American culture, family, Parenting

Bowl Season

bowl

As I’ve mentioned in this space before, my wife and I have five children. People occasionally (read: all the time) give us the fake “wow, that’s incredible” (read: what are you, insane?) expression when told this.

Sometimes, for kicks, I want to look them dead in the eyes, and as emotionless as possible want to say, “Yes, we are insane.”

And then just turn and walk away, smiling in a way they can’t see, leaving them wondering if I’m kidding our not.

The truth is, we all make our own normal. And there are days when I’m not sure if we’re insane or not, too.

We’re not perfect, and we do not always resemble our Christmas card collage of happy, smiling faces in a warm autumn sunshine. Some days I feel like Michael Keaton’s Bruce Wayne talking to Jack Nicholson’s Joker when dealing with our children:

You wanna get nuts? [Smashes vase] C’mon! Let’s get nuts!”

But the Mrs. and I wanted this, even when a simple cold or flu bug can ravage our house like a plague out of the 1300s.

Take for instance just last week, when my wife had to work one evening and was not home, leaving dear old Dad (me) to put a quarantine order in effect that would have made JFKs during the Cuban Missile Crisis look like a polite suggestion.

You see, I disaffectionately (thesaurus says that’s not a word, I disagree) refer to this time of year as “Bowl Season” – and it isn’t because of the college football postseason games. No, it is bowl season because children must carry a bowl with them in case there is a rumbly in the tummy.

Here is a scene from our latest episode of Bowl Season:

Me: “No one is allowed in the family room! Prisoners — I mean, those sick — are to stay in their designated, already infected areas of habitation until the ban has been lifted.

6-year-old (we’ll call him Brooks, since that’s his name): Daddy, I don’t know what any of that means!

Me: Not you buddy, you’re fine.

dom

2-year-old attached to my hip (we’ll call her The Dominator, a not-so-gentle play on words for her given birth name of Dominique): [inaudible, yet stern sounds, mimicking me, pointing at her infected brethren].

(In this scene, she plays my ferocious No. 2 in command.)

9-year-old (Dryden) from the top of the stairs: Dad, I feel better, my stomach doesn’t hurt, can I come down?

Me: No! You must rest and keep this to yourself!

11-year-old from her room down the hall (Brielle): I feel better too, can I come out?

The Dominator: [inaudible, stern sounds and more pointing, this time towards Brielle.]

Me: Brielle, listen to your sister, she said to stay in there!

We transition to roughly 30 minutes later, as Dad, Brooks, Dominator and Cole – 15-year-old high school sophomore – are cleaning up dinner. Brielle has snuck into the living room, sunk down into the couch and covered herself with blankets as to not be detected.

Dryden (again for the top of the stairs): Dad, can I please come down, I feel fine!

Me, softening after a glass of wine: Ok, but please get a bowl in case your stomach hurts and you can’t make it to the bathroom.

(WARNING: foreshadowing alert)

Brooks: Daddy, do I need a bowl?

Me: No buddy, you’re not sick.

Not five minutes later…the sound of feet hitting the floor hard, running, a short period of silence…then…horrifying sounds from the hallway of you already know what hitting the floor.

Everyone freezes. The only sound is that of the running water from the kitchen faucet, where dishes were being washed. No one blinks, but eyes slowly shift to Dad. Brielle, quickly moves toward her bedroom, sensing the coming storm. Dad slowly steps toward the site of the damage, looks around the corner and his deepest fears are confirmed. Dryden has thrown-up all over the floor.

 Me (sounding like the Dad in A Christmas Story when the fuse blows): Don’t ANY-BODY move! Stay away! Dryden, why didn’t you get to the bathroom?

Dryden: I couldn’t make it!

Me: But you stopped running!

Dryden: I couldn’t run anymore, my stomach wouldn’t let me!

Me (ignoring the fuzzy body physics from a 9-year-old): Well, where is your bowl?

Dryden: I didn’t get it!

Me: WHY!?!?!?!

Dryden: Because I felt fine! I’m sorry!

Me: I don’t care that your sick – that came out wrong – I care that you are sick, but I can take care of you better if you keep it IN A BOWL AND OFF THE FLOOR! BACK TO YOUR ROOM AND GET A BOWL!

Dryden shuffles off, finally takes a bowl, and fires off a final shot from the top of the stairs:

I feel better now!

Me: Not a chance, to your cell – I mean, room!

Brooks: Daddy, I have a bowl.

Me: Brooks, dude, you don’t need a bowl.

Brooks: But I wanted to be ready in case I get it too!

Cole: He’s sucking up to you!

Me: Well, then he’s learned quicker than you did.

Cole: [laughing] That smells terrible.

Me: You either clean it up, or you take your sister so I can.

Dominator: [standing on top of the kitchen island, looks at Cole, laughs and smiles] I poop!

Cole: [seriously seeming to contemplate which is more difficult] I’ll take Dom.

–Cut to a Mr. Clean commercial, because I’m all about well-placed ads.

I spent the next 10 minutes cleaning up the toxic wasteland, with a self-made hazmat suit, gloves and a scarf I fashioned into a breathing mask. For a moment, I envisioned myself as a warrior, ready to do battle, looking something like this:

Hazmat_suite_ingame

I then spent the next 45 minutes mopping the entire hardwood floor and wiping things off like a hospital room.

When my wife came home, she asked how the evening went.

I simply, methodically recounted the events of the evening like a court transcriptionist. I might have been on a second glass of wine at that point. She laughed.

Because what else can you do but laugh? We so often forget what it was like to be kids. As adults, I’m trying to figure out how to not take it so seriously. I fail often.

But I try. And really, that’s the ultimate lesson to our kids. Just try. Just keep going. And laugh a little at yourself. There just is not enough of that – trying and laughing – left in the world right now.

And maybe, that is of one of the reasons we had so many kids.

And maybe, that makes us a little insane compared to everybody else.

And maybe we don’t want to be like everybody else.

Because where is the fun in that?

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American Politics, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Philosophy, Politics, Uncategorized, United States

Love in the Time of Trump

hith-white-house-attacks-e

Perspective.

It can be gained. It can be lost. It can be ignored. It can be shared and heard.

Empathy.

It can be gained, shared, lost, and ignored as well.

Love.

It can be shared, in a variety of forms. It can be. It can come in various forms. It can be gained, earned and lost.

Freedom.

It can be exercised. It can be taken away. It can be fought for. It can be earned.

Compassion.

It can be shown.

And all of these attributes, these feelings, these emotions are a choice.

Much like the choice we had in voting (or not).

There are 330 million Americans of all age, race, creed, religion and orientation. Roughly 122 million of those voted in the Presidential election held earlier this week. Of those, the last count I saw showed that 59.9 million voted for Hillary Clinton, 59.7 million voted for Donald Trump.

Some of those who voted for the candidate who did not win the Electoral College – Clinton – are outraged, upset and frankly stunned.

Some of those who voted for the candidate who won the election – Trump – are outraged, upset and frankly stunned.

For entirely different reasons.

Some of us care deeply about issues like the second amendment, healthcare, pro-life, illegal immigration, infrastructure and jobs. Within that group, some of us are willing to overlook the words and actions of a candidate and place a vote for someone we perceive to be the lesser of two evils.

Some of us are tired of being blamed for hatred and violence, for being accused of being racists or bigots because we care more about the future of the Supreme Court than we do name calling. And that is not meant as condoning or endorsing name calling, hate speech or demeaning women.

Some of us care deeply about gun control, healthcare, abortion rights, open borders, LBGT rights and climate control. And within that group, voters were willing to overlook an equally flawed candidate who was paranoid, hid secrets, took money from foreign powers and in some cases, didn’t disclose the truth. Voting for that person is not meant as condoning lying or pay for play, either.

Some of us are Republicans, some of us are Democrats. Some of are neither, either or both. Some of us did not particularly like either option.

We had a choice on Tuesday. We chose. We had the same choice in 2012, 2008, 2004 and so forth. We had a choice in mid-term elections. We had a choice to protest, or a choice to accept the results of this election and every other. We can voice optimism; we can voice fear.

But really, we have a choice every single day. Realize where you live, what incredible freedom you have.

For heartsick Democrats, you now find yourself in the position that others who disagreed with President Obama have been in for several years – just in a completely different way. You wonder: “What rights will be infringed on? What issues do I care about will be ignored? What is happening to our country and those things which I find to be vitally important to progress?”

Simply stated, while the issues may be different, the sentiment is the same one shared by others over the past eight years who asked similarly: “What rights will be infringed upon? What about the issues that I care about? What has happened to our country and the things which I find to be vitally important?”

For joyous Republicans, you have a responsibility now to govern not just for yourselves, but for finding compromise with all Americans who do not see things as you do. You have a chance to do what you feel was not granted to you under the previous administration: hear all voices.

You see, we agree in earnest on much more that we are led to believe. We may be on opposing sides of key issues, but it striking how quickly we want compromise when we are not in a position of power. Your No. 1 issue may be the right to life, while someone else’s may be climate control.

Here is the one constant since the first days of this country’s existence: we may not and perhaps will never agree. You may get something you like, and I might get something I like. And then the next time, it might go the other way.

It’s called compromise, compassion and understanding. Very few countries actually have this. That is why the United States of America remains a beacon for a world where voices are routinely ignored.

If you have not enjoyed the past eight years, you chose to try something else. If you do not enjoy or find the kind of progress you wish for in the next two, four or eight years, you will have the choice to band with others in selecting something different.

But let us know not lose that perspective. That the freedom to choose in itself is the greatest political victory that has ever been granted in the history of mankind.

While the outcomes may be tough to accept, the alternatives are just too hard to fathom. We could live under tyranny. We could live under real oppression. From man’s earliest days until now, trillions have lived and died without choice, without the chance to vote for their voice to be heard.

Do not, in either winning or losing, ever forget that.

And do not lose the perspective that ultimately, no matter who runs the country’s business for a relatively short period of time, what affects and effects our lives the most is – and has always been – the manner in which we treat each other and in how we raise our children.

Reduced to a bumper sticker slogan in a lot of respects, it does not diminish the importance of the adage that we should strive to be the change we wish to see in the world.

And if we truly want to drive out hate and turn it into love, we do that in the time of Trump that same as we should have been doing in the time of Obama, Bush, Clinton and Reagan – within our four walls.

Practice what we preach – and from the looks of social media, we’re doing a lot of preaching at the moment.

I know we just held a draining, divisive election. It is far easier to get swept up in labels, in words, in emotion that it is to take a moment and understand things from the other side.

Break the numbers of this election down: Out of 10 people, roughly 5 voted for Trump and 5 voted for Clinton. Out of 10 women, 4.2 voted for Trump, 5.8 voted for Clinton. Out of 10 Hispanics and Latinos, 2.9 voted for Trump.

Basically, everyone is surrounded by someone of a different gender or race that voted for the other candidate. We’re no better than each other, but we can be better for each other. We can be better to each other.

While the election may have flipped the party in control of the nation’s highest office, it does not change that we are all Americans. We have too long overemphasized the presidency, and not realized that the most important changes that can occur are in our own backyard.

If we pay closer attention to local elections, town, city, county, and state issues, we’ll build better futures in ways that more directly impact us. I saw relatively few – if any – comments or posts on social media about their local elections.Take care of the foundation first. Do not get lost in the weeds.

Be a shepherd, not a sheep. Do not fall for what Orwell described as “groupthink” in believing everyone sees the world the same.

Again, I know it was a draining, divisive election. It usually is.

But it’s time to choose again. Today, tomorrow and every day.

Choose to not assume the worst in people. Choose to believe in the inherit goodness of most people. Choose to believe that not everyone who voted for Trump is a racist, womanizing, fear mongering bigot. Choose to believe that not everyone who voted for Hilary is a big government, gun removing, lie endorsing, liberty draining, hypocrite.

Choose compassion. Choose empathy. Choose compromise. Choose love. Choose perspective. Choose to look past the labels.

When we choose those things, there are no “winners” and “losers.” Just people working together to make the world a little bit better each day.

That is what has – and will always – make America great.

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American culture, American People., American Politics, Uncategorized

Bern Notice

doomsday-clock

How many times can you hear it?

This is the most “important” election of our lifetime.

Are things bad? Sure seems like it. Sure feels like it.

But in the vast history of this, our planet earth, we’ve probably experienced millions of potential tipping points. The clock always seems to read somewhere between five and seven minutes to midnight.

Doomsday is just around the corner.

Propelled by a media that abuses the medium for the purposes of ratings that return a financial windfall, we’re sucked into a web of negativity. And like the sheep we are, we digest this poison and ask for more.

Essentially, we are backfeeding our future, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy of negativity across all forms of relationships. From our unique self “we” to the collective “we” as Americans.

Long before the rise of Donald Trump, we went negative. We went nationalist and extremist and chided others for not thinking like we do. It’s all right there in our social media feeds. We have been doing this dance inside America for a long time. Every time we slam somebody else we’re creating divisiveness. And over some of the most inconsequential topics imaginable – like sports or professions.

So when you act shocked how someone like Donald Trump could be the leading Republican candidate for President of the United States, you shouldn’t be.

Oh, you can be stunned by how it got this far, not vote for him, and not agree with anything he says. Because the truth is, rhetoric is more than just words when it comes from a candidate trying to be elected to one of the highest positions of power in the world.

But understand all the same we created these candidates, and the vacuum that allowed them to waltz into our lives. It’s like a bad joke: “A billionaire, two liars, and a socialist walk into a bar…” – and I don’t think we want to stick around for the punchline.

Ironically, we seem to want someone who plays nice in the sandbox, except we don’t play nice in the sandbox ourselves.

Schermata-2013-12-09-alle-10.12

Our celebrity culture, our reality-era need for confrontation paved the way for Trump. Our own inferiority complexes made this possible. We mock Trump for his paranoia over the size of his hands, yet we take five selfies until we get the right angle so our chin doesn’t look fat.

We want to tell people to shut up sometimes. And increasingly with social media, we do. We want to call someone who annoys us, and doesn’t see things our way, something condescending, like, ‘Little Marco’ for instance.

We attack people who we think show too many pictures of their kids. We attack people who we think show too many pictures of their dogs or cats. We attack people who root for another sports team or player or coach we don’t like. We mock, we belittle, we deride with smarm and sarcasm, with passive-aggressive undertones. And then when the other party gets offended, we tell them to relax, that was “all in fun” or just “a joke.”

So, you see, there’s a little bit of The Donald in all of us, like it or not.

It doesn’t mean he’s a quality candidate for President of the United States. It means there is a very obvious reason he’s even a candidate for President of the United States.

This same analysis can be applied to Bernie Sanders. A truly shocking number of people – the vast majority of them young – “feel the Bern.”

And truthfully, this phenomenon should be far more concerning than the “Make America Great Again” reality show of Donald Trump.

The short-term and long-term proposition that millions of young Americans are flocking to the polls to vote for a white socialist in his mid-70s, who has unapologetically defended socialism all over the world, should be beyond frightening for Americans.

Never mind the truth that we’ve neglected to apparently teach millennials what socialism truly is, and what it can do. It reads like a utopia, but looks and smells like a dirty trash can filled with poo.

auf_freedom

Currently, 20 percent of the world’s population continues to live under communist regimes, in China, Vietnam, Cuba, Laos and North Korea. Not surprisingly, they also remain the largest violators of human rights in history. The opposition suppressed, detained, imprisoned, murdered.

You want to really be scared? Nearly 73% of Americans couldn’t tell you the cause of the Cold War just five years ago. That’s a question asked on the test for official U.S. Citizenship. Guaranteed, that number has gone up.

And if you are one of those, put down the Candy Crush and pick-up any text from your junior year high school history class.

How could we ever arrive at a point that we’re falling for the false sirens of socialism? Perhaps it begins with participation ribbons and trophies. We coddle ourselves. We are all special and unique in our own way, sure, but that doesn’t mean little Johnny didn’t work 10 times harder than little Timmy in order to rise to the top of the ranks. And this doesn’t just apply to sports. The valedictorian earned their As, the kid who didn’t study earned their C-.

That’s America. Or at least it was.

Now, we are an America that apparently thinks it is cool to hang out with Cuba, despite their political affiliation, despite their horrid human rights history and despite the violence and unspeakable poverty taking place in the streets outside the stadium where a baseball game was played yesterday, with our president wearing some shades and singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” in the stands.

The island in the sun, where everyone is completely equal, and treated equal, and lives a life of equality is a mirage. That mirage is socialism. There is no incentive. What’s yours is mine.

And forget being what you want to be. Want to be a doctor? Tough. Janitor. Want to be a janitor? Sorry, pig farmer. Want to be a pig farmer? Sorry, accountant.

You’ll be told what your role is by someone else. Identity and self-worth are stripped away. You are not an individual; you are just another person to keep the government functioning. A government that provides you with what little you have, which is the exact same as everyone else, no matter how hard you work or what you do, so you might want to watch what you say and where you say it, too. Don’t try and do it through art or music or literature, either.

Our American ancestors fought over 240 years ago for freedom from oppression and tyranny. Countries and citizens of nations the world over have begged and fought for freedom through generations, and once they got it, exposed the horrors of how fascism, socialism and communism ruined their lives, their families and their country.

But no one watches “60 Minutes” anymore, we’re too busy keeping up with Kardashians.

And now we have a majority of a generation who want to bring to that kind of political system to the ultimate beacon of freedom, the United States, just so they don’t have to pay for college or healthcare.

Never mind that it will be a college experience devoid of individual analysis and thought, where subjects and courses will be selected and pre-screened by the government…actually, wait, in socialism, is there even a need for college?

Must be why it’s free.

We are spoiled and entitled brats. Most of you reading won’t finish the 1,700 words in this blog – I know, you’ve got to get back to Facebook’s version of America’s funniest home videos.

But that is the vacuum we created that allowed us to feel the Bern.

Socialism, for in practice often known as communism, strips the mind, the body and the soul of individuality, of incentive, of self-worth.

animal_farm

But we don’t read Orwell anymore. Animal Farm probably invokes thoughts of a children’s book and 1984 is just a year in the past.

When the Cold War ended, there was an enormous drop-off in mass killings around the globe. When the Center for Global Policy at George Mason University researched this through a task force, it found the reason was because millions were freed from communism and police states at that time.

Despite what you read and hear through the media, mass killings around the globe have remained low for over 20 years. In fact, the 2010s are the some of the lowest in history.

But our younger, millennial brethren were born after all this Cold War mumbo jumbo. The Day After Tomorrow is more plausible to younger Americans than WarGames. Anyone younger than 28 doesn’t remember the fall of the Berlin Wall. To them, it is just text and pictures in a book.

Sanders will most likely not win this election. But millenials will take over as the largest sub-demographic of America in the not so distant future. And not one of them ever had a siren test for a nuclear war in grade school. This primary season should serve as warning to the disconnect we’ve created in our society.

We cannot protect and coddle anymore. There are no more participation trophies to give.

To be sure, America has its share of problems and issues. There will never be a utopia here on earth because of the humans that inhabit it. We are not perfect, nor will we ever be. We should always strive to do the best we can to care for one another, to root out injustice wherever possible and reduce the violent nature that stirs within the souls of the lost and help bring hope to the hopeless.

But do not mistake that kindness, that good intent, with willing subjugation.

Americans work hard. We compete. We push ourselves and go for our dreams. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. We’re gamblers, boundary-pushers and risk-takers.

But this isn’t Manor Farm.

If we’re going to become the anti-thesis of what we are and what we have been, if we’re going to backfeed into some twisted version of the future that is as dystopian as the media portrays, then I guess given the choice, there is no choice.

Better to let the clock tick to 11:58pm than have a society so lazy and unmotivated it just rolls over and falls back asleep when the alarm goes off.

Hitting snooze doesn’t save us.

Get up, America. It is time to get to work.

This is your Bern Notice.

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American culture, NFL, Peyton Manning, Society & Culture, Tom Brady, Uncategorized

The Intervention of a Sports Addict

Sports are a drug.

They’ve probably always been a drug, and always will be a drug.

They soothe us, distract us, energize us, unite us, divide us, and entertain us.

They also blind us.

Americans are sports junkies.

And what do addicts do?

Deny that a problem or addiction exists in the first place. They ignore the obvious. They defend the indefensible. They keep right on using.

But they’ll ruin you. Mess up your mind.

You don’t believe me, do you?

So how about the fact that sports will make you deify someone you’ve never met? Doubt me?

Let me prove it to you.

How do you feel about Tom Brady? And now, how do you feel about Peyton Manning?

Allow yourself to independently judge both of these legends’ and their recent “situations.”

You couldn’t do it, could you?

Peyton Manning

Manning’s stories are promptly dismissed as “hit” jobs by people who want to tear him down through accusations of HGH and a young college kid who behaved immaturely.

Yet Brady’s stories are treated as fact, despite the little evidence produced in the 12 months since Deflategate began to actually prove 1) anything actually happened and 2) most importantly as it concerns Brady himself, that he had anything to do with it if the balls were actually deflated by humans.

The NFL still slings it out in court to prove they have the right to punish a player under the CBA, missing the entire point that, you know, you have to actually have proved the player should be punished at all. To do this, they uncovered thousands of e-mails and phone records to try and link Brady to it.

All we found out is he wants to play longer than Manning, he’s got an ego and he weirdly cares a lot about swim pool covers.

On the other side of the coin, Manning has seen his image take a hit over allegations that date back 20 years that he was basically a pervert to a female trainer at the University of Tennessee. This is on top of the allegations that he received several shipments of HGH (or his wife did) that coincide with his neck injury rehabilitation a few years back.

The Tennessee story has been out there since 1996 and Manning has settled the dispute twice – once when it happened and apparently again when he brought the trainer’s name up in a book. Why this is resurfacing now has everything to do with his name being attached to a Title IX lawsuit against Tennessee and it being 2016, the age of rabid, social media heathenry.

Meanwhile, it has been revealed that NFL players were shorted $100 million in revenues. The league office dismissed it as an accounting error. Anybody make a $100 million mistake at their job wouldn’t have a job the next day. Yet this story is not currently gaining much traction. Why?

Because we’ve already given them the money, so we don’t care if the rich players get richer or the rich owners are even richer. It’s monopoly money to us, anyway.

No, no, we addicts, we care about sentiment, about legacy, about being able to emphatically agree on some fantasy ranking of the greatest ever.

And we care about this all because it says a lot about who we are – at least so we think subconsciously.  We attach ourselves to these athletes and these teams so we can go through the pain of losing and the joy of winning together. Brady backers love the underdog story, Manning’s fans stuck by him through all the “he can’t win the big one” years. To us, this loyalty proves something about us.

We can’t like the wrong guy, we can’t be wrong, we can’t have invested in the wrong guy or bought into who he is as a person.

NCAA Football: Alabama at Mississippi

There’s a lot on the line for us average Jill and Joe’s because we’ve convinced ourselves that our fandom matters to other fans. We made it clear who we support – and not only is our guy better, but they are a better person, too.

Except for one, small problem.

It means nothing. We don’t know any of these people. We don’t know what they are like behind closed doors. We don’t know how kind they are or how ruthless they are or how sleezy they might be.

They might be innocent, they might be guilty. The vast majority of us have no clue. And yet we sports junkies feed the beast. We listen to the sports talk shows rattle on and on about it, driving up ratings, making them talk about it more. We click the stories all over social media, prompting more stories to be written about it.

We’re sheep. Inmates in a sports asylum walking around with blinders on, believing in sports and sports figures as if it was a religion. We’re dopes, buying the gear, buying the tickets at astronomical prices, buying into the belief systems and serious manner in which it’s all treated.

We’ve been sucked into world within our world where we think this stuff actually matters, like debating if four minutes is enough of a suspension for Ben Simmons cutting class last week?

I don’t know, and I don’t care anymore. Did that teach Simmons anything? Probably not. Why is he allowed to do that? Why do you care? Didn’t you cut class in college? Does it impact you if he doesn’t go to class?

We want fairness and equality in sports, in college programs? There’s too much money at stake to ever let it happen. We demand from coaches and athletes and administrators that which we ourselves cannot even do in our daily lives. We take shortcuts. We skip out. We complain. We don’t give max effort every single day.

But we sure expect everyone else in sports to. After all, they’ve been given a gift.

So have you.

You just choose to waste it.

Sports and extracurricular activities in general serve in building people in a variety of ways from a young age. They teach teamwork, dedication, commitment, perseverance and hard work to name just a few.

And wanting to be a part of that, as a parent or a fan, or both is good too. But too much of anything can turn into something you never intended – like convincing yourself that someone you’ve never met is good or evil, the embodiment of everything you love about sports – or everything you loathe.

Just be wary of absolutes.

Absolutes lead down a path of yelling at officials at a soccer game for four-year-olds. They make you crazy enough to attack someone physically in the parking lot after a game. Or throw batteries at Santa Claus (we’re looking at you, Philadelphia).

They make you believe in someone else that, like you, is human and fallible. Better yet, these absolutes have led you to wear the jersey of a character, a portrayal, an image of who that person wants you to see and believe.

I know this isn’t easy to admit. I know you think I’m crazy, that sports don’t control your life and that you couldn’t possible “worship” another human being so blindly.

But just go back to the beginning. What do you know and believe about Tom Brady? And what do you know and believe about Peyton Manning. Ask yourself which one is right and wrong, good and evil, guilty or innocent.

And now remember that it’s a trick question: you don’t know them or their situations – only what their enemies or their mouthpieces have allowed you to.

michael and kobe

In other words, you don’t know Peyton Manning or Tom Brady. Or Michael Jordan. Or Tiger Woods. Or Bob Knight. Or Serena Williams. Or Dean Smith. Or Kobe Bryant. Or Tim Duncan. Or LeBron James. Or Andre Aggasi. Or Danica Patrick.

No matter how much you think you do.

The first step is to admit there’s a problem.

Sports are a drug.

They soothe us, distract us, energize us, unite us, divide us, and entertain us.

And they most certainly blind us.

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American culture, Culture

The Drive For Five

Hey, complete stranger person who’s completely and utterly baffled why my wife and I are having a fifth child, I’d like to answer your question of whether or not we’re “crazy” in long form explanation instead of a simple “yes” or “no.”

Do you mind? Cool. Let’s get started.

I see you silently judging me with your eyes from the moment I said “fifth” – and I could care less. But just know that your shock and mild disgust is not as well hidden as you might think.

Yes, we have several children, we certainly are aware of the volume of children we have produced. And no, people do not seem to care as much anymore. It may be less exciting for everyone else than the first or the second, but not to us. We never had children for attention anyway.

Yes, we are younger than you might expect. Sorry we’re not older, I guess? We tend to think that our youth is a good thing, allowing us to play with our kids and chase them with energy and vitality. But if you somehow think our age equates not knowing what we’re doing with so many kids, that’s a totally fine opinion to have. Because certainly no one over the age of 40 ever messed up.

moore family

No, we’re not destitute, nor are we rich. Our children are happily fed, washed and clothed. And we do get help in that department from time to time from loving and wonderful grandparents on both sides, but only because they offer, want to or just do it without asking. We are perfectly capable of doing it on our own.

Yes, we are aware what causes it, but thanks for that awkward joke. Really played well to the crowd, sir. We planned these kids, believe it or not.

But somehow, I don’t think that look in your eyes is about us and our large family. It’s about us not following the “rules” or societal norms of the world in 2015. Because it is not what everyone else does and it’s not “normal.”

We are easily influenced in this country, but somehow rarely swayed.

We’d rather tell people how wrong they are instead of leading by example. We do this out of some sort of need for affirmation, that we are in fact, right – and someone agrees enough to tell us so. This then serves as validation to everyone else who still thinks we are wrong, so that we can turn back to them and say, “See, this person knows I’m right, too!”

Third party credibility at its finest worst.

Ask yourself this: if your convictions are strong enough, why do you need the approval of others through how many thumbs-up you get on a status update?

We like to complain. We like social media. And we’ve married them together quite nicely. We like to tell each other what the problem is, who’s to blame for it, what should be done about it, how it affects us and why we are right.

From politics to road improvement projects to what clothes to buy or music to listen to, we’re all trying to change the world through our opinion and what we value – presuming all along that others out there a) care what our opinions are, and b) hold the same values as we do.

We all have a sphere of influence; we just greatly misconstrue what to do with it. Social media allows you to build and sell your brand. Every post you make, every favorite, like, share and retweet.

Now, this may or may not be who you actually are – but that does not really matter. To the outside world, you are what your advertising says you are. You are marketing you, and in some ways those connected to you, with your brand.

And that brand is the message you allow yourself to project. You cannot change the world. Too big, too difficult, too abstract.

But you can change your world – and by doing so, through your sphere of influence, the world around you perhaps slowly changes over time.

So many people tell us of the ills of society.  They will complain. They will condemn others who do not think and act as they do. They will tell you that you are, in fact, wrong.

Now how many times when someone told you that you were wrong did it change your mind?

I’ll go ahead and guess zero, because you didn’t. The message is half as important as the messenger.  Throughout history, powerful orators – great messengers – have influenced mass amounts of people to do really great things.

They have also persuaded entire populations to do really dumb things, terrible or horrific things.

The difference between disagreeing and intolerance is a thin line, and we are not often aware that we have crossed it until it is too late. The same holds true then in how we conduct ourselves with others in person.

Life cannot be done as it is on social media.

So, yes, this makes our fifth child. And we’ve experienced the gamut of reactions before. Believe it or not, some had the open-mouth shock, the “you must be one of those” furrowed brow, the head shake and smile, the plastic smiled “that’s so nice” when we had our fourth child nearly four years ago.

We keep having children because we feel called to do so and that we can raise another person to be good, to be kind, to try to make the world a little brighter, a little happier and a little better.

To get there, you just go with it.

Look, do I enjoy freezing my tail off at some sports event at 8am on a Saturday morning after getting up at 6:30am? No more so than anyone else would. Is it fun to have a factory assembly line five days a week to make lunches for school the next day? Not particularly my brand of fun.

Sleepless nights with a newborn are not moments that I would describe as fun by any means. Nor is holding having nightmares of Home Alone play in my head as we walk through an airport, utterly petrified one of ‘em will end up lost in New York.

But this is not about me – it never was. Life is not meant to be about me, or my wife. Life is about giving yourselves to others and attempting to make the world a little better, a little brighter, a little happier. Let’s face it, it can be fairly depressing at times.

avengers assemble

And we have a lot of fun. How can you not with your own brood of mini-me’s?

It is our way of changing the world into a better place.

We all fear evil in the world, but it is indifference that scares me personally the most. And what my wife and I long to do is make difference makers, people who care about others and want to do right, solely because it is right. To us, this is increasingly rare in the world we live in. I want the good guys to win.

In some small way, I have convinced myself that our influence on our brood, and thereby a larger world, will be and last much longer than social media – and much, much longer than me.

You see, my life isn’t over because I have so many children. My life and purpose begin with my children. In fact, our children have helped me narrow my focus and become more efficient with my goals and objectives. My ambitions are closely tied to their lives, what they can become and who I will become because of them.

None of this makes me a better person or parent than anyone else in the world. My views are not somehow more valuable or correct.

It just makes me, me.

And you aren’t going to change me by telling me how weird it is to have five children.

But by all means, go ahead and try.

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