Tag Archives: kids are awesome

The things we realize…

It’s interesting how a random thought can turn into a realization about your entire childhood. A couple weeks ago, someone on Facebook posted about how they liked horseradish, and it got me thinking about my grandfather.

In the entire time that I knew him, and I’ll grant you, it wasn’t very long, but in that time, he never asked me to bring him anything. He would ask my cousins, or my aunts and uncles, but never me, and I think I finally figured out why.

To borrow the good ol’ sports analogy, I was born with two strikes against me. Let me explain…

First, my mother.

My mother is easily the most kind hearted person I know. Sometime early in my parent’s relationship, my mom was helping make sandwiches for lunch. My grandfather asked for horseradish on his. Mom, never having horseradish before, proceeded to slather it on to the bread like it was mayonnaise, and gave it to him. Grandpa took one bite, and spat it back out, yelling, “You trying to kill me, woman?!”

That was strike one.

Then, my sister.

My brother and sister are both 9+ years older than I am, and grew up when my family was especially church orientated. When I say “church orientated”, I mean, my father was a deacon, and my mother was a Sunday School teacher. So it was church every Wednesday, twice on Sunday, and every single day during Revival. This might not seem relevant, but bear with me.

Now, my grandfather liked to drink beer. He also liked to sit in his comfy chair, which left him with a problem: how to get a nice cold beer from the fridge…without getting out of his comfy chair. His solution was to ask my sister to bring him a beer.

Remember the thing about the church? Here is where it comes into play, because, you see, the church taught two major things: respecting your elders…and alcohol is bad. So, grandpa’s solution…became my sister’s problem. Alcohol was bad, but so was refusing to do what he asked her to. Fortunately, my sister has always been smart and came up with a solution to grandpa’s “solution.” She brought him a beer from the fridge, alright. But first, she gave it a good shake.

He made it through the unexpected beer shower the first time. And the second. And maybe even the third, I don’t remember how many times she did this to him before his cogs started turning, but eventually, he stopped asking her, and turned to my brother instead.

I love my sister, let me just get that out of the way now. She is the usually the sweetest little thing. However, she has her moments. And when grandpa asked our brother to bring him a beer? Well, she had a moment. She got our brother, three years younger than her, in on Operation Respect Our Elders/Beer is Bad. It eventually got to the point where grandpa would look around, realize that they were the only two there…and get up out of his chair to go get his beer, rather than risk another shower.

That was strike two.

By the time I came around, grandpa decided it was better to change sports than to worry about any curve balls I might’ve thrown him, and – just to be safe – he also wrote my name on all of the benches…with permanent marker. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, of course, I’m surprised he didn’t take a knife and carve my name into the wood.

At any rate, it’s a childhood mystery solved.

Asking for help is a GOOD thing.

I am seriously using EVERY SINGLE TAG I use for this, because this is important. A cry for help should not EVER be ignored, and the person ASKING for help should never be made to feel like they are somehow LESS for NEEDING that help.

If you are shot, you go to a doctor. If you break an arm or a leg, you go to the doctor. You don’t feel ashamed for needing help THEN, why should you when the pain is INSIDE you? When it is a literally LIFE THREATENING injury/illness? And yes, people, it IS life threatening. Or do you think they were just playing with the noose around their neck? Or the bullet hole in their head? Or maybe the slit wrists and the mountain of fucking pills in their stomach.

SERIOUSLY PEOPLE.

Do you know WHY so many people don’t get the help they need? Because there are dickholes out there who are mocking them. Who dismiss the cries for help as a “phase” until the person finally gets to the point where they think “why bother?”

And then those same assholes have the nerve to say “I don’t understand…what happened?”

YOU happened, asshole. You and the rest of society who have pushed them down one too many times, without even a backwards glance, much less a helping hand to get them back on their feet.

Their blood is on YOUR hands. And don’t you EVER fucking forget it.

 

**Note: To those of you who actually reach out to those who need help, this is NOT directed at you. And please, never change that part of you. We need more people like you.**

First off… no one panic, I’m not suicidal. Yes, I get down and feel like wtf is the point at times. I hate having to work when I know life is short and I’m not happy at my job and I keep thinking.. no one cares. If I died tomorrow, there’d be some poor schmuck […]

via Suicide… 4 words: Listen, I need help! — Kawanee’s Korner

Challenge accepted.

For the past three years, I’ve been pranking my youngest niece and nephew. It’s been easy because it’s fell within the school year. They would come home and find their bed sheets switched around, or their closet rearranged. Just little stuff that made them go “Huh?”

This morning, my niece, Koda, made sure to tell me: “You can’t fool us today! We’ll be home allllll day, and we’ll be watching you!”

tried to warn her that I could still get them. She refused to listen.

So I waited. After lunch, she’s doing her chores, and my nephew was sitting at the table, playing with his figurines. I have my tablet.

Me: “Oh…my….GOD! Koda! Koda, come here! Look!”

Both of them come running to see what I have on my tablet. I got two smacks upside the head, but I think I proved my point. With minimal effort, too.

Bonus: less than an hour later, I nonchalantly say: “oh hey, look at that…” And they both came running again. Same picture. If looks could kill…

Of zombies and children…

So I’ve recently decided that I am going to walk a mile a day. Most of the time, I’m by myself, so I’ll call my mom or my sister for company, but my niece has also joined me a few times. Last night was one of those times.
She’s ten, but she’s pretty good company. We talk about astronomy, her day at school, and her latest obsession: the possibility of a zombie outbreak. 

Last night was a zombie night. She was asking me all kinds of questions about what I would do if I saw a zombie, where would I run, etc.. I asked her a few questions, as well, and guess what? 

Apparently my ten year old niece is smarter than most people in zombie movies/tv shows.

Me: If you saw a dead body and you weren’t sure if it was a zombie, would you poke at it to see if it was really dead?
Her: of course not! 

Me: If you knew zombies could find you if you made noise, would you start yelling or shooting guns?
Her: that’s just stupid!

Me: if you weren’t sure a person was a zombie or not, would you let them get near you?
Her: No!!

Me: Congratulations.You’re smarter than the grown ups on tv.
Her: That’s just sad.

Day 2:

Almost hit 1000 words today. Meanwhile, the ten year old I take care of managed to churn out seven pages. (She’s decided to start writing fan-comics, featuring the Kitty League of Justice, lead by Batcat.)

My proof of progress:

Finally finding the right pocket her phone was in, she hit the button to turn the screen on. “It’s six twenty-eight, sachan. And it wasn’t like it was on purpose. She was being all ‘we don’t need no help’, while you were sitting right there, patching her brother’s brain together. What the fuck?”