Stupid Kid, Me

by Terrie v.B. 

Let me take you back. Way, way back. Back to your childhood years.  More specifically, to those dim-witted deeds you perpetrated as a child. What? You can’t remember that far back? Am I the only one who has experienced the dizzying heights of youthful knuckleheadedness? Perhaps this list will serve to jog your memory.

Some stupid things I did as a child:

1. Once, a group of us kids discovered a huge bee hive hanging in a tree near our homes. Did this discovery cause us all to spontaneously decide our future was in entomology? Did we immediately run home to retrieve notebooks and pens in order to record our scientific observations of bees? At the very least, as the bees were simply doing whatever it is that bees do, did we wisely decide to just let the poor insects be? After all, hadn’t our good mothers always taught us that if you leave bees alone, they’ll leave you alone? Noooo! We all picked up rocks and began chucking them at the hive. You can guess what happened. One irate bee is nothing to scoff at. Thousands of enraged bees are the stuff nightmares are made of. Our laughter turned to panic stricken shrieks of unadulterated horror as we quickly realized that the bees were coming after us! Imagine that. I escaped without being stung, but for a week afterwards my dreams were filled with terrifying variations on the attack of the killer bees.
2. One bright summer day, as I was perfecting my diving technique at our neighborhood communal pool (our neighborhood will be the subject of a whole new post some day), I happened to notice that before diving, everyone held both arms up and touched their fingertips together in a V-shape above their heads. In my ten old’s sharp as a marble mind, I wondered why that was. Being an inquisitive child, I decided to test out what the result would be if I entered the water without positioning my hands overhead, that is, head first. Let me tell you, there is a reason that for millennia divers have held to the overhead placement of one’s arms. It’s because if you don’t, you hurtle through the water and conk your head on the bottom of the pool. OUCH! One way or another, that’s the kind of thing you only try once.
3. You know, a four year old really has no clue about how electricity works. In fact, at that age I don’t know if anyone ever tried to explain it to me. I had absolutely no idea that unscrewing the bulb from my bedside lamp and sticking my thumb in the socket would be an extremely poor idea resulting in the shock of my life. I did learn a lesson that day. Let’s face it, there is only one way to experience the raw power of electricity and that is to feel it coursing through one’s body for several seconds. A truly shocking experience. Unforgettable, really.
4. As most children are at some point in their lives, I was a pyromaniac. I think I was about 7 or 8 years old when playing with matches became one of my favorite pastimes. We had an old, dried out, tinderbox of a wooden shed where I would hide in order to indulge my habit. Smart, heh? I can remember very vividly the feel, sound, sight and smell of the matches as I struck them and they burst to life. I would strike match after match, let it burn a few seconds and then blow it out. Yes, my parents taught me better. I knew better. But, my habit continued until one day my sister got caught playing with matches. I watched her get the spanking of her life. And I mean, the spanking of her life. So, I quit playing with matches, not because I realized how dangerous they were, but because I did not want to get the spanking of my life. Thanks, Sis, for taking the hit. Literally. That spanking was well warranted and I should’ve been second in line. Better the temporary sting on the bottom than the permanent consequences of playing with fire. By the way, as a mother now myself, I look back on my match playing days and shudder. 

So, there you have it. It’s a wonder any of us survived long enough to see our twelfth birthday. Don’t even get me started with all the dumb things I did as a teenager. No, I wouldn’t want to give my own kids any smart ideas….  

The Wacky World of Professional Golf

by Terrie v.B.

“Golf is a good walk spoiled.”  -Mark Twain

Last weekend I watched quite a bit of the PGA Championship on television. I don’t normally watch golf on television, but  it seemed like a reasonable thing to do at the time. Anything to keep from loading the dishwasher or folding the laundry I suppose. It’s also worth mentioning that televised golf’s high NPR (Nap Probability Rating)  is second only to televised baseball’s NPR.

Golf is a grand old game that has been around for hundreds of years. Some have even called it the “gentlemen’s game”. That’s because the men involved are required to wear fashionable, brand name clothes and expensive shoes. I must admit that golf fashion has certainly improved over the years. Thankfully, they don’t wear loud plaid clown pants anymore. I’ve also heard it said that real gentlemen, ergo golfers, never sweat. They perspire. That is of course unless you happen to have been one of the participants of the PGA tournament I saw on T.V.  It was held in Tulsa, Oklahoma. With the humidity at about 99%, those guys were towel sopping sweaty. Not a pretty sight, gentlemanly or not. 

There are lots of things I’ve always wondered about golf. For example, why does a golfer need a caddy? Is the pressure of choosing the correct golf club just too much for him? Can’t he handle carrying his own clubs? I mean, lots of people could use help lugging around their stuff. Wouldn’t it be nice if mothers with young children had someone following them around, responding to their every beck and call? I sure could use a trustworthy caddy, someone to carry all the groceries into the house after I go shopping. I understand that being a professional golfer is a very lucrative career and that these guys can easily afford the hired help. But in my opinion golfers should get their money the old fashioned way, by earning it. A good start would be for them to buck up and carry their own gear, just like the rest of us.   

And not only do golfers need help carrying all their stuff, they also require complete silence as they hit the ball. Why? Football players, for example, seem able to execute their plays in front of tens of thousands of madly screaming, crazy people. What makes golfers so special? Does it really take that much concentration to whack the heck out of a little white ball? They even have people hold up little signs that say ”QUIET”. Now, I want to know. Do those sign holders actually get paid for that? Can you imagine the want ad for that job? WANTED: QUIET SIGN HOLDER UPPER. ONLY EXPERIENCED NEED APPLY. Personally, I could never be part of the fan gallery at a golf tournament because just when I was supposed to be the most quiet, that is the moment I would be most tempted to let out a “Owwah!” or a “Woo-Woo!”. I seriously doubt that I would be able to control myself.

Professional golfers always seem so in control of themselves. They focus on the task at hand and are masters of grim and dogged determination. Do they teach that stuff in professional golf school? Have you ever noticed that when a golfer misses an easy putt, causing the whole gallery to moan mournfully in unison, how good he is at exercising extreme self-control and restraint? Just once I’d like to see one of these guys show the world how he really feels. It might make the game a little more exciting to watch if a golfer would let’s say hurl his golf bag into the crowd, punch his caddy in the nose, kick the sand out of a bunker, or maybe hold his driver overhead and viciously bend it in half as if he’s the Incredible Hulk or something. Those types of things would definitely lower golf’s NPR rating for sure.

As for me, I’ve always wanted to give golf a try. But maybe I’ll just stick to the “good walk” part. It’s probably just easier that way.