Tried As An Adult

April 3, 2007

Where, in any logical manner of thinking, is this a good idea? We do not trust children under the age of 21 to have enough judgement or enough ability to divine the consequences, to buy alcohol.  We don’t believe that children under the age of 21 or 18 to have the mental facilities to understand the significance of signing a contract.  We will not allow a child under the age of 18 to put his life on the line for his country.

We will however, decide that we find a child’s actions maddening enough to decide that we want to punish him as an adult.  We decide that because his actions resulted in  devastation, he certainly must have known all along that it would come to pass. 

How can we hold children to such a high standard over criminal actions only?  We don’t hold them to such standards in any other area of their lives.  We do not believe in their ability to judge the consequences of their choices in the legal arena, in the military, in the area of mind altering drugs.  Why should they be able to judge the consequences in that one area only?  What is it about crime committed by youth that so infuriates us?

Is it guilt?  Is it the fact that this country should be protecting our children so much better than we are?  Is it that our social services departments are geared specifically towards keeping families together rather than towards the welfare of our children? 

Why is it that we find it so easy to say that 16, 14, 12 year old children knew with an adult certainty that what they did was wrong and that they knew precisely what the consequences would be?  That they perpetrated whatever crime it might be with malice and knowledge of all that would befall their victims at the end?

We would never decide that those same children, if found not guilty, could then sign a contract with their lawyers, go out and buy a mixed drink to celebrate, or be allowed to drive home from the courthouse.  They could not then go join the army and defend their country after being tried as an adult and found not guilty.  They are only considered adults for this one, very particular, thing.

What is wrong, wrong, wrong with this picture?

We can’t have it both ways.  Our children are either children or they aren’t.  They are either too young to make informed decisions or they aren’t.  Regardless of how we feel about the devastation they may cause.  We call them children specifically because they are not equipped to make rational, informed decisions.  There is an age of majority because children have not been prepared for adulthood until then.

The real problem is that we don’t really prepare children for adulthood at all.  We send them to school to learn some arbitrary set of lessons, and send them out into the world with no real knowledge of how the world works.  We have absolutely no markers of progress for children except for certain religions.  We have no standards of progress except for a high school diploma, which basically means that you can sit still for 12 years and not be too annoying.  You don’t particularly have to learn anything.  And you don’t have to graduate high school with anything of value under your belt.  You don’t have to be able to read if you can make a 30 yard pass, or even if you’re just quiet and don’t make trouble.  You don’t have to be able to balance a checkbook, know what compound interest is, or understand the importance of a good credit rating. 

You don’t have to understand self esteem, or even have any.  You don’t have to understand self respect or respect for others.  You don’t have to understand helping, sharing, kindness, sympathy, empathy, or just plain being nice. 

We build our schools like prisons and our prisons like schools.  If we paid our teachers like professional athletes, can you imagine what kind of presidents we would have?  Instead, we put them in jail if they have a fight in school.  We expel them from school for having aspirin.  We charge kindergartners with sexual abuse for kissing their friends, and we try children as adults.

The question I keep asking myself is this:  What the hell are we thinking?

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The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum or “I just wanted to poke it with a stick”

March 31, 2007

I used to live in town.  The entire world passed my door 3 times a day.  My front porch was one push-mower width away from the road.  Across the street was a small ravine with a creek running through it.  Just one of those little areas that couldn’t be built up.  Just behind the ravine was the local crack house.  It was empty except for the middle of the night when all the local crack heads used to come and use it. 

Now, I told you that story so I could tell you this story.(vague Ron White reference)  When we lived in town we had a cat named Psycho Kitty.  She lived outside.  Her food was on the porch.  It came to pass that several nights in a row Psycho Kitty would fight with something over her food.  In the morning there would be much loose fur floating around on the porch.  Some of it was NOT Psycho Kitty’s.  It was beginning to fret me.  But try as I might, I couldn’t seem to catch sight of what PK was fighting with. 

Then one night I got lucky.  It was autumn and I had left the inside door open and the fighting began.  I ran to look and almost wet my pants.  It was a possum.  Holy crap!  Do you know how big those jokers are?  The only ones I had ever seen before were about an inch and a half tall because they were dead in the road and pretty mushed.  This thing was alive and as big as a medium sized dog!!!!!  I couldn’t believe they were that big!  And my cat was fighting with it!  And winning!!!!!!!! 

Now, Mr. Possum wasn’t remotely concerned with me.  I stomped, I yelled, I banged on the door.  It glanced at me once,  gauged my sincerity, and dismissed me completely.  Hurt my feelings something terrible.  Mostly because at that moment he was right.  I wasn’t about to come out that door.  I was in too much shock about how big that rascal was.  It did however, set a wheel in motion.  When this happens, it’s almost never a neutral thing.   (see Haircut post)

PK took care of things, Mr. Possum ate what he could and moseyed away.  He really did mosey too.  Only time I’ve ever seen anything mosey in real life.  He came back several more times.  Taunting me.  However, the wheels were spinning now.  It was only a matter of time.  I was working out a plan.  And this time……..it was personal.

The night finally arrived to put my plan in motion.  The Great Quest For The Head Of The Possum began.(now, I realize that really this was a quest for the butt of the possum, but the great quest for the butt of the possum just didn’t have the same ring, so I used poetic license here)  The whole idea was this.  I was going to go sit on the porch on a high stool that we had.  With a big ol stick.  I would be very quiet.  I would wait for Mr. Possum.  Being a dumb animal he would never divine my presence.  Then, while he was happily eating PK’s food, I would poke him in the nether regions with said big ol stick.  Thus scaring the living bejesus out of him, humiliating him, and discouraging him from coming back, red faced, onto my porch to eat in future. 

However, I happened to notice in our previous meeting that Mr. Possum had some nasty looking little teeth.  So, along with my large stick, I also had a small firearm, just in case Mr. Possum took exception to being poked in the nether regions with a stick.  You know, he might get testy on me.  He might also have rabies or something.  And he was picking on PK.  And I was mad.  And I was me.  And he had pissed me off with that look.

So, My Dearest Husband goes for a boys night out, and I put my plan in motion.  The Great Quest is on.  I slide outside on the porch with all my paraphernalia and sit quietly. Waiting.  I’m patient.  I’m slick.  I’m cool.  I’m congratulating myself on my brilliant plan.  I’m chuckling to myself about the look of embarrassed horror Mr. Possum will have when that big ol stick is half way to heaven with me on the other end ………..when suddenly I hear loud banging and loud voices.  They seem to be coming from the house just past the crack house. 

Sure enough, there is a feisty gentleman outside of that house banging on it with much force while simultaneously shouting to the folks inside about a certain kind of mayhem he would like to perpetrate against them if they would just come outside!  Dang!  This just might put a kink in my plan!  He sure is making a lot of noise!  Then many, many police cars arrive with sirens and lights.  Policemen begin to issue from them in alarming numbers.  There are folks on megaphones.  There is shouting from the feisty gentleman.  There is shouting from the inside folks who have now come outside.

Suddenly,  the crack-house comes to life.  About twenty occupants decide that now is the time to decamp.  They all make a beeline for the ravine across the street from my porch, where I am sitting, patiently awaiting Mr. Possum with my big ol trusty stick. 

I find myself faced with a dilemma.  I fear that if the crackheads see me there, they will assume that I have alerted the authorities to their presence in the crack-house, thus wrongly developing ill feelings towards me.  Do I sit quietly hoping that they will not notice me?  Or do I haul natural ass inside the house, bolt the doors, and hope for the best?  As I sit there, frozen with fear, trying to decide what to do, the crack heads crawl out of the ravine one by one and scurry off into the darkness, until there is only one left.  I can hear him shuffling around down there in the dry leaves. 

Now is my chance.  I jump up, run into the house and lock the door.  But now……..I can’t see him!  What if he sneaks up on me?  I have to watch for him!  So I go to the dining room window, open it, put on my glasses, get down on my knees and peek out.  I’m watching across the street at the ravine.  Ha!  Can’t sneak up on me now!

And this is where My Dearest Husband’s headlights find me as they sweep across the front of the house on his way into the driveway.  He comes in the front door and this is how it goes:

My Dearest Husband😦in singsong voice modulated to calm lunatic) Hi Honey.  Whatcha doin on your knees lookin out the dining room window like that?

Me: Trying to poke a possum with a stick.

I think it sort of lost something in the translation.

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Introductions

March 31, 2007

I thought maybe it was time for me to introduce you to my family.  We are the typical blended family.  Well, we’re not so much blended as pureed.  (that word looks so misspelled it’s pitiful, but the free on-line dictionary assures me that it is correct so think bad thoughts at them if it’s not) 

First there is me, AKA Red.  We won’t go into the other things I’m called.  It would be way too easy and for the most part this is a semi family oriented site.  I’m the one in the “About me” page.  Click on it, I was being pretty honest that day. 

Then there is My Dearest Husband.  He is my first and only husband.  The only man I ever wanted to marry.  He Rocks.  He’s DA MAN!  He says he married me just to see what would happen next.  He is one of the last truly good guys left.  We are friends with the most of the rest of them.  Anyway, he puts up with me.  That would be past the limits of most men, but he seems to enjoy it most of the time.  Which probably brings his sanity or at least his judgement into question.  But that’s OK with me.  Cuz, if he was sane, he probably wouldn’t be married to me and then I would be all sad and shit and not nearly as amusing and you wouldn’t be here reading this and (we could go on and on here but you get the idea).  He is DROP dead gorgeous, incredibly intelligent, down to earth, fun, funny, and my very best friend in the whole wide world.  He is every other beat of my heart. 

Then there is Possum.  She is my husband’s daughter with his first wife.  I adopted her.  She’s 16.  She’s just coming out of that surly, angry, enraged, snotty teenaged angst.  She is also drop dead gorgeous.  She is growing more and more concerned about people and situations outside of herself.  She is very good at giving advise,  and the advise is usually very rational and down to earth.  She is smart, funny, fun, down to earth, snotty,(OK she didn’t come out of everything) and every inch an almost 17 year old girl.  I’m kinda proud of that.  I’m happy to have been part of every minute I got to spend with her.  And like every good mother, I’m already beginning to develop my selective memory regarding her teenage years.  (bless my mom’s heart, she tells me all the time what a good kid I was!!!!!  LOLOL  even I know better than THAT!)  She is rapidly turning into a beautiful, self confident, independent woman.  It makes me very proud.  It also makes me want to drop to the floor, grab her leg and beg her to stop growing up right this minute! 

Next we have Buddha.  He is my grandson.  His mother is my daughter with the man I lived with before I married my husband.  He’s 11.  He grew three pants sizes in two weeks.  You think I’m exaggerating.  I’m not.  One second he was a size 10 slim.  Five thousand dollars worth of groceries(ok, now I’m exaggerating) and two weeks later we had to go out and buy him all new clothes.  Size 16.  REGULAR!!!!  WTF????  I thought all that banging in his room was him pretending to be a rock star or something.  Turns out it was him growing!  He is very smart, with a sly, dry sense of humor.  He’s thoughtful, but if you tell anyone, he will deny it.  He is incredibly handsome, tall, built like brick shit-house but hides it under baggy clothes like all the other boys his age.  We laugh at the stoopidest things.  We make up stories like….Remember when we were kids and we lived in New York and our mom used to take us to Yankee games?  It’s crazy but we like it and it makes everyone else look at us like we’re nuts.  Makes it even funnier.  He is turning into a thoughtful, sensitive, caring, sweet young man.  I want to grab his leg and beg him to stop growing up too. I’m going to start sneaking into his room at night and rubbing Crisco on his head.  Why, you ask?  Because, it’s shortning!!!!! LOLOLOL  I crack myself up sometimes!

Then there is Bella.  She is my granddaughter.  Also my daughter’s child.  Different father from Buddha.  She’s 8.  She’s too smart for all our good.  She’s 15 steps ahead of all of us.  She is as beautiful as an angel, and mean as a snake.  We like to remind people that the devil was the most beautiful angel in heaven.  You have to keep your wits about you around Bella.  She is the sweetest child on earth, until you make her angry.  Then God help you.  She has no natural stops.  And no indicators of when she’s mad until you get to know her…..well.  She is remarkably helpful.  She helped me allllllllll day once.  When I finally stopped shaking, dried my tears and crawled out of the corner, I called my mom and apologized for helping her when I was little.  They call Bella Red Jr.  I’m not sure why.   >looks at ceiling all innocent like<  She likes to hear stories about the old days and what it was like when I was young.  She is interested in finding out about everything under the sun.  She writes songs and sings like a pro.  Bella is funny, and sweet, smart and tough, and her sense of humor mirrors mine.  Nuff said.

And last but certainly not least we have DeeDee.  Our puppy.  She’s an insane clown puppy.  She’s a nut.  She’s adorable and smart.  She covers her face with her paws if you say daddy farted.  She puts her toys away better than the kids.  Her toilet habits are far and away better than the kids’.  Except for that butt licking thing.  I’m trying to break the kids of that but……….lol  just kidding.  She sticks her nose in the air if you tell her she’s rich.  She thinks she is a kid just like the rest of them and can’t understand why she can’t eat at the table.  Kinda makes me feel like an abuser when I put her food in a bowl and make her eat on the floor.  I fully expect to see her on the commode one day. 

So that’s us.  We’re usually pretty nice.  Stretched so thin we’re transparent most of the time.  Probably pretty much like you.  Last night we set up all the empty plastic bottles we’ve been saving (fifty some at last count) and were bowling in the hall.  You do that too, right?  ……..Right????

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Help!

March 31, 2007

I have this poem floating through my head and I can’t remember all of it and I have NO idea who wrote it.  I can’t find out what the rest of it is if I can’t remember the name of the poem, or the author.  Help me!!!!!!!  PLEASE!!!!  It’s driving me crazy!!!!!!  *sob*  This is what I can remember of it……..and I can’t guarantee that the words are even right but the gist of it is correct.

When you are home from the long road and the open sky

I wish it would be my house that you are passing by

I wish it would be my house where you would sit down

and tell your tales of the land and sea and the strange far town

Oh come you from the eastward, or come you from the west

Here’s good cheer to greet you and welcome of the best

Oh come you with your pockets full or come you home poor

Here’s a place by the fireside and an open door.

You’ll tell me where you’ve been since and the things you’ve seen

Up and down the wide world where so long you’ve been

………………That’s all I’ve got.  But there’s more….something about a storm……….criminy!

Anyone?  ANYONE????????????

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Brothers

March 19, 2007

I have three brothers.  One older and two younger.  I love my brothers.  Don’t get me wrong.  We fought like cats and dogs when we were coming up.  If there was a mean thing that could be done, we did it to each other.  As the only girl, I learned to be fast and mean.  I will never be able to thank them enough for that!  The lessons I learned have served me well in my life. 

There is a strength you get from brothers that stands in the background of your life.  It gets embedded in your psyche in infancy and it never goes away.  You know throughout your life in every bad situation that comes about, that all you have to do is make a call and you have backup.  Even if you don’t use it, you know it’s there.  There is a strength in that knowledge that will get you through even the toughest situations.

If you have brothers you are never alone.  If you have brothers you are never weak.  If you have brothers you will never be homeless.  If you have brothers you will never starve.  If you have brothers you will always be understood.  If you have brothers you will always have support. 

On the other hand if you have brothers you will always be dogged out when you cry.  When you have brothers you will be teased if you don’t keep up.  If you have brothers you will get your hair pulled.  If you have brothers you will get skinned knees. 

If you have brothers you will have the best forts EVER!  If you have brothers you will have the best friends ever.  If you have brothers you will have the best prom dates ever.  If you have brothers you will have ……… brothers!

Brothers rules!  I wouldn’t trade my brothers for anything.  They each have something that I need.  They each have something that no one else on the face of the earth could give me.  I need each one of them.  I always have. They are as different as any three random people on the street.  And yet they are the same.  They surround me in my heart and in my mind every day.  They are a major part of the foundation that I am built on.  Without my brothers I would be less than I am.  With them I am limitless.

In loving memory of Norman Edward Haus… My Brother… Always

Not in my sight but always in my heart, mind and soul.

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