Gym Karma

One of the things I miss most about the military is being able to just go workout whenever I happen to have time. In the civilian world where owners worry about silly things like profit and loss margins, you can’t really do that. I’m actually not even sure if I’m supposed to do it during my lunch hour. I could ask, true. If I did that, though, I might get an answer I don’t like. So, going with the principle that it’s easier to get forgiveness than permission, I sneak to the gym as many days as I can. And I do mean sneak. I invoke all my military anti-terrorism training. I vary my route every day when leaving and re-entering the building. I often carry a notepad so it looks like I’m going to talk to someone. I walk by my boss’s office so he “just saw me” if anyone is looking for me. I do everything but put on camo paint. It’s all very clandestine…and probably unnecessary. Nevertheless, I have my lunch routine down to a science. I drive 8 minutes to the gym, take 4 minutes to get inside and change clothes, work out for 30 minutes, shower and get dressed in 8 minutes, walk to my car in 2 minutes, and drive back in 8 minutes. One hour exactly. It runs as precisely as a German train schedule. You know, except when it doesn’t.

Recently, it all went wrong and ended up with someone being victimized. I was at the gym getting my 30 minutes in. It was cardio day so it felt like the 30 minutes would never end. I was on the treadmill doing some interval training, which consisted of me alternating between running slow and walking slower. I kept trying to convince myself that I decided on interval training because it was an effective fat burning strategy. Truth is, I just didn’t want to pass out on the treadmill. Someone told me once that running is a perishable skill. I didn’t know they meant I might perish. Anyway, I finished up, stretched once, and headed for the shower.

As I get to the shower, I see a sign that says it’s closed and being cleaned by a female. Crap! Who decides to have the showers cleaned during lunch hour?! You know, the one time during the business day when people are on a tight schedule. Great management decision there. And it’s not like I can skip showering. I can smell myself and I look like a drowned rat. So I decide to just go sit on a bench in the locker room and wait. Maybe she will see me, realize I’m waiting, and be quick. So I wait. Ten minutes go by, nothing. She’s in her own world, and it’s a very, very slow world. At the 15 minute mark we make eye contact. She even smiles and says hello.  Sweet, she knows I’m waiting and will pick up the pace. Nope. Another five minutes go by. Now I’m a mixture of panic, frustration, anger, and confusion. Who do I need to yell at to get things moving? Should I text my boss? Should I just put on deodorant and go? Should I organize a military coup and take over control of the gym?

Finally, after 25 minutes, I ask her if she is almost done because I have to get back to work and possibly get fired. She apologizes and says she didn’t realize I was waiting. Maybe she just thought I was fascinated watching her work. Or maybe she didn’t want to leave me alone because she thought I might go into cardiac arrest at any time. Who knows? Anyway, she tells me she is finished with the showers to just go ahead while she cleans the bathroom. Say what??? You want me to shower while you’re still here? She must have seen the terror on my face and assured me she would be done in just a minute. I start weighing my options and none of them are good. This is why you don’t mess with karma. I can continue to wait and risk getting in trouble at work or I can go against every instinct in my being. Ultimately, I trudge to the shower with its smoky glass window and clean up, confident she’ll be gone when I get out. Wrong again. As I walk back to the dressing room wearing a towel, she pops out of the bathroom area. A-W-K-W-A-R-D! I stop frozen and horrified. She looks unimpressed, which just added insult to injury, and gets her stuff and finally leaves.

I’m not sure who was the victim in all this but I do know who the winner is—my therapist. With all the sessions I’m going to need this winter, it looks like he’s getting a new boat for summer.

Lower Pay for Higher Discipline

From Rick-

I have it! I finally have it! Ever since I separated from the Air Force last fall I’ve been threatening to write a book. At first I thought I would write a pseudo memoir about my time at the Academy of Military Science. I even have a blog with some of the stories I thought I would share. Then I realized no one really cares what a washed up Airmen thinks. After that, I was sure I figured out the million dollar idea. I could write about my transition from the military and let corporate America know what they are missing by not lining up to hire veterans. I even went so far as to jot down some ideas about that one. But, nah. I couldn’t figure out how not to sound like I was just whining. But now, holy smokes, do I have the right concept. It is going to revolutionize American industries everywhere. What is it, you ask? Here goes- increase discipline through lower pay.

I mean, is that brilliant or what? Can’t you just see me going around on the public speaking circuit preaching the virtues of cutting pay as a way to increase discipline? Hey, CEO, you can cut your bottom line and reduce discipline issues. Every year, you could cut pay by the current inflation rate. What? You don’t think it will work? You think I’m an idiot? Maybe, but not for this idea. You know why? Because it’s not mine. It’s the brain child of Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps Michael Barrett.

The senior enlisted Marine member told Congress that lower pay might actually be beneficial to the service. He said, “I truly believe it will raise discipline. You’ll have better spending habits. You won’t be so wasteful.” Every time I read it, it sounds more ridiculous. Wasteful? You know what I wasted my time on when I was an E-4? Worrying about how I was going to feed, clothe, and care for my two young children on a salary that qualified me for food stamps. My spending habit was being short of money to spend. Most of my friends were in the same boat. It did nothing to make us more disciplined. It made us desperate. And that led to people abusing government credit cards, fudging travel vouchers, etc. It didn’t work then and it won’t work now.

You know who will benefit from cutting pay? The pariahs that set up shop outside the gates of every military base. They prey on young military members and suck them into payday loans or outrageous interest rates on auto loans. Eighteen to 22-year olds who have no financial or budget training are easy targets. I’ve been there and done that. It’s so easy to get in over your head. Then you miss a payment and the predators start calling your supervisor. When that happens, the only discipline you are going to increase is the kind done by the First Sergeant. And nobody wants that.

From Mike- 

So, Sgt Maj of the Marine Corps Barrett annoyed some people when he gave his professional opinion on pay increases when testifying to Congress? It seems unlikely that he is an idiot, as some headlines suggest – could he have a plan?

Congressional Competence

Each branch of the service is in the unenviable position of facing expectations from politicians with little military or business acumen. The civilian masters of the military are as clueless about budgets as they are about strategy. Those few legislators who do have private sector experience are often lawyers, where a starting pay of $150/hr destroys fiscal perspective. And how do I know they are strategically stunted? They telegraph exit timelines to the enemy – a bit like the local police department publishing where speed traps are planned, complete with dates and times.  Congress is clueless about how to spend, how to plan, and how to execute ... but they still have the checkbook.

Public Perceptions

During the Clinton years, the economy roared, but no one stopped to ask about the paltry pay raises for the military. We fell far behind in those years … but once the economy tanked, suddenly the military looked rich. As it turns out, where you stand really does depend on where you sit – when the investment portfolios of our civilian brothers took a hit, those of us in uniform (most of whom have never had a portfolio) appeared to be rich. Thus, the defense budget will shrink by $75B in the next two years. Barrett likely knows the legislators are gunning for personnel costs, and there's little he can say to dissuade them. No matter what happens to military pay, there will always be men and women in uniform willing to stand in the gap. Why not tell Congress what they want to hear, while making the other services look like pansies?

Barrett's Gambit

What Barrett did was agree with the foregone conclusion of legislators, while defending the equipment, training, and materials the Marines need. The other services tried to defend pay raises, equipment, materials, benefits, etc. … but to highlight everything is to highlight nothing.    Sun Tzu told us to concede what we are sure to lose, rather than wasting resources that could be better spent toward our military objective. The other services are playing checkers, Barrett is playing chess.

Speaking of impending losses, any idea what Hagel has prescribed in terms of troop strength? The Marines will drop from 190k to 182k by FY15, and must dedicate nearly 1000 more to embassy security. Guess who is most likely to leave the Corps voluntarily? Those dedicated Marines who are good at their jobs, and serve for a sense of duty & honor? Those who feel under-appreciated because their wallet isn't as fat as the private sector's? Yeah – the latter – and Barrett's annual review will say he single-handedly restored the discipline of the entire corps by encouraging the grumblers to leave.

All that said, military pay sucks for the first 4-5 years – some view it as motivation to climb the ranks. Our military pensions are also under attack, and I have a real problem with a breach of contract after I gave my 20s, 30s, and part of my 40s to my country. We gave our youth, and walked away with nothing but a promise for monthly compensation. To change that contract is unconscionable; that the change will come from lawmakers who are guaranteed a pension after 5 years of service with a starting pay of 6 figures is beyond belief. Still, I am proud of my service, and respect Barrett's decision to forego popularity as a leader and build a defensible position for the resources his troops need when they face an adversary abroad.

Hey, Congress … Check.

Mike

 

Google Reads Your Email--I Googled It

Rick,

This morning, I was reading the news on google, and I came across a story about their latest lawsuit about e-mail privacy.  I'm sure the military read our e-mails, as your new employer may ... but if you get a chance to read the article linked below, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/google/10767626/Google-outlines-email-scanning-practices.html

I'll jot down a few things myself ...

Cheers!

Mike

 

Mike-

I read the article and the first thing I did was check my gmail account. As I looked over my inbox, five things became apparent to me:

 

1-      I like to shop. My wife may be right in stating that I’m a clothes junkie. In my defense, most of the items were on sale and good quality. I suppose that will be irrelevant if I go broke saving money. That’s another blog for another day, though.

2-      I hear from Redbox more often than I do from my older children. It was kind of sad to realize that Redbox is one of the few interactions I can count on every day. However, both Redbox and my kids usually only contact me because they want my money. So there’s that.

3-      I’m consistently behind in my Bible reading. I know this because my Bible app keeps sending me email reminders. I don’t want to read them because I feel guilty. I also don’t want to delete them because that seems wrong. I mean, you can’t just delete something telling you to read God’s word. That’s got to be a sin, like skipping a Christian song on your Ipod. I feel guilty just thinking about it. So all those gentle reminders sit in my inbox unread.

4-      I send myself a lot of emails. I send them thinking I will work on them at home. Never happens so they just clog up my inbox. Although I’m sure the guy reading them gets a chuckle out of the fact that I sometimes write myself encouraging notes.

5-      Man, have I been turned down for a lot of jobs! I started keeping the rejection notices because I thought they would fuel my fire. I would make everyone pay who passed on me. Boy, were they going to be sorry. Instead, I’m usually sorry I kept them. I go back and sniffle through them while thinking “why didn’t you want me?” Then I eat ice cream to feel better. Then I feel bad about myself. Then I eat more food. Then I complain that I go to the gym but can’t lose weight. It’s all very healthy.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the feedback you were looking for. When I was in the military, every time I logged on to my computer I had to consent to being monitored. It was just part of the routine. I would always think, “Yes, Big Brother, I understand that you have the right to monitor my email and see that I’m consistently poor at reading them and even worse at answering them in a timely manner.” I mean, if they were going to monitor them, why didn’t they ever help a brother out? I can think of several occasions when I hit the send button and it should have stopped me and asked “Really? Are you sure you want to send that? In that tone? To that person? Do you really want to never get promoted again?” But, seriously, I always understood why they monitored email. It played a role in maintaining good order and discipline, as well as protecting sensitive information.

Now I have transitioned to a civilian job and my email is still monitored. I’m not as sure why they need to monitor it. Maybe at some point I’ll know a trade secret or something. At the rate I accumulate knowledge, I think they have a good decade or so before they need to worry about it. Whatever. At least they told me that they held the right to check it. I can deal with that.

My problem with the Google policy is twofold. First, no one told me. Maybe I want to keep my private email conversations with myself private. I think it’s fair to seek privacy without having something to hide. Secondly, the Google policy is only there as a way to increase revenue. I’m a diehard capitalist. I have no problem with making money however you legally can. This just doesn’t seem legal to me. It looks like they will start putting it in the terms of use. I imagine it going something like this: “Gmail is not actually free. You must agree to allow us to read your boring, poorly written emails so we can figure what you like and then force unwanted advertisements on you every time you try to see if Redbox has written you today.”

The most salient point of the entire article is this quote that I admittedly took out of context: “a person has no legitimate expectation of privacy.” To me, that sums up life in today’s society. I wasn’t even a little shocked to learn my emails were being read. I would have been more surprised to learn that they weren’t. Bottom line- You should live your life like it’s being recorded, because it most likely is.

Rick 

Rick, 

I finally sat down to write out a few thoughts after getting the kids from school.  

The notion that tech firms take advantage of the information we provide is not surprising, but Google's admission that they parse e-mails sent from or to my gmail account to learn more about me is disturbing.

Sure, I reply when my folks e-mail questions about “bursitis” or “pine beetles”, but that shouldn't shape my next web search. Likewise, unsolicited advice I receive from friends, family, co-workers, or business acquaintances is hardly a welcome basis for future advertisements. It's like if my iPhone picked up snippets of “We Are The Champions” while I was at the last hockey game, and took the liberty of updating my Pandora account to include more Freddy Mercury alongside the traditional bluegrass I had planned to enjoy … or if my wife saw me laughing at Dwight Schrute and decided to make beets for dinner. Who makes decisions like that?

Google's assertion that their users have “no legitimate expectation of privacy” is beyond erroneous. The central issue is an ethical one – while my search terms are passed as free text, my e-mails should be considered for the eyes of those I include in the address list. The executives are accustomed to selling information to advertisers, and so are inclined to think all information is freely accessible, but the common user is right to assume the text of their messages are only accessed by those specifically addressed (or those surreptitiously snooping around). Sure, I might know what my teenaged daughter wrote in her journal, but that isn't because I'm a good person – it just means I'm not to be trusted.

I suppose I have several concerns about Google:

- How long before a rogue employee decides to stalk users for sport, and how could that impact me and my family?

- How much data is stored, and who else gets to see it? What are the odds all of their employees are to be trusted?

- Are their conclusions obtainable by warrant, or just the raw data?

Most perplexing to me: What is happening in the world that I will never come across on my own computer? I value innovation, and I believe the only way to be innovative is to know multiple fields of study. I like to look at the world from different perspectives, and find the overlap. When Google attempts to “clarify” my experience, what they mean is “isolate” me. Suddenly, I am defined by my past – encumbered by their perspective of my interests. In fact, I see their business model as cultivating a deliberate prejudice. Google is profiling each of us, and restricting the information we see by prioritizing what they show us.

On the other hand, when YouTube does it, I get a lot of Muppet videos in my feed. I may blame it on my kids, but I really do like when Rowlf sings.

At the very least, Google should offer a “clear vision” mode, where a different search algorithm ignores your cookies and offers a new way to view the internet. Maybe new search functions like “persona:eco”, “persona:fringe”, “persona:vegetarian”, :hipster, :retiree, or :random. These modes of viewing the web could broaden horizons, and potentially increase the way Google helps advertisers define their demographic. There is a way to do it without digging through e-mails.

Regardless, Google has to make money, and we are not exactly limiting the information we give them. There are other search engines, and we should try them from time to time. In fact, I just Googled “best search engine”, and Google isn't even on the first page – though there is a featured ad for Rogaine – that's odd.

Mike

 

"Rick, let's go to Chik-Fil-A"

"Rick, let's go to Chik-Fil-A"

I had only been at AMS for a couple months when my boss said those words to me. It was my first class as one of the senior training officers and I was going at it full throttle. In the immortal words of Nuke Laloosh, I wanted to announce my presence with authority. Need a decision made, I was your man. Need somebody's butt chewed, I got it. Want to make a random, midstream change to the training, I can do that too. I was the very very definition of dynamic subordinancy. I was saving my boss from having to make virtually any important decisions. In short, I was handling things.

So when the boss man suggested we go to lunch at Chik-Fil-A, I was like SWEET! I love Chik-Fil-A. I mean, when the Bible talks about God providing manna from Heaven I always assumed it was a Chik-Fil-A combo and a piece of cheesecake. And for the commander to suggest we go there, I figured I must be kicking butt and taking names. You see, my commander was not the kind of guy to just take you to lunch. Whenever he would open his wallet, you could always count on two things--dust flying out and him tearing up a little. Seriously, his wallet would creak like a door that hardly ever gets opened. Naturally, I was pretty stoked that I had impressed him enough to take me to lunch. And then it all fell apart.

First off, he didn't pay. A setback but not the end of the world. I just assumed he couldn't get the chastity belt off his wallet. Then we sat down and had some polite, if somewhat forced, conversation. At this point, I still didn't know the commander all that well and had not picked up on his "tells". I did, however, notice that he seemed to be blinking for a long, long time as he shifted the focus to work. Again, odd but who doesn't have some idiosyncracies? Little did I know that that longer the blinks, the worse the news for me. When he finally opened his eyes, he started giving me, as he would phrase it, a stern talking to. He reminded me in no uncertain terms that HE was the commander and quite capable of making his own decisions. He also let me know that the program had survived without me before and could do so again so maybe I should pull it back just a bit. I was pretty stunned but said all the right things while thinking all the wrong ones. The lunch ended and we drove back in relative peace. On a side note, I do remember thinking, I hope he doesn't get mad while he's driving and blink like that. That's gotta be dangerous.

Well, life went on. I toned it down...sorta. Then a few weeks later, he suggested we go to Chik-Fil-A again. When he did, I had that nagging thought in the back of my head, "I wonder if I'm about to get my butt chewed again?" I quickly dismissed it. It's not like I'm in Jerry Maguire and he's taking me to a public place so I can't cause a scene, right? Right? Wrong! It happened again. Lots of blinking and long pauses, more "feedback" for me. Just great.

After that I was like one of Pavlov's dogs. Every time he suggested we go to Chik-Fil-A, I would brace myself. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten until one day my lovely wife suggested we go to Chik-Fil-A for lunch and I absolutely panicked. I started begging her, "Please don't leave me. Whatever it is, I'll change. I swear, I'll be a better husband just give me another chance. PLEASE!" And to this day, I still get a little nervous when someone asks me if I want to go to Chik-Fil-A. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive him for turning my manna into mania.

In honor of my good buddy who is leaving us soon, I decided to compile his greatest hits.  Just know that this is the Reader’s Digest version.  He’ll most likely get an entire chapter in my book.

So, at virtually every official function in the military there is a POW/MIA/KIA ceremony.  It’s a very somber event where lights are turned down and taps is played at the end.  Its effectiveness largely depends on the narrator’s ability to inject the proper feeling into it.  Here’s a sample of it:

-          The table set is small—symbolizing the frailty of one prisoner alone against his oppressors…REMEMBER

 

-          The tablecloth is white—symbolizing the purity of their intentions to respond to their county’s call to arms…REMEMBER

Well, like I said, this is usually done at formal events.  However, we were doing wake-up one class and my buddy took it to a whole new level.  After kicking on doors and waking officer candidates up at 0445, the flight commander gives a short speech where he introduces himself, the staff that is with him, and lays out his expectations.  Well, without realizing it, he breaks into the POW/MIA ceremony.  It went something like this:

-          “I’m Capt X,  your flight commander for the next six weeks…(dramatic pause) REMEMBER!” 

-          “With me is Maj Kallstrom, the Director of Operations…(dramatic pause) REMEMBER!”

And on and on it went.  It was the second funniest thing I’ve ever seen at a wake-up.  The first is a whole separate blog. The best part was that it was completely unintentional. But to his credit, at least he nailed it.

Capt, now Maj X, is also notorious for ripping off classic one-liners. Here’s a sampling:

-          After his flight came in last in an Air force knowledge challenge, he lifted their spirits by saying “Way to represent, Losers.  Enjoy your MREs.” 

-          To a student who’s hat stuck off the front of his head a good couple inches, he quipped “Your hat looks like a canoe on top of a Volkswagen.” 

-          After asking a trainee who he was rooting for in the NCAA basketball tournament and the student replying that he didn’t watch basketball, he offered up this jewel: “I bet you can play some Warcraft, huh?” 

-          While marching his flight and not being happy with the formation, “You’re as crooked a dog’s hind leg.”

This next one I posted in a previous blog but it’s worth repeating.  This occurred during an actual interview for a senior position on the AMS staff.

-          Question- “Why should we hire you?” 

-          Answer: He leaned forward, got an intense look on his face, pointed at the board president, and boomed “Because I’m ready to lead today!!!  I don’t need to be trained!  I don’t need to spun up!  I’m ready to lead today!”

-   Seriously, the intensity and force he spoke with was shocking. You got the impression that if he had continued it would’ve gone something like this-- “And if you don’t hire me, I will hunt you down and take your firstborn.  Hire me now, on the spot, or I will destroy all of you!”  I think the board president, a female colonel, actually recoiled in fear at one point.  When he left, she looked at me and asked “Why was he so angry?  Is he always that intense?  And where can I get a smoke to calm my nerves?”

Nothing really bonds you like witnessing insanity together.  And, trust me, we witnessed a lot of it together from both staff and students.  This next event involved the single craziest officer candidate that I’ve ever seen come through AMS.  I wrote a whole blog about her previously. She quit, decided not to quit, accused me of throwing her out, decided to stay, and then quit again all in about 10 hours.  As she storms off for the final time, I tell another staff member to call the commander and get him down there so he can witness the insanity while my buddy and I chase her down.  We catch up to her and asked her if she really wants to quit.  She says yes so we start explaining the procedures to her.  She goes off again saying, “I’m a failure.  I’m a failure” because everything had to be said twice.  I’m not sure who she was trying to convince.  She had definitely failed at being rational.  As she’s chanting about her failure, I hear my sidekick come back with one of the best lines ever.  He says, “That’s neither here nor there right now, we just need you to sign the paperwork.”

And, finally, my all-time favorite Maj X story.  We used to get student critiques at the end of every week of training.  You can probably imagine what people write when they can do so anonymously and you’ve been yelling at them for 5 straight days.  Everybody on staff constantly griped about it and, yet, we couldn’t wait to get them every week.  You know, because every so often you got a classic like this:

-          “I was uncomfortable hearing Capt X correct a student in the bathroom with his gentals in his hand.”

A couple of things.  First, that’s an exact quote, not a typo.  The kid said “gentals”.  Secondly, you can read that a hundred times and not be clear on who’s gentals were in who’s hand.  I’m sure you can imagine the ridicule he took over that one.  After reading it, I vowed to never correct a student in the bathroom again.   

Good luck, my friend.  Gonna miss the laughs we shared together.

Mr. Meat Hands Goes to Church

I love church.  And I particularly love my church.  But, man, I hate getting ready for church.  I don’t know about you, but Sunday morning is the most stressful time of the week in our house.  It usually starts off pleasant enough, with Kim making muffins for the man child and the rest of us being allowed to enjoy them.  Before you judge me, that’s her statement not mine.  Anyway, it just seems to get tenser as the morning goes.  With 5 kids, someone is always over sleeping, not able to find their shoes, needing their hair combed, or just being generally too s-l-o-w.  And before you know it, all hell has broken loose while we get ready to go hear about Heaven.  There are siblings barking at siblings, parents yelling at kids, kids muttering about parents, spouses taking deep breaths and still snapping at spouses.  And that’s before we even get in the car.

Once we get in the car, it just continues.  You are pretty much guaranteed to hear the following phrases: “Why is the car door still open?!”  “Why aren’t you buckled in?!”  “I told you before we left to grab your Bible!”  “Look at your face!” “Why do we have to go through this every Sunday?!”  And then we back out of the garage.  From there, the anger peaks as I fight not to curse at everyone on the road.  Why doesn’t everyone drive exactly like I want them to?  Is it wrong to wish harm on people on your way to church?  Anyone know a good road rage support group?

Finally, we arrive at church having not spoken a civil word to each other in 10 minutes.  We huff and puff our way to the entrance where a greeter has the audacity to say “Good morning.  How are you today?”  I’m like really, how am I?  What are you so happy about?  Then I let the guy have it with “I’m great.  How about this beautiful day the Lord has provided?  Great day to be in His house.”  Next thing I know, Kim and I are holding hands and all the tension is gone.  It’s like a weekly miracle.

From there, I really enjoy church.  I only have two minor critiques.  First, I don’t understand why the pastor only preaches at me.  I mean, we go to a huge church so surely there are other people he can preach at.  Right?  But, no, despite the fact that I drive from Alabama every week to be there, he insists on preaching about my sins.  It’s awful.  Honestly, it almost seems a little rude.  I understand that I could stop committing so many sins, be a better person, care more for others, blah, blah, blah.  But is that really the answer?  Couldn’t he just preach about the one or two sins I don’t struggle with?  Even just once-in-a-while?

The second thing I’d like to fix is the hand holding at the end of service.  I don’t get why we have to take someone by the hand as we sing a chorus.  Do they not realize how much anxiety this causes me?  I’m constantly looking to my right or left to see if I have to hold hands with a non-family member.  And, if so, what kind of hand holder are they?  I have broken them down into 5 categories:

1-      The Little Kid- This one is not too bad unless the kid happens to have a drunk uncle that looks like you or they give you the “I don’t want to hold your hand, Creeper” look.

2-      Someone Else’s Wife- Usually it’s non-threatening but I still stress.  What if I hold her hand too long?  What if she holds mine too long?  Am I squeezing too hard?  Not hard enough?  Am I supposed to acknowledge her after the hand hold?  Is a glance enough?  Should I smile?  Uh oh, did she misinterpret my smile?  I’m getting stressed just typing this.  Let’s move on.

3-      The Knuckle Rubber- My unscientific research shows that 98% of the time, this occurs when holding the hand of a senior lady with blue hair and a Buick.  They just can’t help themselves.  They just have to rub your knuckles with their thumb.  For whatever reason, this one doesn’t bother me at all.  I think it’s sweet and it reminds me of my Grandma.

4-      The Clammy Limp Hand- It’s gross.  It’s bad enough that I have to hold your hand, at least wipe it off, Dude.  If you fall into this category, then stop it.  Stop it now.  Your friends will double immediately.  Seriously, just stop it.

5-      The Meat Hand- This is the most feared one for me.  There’s nothing worse than looking over and seeing big meat hand man waiting to engulf my hand.  These guys have hands the size of Rhode Island.  When I see this guy, I usually try to switch with one of my kids.  You know, because kids are so resilient.  It never works though.  So now I’m stuck hoping my hand doesn’t get crushed and trying to figure out how to get the dominate position.  My hand needs to be on top.  So now you have to wait each other out.  Who’s gonna flip their hand under first and take the submissive position?  It’s a battle of wills.   And it’s awkward because you usually end up doing some stupid looking hand dance until someone relents.   Yeah, those are good times.

So, if you happen to sit beside me at church, keep these two things in mind—1) yes, the pastor was talking about me and 2) no, I don’t want to hold your hand.  I’m off for more therapy.

“Guess what your son just did.”

“Guess what your son just did.”  When those were the first words out of Kim’s mouth when I answered the phone, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.  Anyone who has kids knows that phrase is never followed by “He got straight A’s” or “He just said the sweetest thing.”  Nope, he did something bad and I was about to get the blame for it.

After running through various inappropriate responses in my head such as “My son?!  Pretty sure I saw you give birth to him.  Why don’t you say our son?! “ and “Listen, woman, everyone knows he’s a clone of you.  That apple didn’t even roll when it fell from the tree.  It's much more likely it's your fault than mine.  Don’t call me up blaming me for stuff he did.  I’m not even there!” I finally settled on, “What did he do, Baby?”  At least in my mind I brought it strong.

Anyway, the story goes something like this.  Kim was working from home and taking care of our two littlest ones.  Jack was around 2½  at the time and Annika was still an infant.  So, Kim is trying to finish doing the dishes while Annika was napping on the loveseat.  When Annika started to stir, she sent Jack over to watch/entertain her.  Through no fault of his own, Jack was in over his head.  Baby girl was screaming bloody murder.  By the way, this was not unusual.  My sweet little baby girl screamed pretty much nonstop from the moment she was born until about her first birthday.  Then one day, she just stopped and decided to be happy.  Been the sweetest kid in the world ever since.  Anyway, where were we?  Okay, so Kim is turbo washing the dishes so she can go rescue both Jack and Annika. Next thing she knows, our precious, rule following, sweet talking, and loving little man let’s his sister have it.  Evidently, he doesn't take screaming too well.  He bends over at the waist with his arms spread out wide and screams, “Annika, what the hell is your problem?!” 

Kim was mortified.  She broke out the “William Jackson Kallstrom!” If you’re a kid, there’s nothing worse than hearing your whole name.  I can’t ever remember hearing mine while growing up without it being followed by “You’re grounded” or “Go to your room and wait on your dad to get home.”  But since Jack was only 2, Kim tells him that we don’t talk like that and asks where he learned that kind of language.  At this point in the story, I’m thinking, “Crap!  I hope he told her he heard it on TV.  Then I can sound self-righteous and talk about how we need to guard his innocence.” It’s always easier to blame the decaying morals of our society and the filth they put on TV.  But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be.  We had already instilled in Jack to tell the truth.  And in an epic fail of man code, Jack says “That’s what I heard Daddy say to Emily last night.”  Done. Game over.  Last thing I remember hearing after that is “Richard Everett Kallstrom, Jr!  If you corrupt my son…”