Too Many Chiefs, Too Many Cooks

If I ever decide to write that book, I just might call it 

Too Many Chiefs, Too Many Cooks

Raising a Child in a Home with Six Adults Who All Think They're the Boss

Sometimes it gets really tricky.  Sometimes it gets really frustrating.  Our son behaves so much better when his two parents are the only adults in the house.  He has learned that each individual adult has their own way of acting, reacting, and interacting with him. He is becoming a master manipulator.  I know that kids often play this game between just their two parents, too, but when a parent is trying to get his child to do or not do certain things, and four other people chime in with their version of what needs to be done, it makes me crazy, let alone him!

It's bad enough when there are legitimate behavior/discipline issues to be dealt with, but when some of the non-parent adults decide to create more issues, and stir up more battles that the parents have perhaps chosen not to address at the current time, it can be highly overwhelming.

For instance:  One of the six adults in our house makes it their sacred duty to micromanage the way our son eats his meals.  True, he needs reminders to use his napkin and eat politely.  However, he does not need to be told what to eat next and when to eat it and he doesn't need to be told that he can't eat fruit before he finishes his bread, and isn't he going to eat more rice or another bite of meat and when will he have a sip of water, from the beginning of the meal to the blessed end.

Sometimes when he has been naughty and is being disciplined, other non-parent adults come along and make a big show about it, saying, "Oh, what's wrong, you poor little thing, come here, what do you want?"

There are several other similar examples.

We do voice our feelings on the subject from time to time.  Depending on the particular other adult that is being addressed, it may be received well or not so well, but it almost always goes forgotten.

I realize that I have made my bed.  I welcomed, even encouraged our living situation.  In most ways, it has worked out very well.  In some ways, not quite as much.

Sometimes we think we should get our own tepee.  Sometimes we think we should get out of the kitchen.  But after all is said and done, we agree that we need to put up with a few things, pick our battles, and work things out.  And that's what we do.

Mass Punishment

Diego had been naughty while he was running with Giancarlo last Sunday.  They returned and he was going to be on time out after eating his lunch. 

While he ate, Grandma and Grandpa walked in and asked, "Diego, do you want to go to mass with us?"

Without hesitating, Diego nodded yes.  Usually he has to mull this offer over a bit and decide if there's a possibility of there being anything in it for him, like a lunch at a favorite restaurant or a post-church jaunt to Toys R Us.  

As he prepared to leave with his grandparents, Diego asked, "Since I didn't have my time-out yet, can church be my punishment?"

To which Giancarlo responded, "No, Diego, you weren't that naughty."

Our Grout Sprout

This is a bit gross in a way, but mildly fascinating.  Allow me to preface by saying that we keep our kitchen relatively clean.  The following is not a product of a lack of cleanliness.

Sprout, Grout Sprout, Sprout!

by Jason, as himself

We have an amazing grout sprout.

Our kitchen sink grout has sprouted a sprout.

The seed went in and a sprout came out.

The water, the sun, together did shout.

Sprout, Sprout; sprout! 

Without a doubt, a sprout did sprout

From the shallow garden that is our grout.

One morning I stood and my eyes cast about

Then I spotted this sprout just starting to sprout.

Grout Sprout; sprout!

I nearly pulled that grout sprout out,

Til from the family room I heard a shout,

"Don't pull out the sprout that sprouted in grout!

We want to wait and when we pull it out

We'll plant it in some dirt that's not grout."

And soon with pride we'll be able to tout,

We're eating tomatoes that sprouted in grout!

We had no idea that from grout they would sprout,

Such a miracle makes us scream and shout,

"From out of our grout, there sprouted a sprout!"

Diego is Ready for Halloween

But is Halloween ready for Diego?

Teacher Tales: Silly Bandz and Other Banes of Existence

Sigh.  Deep Breath.

Just look at them.  Rob Croak is the genius who invented Silly Bandz.  He is now a multi-gajillionaire, and in my opinion, should be forced to donate all profits to the General Education Fund of the United States of America.  Somehow these little babies hold their shape, even after being stretched and tweaked and twiddled and flipped and extended and flicked and diddled and twisted and thrown and entwined and wrapped and jiggled and tossed and snapped and handle and elongated and PLAYED WITH DURING LESSONS AND WORK TIME which has been enough to cause me to DO SOMETHING I rarely do, which is to WRITE IN ALL CAPS.  I have confiscated close to four billion of these little babies--so many, in fact, that I had to rent a storage unit for them all until June.

Which reminds me of an earlier bane of my existence:

Pokemon Cards.  Even through the whole rage that they were, I never once understood them or how they worked or what those words even meant on them.  Or the pictures, for that matter.  But boy, did my students.  Especially the boys.

I was in elementary school myself when the Rubik's Cube flooded its way into classrooms around the country.  They must have driven my teachers nuts.

I never really participated in this particular fad, but I remember their hideously cute little faces and low hair lines very well.

Ahhh, and who could forget the great marble craze of the late 1970's?

What little playthings are or have been the bane of your existence?  Or maybe the bane of existence of one of your teachers, perhaps?

Thoughts on Raw Sewage

In the Walmart parking lot this morning, a little boy pointed at me and yelled, "Raw sewage!"  I kept walking, giving him and his mother a perplexed look, but continuing on my way.  I know for a fact that I did not look like raw sewage this morning.  I was freshly showered and shaven, wearing an attractive button-up shirt with jeans and a smart pair of shoes.  I took no offense.  After all, I was in the Walmart parking lot for heaven's sakes. 

Strangely enough, this little boy's remark got me to thinking about raw sewage.  I haven't had that many deep thoughts concentrated on raw sewage in my lifetime, so as I focused my mind on it, an uncanny quantity of raw sewage thoughts filled my mind.

My first experience with raw sewage came about at age four, when my parents and I moved into a condemned trailer on the Navajo Indian Reservation.  I doubt my parents knew why the trailer had been condemned in the first place.  There were cracks in the walls that were so wide, when the fierce desert wind blew, sand came blowing in.  That's probably what they assumed was the reason.  However, after a few days, it became quite apparent to even a four year old Jason that broken pipes under the trailer that periodically spewed a stinky brownish liquid onto the ground was a very bad thing.

Fast forward a few years.  Seasoned viewers of The Jason Show may recall various episodes about the basement in which I lived.  Halloween is coming soon, so if you're looking for a good hard scare, go read about it.  It is impossible to discuss growing up in that basement without mentioning raw sewage.  You see, our house had a septic tank rather than regular plumbing.  We also had irrigation water rights, which meant that once a week, huge amounts of water came rushing down a ditch toward our ill-prepared yard and poorly situated home.  This water gushed its way into our window wells and into our septic tank through the surrounding drain fields.  Essentially, our septic tank filled with irrigation water, which caused the contents of the tank to back up into the basement through the drains in the floor.  Raw sewage.   

My parents somehow failed to see the importance of having this mess professionally resolved.  They merely borrowed a Shop-vac from my uncle and spent the day sucking the rank water into the Shop-vac and then dumping it out into the field next to our house.  The rugs were never really cleaned.

This happened again and again and again over a period of one or two months.  Thinking back, it is a miracle none of us came down with ecoli poisoning.  Even after the irrigation water turns were canceled, our septic tank never fully recovered.    When too many drains were used at the same time, water and sometimes sewage came gurgling up through the laundry room drain.  Thank goodness my brother, Ray, caulked a bottomless 5-gallon bucket around the drain, which kept the noxious liquid from moving across the floor.

I learned the other day on Timeblazers that the bubonic plague was caused by people throwing their own raw sewage into the streets and subsequent events involving rodents.  I guess this is a fact that I should have known previously, after all, I am a teacher and as Diego reminds me often, I should know everything.    I'm so grateful to my Father in Heaven that none of us contracted the bubonic plague as we grew up in that basement.

Then there's the actual term raw sewage.  Particularly, the adjective raw.  What is the opposite of raw sewage?  Cooked sewage?  No, I suppose it would be untreated sewage, but it does give one pause to consider these antonyms and their relation to human waste.

Speaking of treating sewage, what must it be like to work in a sewage treatment plant?  Does anyone know anybody who actually works at such a place?  Does anyone who works at such a place actually admit to working in such a place?  And if people do work at such a place, can you imagine the dread you must feel each morning when the alarm goes off?  Or do you suppose they get used to it just like everyone else gets used to their jobs?  Do raw sewage treatment plant workers make a lot of money?  On one hand, I think they should. Clearly.  However, how much training does it take to become a raw sewage treatment plant worker before they can become such?  Is there on-the-job training?   Or do they go to special vocational schools like Charter?  Maybe there's even some kind of an associates degree related to this job that you can easily obtain through your community college. You don't really think one has to get a four-year degree to become a certificated raw sewage treatment plant worker, do you?

One final thought:  How many of you have ever contemplated the actual water treatment and recycling  process itself?  If so, how many of you have realized that your nice cool, clear drink of water used to be in your toilet, or worse, someone else's toilet who isn't nearly as hygienic and sweet smelling as you?  And would you rather drink your own recycled bodily waste than someone else's, or is it all the same to you?

Maybe I should just stay away from the Walmart parking lot.

When Did You Choose to Be Straight?

So often when I see videos posted on blogs I skip over them, and it seems that The Jason Show has had more than usual lately.  New viewers might suppose that every episode is about being gay, seasoned with You Tube videos.  But this is succinct, and recommended to me by the best ex wife a guy could ever have.  Please watch.  And then share it with those who need to hear this message.

Or maybe I DO love Disneyland

I know that I recently posted about how I don't love Disneyland. However, my coworkers twisted my arm the second afternoon we were here after our convention activities ended for the day, and I gave into them and joined them as they ventured into the happiest place on earth. I brought my trusty camera along, and it was a good thing, because I saw a few things today that made me think twice about how I feel about Disneyland.

And I want to share them with you here.

For instance, I had never seen this dancing mushroom guy before. There was something compelling about it, and I don't think it was because I like mushrooms.

Of course, it is October, and Disneyland goes all out to decorate for fall and Halloween. So I saw some things I hadn't seen before, which was fun.

And I don't remember Disneyland having such a nice wine shop. I never buy expensive wine, but I like to look at it and maybe taste some. 

We stepped outside the wine shop and imagine my surprise when we saw Christina Aguilera posing with Donald Duck!

Then I started really taking a look at my surroundings and I realized there are awful lot of male couples here, some even holding hands! And what could be gayer than riding the tea cup ride with the guy you love?

It was so nice of these guys to let me take a picture of them. They were so happy and having such a great time---it did my heart good. This was the moment I started seriously rethinking my stance on Disneyland.

It took me a few minutes for me to figure out what was going on with these two ladies to really register. I thought they were just being funny with their Mickey and Minnie hats, placing one over each boob. But then I looked again. How fun is this? I especially love that this is a mother and daughter collaboration.

Disneyland has lots of delicious candy around. Eye candy, that is.


And then, to close the evening's festivities, the parade and fireworks. Everyone loves the parade at Disneyland. Some of the sights you see are amazing.

NOW, I understand why they call it the happiest place on earth.

This episode originally aired October 4th, 2007.  

My Heart Knows This is True

Closets are for Clothes!

Today is National Coming Out Day 2010.

  I am pleased, grateful, and proud to live in a time and country when equal rights for all is not only an issue, but it is often in the forefront of political conversations and agendas.  It is exciting to be in the midst of change and to witness so much of it during my lifetime.   I was six months old at the time of Stonewall.  Since that time, invaluable progress has been made regarding gay rights, and my spouse and I are one of the 18,000 fortunate couples who were allowed to legally marry in California.  I love my life.  Even when I get lost in the, at times, burdensome details of daily living, I love my life.

It is an honor and a huge gift to have a significant amount of friends in real life and in the online community that love and support me regardless of my sexual orientation, absolutely without judgement.   I am forever thankful for them.

I am also thankful for my sibling and parents that love me and accept me, my husband, and our family, just the way the way we are, with open arms, even though their religions may lead them to feel differently.

Peace of mind is mine; I do not need to worry about what someone will say or do if I am out in public with my husband and my family in my own community.  I do not live with the fear that somebody might vandalize my home or car, or shout insulting things at me as I walk down the street, or treat my children poorly because of who I am.

It still makes me stop in my tracks to think about how fortunate I am that I am no longer trapped in that cycle of self-loathing and shame.  It overjoys me still.  Being gay is so much more than just sex.  It is a million other things that are such a complicated part of my being, many of which I could likely never explain, or even realize consciously.

Yet.  Yet.  Yet, I am outraged and ashamed to live in a country where most same-gender couples and families are denied their rights.  It is depressing that even now there are people who openly persecute and abuse homosexual people.  It is horrifying that gay teens are increasingly committing suicide because society has convinced them that they are unworthy, inferior, and hateful.

But most of all, I am saddened that many religions continue to use their voices to smugly perpetuate and justify discrimination, all in the name of God, knowing full well that their words add fuel to the fires of intolerance among those who have not yet developed the ability to think things out for themselves. 

I Don't Love Disneyland

Tonight I am sitting on my bed in the Disneyland Hotel. I can see the tip of the Matterhorn out my window and I can hear the tram go by every minute or so. I'm here for a work related conference and everyone else giddily ran off to Disneyland after our last session today, but I didn't want to go. I wanted to come back to my room and rest. And blog. Why?

Because I don't love Disneyland.

Because I don't love Disneyland.

Because I don't love Disneyland.

-

This fundamentally goes against the kind of person I think I am. I'm generally easy going, and fun-loving, am I not? It is a general stereotype of those sharing my orientation that we all love Disneyland. So why wouldn't I like a place that proclaims itself "the happiest place on Earth?"

Why do you think this is? Why do I feel this way? I know I'm just expected to love Disneyland because everyone else does. I know we're taught from a young age that Disney is good, Disney is fun, Disney is wholesome, Disney is what's right with the world. But if really does nothing for me. I don't enjoy standing in long, long lines, going on little rides with Disney characters all over them, and I don't like paying astronomical amounts to do all of this! Not to mention the price of the food--make that the price of everything here!

In our family we have a tradition that whenever somebody turns five, we come to Disneyland for that child's birthday. This tradition is fine and I'm happy to come because I know that the kids love it. And I would have loved it when I was a kid. *So I'll suck up my inner grumblings, put on a happy, Disney face, and spend the day and well into the night, and yes, even enjoy the experience through the five year old's eyes. Diego will be five in two years, and we'll come and it will be fun. Then, three years later, my first grandchild will be five and we'll come again. And it will be fun.

But I know actual people who actually don't have any children, nor do they actually plan on having any, and they actually come to Disneyland many times during the year because they actually like it that much! They have Disneyland license plate frames and Disney clothes and Disney decorations. One of these such people used to come clear to Disneyland just for the sake of walking around the park and sucking on one of the great big dill pickles they sell here. Or used to sell. Apparently now they don't even sell those same pickles, but this person still loves coming to Disneyland, pickle or not.

What is it that makes full grown adults love Disneyland so much?

-

And what is it that makes me not love it so much? Am I missing a special Disneyland chromosome? Am I just an old fuddy dud? A crumudgeon? A killjoy?

-

Please, dear readers, help! Was I born this way? Or was it a traumatic childhood experience that did this to me? Maybe I was too much of a Momma's boy when I was little. Maybe my dad and I didn't spend enough time together. Or......maybe Satan is making me feel these feelings. Maybe if I pray hard enough God will make me love Disneyland.


*Editors Note:  Diego is now six and a half and, you guessed it, he still has not been to Disneyland.  And we live an hour away.

---

This episode originally aired October 3, 2007.  Apologies to JLo, who is the queen of Disneyland.

All Families Matter

The Truth is in the Soup

Each week The Jason Show sends scouts out into the blogosphere, scouring blogs both well-known and yet-to-be-discovered for those single lines that are attention grabbers. Single sentences that resonate for their element of humor, touch of the bizarre, or ability to provoke thought are prestigiously linked to their author, in hopes that viewers of The Jason Show like you will be able to savor a serving of Single Sentence Soup just as our scouts have.

YOU DESERVE BETTER. You deserve to have a life free of abuse, control, and shame – and if you have children, they most certainly do. Set yourself free, share your truth, no longer live a life of a secrecy, and get help. I’m not saying it will be easy, but I am saying it will be worth it.

And so there is some comfort in being reminded that all of us experience life as fleeting. And once again I am reminded that I want to live well. To not hold grudges, to not become bitter, to speak the truth with love and to offer grace to everyone I meet. 

And isn't in a shame that so many of us "outgrow" touching? I suppose as we become adults, touch becomes sexualized and many of us reserve it for that, or we fear that our hand on another person's shoulder will be misinterpreted as sexual, and often it is. So we grow cautious, not wanting to be misunderstood, reserving our hands for family and trusted friends, offering only handshakes to everyone else.

Sometimes love is most romantic in it's most practical forms. It is the mundane acts of simple lives that can end up encompassing the true heart and soul of a family, the step and step and step again dullness of daily life that hard work and sacrifice can illuminate into something far more beautiful and real and moving than any flowers, parties or fancy gifted presents or moments can do. Everything is illuminated

 I don't know if my kids are gay - I don't care - and I will show them this video. They will stand up to support their LBGT peers. As a parent, I will stand up to support their LBGT peers. Only when kids and their parents start speaking up against bullying behavior will it stop. All kids need to speak up - the LBGT kids desperately need the support of their straight peers. The loud, in-your-face, stop fucking with my friend, kind of support. Adults are failing to protect them so we need to teach our kids to do it.

I'm really angry at the contention that it is better to do nothing than something. Or that if you try something, earnestly and with enthusiasm and love in your heart, it's ok for others to come spit on your parade just because they can.

What Girls Have

So, Daddy, Pumpkin is a girl, right?

Right.

And Patches is a boy.  That's why he has a penis.

Yes.

And Pumpkin has a really short penis.  That's what all girls have, right?  Just a really short penis?

No, they have something else.  It's not a penis, it's called a vagina.

A WHAT? 

Vagina.

WHAT?

Vagina.

Vagina?

Yes.

You're kidding me.

No, I'm serious.

That's just another one of your silly made up words.

No, I promise, it isn't.  Boys have penises, girls have vaginas.

Hmm.  (Whispers) Vagina.

And then.

VAGINA!  VAGINA!  VAGINAAAAAAAAAAA!

Oh dear.  Maybe I'm reconsidering my stance on early sex education.

Do Hard Things

Lately I have developed an increased admiration for people who do difficult things; people who set look ahead, set goals, and make diligent strides to reach their goal without giving up.   

Of course, not all difficult accomplishments are the same, and they're not all for everyone.  One must be choosy about the hard things they want to accomplish.  I've set and reached goals during my life, but there are most certainly things I would never try to do because the pursuit of them would make me absolutely miserable. Climbing Mount Whitney, swimming the English Channel, being a politician, or joining the military are perfectly respectable aspirations--but they're certainly not something I personally would want to reach for.

Being proud of your accomplishments is a good thing.  Taking pride in yourself is important.  

The producers of The Jason Show would like to hear about your successes.  We'd love it if you left a comment stating what you consider your top three accomplishments. . .anything at all. . .as long as it has taken hard work and determination to get there.

And we'll all celebrate those accomplishments together.