Fun And Games Off Duty · Protect and Serve · School Fun And Games

Verbal Judo and Parenting

So, TINS©, There I was, standing in line and idly looking about at the cattle call that was parent-teacher conferences. As I moved from one slowly moving line to the next, I found myself in line in front of one of the officers from our small town police department. I recognized him from his visits to the ED wherein I toiled , FDASL© (Betcha you were wondering if I’d slip that one in there, amirite?), and he recognized me from nursing in our small town’s ED.

We were talking about parenting, and I observed that my children had, from time to time, suggested that due to the “fact” that “Billy”’s parents allowed him to (do whatever, something The Wife and I did not want our children doing), therefore we should facilitate our own child doing the same (stupid) thing.

I observed that we did not fall for that gambit, and our response was “Hmm, that is too bad. Your parents are ogres, and “Billy”’s parents are nice. You are stuck with ogre parents. Oh, look at the time! Off to bed you go! Night-night!”

The officer looked reflective. “Yeah, I can see how you effectively communicate that you aren’t gonna be buffaloed into things that you think are bad. My wife and I take a little different approach.”

What is that?”

He smiled. “I tell my kids that whatever their revelation is, it makes me sad. Then I shut up. Of course, they ask me why it makes me sad. I simply gaze upon them mournfully, and tell them, ‘I’m sad because it is obvious that Billy’s parents, do not love him as much as I love you!”

I chuckled. “That’s sneaky! I like it!”

Yep. What are they gonna do, argue that I do not love them? Leaves them with no place to start their argument!”

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Fun With Suits! · School Fun And Games · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

How Adults Roll

Many years after I was FDASL© in Da City, I was a Dad. (In my opinion, my most important job). I had four children with my wife, She Who Would Become The Plaintiff. Our daughter, referred to herein as Brenda, was a lovely girl, but, unsurprisingly, was a typical pre-adolescent.

One fine day, The Wife received a phone call from the school, relating that Brenda was failing Science class. We interviewed Brenda, attempting to understand what might be preventing this child from comprehending the material in her class that, to be honest, was not all that complicated. I mean, it was fifth grade science, in a podunk little school district.

We learned, after The Wife had detail-searched Brenda’s book-bag, that she, Brenda, had not been turning in her homework assignments. Oh, Hell Naw! That simply would not do! The Wife and I decided that, since I worked midnights, I would be the nominated for the role of Science Class Homework Monitor.

I phoned the school and learned that Mrs. Science Class was in her classroom yet, and would be happy to discuss Brenda’s failing with me. Off Brenda and I went.

I asked Mrs. Science Class if our appraisal was on target.

“Well, yes. Brenda has not been handing in her homework assignments.”

“Do you have these assignments? I mean, in a form that I, her father, could use to have Brenda perform this homework?”

“Well, yes I do. You do realize, Brenda is not going to receive credit for this work, do you not?”

“Yep. I don’t care about credit. Brenda, here, is going to perform these assignments, and I will check them for accuracy, and completeness. Then, I will check her spelling and grammar.”

Mrs. Science Class informed me, gently, “I do not check spelling, or grammar.”

I smiled. “How interesting. I do. Once I have corrected those items, Brenda, here, will do the assignment over again, until she gets all that correct. Then I will grade for neatness.”

Mrs. Science again offered, “I do not grade on neatness.”

Again, I replied. “How nice. I, however, do, and Brenda will repeat the assignment until she meets my standards of neatness. Then, she will do the next assignment, meeting all those standards, until she had completed every one, in it’s entirety, to my thorough satisfaction. Then she will deliver them to you for final grading.”

Mrs. Science Class looked at me, her head sort of half-cocked to one side, as if she were a beagle watching me cook something in the kitchen, and she repeated herself. “You know, Mr. Stretcher Ape, Brenda is not going to receive credit for all this work, don’t you?”

“Yep, you told me that, and I really do not care.”

“You do not care?”

“Nope. So, Mrs. Science Class, do you assign homework simply for your own entertainment?”

“Oh, no!”

“You have a plan of instruction, and homework is a part of that plan? Homework is part of the process by which children acquire an education, correct?”

She nodded. “Correct.”

I leaned forward, intensity in my speech. “Mrs. Science class, my daughter may or may not get the credit: I really do not care. What I care very much about, and what her mother agrees with me completely on, is the fact that our child is going to get the education. Full stop.”

She leaned back. “You know, I do not have this sort of conversation with parents, very often at all!”

I showed her my wolf grin. “That, Mrs. Science Class, is not Brenda’s problem. If she ever, again, so long as she breathes, fails to turn in her homework, in full, on time, and satisfactorily neat and legible, then every single assignment that she may have, I will correct. For completeness. For accuracy. For correctness. For neatness. For spelling. For grammar and syntax. And, she will do those assignments that I find unsatisfactory, over, and over, and over again, until I am satisfied with them.

Or, she could simply turn in her work, to you, on time and complete, to be graded as you see fit.

You see, I am willing to be Brenda’s problem, for so long as she desires it. She will let me know she desires it, by not doing her damned work.”

For those of you who care, my daughter finished high school, and then worked her way through her baccalaureate degree, working full time, with a child, as a single mother. And worked her way through her MBA degree, working full time, with three children, as a single mother. I take some, small pride in her accomplishments.

But, SHE did all the work. In full. On time. And completely. Because she is an Adult Woman.

Fun With Suits! · Pains in my Fifth Point of Contact · School Fun And Games · Sometimes You Get to Think That You Have Accomplished Something!

Again, with not fitting the mold!

Remember my fun filled interview for Nursing school? So, nearly 30 years later I applied for PA school. Among the requirements was 500 hours of patient contact experience. So, I had worked as an RN for (shockingly enough) 30 years at that point, and had accrued, with overtime, something on the order of 63,000 hours of patient care.

So, I went to interview for the incoming class, and they asked me if I had 500 hours of patient care experience. I had included my resume detailing my schooling and work experience as part of my application, so I assumed that my work history was not a surprise.

I asked, “Do you mean, in the past 3 months? or overall?”

“How about, overall?”

“Well, something like 60,000 plus hours, I guess.”

The reply? “Well, alright then! Let’s move along!”

I succeeded, and so got to deal with the financial aid office.

I filled out the form, complete with the birthdate revealing that I had been born some 50 + years previously. I ignored the part where they sought my parent’s tax forms.

When I turned in my application, the gosling behind the counter reviewed my papers,  and looked my elderly ass right in the eye, saying, “You don’t have your father’s tax form in here!”

She sure was quick! “No, ma’am, I do not.”

She was, albeit, persistent. “You have to include your father’s tax forms.”

“Ma’am, I am not going to submit my father’s tax forms. For one thing, he has not filed in 13 years. ”

“He hasn’t filed in 13 years? He has to!”

“Ma’am, perhaps you could call him up, and let him know that. But, it’s going to be kind of a long distance call. And, when you reach him, please tell him that I love him, and miss him every day.”

Perhaps, she was not so quick. “Huh?”

“Ma’am, my father died over a dozen years ago. You will not be receiving his tax forms.”

Undeterred, she demanded, “Well, we will need your mother’s tax forms!”

I was over this. “Ma’am, you are not going to receive my mother’s tax forms, either. She is pushing 80 years old, I have lived on my own for 30 years, and the only tax forms you will receive are those belonging to my wife and me. Perhaps I should talk to your supervisor?”

After several minutes, an adult appeared. I reviewed my position. “Ma’am, this young lady insists on my providing my parents’ tax forms. That is not going to happen. I have supported my own family for nearly a dozen years. I am not about to provide my parents’ forms, nor have they supported me for longer than this nice young lady has been alive.”

The adult looked at me for a moment. “And, you are Mr. McFee, correct? And, you are the student? Not one of your children?”

“Ma’am, if you look at the applicant’s birthday on the application, you will see that it matches my apparent age.”

This soul indeed perused the applicant’s birthday, and regarded me. “Uh, sir? I think we have everything we need here. You will not be asked again to provide your mother’s tax forms. Thank you, and have a nice day!”

Fun And Games Off Duty · Fun With Suits! · Pre Planning Your Scene · School Fun And Games

Not Fitting The Mold

So, TINS. I decided after several years as a nursing assistant, that I wanted to be an RN when I grew up. By the time that things lined up, I had already started working for EMS in Da City. So, I set to knocking off the pre-requisite classes I had not already collected, and waited for my Nursing school application to be processed.

Now, at this time, there were very, very, very few men in Nursing. The school I applied to, a community college, had a decidedly  problematic academic tendency among the population from which they drew their students.  So, since I had attended Tremendous State University for a couple of years, it seemed that I was a good candidate to handle collegiate level studies. For these reasons, it developed that I was accepted to this school.

In the course of the intake, I had to interview with an admissions officer. We talked about coursework, and finances. She asked me about what financial aid I had lined up. I admitted that I had none, and planned to pay for school through Da City’s tuition reimbursement program, as well as my earnings.

She did not think much of that idea, for some reason. “Mr. McFee, we do not allow our students to work.”

I was surprised. This was, after all, nearly 1980, and I had thought that liberated women, and various movements to remove barriers had changed things. Simply to be certain that I had heard her correctly, I asked her, “Er, ma’am? you do not ‘allow’ your students to work?”

“That’s right, Mr McFee. We do not allow our students to work.”

“Uh, ma’am, you do realize that I am working full time, have a house, and am my own only source of support, right?”

“Mr. McFee, you need to plan for that. We do not allow our students to work while they are in school.”

“Uh, OK. Uh, ma’am, so, where do you live?”

“Why do you ask me that?”

“Well, I support myself and you are telling me that I cannot work. I suppose that means that I’m moving in with you.”

THAT got her attention! “Mr. McFee! You are NOT moving in with me!”

“Hmm. So, how about you document that you have told me that your experience is that students who work while in school do not perform as well as those who do not. You could note that I have acknowledged that warning, and the school’s extensive experience behind that warning. You could write down that I will elect to work while in school, and therefore, any failure on my part will be in spite of your vehement admonitions. Do you think that will work for you? It is a chance that I am willing to take.”

“Uh, Mr. McFee, please sign here, next to my notes to that effect. Thank you. Welcome to Un-Named Community College School of Nursing. You have selected a challenging course of action, both academically as well as because you have chosen to work. Good luck!”

School Fun And Games

Career Goals

So, once I graduated from PA school, we moved to Rural Ville. I had a job in the ER 
of the local hospital, so the kids went to the local school. Surprising, no?

My kids were in 8th grade and 9th grade. There were the usual transition rough 
spots, but they adapted soon enough. 

One day the school had a career day, and everyone got to describe their career 
plans. There were the the nurse wannabe-s, and future farmers, and prospective 
engineers. 

My one son had physics research in his sights. The other was less particular: 
"Not nursing!". 

My youngest came home after the career day, indignation oozing from every pore.
He couldn't contain himself. 

"So, we all have our little spiels. This one wants to be a baker, that one wants to be 
a nurse. Another wants to be a farmer. One kid said only this: 'Ahmgondrahvtruck!", 
and sat down. 

"Not 'I'm going to drive a milk truck", or 'a grain truck', or 'an over-the-road truck'. 
Nope! Just 'truck.' 'Ahmgondrahvtruck'. Where do they find these people?"

I had no answer.