My daughter and son have been grounded recently, and justifiably so. They each received horrendously bad grades on their last progress report. So they have been without computer privileges for a few weeks. Now they are free and what does she do?? She comes straight to my site and reads the wicked little ode I wrote about her mother for the new boy toy. She leaves a nice little sarcastic message in the comments and then drops her own submission for the last Caption Contest (incredibly late but quite good I may say). She even used the word contortionist, which is a mighty fine word. She continues to impress me at every turn. She is wonderful. Vana Lea, I am sorry for upsetting you with my written gift to your step-father. Should I mail it to him?? I think not. However, there are quite a few lady bloggers out there that are going through the similar situation I am. I have seen how they vent and get upset with their once significant others, as I do and am. So I am curious as to their take on this. I am taking suggestions and comments, no offense will be taken so spill your true feelings about any part of the whole spitsville mess. And with that in mind, I offer up another of my minds twisted little word-works. I hope you enjoy it or that it touches or helps anyone else in any way.
My father never taught me
My father taught me a lot of things
In his time before he passed.
About the way were supposed to live,
Until the time we breathe our last.
Things like love of nature,
And striving to be best,
Respecting those around you
and saving to invest.
Talking to God everyday,
Striving for something better
Solving problems your own way
and preparing for bad weather.
But of all the things of which I learned
From he whose loin I came,
Some of the lessons that I learned
are bound to bring him shame.
Fiery temper, and tongue of acid
And mean streak a mile wide,
Crassness and a wandering eye
Are traits I wish too hide.
How to be argumentative, and
Throw around your weight.
Intimidating everyone with
Careless words of hate.
Which brings me to the things
Of which he did not dare
Share any of the wisdom
That gave him no gray hair.
Like how to cope with loss
of wife or taming something so wild
as the anger in my heart at
loss of beloved child.
My father never taught me
How to handle so, these things that
Trouble my lonely heart
And tear me down so low.
And I pray that in my days
I spend with my children over time
That they learn from my mistakes
And don’t have to write or live this same rhyme.
Stu Pidasso February 8, 2004
Speaking of taming wild inner beasts, we travel to Dallas this weekend for one of our cup rugby matches. I fully intend to vent my inner anger on some poor unsuspecting fool from the DFW Metroplex. It is my anger management program, because I feel so much better (mentally not physically) after grinding some other person's head into the mud and having the same done to me. In reality, it is as close to being in a warrior's battle in this day and age as most men can get. It allows me to test my physicality and mental resolve against others in a semi-hostile environment. Because of my moments on the rugby field, I am fully confidant that I could chase down , catch, kill and bury any criminal that would make the mistake of targeting my family (and that is if I buried him instead of cooking him and serving him to the crack addicts downtown). Gone are most the reasons and opportunities for the young men today to be the hunters, warriors and protectors that God intended us to be. I relish my time on the pitch as I know my advancing age is bringing those days to a quick end. But until I can play no more, I will strive to be like the most awe-inspiring rugby warrior I know, Stirling Mortlock. Enjoy the picture ladies.
