An Act of Revision

A few days ago my thirteen year old son asked if he could take one of our laptops up to his room. My immediate thought was no, simply because it is a rule in our house that no internet accessing laptop goes behind the closed door of one of our children’s rooms. I don’t think I need to explain why, I’m sure many of you have the same rule. The reasons are obvious, especially when one’s children are fifteen, thirteen and ten. We wouldn’t want them having secret chats with strangers or even secret chats with their friends, among other things. That was always the fear with my daughter, who is the fifteen years old. But with my sons, it is different. And at the risk of sounding blatantly sexist, I add another reason for the rule: Porn. When I was a kid it was simple, you either found your father’s stash of Playboy Magazines or you didn’t. Now my father had no stash. For those of you that know me well you know that my apple fell miles from the tree. But my best friend, well, his fat

Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure. -George Edward Woodberry When I was eleven years old, baseball was my life. I really, really loved it. I watched it constantly, listened to it when I couldn’t watch, thought about it, dreamed about it, lived it. If no one was available to play, I played by myself, throwing a ball up against the back of our house for hours. I pitched and played shortstop, but my love was being on the mound. I was pretty good at a very young age. I had my shutouts, a no-hitter or two, and once struck out nine batters in a row. Honestly, it was the first thing in my life I can remember being really good at and at the time, the only thing I wanted to do. I remember many of my games, many of the moments within those games, but there is one that stands out above the rest. It wasn’t an extraordinary feat of mine, nor a great team victory (To be honest, the teams I played on mostly sucked. There weren’t a lot of victories to

Farce noun \ˈfärs\ : An empty or patently ridiculous act, proceeding, or situation Organized religion is a farce. There I said it. And I wasn’t struck by lightning nor did I turn to stone. Don’t get me wrong I am certainly not opposed to religion and, in general, I am not opposed to organized religion. But in definitely find it patently ridiculous. Sometimes I even find it to be empty as well. Before I continue, I want to be absolutely clear; this is simply my opinion. I will voice that opinion and you, the reader, have the right to agree with me or think me a complete and utter asshole. It’s your call. Now don’t get me wrong, I think it is supremely important for a person to have faith and to choose to believe in a higher power as a way to understand their lives and what, if any, is the meaning to those lives. It is a personal choice with the key word being “personal”. And while I have this belief I do not, in any way, believe that the word “organized” has a part of it. Se