Elephant in the Room or, A Brimful of Asha

I just had the police called on me. For being out in public. With my children.

We were out, trying to get some lunch, and I had had the kids sit on a flower box on the sidewalk while I called the bank regarding a pin issue. 

Some old lady drove up next to us, rolled down her passenger window, and got all up in my business. She asked me if the children were okay, then asked if they were in danger, the whole time giving me the stink-eye.

"I'm their father. They are in a safe location, and are being supervised. What possible danger could they be in?!"
"I'm calling the police."
"To report yourself for getting all up in my business and being a public nuisance?"

I'm not sure if she called them or flagged them down, but a few minutes later, the police showed up. They drove through the parking lot, took one look at me, gave a wave and a nod, and kept going.

Between this, the Timmy incident, and the too-long grass, is it any wonder I never want to leave my motherfucking goddamn house?! GAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Honestly, I realize this issue is small, comparatively, opposed to, say, the sexist oppression women face everywhere, but it is awesome to me that everyone I know and love understands that narrow-minded shit like this is not okay. I don't understand what her motivation was. 

I was told once at a park by a mom that, as a man, I didn't have the ability to nurture that it takes to effectively and lovingly raise children. I get statements like this every once in awhile, and generally I have a decent retort, because, um, ME. Often, though, I get "Daddy's day out, huh?" "Is it Dad's day with the kids?" "Got yourself a day off work, huh?" Mother. Fucker. This IS my job.

It's funny, in a sad way. The snap-judgement extremes people go to. I receive from total strangers either total big-scary-man avoidance, or in-your-face counsel, condemnation, and reprimand, or just the assumption that being a dad is a part-time gig. I can't wrap my head around that mentality.

I like the middle-grounders, the opinionated, outspoken neutral non-neutrals. Those that don't give a fuck about the gender of myself or my children, or the clothes we wear, or how we spend our day. Those that know we are just parents and children, trying to enjoy life as much as possible, and trying very hard not to hate with the burning fire of a thousand suns everyone else that feels the need to ejaculate their anecdotal blurbs of parenting wisdom all over us.

Rage Against the Machine

After last year's bizarre factory reset of our home PC, in which we lost all music, photos and documents stored there, I have to re-rip my 1500+ cds to the drive again. This monumental task is offset by the fact that I have 3 more-than-eager technojunkie helper monkeys fiending to earn screen time who are doing an amazing job focusing on prep, rip, and file. Who knew having kids would pay out in tedious labor?! Wait...only every parent EVER before us. At the very least, mine...

Subject to Change...

I'm going to get real, for a moment, on an issue I would like to address. 
Anyone that knows me knows I love to debate. I love to play devil's advocate. You give me a topic, and I will try to see -and argue - it from multiple vantage points. This characteristic allows me to be fluid. Malleable. To adapt and change with logic and information. To progress. And this is the issue: The one thing I have learned in my years of research, discourse, and debate: being a pretentious, overbearing, judgmental, know-it-all prick is not going to sell you or me on anyone's opinion, politics, religion, line of reasoning, or get me to revise my stance on an issue. If you want me to hear you, want to engage me, it would benefit you to implement my (recently discovered as I am writing this) guidelines of respectful discourse(which I should probably have been following but HEY! I just discovered that I have guidelines, so give me a break):


First: Be polite. In discussion, make respectful requests for information, use proper names, show that you are actively listening to me by telling me what you are hearing me say. And I will try to do the same. Actively listening, instead of just waiting for one's turn to speak, can have surprising results. Many, many times, an explosive disagreement that could have been avoided came down to simply a matter of semantics and/or miscommunication.


Second: Communicate respectfully. Do not denigrate, attack my character, address my stance on other issues not related to the topic in order to call my intellect into question, or in any other way attempt to undermine me as a person. And namecalling? For fucks sake. 
Also, while being facetious or sarcastic is humorous when communicating amongst friends, in debate it is unwarranted and unwanted. HOWEVER! Humor, charm, and genuine wit can help alleviate tension and keep the discussion lighthearted and flowing.
Second B: As to swearing-well, I like to swear. It can help emphasize a point, but in civil discourse, it is not absolutely necessary (I should probably implement this rule more in my daily communication as well).

Third: Present your argument with logic, facts, patience, and RESPECT.

Fourth: Allow time for me to process new information, acquire new thought paths, reposition and expand my thinking. I love to learn, but not if I'm beat about the ass and neck with it. I learn and progress by researching, by studying, by analyzing, by hearing others opinions and statements, and then drawing conclusions. As new information comes to light, new truths revealed, this may change my stance. This is how progress works. 

Finally, I cannot emphasize respect enough. For your fellow human, for the topic...for everything. Being a dick will get you noticed, but genuine respect will get you much further.

Also - if I DO change my mind on a topic, I don't want my face rubbed in it, because you think I'm flip-flopping on the issue. It's difficult enough to alter my mindset, but to be mocked about it is embarrassing, infuriating, and unnecessary.

As a lengthy aside - I firmly believe in progress. Progress advances us and our world, but progress requires adaptation. One of the greatest jokes "society" ever played on humanity is that one must conform - rather than adapt - to be accepted. So the human mind is burdened with a wall of conformity that prevents progress, if we wish to "belong." Remaining steadfast in the face of adversity and providing a united front has always been seen as a strong suit, and, for a large part, it rings true. Early on we discovered that sticking together upped our odds for survival considerably. There were those that stuck out, though. The innovators, the inventors, the artists...

What's the one thing unique to the majority of the thinkers, the geniuses,  the writers, the inventors,  that have led to the advancement of civilization? They thought differently. SO differently, they were branded rebels. Outcasts. Freaks. Weirdos. Why? Why do we shun those that make us stronger? It's stupid! Why not instead be a rebel civilization, a community lauded for our ability to work together to propel humanity forward to great heights, rather than be mired in religiosociopolitical stigma? Or is it that persecution that empowers the greats to become great? I don't know, honestly. Perhaps a little of columns A, B, and C. But I do know that that hostility did not influence them to think like everyone else. They were not swayed by the popular opinion. They thought for themselves, pushed parameters, redefined or in some cases obliterated boundaries. But they did it because they could change, adapt, and, in the end, progress.

So, Respectful Communication begets Progressive Rebel Society.

If you have any suggestions for points I might add, feel free to let me know in the comments. :-)

Wacky Waving Inflatable Arms Flailing Tube Man

Imagine, for a moment, this entirely absurd scenario - you wake up to find yourself face to face with 100 beautiful clones of you. All of these yous want to do everything you love to do - cook everything you've ever wanted to cook, talk about everything you love to talk about, listen to all the music you ever wanted to listen to, plant and harvest and grow all the things you've ever wanted to grow, play games and Facebook and twitter and imgur and Pinterest all day, do dishes and laundry and clean the house so sparkling clean, write those stories you always wanted to write, go hiking, learn a new language, start a new business, no, make that two, no THREE new businesses, throw a vase, go hunting, take dance lessons... They all want to do something different from every other you, and they all want to do it now. They talk at you incessantly, sometimes mumbling, sometimes yelling, always interrupting...well-mannered, polite, and filtered, these clones are not. There is no order, only cacophonous chaos.

Now your kids are getting up, and their energy is like adding 3 perpetually energized electrically charged bouncing rubber balls to the mix. They, of course, think the clones are great fun, because everything they want to do, well, there's at least ONE clone that wants to do that, plus PANCAKES!

THAT is ADHD. THAT is my every morning, day, afternoon, and night.  I have such grandiose plans, but am inundated with options until I am paralyzed with indecision. I am jacked up to the point of exhaustion, but I am too wired to sleep. I don't use coffee to stay awake, I use it to focus, and it doesn't work very well. I do things, but only parts of things. When I DO make a decision to act, it is often sudden with no advance warning. Where someone else reflects on a million points of light, I am trying to touch every single one simultaneously. Where someone is being driven to distraction, I am the vehicle. How long did it take me to write this? At this point, several months, but I'll really never know, because I'm never done.

There is a flipside. I see shit that no one else sees. I can hold a dozen conversations at the same time. I can MacGuyver the fuck out of anything on a moments notice. I'm funny as hell. I handle anxiety and stress exceptionally well, and recover from conflict remarkably fast. When necessary, I actually, truly "multitask" like a motherfucker. As a parent, I can attend 3 vibrant, confident, energetic individuals at the same time - and keep up! And, when properly medicated, I can hone my skills with laserlike precision. Yes, medicated. And yes - it works. I take 2 little pills of something called Methylphenidate, and I am FOCUSED. I am no longer Wacky Waving Inflatable Arms Flailing Tube Man. I am...LASERBEARD. DUN DUN DUHHHHHHHN. I can get shit DONE. Oh, the things I have accomplished. (Now, I just have to work out the kinks with the dosage, and, hopefully, a semblance of peace and normalcy can be attained.)

So please - tell me ADHD is not a thing. Tell me I'm just a daydreamer that needs to learn "self-control." Tell me I'm undisciplined. Lazy. Lack motivation. "Hyper." I've heard it all, and I've heard every layman's "cure." And I'll tell you this - you're full of shit. I know purely from my own experience that you are  full of complete and utter bullshit. I am the EMBODIMENT of ADHD. It's not a fucking choice. ADHD is very real. I speak from my own life's experience, of course, but there are also at least 200 years worth of documented research and experience to prove it.^1  I implore you - don't dismiss me as a daydreamer, or inattentive, or bored, or dumb. Me, or anyone like me. It really is not a choice. We are who we are, every one of us, and beautiful as all fuck.

Crazy?! I Was Crazy Once...

Me:"I'm so hungry, I could eat a cow."
Biscuit:"Jesus is a cow."
Boogs:"Yep. A girl cow. Actually, Jesus was godzilla."
Me:"Wait, wha-." 
Ro:"Actually, Godzilla was a dinosaur."
Me:"Hold o-"
Boogs:"That's what I said - Jesus is a T-Rex."
Biscuit:"Yep. Jesus was a girl T-Rex."
Me:" Oh no you DON'T. Now I know you are trying to fuck with my head. Screw this - I'm making myself a sammmich."
*backs slowly from the room, eying all occupants warily...*

We All Gunna Die!

I repeat - every goddamn day is an exercise in keeping them from killing themselves and/or each other.
Today's exhibit - observe the fuzzy little honey bee. Is it a deadly deadly space bee? No,  just an ordinary honey bee, flitting from flower to flower, doing its honey bee business. It is worthwhile to note that this bee is half the distance of our backyard from my children.
Boogie:(pointing emphatically across the yard)"GAH! ROMAN! A BEEEEEEEEEE!"
Roman:(screaming just as shrilly)"BEEEEEEEEEEEE! AAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!"
Gaius:(from across the yard, on the other side of the bee, seizing the first implement he can find, which happens to be his bow rake, and, having no knowledge of the actual location of the bee, runs full tilt right past it, directly at his siblings, flailing his weapon about, a berserk maniacal imp, screaming at the top of his lungs)"AHHHH THAAAAAAAAVE YOUUUUUUUUUU!!!"
Me:(using the special roar - You know the one)"STAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHP!" and disaster was, again, averted by the narrowest of margins.

There is no Daddy, only Zu'ulllll

R:"Daddy, why does your bed go "EEE-ERR EEE-ERR EEE-ERR -"
Me:"Because you shut the hell up, that's why."
R:(grinning)"Ha ha ha! No, seriously. I'm serious. Your bed goes "EEE-ERR" ALL THE TIME."
Me:"You want the truth? Okay - it's not the bed. We're building a boat for all of god's animals-"
R:(interrupting)"HA! Nahhhhh...you're kiddin'..."
Me:(sighing)" Okay. For reals this time. So, here's the thing - when two people love each other very much, there are monsters that try to -"
R:"Nahhh-"
Me:"I'm serious. Just shut up and listen. When two people love each other very much, there are monsters that try to get in your brain, your heart, and kill that love. Goblins and ghouls and ghosts -"
R:"AND WEREWOLVES!"
Me:"And werewolves... Those monsters have names like "Insecurity" and "Fear" and "Nightmare". Mommy and Daddy have to fight these monsters together, and by doing so, make our armor of luuuuuv stronger. Most often, talking and active listening are the best way to deal with the bogeymen. Remember active listening? (R nods) That is one of the most powerful tools in our arsenal. But we also really like the hands-on approach to battling the monsters. When you hear the noises you're not supposed to be hearing because you're not supposed to be up, that's Mommy and Daddy bustin' out some kick-ass ninja moves to power up our love armor and defeat the brain-goblins."
R:(eyeing me skeptically)"Is that real?"
Me:"Sure is. But here's the thing - it takes all of our concentration to fight these monsters, so you can NEVER interrupt us. NEVER OPEN THE DOOR. In fact, it's best if you just go right back to bed and right back to sleep, because if you interrupt us for any reason, the goblins will suck our faces right off! And then they WILL EAT OUR SOULS!!!"
R:"AAAAGGGH!!! REALLY?! IS THAT TRUE?!"
Me:"Do you want to take the chance that it isn't?"
R:"NO!"
Me:"Then stay in bed when you're supposed to be sleeping and stay the hell away from our room when the door is closed!"

What's New, Pussy Cat?

Growing out my beard. It's kind of like having a warm kitty wrapped around my face. And we all know how much I like having my face buried in a soft, velvety p- scratch that. It's like a sweater. A nice, warm innocent, not naughty sweater for my face and neck.

Also, pubes.

Go Nuts!

On vasectomies - it doesn't fucking hurt, motherfuckers. And it hurts one one millionth the amount of pain a woman endures when she undergoes a hysterectomy, or a tubal ligation. "But how would you know? You've never had a hysterectomy, or a tubal..." BECAUSE I'VE HAD A VASECTOMY, JACKASS. IT DOESN'T FUCKING HURT.  I even got to watch the whole procedure. They offered to let me take the two little pink bucatini-looking bits home and everything. There's a pinch, and a day or 2 of discomfort, where you are encouraged to lie around with a sack of peas on your nuts. You get a little downtime, some sympathy, and you're a fucking HERO for not making her go through all that shit. Might even get some victory head. Who knows?

So if you're looking for a good, effective solution to not having any(more) children, get that shit done, and quit being a whiny fuckhead.

P.S. Also, if you're in a safe relationship, you don't have to wear a rubber anymore. Which means SHE has to go cleanup. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  Ahem...

WhoWhatWhereWhenWhy Wednesday!

WhoWhatWhereWhenWhy Wednesday is upon us! As always with this longstanding, time honored tradition that I just made up here at Legend of Greybeard, I will be fielding whichever questions I so deem inappropriate. But first, a question for YOU - Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat...does the fox say? BWAHAHAHAHA.