird of prey is attacking a mouse? It's talons are sharp, extended, and ready. It's swooping down at full speed, and the mouse has no chance whatsoever at survival. The mouse is calmly standing there flipping the bird (somewhat literally in this case). The point is that the mouse knew he was done for either way, so he might as well get in his last shot.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you feel like a mouse being attacked by a very large bird.
Sometimes when you're a kid, you get suspended -- and when you're 38, you won't even remember why you got suspended "that" time. You may have to go get your coat from class as part of your "walk of shame" after being suspended. You may even call your teacher the "B" word as loud as you can while you're grabbing your coat. My last act of defiance! (That day)
I remember the conversation I had with my dad that night:
"Sean, do you know what that word means?"
"No" (I know that it means she's really mean, that people don't like to be called it and that it's going to get me some attention when I return to school.)
"Well, it's a word that means female dog. Do you think that Mrs. Carl is a female dog?"
"No" (Heck yes, I do. She totally deserved it and now I can tell my friends what it means!)
"Do you think you should apologize?"
"Yes" (No!)
Now, Mrs. Carl retired from the Air Force which means a couple of things to me:
- She probably had to be a "B" word from time to time just to get by
- She was most likely pretty cool, and surely had some great experiences that I would have liked to have heard
I believe that she's passed on, but I would like to say that I'm sorry. For reals this time.
Soccer is cool!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The First Girlfriend
In sixth grade, how do you know that a girl is someone that you should ask to "go out with" you? Well, she should be cute.
As a personal aside, listing looks first doesn't make me shallow, it just makes me honest. Very few "first time I saw her" stories start with "I thought she was kind of ugly to begin with". Physical attraction is "species-continuation" necessary. Now how the heck do I get down from this soap box?
To continue the list of traits: She should be kind, fun to talk to, have a good sense of humor, she should be smart and sophisticated in a 6th grade sort of way. In return, she would have to agree to go out with this guy:
I decided that I was going to ask Shauna Massey to go out with me because she perfectly matched the most important traits on my list:
Cute?
Check
Kind?
Maybe
Fun to talk to?
I don't know - I never really talked to her
Good Sense of Humor?
Not sure
Smart?
I think she could be
Sophisticated?
Must be, she has a fake fur coat
NOW you can call me shallow!
Being suave and sophisticated myself, I used the checkbox technique to pop the question. I wrote the note and asked Shawna Jensen to deliver the note. Shawna was her best friend and someone I viewed almost like a cousin -- my mom and her mom were best friends. She gave her the note as we parted ways, I went down Atherton, and they went down Beechwood. I was freakin' nervous! I remember that I was with a friend of mine, but I was clearly focused on her so I don't remember who it was (it had to have been Judd Lewis or Brian Shaw -- not pertinent, but true).
They yelled back the answer which could have been very embarrassing, but since it was "yes", I was okay with it. Looking back, I am not sure whether the feeling I had was elation with her answer or relief that I wasn't rejected. I think it was relief.
The next day during morning recess, we were playing keep-away and Gary Wilde accidentally ran into her. I threatened him because I thought that's what you were supposed to do. She said I was too protective and broke up with me. So. . .
I had a girlfriend which meant, I was pretty sure, that I wasn't a virgin anymore -- we never kissed or anything, but I didn't think that was important. It didn't really bother me that it was over because my goal was accomplished.
If I hadn't threatened Gary, she would have broken up with me later in the day for sneezing wrong or something, so I'm just glad I gave her a reason early. That was some sweet 18 hours!
Epilogue:
A month or two later, the doorbell rang. As was my custom when such things happened, I answered. Much to my surprise, chagrin and dismay I was staring at Shawna and Shauna. My mom (unbeknownst to me, and clearly without my permission) agreed to give them a ride to the movies. Without a word to them or anyone else, I shut the door and went to my room. Suave and sophisticated, indeed!
As a personal aside, listing looks first doesn't make me shallow, it just makes me honest. Very few "first time I saw her" stories start with "I thought she was kind of ugly to begin with". Physical attraction is "species-continuation" necessary. Now how the heck do I get down from this soap box?
To continue the list of traits: She should be kind, fun to talk to, have a good sense of humor, she should be smart and sophisticated in a 6th grade sort of way. In return, she would have to agree to go out with this guy:
I decided that I was going to ask Shauna Massey to go out with me because she perfectly matched the most important traits on my list:
Cute?
Check
Kind?
Maybe
Fun to talk to?
I don't know - I never really talked to her
Good Sense of Humor?
Not sure
Smart?
I think she could be
Sophisticated?
Must be, she has a fake fur coat
NOW you can call me shallow!
Being suave and sophisticated myself, I used the checkbox technique to pop the question. I wrote the note and asked Shawna Jensen to deliver the note. Shawna was her best friend and someone I viewed almost like a cousin -- my mom and her mom were best friends. She gave her the note as we parted ways, I went down Atherton, and they went down Beechwood. I was freakin' nervous! I remember that I was with a friend of mine, but I was clearly focused on her so I don't remember who it was (it had to have been Judd Lewis or Brian Shaw -- not pertinent, but true).
They yelled back the answer which could have been very embarrassing, but since it was "yes", I was okay with it. Looking back, I am not sure whether the feeling I had was elation with her answer or relief that I wasn't rejected. I think it was relief.
The next day during morning recess, we were playing keep-away and Gary Wilde accidentally ran into her. I threatened him because I thought that's what you were supposed to do. She said I was too protective and broke up with me. So. . .
I had a girlfriend which meant, I was pretty sure, that I wasn't a virgin anymore -- we never kissed or anything, but I didn't think that was important. It didn't really bother me that it was over because my goal was accomplished.
If I hadn't threatened Gary, she would have broken up with me later in the day for sneezing wrong or something, so I'm just glad I gave her a reason early. That was some sweet 18 hours!
Epilogue:
A month or two later, the doorbell rang. As was my custom when such things happened, I answered. Much to my surprise, chagrin and dismay I was staring at Shawna and Shauna. My mom (unbeknownst to me, and clearly without my permission) agreed to give them a ride to the movies. Without a word to them or anyone else, I shut the door and went to my room. Suave and sophisticated, indeed!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The Fight
Here's something odd for you. My dad has now tied my grandma for the number of times each has given me grief for not updating the blog. Alright, Dad, you play supporting role in this one, so here goes:
In 3rd grade (and every other grade through 6th)I got in a lot of fights. Looking back, I can't remember what led to most of them.
I do remember fighting a lot with Jason Beard. In the middle of the year, I had to transfer out of Ms. Unander's class and into Mrs. Forrester's class because he and I fought all the time.
About that -- freaking genius idea! For a guy I hated so much I fought with him every day, you'd think we'd find each other on the playground or something, but I don't think we fought again after switching classes. I guess it must have been scholarly pursuits at the crux of our problem. (You know, how do you draw a capital cursive Q, which dinosaur was the coolest -- deep stuff like that.)
Hindsight also makes me feel bad -- you have to wonder why I switched classes and he stayed.
That said, if I hadn't switched classes this story wouldn't exist. Man, I wish I had stayed. I don't like how this one ends.
With any new teacher there are pros and cons.
Pro: Mrs. Forrester was pretty old - I believe that she could give first-hand accounts of dinosaurs that would back my "T-Rex is the coolest" argument.
Con: Apparently you and Jay Warnick can't say "naked ladies" back and forth across the room without your parents getting a phone call.
Pro: I learned what "beheading" is -- cool word!
Con: Dad picked up the phone when it rang and was waiting in the classroom when I came in from recess. Apparently he agreed that "naked ladies" was an inappropriate thing to say over and over again across a room of 3rd grade kids.
Pro: Everybody laughed when I guessed what a "metallic" taste was, but I was right.
Con: Suspended for two days? I have to stay up in my bed for the rest of today? Oh, man!
Pro: Wendy Luebbe
Con: Chad Harmon
So Wendy Luebbe was in my new class, and she was one of the three cutest girls in my school (Cari Pocock and Dena Miller were the other two). As a third grade boy, you don't really know what's going on or what to do with this weird feeling, so you do some strange stuff. I had to let Wendy know that I thought she was cute, but how? The first idea that I came up with was to keep throwing the big rubber ball at her during recess. That didn't seem to work.
I can't remember how I hurt her, but I do remember that she had some scratches on her neck and she and I were in the principal's office.
Enter Dad: stage right
Exit Sean and Dad: stage left
Suspended for how long? Oh Man!
Rumor had it that Chad Harmon and Wendy were boyfriend and girlfriend. This made no sense at all because Chad played the accordion. Even in the third grade I knew that something was a little off about anybody who played the accordion -- I'm pretty sure some accordion-playing whack-job on Mr. Rogers was the one who clued me in.
Clearly, I had to fight Chad. The premise of the fight was that he was an accordion player and I was the founder of the AAPNCA (Anti-Accordion Players Named Chad Association).
Long story short:
I got the living crap kicked out of me by an accordion-playing whack-job named Chad. He got the girl; I got a bloody nose. He now has a blog with a story about how he kicked the crap out of some kid that looked like Opey, and I run for cover whenever I hear "Lady of Spain" and curl into the fetal position whenever my grandma turns on the Lawrence Welk show.
Soccer is cool!
In 3rd grade (and every other grade through 6th)I got in a lot of fights. Looking back, I can't remember what led to most of them.
I do remember fighting a lot with Jason Beard. In the middle of the year, I had to transfer out of Ms. Unander's class and into Mrs. Forrester's class because he and I fought all the time.
About that -- freaking genius idea! For a guy I hated so much I fought with him every day, you'd think we'd find each other on the playground or something, but I don't think we fought again after switching classes. I guess it must have been scholarly pursuits at the crux of our problem. (You know, how do you draw a capital cursive Q, which dinosaur was the coolest -- deep stuff like that.)
Hindsight also makes me feel bad -- you have to wonder why I switched classes and he stayed.
That said, if I hadn't switched classes this story wouldn't exist. Man, I wish I had stayed. I don't like how this one ends.
With any new teacher there are pros and cons.
Pro: Mrs. Forrester was pretty old - I believe that she could give first-hand accounts of dinosaurs that would back my "T-Rex is the coolest" argument.
Con: Apparently you and Jay Warnick can't say "naked ladies" back and forth across the room without your parents getting a phone call.
Pro: I learned what "beheading" is -- cool word!
Con: Dad picked up the phone when it rang and was waiting in the classroom when I came in from recess. Apparently he agreed that "naked ladies" was an inappropriate thing to say over and over again across a room of 3rd grade kids.
Pro: Everybody laughed when I guessed what a "metallic" taste was, but I was right.
Con: Suspended for two days? I have to stay up in my bed for the rest of today? Oh, man!
Pro: Wendy Luebbe
Con: Chad Harmon
So Wendy Luebbe was in my new class, and she was one of the three cutest girls in my school (Cari Pocock and Dena Miller were the other two). As a third grade boy, you don't really know what's going on or what to do with this weird feeling, so you do some strange stuff. I had to let Wendy know that I thought she was cute, but how? The first idea that I came up with was to keep throwing the big rubber ball at her during recess. That didn't seem to work.
I can't remember how I hurt her, but I do remember that she had some scratches on her neck and she and I were in the principal's office.
Enter Dad: stage right
Exit Sean and Dad: stage left
Suspended for how long? Oh Man!
Rumor had it that Chad Harmon and Wendy were boyfriend and girlfriend. This made no sense at all because Chad played the accordion. Even in the third grade I knew that something was a little off about anybody who played the accordion -- I'm pretty sure some accordion-playing whack-job on Mr. Rogers was the one who clued me in.
Clearly, I had to fight Chad. The premise of the fight was that he was an accordion player and I was the founder of the AAPNCA (Anti-Accordion Players Named Chad Association).
Long story short:
I got the living crap kicked out of me by an accordion-playing whack-job named Chad. He got the girl; I got a bloody nose. He now has a blog with a story about how he kicked the crap out of some kid that looked like Opey, and I run for cover whenever I hear "Lady of Spain" and curl into the fetal position whenever my grandma turns on the Lawrence Welk show.
Soccer is cool!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The Problem
Is the problem with me, with competition, or with our society?
3rd grade:
Our class (Mrs. Forrester's class) challenged a 4th grade class to a math competition. The rules were simple. Each class would have a kid do a multiplication problem, and then the other class would go. The contest would last until lunch time, and the class who missed the least number of problems would win.
I know I'm not alone on this one, but I still feel bad about it -- I wanted everyone in their class to fail. I was bummed when they got the problem right. I was nervous when our dumb kids were up to bat. (Harsh, I know, but I'm conveying a memory here, and I was in 3rd grade -- back off!)
I was also intensely nervous when my turn came -- I didn't want to be the dumb kid.
The battle was fierce, the soldiers were fearless, and a draw seemed inevitable. No one had missed a problem, and lunchtime was ticking closer and closer. So now I'm conflicted; on the one hand, we had to determine a winner; on the other hand, we might be having cooked carrots or turkey pitas with mystery yellow sauce for lunch. I really liked them both, but the cooked carrots were something you had to be careful with since only a retard (3rd grade -- back off!) would like cooked carrots.
Then it happened. The problem was 8*7. I don't know her name, and I don't remember what she said, I only remember that she didn't say "56".
My feelings in order:
She got it wrong!
Yes!
Burn on you - we just won!
We are probably the smartest 3rd grade class on earth -- what other 3rd graders could beat 4th graders in times tables -- no other 3rd graders, that's who!
What is she doing?
Oh, crap!
What am I supposed to do when a girl cries?
I feel bad for her.
She probably should have studied harder.
She's probably crying cause everyone in her class hates her now.
I don't think I'm supposed to be happy.
This definitely makes me less happy.
I think I have to play it cool until recess.
Yes, we won -- I mean, I knew we were smart, but . . . that smart? Wow!
I feel really bad for her!
I've heard that you remember 'moments' in your life. I remember that moment, and I still feel really, really bad for her because I bet she remembers that moment, too. I hope she's successful and happy.
Soccer is cool!
3rd grade:
Our class (Mrs. Forrester's class) challenged a 4th grade class to a math competition. The rules were simple. Each class would have a kid do a multiplication problem, and then the other class would go. The contest would last until lunch time, and the class who missed the least number of problems would win.
I know I'm not alone on this one, but I still feel bad about it -- I wanted everyone in their class to fail. I was bummed when they got the problem right. I was nervous when our dumb kids were up to bat. (Harsh, I know, but I'm conveying a memory here, and I was in 3rd grade -- back off!)
I was also intensely nervous when my turn came -- I didn't want to be the dumb kid.
The battle was fierce, the soldiers were fearless, and a draw seemed inevitable. No one had missed a problem, and lunchtime was ticking closer and closer. So now I'm conflicted; on the one hand, we had to determine a winner; on the other hand, we might be having cooked carrots or turkey pitas with mystery yellow sauce for lunch. I really liked them both, but the cooked carrots were something you had to be careful with since only a retard (3rd grade -- back off!) would like cooked carrots.
Then it happened. The problem was 8*7. I don't know her name, and I don't remember what she said, I only remember that she didn't say "56".
My feelings in order:
She got it wrong!
Yes!
Burn on you - we just won!
We are probably the smartest 3rd grade class on earth -- what other 3rd graders could beat 4th graders in times tables -- no other 3rd graders, that's who!
What is she doing?
Oh, crap!
What am I supposed to do when a girl cries?
I feel bad for her.
She probably should have studied harder.
She's probably crying cause everyone in her class hates her now.
I don't think I'm supposed to be happy.
This definitely makes me less happy.
I think I have to play it cool until recess.
Yes, we won -- I mean, I knew we were smart, but . . . that smart? Wow!
I feel really bad for her!
I've heard that you remember 'moments' in your life. I remember that moment, and I still feel really, really bad for her because I bet she remembers that moment, too. I hope she's successful and happy.
Soccer is cool!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Poem
Second Grade, Mrs. Pannier, and the "P" word. I'm not real proud of this one, but it's true -- so here it goes.
I somehow got it in my 7-year-old head that I could write poetry. The good news is that, even at 7, I knew that my first few efforts were poor. The bad news is that I thought that I could fool the world.
It was autumn, and I was trying to write a poem about it -- you know, lots of easy topics -- leaves, football, chill in the air, halloween, etc. When I failed to write anything fridge-worthy, I checked out a poetry book from the library to give me some ideas. I found a poem that I liked -- mostly because it mentioned apple cider and had a fox. I really, really like apple cider and foxes seemed pretty smart. (Btw, cider is unprocessed, is usually dark brown, cloudy and perishable, whereas juice is further processed and has a longer shelf life -- I like them both, but I prefer cider.)
Since this poem was good and had two cool things in it, I thought I'd try to write a similar poem. I gave it two or three shots before I figured out that it would just be easier to write the same words on a different piece of paper and pass it off as my own.
Mrs. Pannier was always one of my favorites. I'm not sure why she didn't call me out on the obvious plagiary -- I thought I fooled her for a long time -- but I still think she was a good teacher.
Soccer is cool!
I somehow got it in my 7-year-old head that I could write poetry. The good news is that, even at 7, I knew that my first few efforts were poor. The bad news is that I thought that I could fool the world.
It was autumn, and I was trying to write a poem about it -- you know, lots of easy topics -- leaves, football, chill in the air, halloween, etc. When I failed to write anything fridge-worthy, I checked out a poetry book from the library to give me some ideas. I found a poem that I liked -- mostly because it mentioned apple cider and had a fox. I really, really like apple cider and foxes seemed pretty smart. (Btw, cider is unprocessed, is usually dark brown, cloudy and perishable, whereas juice is further processed and has a longer shelf life -- I like them both, but I prefer cider.)
Since this poem was good and had two cool things in it, I thought I'd try to write a similar poem. I gave it two or three shots before I figured out that it would just be easier to write the same words on a different piece of paper and pass it off as my own.
Mrs. Pannier was always one of my favorites. I'm not sure why she didn't call me out on the obvious plagiary -- I thought I fooled her for a long time -- but I still think she was a good teacher.
Soccer is cool!
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