Feeding My Son

Neither one of us were good at it. I was trying to feed my son and he was trying to be fed. I held him in one arm. His head rested in the palm of my hand. The bottle looked huge up next to his tiny head. We learned together and he grew.



The next milestone was cereal and the use of a spoon. Again, we started out sloppy. He wore more cereal than he ever digested, but today, he can down a box in a couple of days. We still need to work some on cleaning up the dishes.



From cereal to baby food was an easier transition. He was getting the hang of eating with a spoon and I was getting better wielding one. He continued to grow.



The pace quickened. John was eating more and more foods. He began to feed himself. First with the hands grinding it into his face and eventually with cutlery, including salad forks.



He feeds himself today. I don't have to cut his meat, peal his orange, or open his canned drink. He can read the directions for easy opening. He does not need me to feed him any more OR does he?



There are many kinds of food. I have been talking about food for the body, but there is also food for the mind, food for the soul, and food for thought. A parent is charged with preparing their child for the world. I also see the role of the parent in shaping the child to be an ethical, hard working, member of society.



The funny thing about these other foods is they do not always nourish our children the way we would like. Our servings of prejudice and vitriolic tirades may cause the moral equivalent of high cholesterol or obesity. Our narrow mind, bitter gossip, and vindictive judgments are poisons to love, tolerance, and acceptance. These foods are easily produced and prepared and children who consistently eat at this serving line often become angry and bitter. Life has no shine, no hope, and a young soul slowly withers leaving but an empty shell.



We may think they do not listen to us, but they do. Our words and actions are closely scrutinized. I have delivered many a sermon to my son only to find out he paid more attention to my phone conversation with one of my buddies or a comment I made during the news. This is where consistency comes in. Our words are important, but must be backed by our actions.



Maybe Dorothy Law Nolte said it best in the following poem:



If A Child Lives With . . .

If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn.

If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight.

If a child lives with fear, he learns to be apprehensive.

If a child lives with jealousy, he learns to feel guilt.

If a child lives with tolerance, he learns to be patient.

If a child lives with encouragement, he learns to be confident.

If a child lives with praise, he learns to be appreciative.

If a child lives with acceptance, he learns to love.

If a child lives with approval, he learns to like himself.

If a child lives with recognition, he learns that it is good to have a goal.

If a child lives with honesty, he learns what truth is.

If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice.

If a child lives with security, he learns to trust in himself and others .

If a child lives with friendliness, he learns the world is a nice place in which to live.

-Dorothy Law Nolte



Until the next time

John Strain

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

One of the best feelings I can recall from childhood is having the entire summer ahead of me. Three months of doing whatever i wanted to do. I could play baseball, go swimming, sleep late, and just have fun. Kansas is hot in the summer and I sometimes had problems getting to sleep due to the heat. We eventually got window fans, then air conditioning, but before then I laid on top of the covers flipping the pillow over to feel the cool side many a night. Sleeping with the windows open was almost like camping out. The crickets and locusts serenaded me to sleep. In the morning I would wake up with a frog in my throat from the damp air.



As summer wore on, I tended to sleep later and later. In the AM, I usually watched game shows, Password, Concentration, Jeopardy, Truth or Consequences, Let's Make a Deal or replays of the Beverly Hillbillies and Andy Griffith. The game shows in the afternoon were the Newlywed Game and the Match Game. I couldn't handle the soaps except for Dark Shadows.



If I wasn't watching TV, I was hanging with my friends, Doug, Scott, Frank, and the three Killingsworth boys. We played all kinds of sports. Baseball was the major pastime in the summer. At night, we played hide and seek and a hybrid we invented we called spotlight. Summer nights were nice. Eventually, our parents would yell for us to come in for the night. Bath time washed off the day's layers of dirt and grime. The nightly treat was a bowl of vanilla ice cream with Hershey's chocolate syrup. Yummm!



Sometimes, my friends and I would sleep out. We would take our sleeping bags out in the backyard and camp. That was always fun and we did it a lot. Our town had a nice municipal swimming pool and many an afternoon was spent at the Shawnee Pool. Mom usually gave me a dime for a treat at the pool. I usually saved the dime to buy one of the revolutionary new refreshments sold at 7-11 an Icee. Can you say brain freeze. Speaking of brain freezes, how can something hurt so much and not cause any permanent damage?



My dad came home for lunch from his mail route. I enjoyed having lunch with him and talking about baseball or whatever was on my mind. Sometimes I would walk with him on the route in the afternoon.



Walking to the store was another summer activity. Nothing like a nice cold coke from a soft drink machine. We walked the streets looking for bottles we could exchange for cash. When we found a few bottles we took them to the grocery store for our reward. Our drug store had a soda fountain too and we sometimes went there for a chocolate soda complete with whipped cream and a cherry.



Comic books were summer fun. I read Archie, Sad Sack, and Beetle Bailey. I also read Mad Magazine, I bet you're shocked about that.



There is much more. Running for the Popsicle man when hearing the bell, riding bikes, playing in the hose, having water balloon fights, and family vacations. These are a few of my favorite things.



Somehow, the summer days would slip away. I would see Back To School Sales and get that sick feeling that it is all coming to a close. Then I would get the school supplies for the new year and some new clothes and I would be looking forward to the inevitable. Those were the days. Today, kids have to be structured. They attend camps and just laying around is frowned upon. Who knows?



So that's what I used to do on my summer vacation.

John Strain

Morning Run

Come along with me on my morning run.



It is 5:45 am, I step out of the air conditioned house into a warm, humid world. Dawn is breaking and the sounds of night are giving way to the daytime. I hear both the crickets and the song birds. I can identify cardinals, mocking birds, blue jays, and crows. Even an owl announces his presence with his haunting call. It is so peaceful as I begin my slow jog to the park a half mile away. This is to warm up and get my body ready for a more intense workout. Up a small hill and across a busy street, I travel in a straight line to the park nestled in a residential neighborhood. Stopping to walk the last few yards, I turn toward the shelter to begin my stretching routine. I use a picnic table to lean on and balance myself for the various stretches. A crepe myrtle limb brushes my face as I near the shelter and a cool splash of water is a slight shock as it drips down my neck. I am surrounded by the bird songs. Some are near and in the quiet of morning, I can hear others blocks away. It is lighter now as I go through my stretches, still a bit tired, but gearing up for the required exertion just ahead.



Stretching is done and I walk back to the street. I avoid the crepe myrtle this time ducking under its wet branches. As I near the starting line, I begin a slow jog, when I cross the line I start my watch and pick up the pace. The rhythm of my running shoes hitting the street becomes a metronome guiding me through the run. Today's run is four miles. My coach wants me to run the last two miles faster than the first two miles so I cannot begin too fast or the last two miles will be quite uncomfortable. The course I run has the quarter miles marked. This is wonderful because I can make corrections and adjustments along the way. Here comes the first quarter, 1:58 - that's just about right, a little under an 8 minute pace.



Now satisfied with my pace, I maintain it and concentrate on efficiency. I want to smooth my stride and minimize any non essential motions. It helps to imagine yourself being pulled from the center as if a rope were around your waste pulling you. I pass a guy walking his dog. I say good morning and he acknowledges my greeting with a nod.



Coming up on one mile now, I am passing a line of 74 posts which separate the trail from 15th Street. I know there are 74 because I often count them. I am a bit OCD in that sense - I count things. Sitting in an auditorium or classroom, I will count rows of chairs, lights, and even bricks on the wall. It's just something I do if nothing else is going on. Today though no counting. The first mile time is 7:43, man, I must have picked up the pace. I am feeling good so I increase my speed a bit still focusing on running smooth and effortless. My breathing is at rhythm with my arms and legs and the metronome of my running shoes continues its hypnotic beat and taking its place among the bird songs and other morning sounds.



This continues through mile two 7:29 and mile three 7:25. My last mile is ahead and I am running back past the posts. I avoid counting them again. I am still feeling good. Dropping some of the weight is paying off now. The last mile always seems shorter, maybe because I know I get to stop, but it just seems shorter. I stop looking at my watch and just go all out. I strike a pace I figure I can maintain to the end. Too fast and I have to slow down, too slow and I don't beat my mile three time. A quarter mile to go, my stride stretches out and quickens, I conjure the images of finishing a race in my mind. The race announcer is calling out times and smatterings of applause are drifting from the finish line. I make a turn and continue running hard. The finish line is straight ahead. Run through the tape, run, faster, don't slow down, breathing hard, heart pounding, sweat dripping, legs pounding, run, faster, faster, finish. Phew, slow down, slower, walk, check your watch. The last mile was 7:09, not bad. It was a good run. I catch my breath and start a slow jog back to my house. Two women are running toward me and I say good morning, they wave. I see them most mornings. My shirt is drenched with sweat. It is warm and humid, but nothing like it is going to be in a few hours.



I turn into my drive, bend down and scoop up the newspaper. Pulling it out of the plastic bag I check the headlines. More killing and crooked politicians - some things never change. I hope my morning run is one of those things.



Did you enjoy the exercise? Now get in the shower and get ready for work. You have a day to tackle and this run will energize you for the task.



Until the next time

John Strain

The Puppy Has A Name

May 30 I invited folks to name a puppy. The people at Other World Computing were sponsoring a puppy for Working Class Dogs and were having a contest to name the little guy. Well, the cute pup now has a name. Mac. I voted for Yoda, but Mac is a good name. If you want to see how your choice fared in the voting, go to the puppy poll and see.

Introducing the Weekend Replay

Today I am kicking off what I intend to be a weekly feature. I will audio blog my favorite posts. I am guessing folks have not gone to the archives and read everything already. I want to encourage you to embrace audio blogging in some way. I like to put a voice with the blog.



If you have problems getting the audio to work, here is the link to this week's replay: I See Castles



Have a nice weekend

John Strain