A Perfect Storm...

A few weeks ago we celebrated Black Friday. Most employers recognize the importance of Black Friday and give us a few days off beforehand in order to adequately prepare for the early-morning festivities. We start the celebration by eating a large meal the day before, and napping throughout Black Friday Eve so that we are well rested for the day to come. I now offer the rural town take on the blessed event.

To understand my point of view, we must first back up to Thanksgiving (This is what old people call the day before Black Friday--pay them no mind--). Most young people travel home for Thanksgiving. Most young married people, at the very least, alternate holidays with family and in-laws, thus making it home for 50% of the Thanksgiving holidays. And most people get up early for the deals of the day.

There are a few small towns in Wyoming that have been blessed (or cursed) with a Wal-Mart. As the only shopping venue in town, shoppers do not struggle with the question of which vendor will earn their business on this the Blackest of Fridays. Wal Mart alone stands as the vehicle by which the small town masses will stimulate the economy.

And thus the perfect storm has been created for awkward small-town-class-reunions. A storm that I avoid at all costs: Think about it: SHOPPING (hate) with HORDES OF PEOPLE (hate) AT 5AM (hate). People pass it off as getting a good deal on the things that they need. However, most people don’t even know what is on sale until they get the flyer on Wednesday or Thursday. I can no longer convince myself that I am saving money...no matter how good the deal. But this is only a portion of the perfect storm. The second squall is social by nature.

To be honest, I stopped doing it. Not only was I spending money that I shouldn't spend, But I found myself running into too many old friends and acquaintances, people that I hadn't seen in years while wearing pajamas, toting morning breath, with my hair ablaze. Now I will readily admit that at 5am I am not overly concerned with my outward appearance. It is also apparent that nobody else is either. However it still makes for an awkward rendezvous and even more awkward conversation. The worst part is that the conversation inevitably turns into a chat about what you are buying–WE GREW UP TOGETHER, and we are talking about BLU-RAY PLAYERS. Deep and meaningful.

The awkward conversation takes a turn for the worse when the person who has (a) changed his/her hair length and color--or grown facial hair for the guys--(b) gained or lost few pounds, and most of all (c) hasn’t seen or spoke to me in over ten years plays the, “do you remember me?” game which I inevitably loose.

I sometimes get a glimpse of daytime TV where old high school classmates are reunited and the girl who struggled with weight issues confronts the boy who teased her mercilessly as a child. The girl inevitably has lost weight, blossomed, and now confronts the tormentor of her past. I am glad that I escaped high school without being mean to anyone. Because if anyone attacked me for something I said as a 16-year-old, I would probably only enrage them further by admitting I had no idea who they were.

In short I would MUCH prefer to meet for lunch than to bump into people at a moment when they are buying stuff they don't need, or trying to beat me up. That is something to be thankful for.

A bit of Sports Rage....

I apologize in advance to my non-sports fan readers. Posts like these will be few and far between.


Curse you Sugar Bowl. Curse you for taking guaranteed money over a speculative risk.

Curse you BCS rulemaker guy. Curse you for giving the Orange Bowl the first pick this year instead of the Fiesta Bowl.

Curse you Fiesta Bowl. Curse you for being “cutting-edge,” going against the grain, and making history by selecting two teams from non-BCS Conferences to play in Arizona next month.

Between these curses, I should be able to hit my target. My target being whoever is responsible for ruining the end of a great Season for non-BCS Conferences.

While this may not make a difference in the myriad of confusion that results when one attempts to decipher the BCS-Bowl selection process, one thing is certain, The Sugar Bowl is not required to take an SEC team if the current SEC Champion is playing for the National Championship. And while Florida was the easy moneymaker, two schools from BCS Conferences do not provide near as much drama (and thus commercial appeal) as the Undefeated David of the mid-major conferences versus the Goliaths of the Automatic qualifiers.

Now, instead of getting TWO games featuring big vs. little, BCS vs. Non-BCS, the chance to match Florida vs. TCU in the Fiesta Bowl, or Boise State vs. Cincinnati in the Sugar Bowl, we get to see two small conference powers play each other. No chance to establish anything. No chance to shake things up.

BCS haters--who, by the measure of articles, emails, postings, and blogs far outnumber the BCS lovers--wanted this to go differently. We wanted to answer the questions everyone wants to know: Is TCU for real outside the MWC? Can Boise win the battle of the Blue and the Orange against Florida?

BCS Busters seems a misnomer as the WAC and MWC busting into the BCS together this year will do nothing to actually BREAK the BCS. We will watch because that is what guys do…we watch football. But the reality is, unless it is OUR team…we do not care who wins. UNLESS you add the parity of BCS vs. Non-BCS. But now there will be no drama. Nobody outside of their respective campuses (and to a lesser extent their conferences) will care whether Georgia Tech beats Iowa. Or Oregon over Ohio State. Perhaps some sparks would fly if Cincinnati bested Florida, but apologists would quickly chalk it up to let-down on the part of Florida for not playing in the National Championship. This would not be the case if Florida played Boise or TCU. Then the big boys WOULD have something to prove. They would do what every other BCS Conference team has tried to do when pitted against a BCS Buster. They would try to show that they belonged. And so far, history is on the side of the BCS busters. With the exception of Hawaii in 2007, The BCS Busters have come away successful.

I am just a lowly fan of the Wyoming Cowboys. I am resigned to the fact that the Pokes will seldom have a winning season, much less play in a BCS Bowl. I have accepted my role as rooter for the underdog. Outside the cold confines of War Memorial Stadium, I am also a fan and supporter of the Mountain West Conference. Like Wyoming within the conference, the MWC is the perpetual underdog on the national scene. A win by TCU over Florida would somehow substantiate the shellacking the Cowboys took at the hands of the Horned Frogs earlier this year.

Curse you BCS. Curse you for making me not care about the outcome of any Bowl Game this Holiday season--except for the coveted New Mexico Bowl. Go Pokes!

A sincere request...

For those in the mood for a laugh, I realize that I usually provide it, but this will be a rather poignant post. I have a heartfelt request for every person who reads this. If you do not want to cry, please read only the last two paragraphs of this post. Seriously.

It has been almost six months since the accident. Life for everyone around us has pretty much returned to normal. For us, it is a new sort of reality. We go through our day and there is not a moment that goes by that we do not think of our sweet boy. A thing so simple as walking into Wal-Mart and seeing the “Back-to-School” signs can bring me to tears in a flash.

It is the little things that make life worth living. And when you lose someone, it is those same little things that serve as a constant reminder of what you have lost. Hearing the diesel engine of the school bus go by...begging almost pleading that it will be followed by the hasty sound of the door opening, closing, and hearing a backpack drop to the ground with footsteps running up the stairs. The early morning sound of the toilet seat banging down. Going to the swimming pool or the park and doing the quick parental headcount and catching your breath as you get to three, when you should have stopped at two. Going to kiss my children goodnight and seeing the empty place next to my dear little four-year old where a six-year old should be. Joshua used to get up in the night to come see us, but he always hesitated just outside our door. My parental instincts would tell me he was there--I could feel it. There he was lurking in the shadows, just out of sight. How those shadows constantly remind me of him. How I wish that I could see him emerge from those shadows just one more time.

There are two ways to miss someone. One is healthy, one is not. It is okay to miss someone. It is okay to remember them fondly. It is NOT okay to play the “what-if” game. What if I would have just driven him to school. What if I would have flashed my lights instead of honking my horn–would she have seen that? What if...? What if...? What if...?

There are only losers in the What-if game.

There was a moment, I believe it was the moment of impact, when I felt the most calming, peaceful feeling I have ever experienced in my entire life. I felt an arm wrap around me. It was real. I heard a whisper in my ear, “he is okay” and I felt it in every corner of my body. It was the most singular permeating feeling of peace I had ever felt in my life. However this feeling was the calm before the storm as my mind wrapped itself around what had just happened. As I have stated before, I do not wish to here relive those moments save to mention this portion of the experience. It is hard to even write about that wonderful experience as it brings me so close to the terrible moments which followed.

For those who do not share my faith, we believe in a physical resurrection of the body. A reuniting of flesh and spirit. As I am limited to only what I understand on this earth, I must try and explain things accordingly. It is hard for me to fathom what it would be like to not be able to TOUCH my child again. I long to be able to FEEL him and EMBRACE him. In an ultra-simplified way, it is this longing to HOLD my little boy which reassures me of the reality of a physical resurrection. If Heaven is real, then of a surety I will hold my little boy again...and Heaven is real.

I find myself thinking back on fond times with Joshua. Pleasant memories which keep me missing him in the right way. However I have found that I, who did not keep a journal, seem to play only a few fond recollections over and over, despite six wonderful years of treasured memories. On occasion I have been blessed to talk to someone who shared one of their fond memories of Joshua, and as I recall the event, I add it to my own collection and use it as necessary to keep my mind in the right place. These are priceless to me and I need more of these memories. I have seldom asked anything of anyone, but I am asking anyone who reads this, if you knew my son, please share your memories. You have no idea how much it will help me.

Let me conclude by saying that my family and I are doing very well. We are doing as well as possible under these circumstances. We have felt the prayers offered on our behalf and we are grateful for them. We still need those prayers more than anything else. God lives. He loves us. If this life was all there is...life would be tragic. Life is not tragic. My boy is there. I can feel him, just out of sight, waiting...to emerge from the shadows into the light.

The Retiring of a Name

I was recently having a conversation about names with my friend Jackson. I had remarked that I had once heard a comedian quip that to retire a number you must do good things (The retiring of 23 in Chicago for Michael Jordan). However to retire a name you must do bad things. For instance, the surname Hitler seems to have completely disappeared........

.......It has been about 20 minutes since I wrote that last part. I went on a 50 state search of the Surname Hitler and I must now retract my statement. I found 144 people with the last name of Hitler in the US. Please note that 9 of them are ACTUALLY Adolf Hitler with 5 more using a variation (Adalf, Adolph, etc...). I can only chalk this up to white supremacists gone wild (Or WSGW as we refer to it in the industry).

Other Hitlers I can also attribute to name changes, (or cruel, CRUEL parents)--they include the following:

Adolfo Hitler - Cross between Fabio and the Führer. Has a salon on 42nd Street.

Eva Hitler - too coincidental to not be a name change.

Gunsmoke Hitler - What you get when you cross Fascism and Nintendo

DeOmega Alpha Hitler - Wow.

Prince Hitler -This must have been the second name change. He changed it back to Prince Hitler after having so much difficulty explaining his previous name (which consisted of a symbol blending the male and female signs with a swastika).

TO

Vinny Hitler - Apparently the uniting of Italy and Germany meant more to some than others.

Shawanda Hitler - PLEASE tell me that this name change was marriage related.

I seem to have strayed from my original topic...and I have seriously wasted a half an hour that I will never get back.

Tender Mercies

I have learned, or rather I have been reminded that in life there are no coincidences. Let me tell you of a miracle 15 years in the making.

In June of 1993 I attended a concert for an obscure pianist named Jon Schmidt. He was very entertaining as he ripped out powerful and mesmerizing music. He was witty and knew how to work a crowd. There are musicians and then there are performers. Jon was both. Immediately after the concert I bought two of his tapes (yes, tapes...). After returning home I introduced some of my friends to Jon’s music and they were hooked. We became the Wyoming contingent of the Jon Schmidt fan club (unofficial...we were nerdy, but not THAT nerdy). I made a point to get to another of Jon’s concerts the following year.

At the 1994 concert Jon played a song entitled Tribute. The song had been written for his older sister, Rose-Anne, who had passed away. Jon took a moment to explain the song and it’s meaning to the crowd. He explained that throughout the song you can feel all the emotions that accompany the loss of a loved one. Sadness and loneliness yes, but also the peace and happiness of knowing that they are in a better place. And if you listen carefully, you can also hear the joy that will come when at last you are reunited. Jon then played a touching song that left an indelible mark on my soul. It was music that you could FEEL.

Not one week after that concert, I lost a dear friend in a motorcycle accident. As I pondered and questioned life, this song became a source of comfort to me. When I see so many people use death as an excuse to turn their back on all they profess to believe in, it reminds me that it is in desperate times that people tend to cling to that which they have surrounded themselves with. Surround yourself with things that edify, and in the moment of trial you will be edified. Submerse yourself in music or company which leads away from such inspiration, and your moment of truth may be your turning point toward a dark depressing future. I am grateful that, of all the influences that I could have grabbed onto, I grabbed one that was uplifting, inspiring, and helped me to take a horrible experience and be lifted as a result.

Throughout the years I have continued to follow Jon’s music. I have attended a few concerts, but lately the rush of life has prevented me from doing so. My iPod however has never forgotten Jon Schmidt. I change music and playlists as often as I change underwear (which is at least daily for all you haters...). But one playlist has been there literally from the day I shelled out the money for my digital wonder, and that is Jon’s music. I listen to it when I drive, I listen to it when I work out (which unfortunately isn’t as often as I change underwear...haters), It is my go-to music to find my solace and motivation.

The song Tribute had become my alarm clock. I loaded it on my Blackberry and I used it to wake myself as it starts off so peacefully. Two days before the accident, Joshua wanted to go outside and ride his bike. Well February in Wyoming can be quite cold, so I thought that I would first test him to see how badly he wanted to go outside. I told him that he needed to go stand outside for five minutes, and if he still wanted to go outside and play, then he had my permission. The time was 9:34AM, and I set my alarm for 9:39.
My alarm went off, I quickly turned it off, but did not reset it. My boy claimed to be warm, so off he went.

The next day, while in my office, the alarm went off again. I again turned it off, but did not reset it.

The next day was the day of the accident. I will not here relive the horrible experience. But there came a moment when I found myself alone in the hospital with the body of my dear son. It was 9:39 when that peaceful Tribute of loss and hope began to play. I just sobbed and sobbed. It was as if the Lord reached out and held me. I let the whole song play. I knew that the Lord knew two days before where I would be at 9:39 on Tuesday. I knew that the Lord knew 15 years ago where I would be at 9:39 on Tuesday.

I had a dear family friend play it at Joshua’s funeral. It was a beautiful stirring rendition that I will never forget. As the days and weeks have passed, I have shared the story with a select few. One of which was my dear friend Daisy who I introduced to Jon’s music so long ago.

A few weeks ago (through a careful orchestration by my friends), my family and I found ourselves high on the hills of Bountiful Utah, in the home of Leon and Marylin Davies, who were to that point strangers to us. Their beautiful home overlooked the valley and provided a wonderful place for what appeared to be a surprise party as many of my Wyoming friends began appearing at the residence.

At one point I turned around and there was Jon Schmidt himself. He had received word through Daisy of Joshua’s story and arranged to have a private concert for my family and friends.

The experience was amazing. He played, he entertained, and he was very gracious. We applauded after each song. My little boy Riley danced and laughed as I have not seen him do in a very long time. He giggled hysterically when Jon played the piano upside down. That in itself was a miracle.

Near the end of the concert, I took a moment to share with everyone my story of Tribute. I expressed my knowledge that Joshua will be ours again. Jon then played the song. The Spirit of God was in that room as we listened to the inspired melody, gazed across miles and miles of the Utah valley, and wept great tears of joy. As the song concluded, without any prompting whatsoever, not a single person clapped. The spirit in the room was so powerful, even the little children knew not to disturb it by applauding. We sat and we reveled in the peaceful joy that can only be felt when the Spirit of God wraps you in his arms.

I am grateful for the power of music. I am grateful for the love of friends. And I am grateful that a musician took precious time away from his family to bless our lives with his music.

Read Daisy's version of the story here.

Celebrating the Life of Joshua Scott Ringer

The following Eulogy was given on February 12, 2009 at the Funeral of our Dear Joshua Scott Ringer. it is published here at the request of many in attendance.

Joshua Ringer was born on October 25, 2002 in Casper Wyoming.

He lived in Casper with us for two years.
While there he was adored by many. Cheryl taught dance classes and would bring Joshua to class with her. From an early age music has been a part of his life. The girls in the class loved him so much and would all beg to hold him. His first Christmas he played the baby Jesus at the Church telling of the Christmas Story .

He was named after his Uncle Joshua, a dear missionary friend, and his Grandfather. We also choose the name Joshua as it is the Hebrew word for Jesus. It means God With Us...

and I can not think of a more Christlike soul.

In Laramie, Joshua participated in Sunshine Generation, which he absolutely loved. He loved dressing up in a little tuxedo and singing and dancing. But more than that, he loved to interact with the kids, and cheer them on.

Joshua attended preschool and loved every minute of it. He would come home and tell us what he learned. He loved the kids he went to school with, and even named one of our vehicles after a girl he liked. So when you hear us refer to our Silver car as Rosie, you will know why. He had a zeal for knowledge. He wanted to know everything. He could count in Roman Numerals, and enjoyed pulling his dad’s anatomy book off the shelves and learning about the body.

He loved people. One of his favorite things to do was to just drop by and visit people. He would pick the most random people as we were driving. And by random, I mean he would pick adults. Most kids would want to pick a place to go where there were other kids and toys. But Joshua is not like most other kids. The person we visited would often say, "thank you for coming by, I really needed that."

The greatest compliment that Joshua could give someone was to ask if that person had kids. This meant that you were pretty cool, and he would like to play with your offspring. Obviously some did not have children, to which he would respond, “Oh you have not been blessed with children”

Joshua was sincere. I remember how reluctant I was to ever say sorry as a child. I remember that even when I said it, I usually didn’t mean it. Anyone who has been the recipient of a Joshua apology knows that it was sincere and heartfelt. And it warmed your soul to feel of his sincere love.

Joshua loved to master things. He would sing a song over and over until he knew it by heart.

Anyone who has been around Joshua knows that he was never the fastest, never the strongest. But there was no child who worked harder, nor any child who was so happy to revel in the triumphs of others. He loved Soccer and he loved baseball. He was always joking with the other kids and making them laugh. In tee ball the last person to bat would get to hit the home run. But I honestly don’t know what he loved more being the last batter and hitting the home run, or greeting his teammates as they crossed home plate.

Joshua knew that prayers are answered. He was once invited to a birthday party that occurred on Sunday. He really wanted to go. We asked him to pray about it and tell us what his heart told him. He came to us a bit later and told us that his heart said he wanted to stay home. Given that freedom at age five, I am not sure that I would have made the same choice.

He loved spending time with his family, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles and cousins.

Joshua loved his brother. They would play together so well, and he would always help him to do things better. They, of course were brothers and would have their disagreements, but they are best friends.

Joshua loved his Sister. We would often catch him picking her up and carrying her places. And would always dote on her with such affection. In the few months they had together he never got mad that she was crying too much, and always tried to comfort her when she did cry. The day he died he carried her up the stairs and told his mother, “I just love her so much mommy.”

He loved his Mother. In the night when he would steal up to our room for whatever reason, he would always go to the far side of the bed to climb in with her. He would randomly just come to her and hug her and tell her that he loved her. He would want to help her cook, and loved doing preschool activities with her.



We started having an issue of the word “hate” in our home. We developed an idea to try and eliminate the word. We would start each day with four cookies. And if we said the word hate, we would lose a cookie. At the end of the day, we would get together and eat our cookies. The problem went away, and occasionally after using the word, I would hear that sweet little voice whisper, “Dad, you lost a cookie”

Joshua was a missionary. He knew the Gospel and was not afraid to open his mouth and ask a person if they had been baptized.

I would often tell Joshua about the things I remember about him when he was too little to remember. I told him about how tiny his hands were when he was born, and how the moment that little hand wrapped around my finger and squeezed, I knew that we would be best friends forever.

Later, when I was scolding Joshua about some insignificant thing, with tears in his eyes he looked at me and said dad why are you being mean? Remember when I did this? (Holding wrapping one hand around his finger) I melted. And perhaps that is the reason that I cannot even remember why I was reprimanding him.

Joshua loved school. He loved all of his teachers and the office workers and the aides. He loved his classmates and he loved his bus driver. He loved to bring home his projects. He would keep every little thing he made in a drawer by his bed. Every night I tucked my boys in, after making sure their room was clean. I would read to them, and pray with them. Later, after I knew they were asleep, I would steal down to their room to kiss them goodnight. I would often find him surrounded by his school things which he quietly pulled out after I left. Sometimes I would pick up literally hundreds of papers.

Joshua could not stand the sight of suffering. When Joshua was 2 years old he would watch a Sesame Street Elmo video. One of the clips was Elmo and Telly teaching about heavy and light. Elmo carried a feather, and Telly carried a pile of bricks. In the end of the clip, Telly loses his balance and falls with the bricks. It is actually a funny scene, but whenever My son would watch it, he would get so sad and cry when Telly fell down.

We were blessed to have this precious soul in our lives for 6 years. We read to him every night. We prayed with him every night. We read scriptures with him every morning, usually at his prompting. We will miss him so much. But know this, That I know that my Redeemer lives. I know that my son is wrapped in the arms of the savior. He will live again and we will hold him in our arms.

There is an eternal Law of compensation. When the Lord takes something from you he replaces it with something of equal value. A large piece of my soul has been taken from me. A piece which will only be replaced when I hold my son again. But the Lord will compensate. The hard part, is that it will take time.

We have been blessed as a family with the love and support of this community. We have had family and friends travel from all over to wrap their arms around us and cry with us. Lois is here with us today sitting with my wife and I, and I want everyone within the sound of my voice to know that this was not her fault. We do not Blame her, AND WE NEVER WILL. I hope and pray that you will take the time to wrap your arms around her, for her pain is as great as ours.

As I have read the various reports of Joshua’s death, I have seen the words “senseless tragedy.” And let me tell you, I take issue with both the words “senseless” and “tragedy.” 2000 years ago Jesus, a sinless man, suffered and died at the hands of others. Some might call that a senseless tragedy, but His life changed the world. Whether or not Joshua’s death is senseless OR a tragedy is completely up to you. It is only senseless if we do not learn and grow from the experience. If you hug your child a little longer, if you are more patient with your spouse because of Joshua, then his death is not senseless. If you take this experience and make the world a better place, then it is not a tragedy. It would be a tragedy to forget the lessons he taught us. The responsibility lies with you.

Over the last three days, I have been asked on countless occasions, “what can I do?” My answer then probably was not very well thought out. But I have had time to think about what you can do. My answer is two fold:

First: Realize that we are a prideful family, too proud to ask for help when we need it. So the first thing you can do is to listen to that little voice inside your head that tells you that we need you. When you think of us, it is probably because we need to feel of your love, but don’t know who or how to ask.

Second: You can give meaning to Joshua’s life by living the lessons Joshua taught us:

-Don’t wait for someone to ask for help before you give it. You know what they need, just do it.
-Apologize often and sincerely.
-Never hold a grudge.
-Cheer others on, even if they are better than you.
-Smile. Always.
-Never say hate.
-Listen to the little voice that tells us “you lost a cookie” or in other words: “you can do better.”
-Never take joy in the suffering of others, and never add to it.
-Name your cars.
-Go visit people.
-Hold hands.
-Don’t be afraid to remind people of what is most important in life.
-Live life and love it.
-Love your teachers.
-Love your peers.
-Love your bus driver.
-Do everything you can to touch every person you meet.

We love you Joshua. You are with God, and God with us.

Joshua gets to have what he always wanted. He hit the last ball and he has run home. It is our job to live so that we can do the same. Joshua will cheer us on, and he gets to be there to greet us when we come home too.

Joshua Scott Ringer
2002-2009
We love you and miss you.

Funeral services will be at 10:30am in the Gillette, Wyoming LDS Chapel on Thursday, February 12.

A graveside service will be given at 10:30am in Casper, Wyoming on Friday, February 13th.

Donations can be made to the Joshua Ringer Memorial Fund established by First National Bank of Gillette.

Run Home Joshua.

Super...Man

My boys are Superman NUTS. Anyone who knows me knows that I myself am a fan of the Last Son of Krypton, but these kids are crazy for Superman. My four-year-old Riley went through an 18-month spell of wearing a cape. It started on Halloween and never really stopped. It actually provided an easy form of discipline. Simply take the cape away and he was whipped into submission. If the cape were taken for a long period of time I would often find him huddled in a corner. After coaxing him out, I would realize that he was trying to hide the dishtowel tucked into the nape of his neck. My 4-year-old understands addiction.

Did I enjoy the recent movie? I did. As movies go, I will admit that there are better superhero movies out there. It is hard to make a decent movie about Superman. His true arena is in the comics.

Does anyone even read comics anymore? The only people I can imagine reading comics are people my age and older, and most of them are the ones that decided to forgo college and skip right to the money making venture of selling comics and baseball cards in the temporary sales tables that only set up on weekends at the mall. Weekdays (and nights) are spent playing World of Warcraft. Great career move guys.

I read comics to my boys occasionally. They love it. The love waned for the year we had cable. I got a taste of what has replaced comics for kids. It is these psychedelic, flashing Asian based cartoons readily equipped with the mass media market role playing toy campaign (in conjunction with Wal-Mart). Most end in -on or -an such as Pokemon, Digimon, Bakugan etc...I will refrain from any attempts to incorporate a quip using the word "seizure."

Being a fan of something, whether it be a sports team, a superhero, or a certain type of animal decor (my mother loves decorating with frogs) is actually a gift to giftgivers. Most of the superman paraphernalia in my possession was given to me by others. I save them the hassle of putting any thought into a gift for me. One must be careful not to over-display such gifts as they may lead one to fall into the Raiderfan syndrome. I have recieved some cheesy Superman gifts in my day.

One time I indulged and bought a Superman item for myself. I bought a robe from a mail order catalog. Apparently this was a company that sold individual products from several different distributors. I received my robe and still wear it proudly. What I was not aware of was that the distributor for this particular robe had little to do with the mass marketing of Warner Brothers or DC Comics, and more to do with the high end men's fashion underwear ala Derek Zoolander. Along with my robe, I received a copy of their product catalog. There were no Fruit of the Loom or Hanes products in this catalog. Quite the contrary, the products in this catalog looked like something out of aTarantino/Kubrick collaborative work. Yeah...you are getting the idea. Now I do not consider myself naive, but I always felt that sacrificing comfort in the name of fashion was strictly a female thing. I was not aware of the masochistic, fashion conscious male who would wear something requiring an instruction booklet (and a second mortgage) in order to wear. I still receive the monthly mailer and I have altered the way I open my mailbox just in case the catalog shows up. I certainly don't want anyone seeing me with the thing, even if I am taking it from my mailbox to my trashcan. What further boggles my mind is how any of the people who would wear these things would also be Superman fans. Then it hit me ...The robe was offered at a screaming good price, which means none of the freaks who patronize the underwear company bought it. Which means two things...I don't have anything in common with the underwear people--and the comic book people at the mall aren't sporting $90 undergarments under those sweat pants---both thoughts give me great peace of mind.

Cookies, Cross-Examination, and the Fine Art of Negotiation

I used to be rather timid in sales situations. I would not call me the pushover type, but rather the reluctant buyer. This all changed in 2002 when I took a job as a furniture salesman. Rather than fumble my way through the world of sales negotiation, I decided that during my down-time on the sales floor that I would attempt to learn everything I could about the art of the sale. This came easily as I found that most of the work week was spent doing absolutely nothing, waiting for the weekend rush. I read sales negotiation books, I learned everything I could about my products, and I worked on my presentation as often as possible.

Today I had the experience of negotiating with my 6-year-old Joshua, regarding a semi-frequent experience in the Ringer home...Milk & Cookies with dad. A bit of background:

Joshua is a child who LOVES the schedule. He enjoys knowing exactly what will happen and when it is happening. He does well at holding his parents to the schedule. When he recessed for Christmas vacation, he found himself with a lot of free time. Some children would find this a welcome relief, but not Joshua, as his schedule was interrupted and life as we know it was bound to end. So I began making a simple schedule with him each morning. Today's schedule included that blessed event 'milk and cookies with dad.' However, Cheryl had unwittingly gave him some candy as a result of good behavior early in the evening, and we thus felt that milk and cookies would be a bit much for our young child. The following exchange then occurred:

Joshua: But dad, it is ON THE SCHEDULE!!
Dad: I know, but you have already had a treat tonight.
Joshua: I really wanted milk and cookies tonight dad.
Dad: Well can you give me three good reasons why you should have it anyway?
Joshua pausing to think: Well, I really like how the cookies taste.
Dad: That is a good reason...can you think of any other reasons?
Joshua: Well, I didn't know that I wouldn't get milk and cookies when mom gave me the candy bar, or else I wouldn't have taken it. She never told me.
Dad: Hmmm...and your third reason?
Joshua: I like spending time with daddy.

Now I realize that this was part sincere and part one well-placed-card by my son, but I acquiesced as to the milk and cookies as a whole, and then attempted to mitigate the sugary damage:

Dad: Well I guess you can have them. But because you already had a treat, you can only have one cookie instead of three.
Joshua (after pondering a moment): Dad, a candy bar is a treat right?
Dad: Yes.
Joshua: And cookies are a treat too, right?
Dad (now recognizing that I had just walked blindly into a clever cross-examination): yes.
Joshua: Well then I think I need to get two cookies, because I only had one treat earlier.

My son got his two cookies. And I learned that all you need to do to learn the fine art of negotiation is take notes on a child who is in danger of losing cookies and milk.