Have you read They Own the Night: The First Gomer Wars ? Leave us a comment! Tell us where you got the book and when you read it. Looking to have the sequel out before too long! ~Michael S. Pauley
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One of life’s greater mysteries is the source and usage of the phrase “Aahhooooooo, I’m Tellin’!!!!” Now, for some reason known only to God, every child in the universe knows this phrase. It doesn’t matter where the child is from because the phrase transcends nationality, race, creed, religion, and cogent reasoning. The pronunciation alone causes me concern because it appears to be an ancient language learned in the womb of mankind. Every kid, regardless of their location on the planet, say the “Aahhooooooo” at the exact same frequency level, with the exact same emphasis on the “oooo”, and for the exact same length of time. There is no difference between the way the young female 3 year old says it from the way her older 7 year old brother says it. (Okay, his voice hasn’t changed yet, but I heard a male 16 year old do it the exact same way, so I feel it is still a good theory!)
This use of the phrase is not a rare phenomenon; however, adults seldom get the full import in their observation of this ancient language. The best time to observe this primal call is when Mom is at the grocery store, and you, like the idiot you are, volunteer to watch the children. Now the stage is normally set on a rainy weekend afternoon. (Since you are trapped inside with the monsters, you are now in an excellent position to watch.) You have just pulled the boys apart from life and death combat, which is normally spawned over which channel to watch, and have sent them to their room. You then go into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup of coffee, with the little one keeping her eye on your every movement. This latter coffee step is mandatory, since you must remain awake. (Mainly because if you attempt sleep you will surely die at the hands of the little darlings........) What happens next is the most terrifying dynamic a parent will ever face..... For the first time, you are presented with the one rare occasion where the three little ones act in complete and total concert with each other. They do this much like a herd of wild dogs would stalk prey, but in this instance your only shot at survival is to be saved by the “Aahhooooooo!” The little one keeps the boys informed as to your movements, thereby allowing them to sneak into things they aren’t supposed to get into. If you wander close to a point where you will discover the boys’ handiwork, then the little one will run a diversionary operation that would put a Green Beret to shame. This is all designed to permit the little sweet things to inventory, catalogue, and rifle through your intimate personal belongings, like mom’s closet or dad’s dresser. (Oddly enough they still won’t mess with going into their big sister’s room. I still suspect this is only because the EPA and NRC haven’t lifted their ban on entry without HAZMAT protective equipment......) The first time I noticed this hidden child language was on the infamous Sunday when the screaming sweeties discovered Dad’s old Army Saber. (While mostly decorative, it still has some ceremonial use, and is normally stored lovingly in my closet.) Like the fool being led to the gallows, I grinned and said, “Sure Honey, I’ll watch them while you run out for a few things......” Lord, were those famous last words. No sooner than Mom had pulled out, the fun began............. Turning from the doorway, having waved goodby to my bride, I heard voices raised in anger in the living room. Like a cat chasing a mouse down a snake hole, I stupidly went to investigate. After the requisite verbal battle over the merits of flying with or without a cape as a superhero, the boys had escalated their discussion into a brawl that would have made a sailor in Honolulu proud. Not sure that it wasn’t a good idea to let them kill each other, I finally broke down and decided to intercede. I pulled them apart and sent each to his bed thinking that I had done my duty and protected life and limb. While very high-minded, it was one of the more naive thoughts I would have that day. In short? BOY, was I wrong!!! All I did was allow the forces to consolidate!! Satisfied that I had done my bit for God and Country, I decided to pour myself a cup of coffee. No sooner had I made this decision than the little one made her move. She came up, all cute and cuddly, and began her “I want your attention” act. Meanwhile, the boys have infiltrated from their room to my closet, and have started their in-depth inspection of its contents. Finding the sword, they then began to experiment with its range as a ball bat. Unfortunately for me, the ball they were hitting belonged to their Mother’s favorite antique lamp. Now imagine my sitting with a sweet little girl in my lap while sipping coffee. I was totally unsuspecting of the quasi-criminal behavior of the boys, when a horrendous crash resounded throughout the entire house, thus bringing me from my false sense of security. The horrid sound of breaking glass was then followed by a second crash as each boy attempted to either hide or destroy all evidence by playing hot potato, thereby breaking their Mother’s other lamp. As if this wasn’t enough, the next sound made my blood run cold. It was the infamous and most dreaded “Aahhooooooo! I’m tellin’!!!” At this point I leaped to my feet, thereby launching the hot coffee all over the dog’s tail, and as my littlest one giggles and the dog howls, I charge up the stairs to see the extent of the damage. Naturally, the boys are all sounding off with the requisite “he made me” or “It wasn’t me” or the ever popular “I don’t know what happened, I was just walking by the door, when all of a sudden.....” The truth will never come out, since all of the witnesses wouldn’t know the truth if it bit them; however, it wasn’t that relevant anyway since the real show was to come later when Mom got home. As soon as she walked in from the store I smile at her and said, “It wasn’t me, ...... I don’t know what happened, I was just walking by the door, when all of a sudden .....” ~Michael S. Pauley (Note to reader, I now I sound like a broken record, but remember I wrote this in 1997. Even if the names haven’t changed to protect the innocent, or the squeamish, the ages have changed.) Every now and then, my lovely bride will get this wistful look in her eye. It normally comes from her being subjected to a friend’s New Baby!! Now as a father of four, a phrase that will forever strike complete terror in my heart is, “Look at the baby! Isn’t (he/she/it) cu-u-u-te!” Naturally, my answer is a resounding, “Hell no, it looks like Winston Churchill!!” Which, by the way, is what most babies look like to everyone except their mothers. Face it, even people who have never heard of Winston Churchill will agree with you once they see a picture of the stately old English diplomat. Only a mother, or another woman, could love a baby’s looks. Most men would just ask the Mother if she wanted a banana for her monkey. Guys, have you ever wondered why conception was fun? This is Mother Nature’s way of ensuring the propagation of the species, otherwise there would be no way a man would allow any of this to happen. Another anomaly of a woman’s desire for children is nature’s way of making the woman forget any of the previous pain of childbirth. Within months of the actual childbirth, women can look at a baby and still say, “oh, how adorable” or “we want another one.” (For the record the “we” should be read to mean “I”, since no man at this point is going to argue with a woman who just spent all these months of playing “Name that Hormone.” Trust me, he will never admit to his true feelings. You know, “NO WAY” or “only if you promise to shoot me right after......”) (Yeah, I am beginning to think that the Praying Mantis has it right!) How can a woman, after nine months of carrying a watermelon around, and then having her ....... I mean sutures,....... Stretch ....., OUCH!! HOW CAN THIS BE??? Who knows? Maybe woman just have short memories, well, no that can’t be since they remember everything you ever said during any fight over the last forty plus years....... So, I guess it will remain a mystery to the male of the species. For men, the immediate pain of childbirth is strictly vicarious unless he happens to be in the delivery room and within his wife’s reach. (This has been known to cause serious injury to some Dads, and it is best to remember to watch carefully where she is reaching at any point in the delivery.) For the most part, the reality of Dad’s kind of pain is only truly evident when the hospital bills arrive and/or after the first 4 a.m. feeding before a major presentation at work the next day. It is finally at this point that Dad realizes what a stupid thing he has just been involved with, and what an awesome responsibility this parenthood is all about. This is also the time that Dad wished he still hated girls and lived with his Mother........ It is always impressive to hear a presentation made by a man who has matched alligator ‘American Tourister’ bags under his eyes, a constant yawn on his face, and Gerber’s strained peas down his tie and over his right shoulder. This guy will struggle through each word, he will slur his speech, and he will have to squint in the bright lights. As if this wasn’t enough, he begins his speech with the ever popular, “Now just pretend it is an airplane......” And finish with, “Pleeaase, Pleeaase, just let me sleep........” How much more horrible can it all get? Well, believe me “you ain’t seen nuttin’ yet. At each stage of the child’s life there are new hurdles to jump, and more bodily functions to wipe up. For example, what parent hasn’t had the joy of watching their child become artistic with feces. “Yuck,” you scream... “Ooooh, Gross,” you yell, well guess what? It gets worse. There will come a time when you will remember with fondness the Picasso of human excrement, simply because at least then you knew what you were dealing with........ When they get older, you will detect similar odors emanating from their rooms, but you won’t have a clue as to the source. Is it a biology experiment? Chemical experiment? Last month’s sandwich? Could it be the hamster who mysteriously disappeared a month ago? Naw!!! That would be too easy. For you the mystery will go on with only a variation of the odor to guide you. What is the more likely scenario is that you will find a fungus riddled dirty gym sock wedged in next to the air conditioner duct behind the bed. A sock, by the way, that hasn’t fit the child in two years, but appears to have the recent teeth marks of the youngest child. ~ Michael S. Pauley We’re back, and the story from 1997 continues: What do you mean you gave away your sister?!?6/9/2014 Like my daughter I was an only child, so it was not easy for me to get used to the fighting, the bickering, and the hate and discontent that seems to accompany having more than one child under the same roof. After several months of trying, since I was a trained mediator, I finally found a commonality among the dissenting camps. There was one thing that each and every one of the four agreed was something they really wanted. To be an only child! Now clearly we couldn’t give away the other three, or could we? There have been times when the idea not only crossed my mind, but actually seemed to have merit. Now as fate would have it, my new wife was actually attached to all of the little monsters, so I was forced to finally reject the “give away” notion. Honestly, I think it was because my wife couldn’t figure out which ones we would give up; however, my problem was slightly different, (but with the same net result), since I could never figure out which one I would have to keep. {NOTE: I am kidding here, because I truly do love them all.}
Apparently a slightly more violent form of the “give away” compromise has also crossed the children’s demented little minds. Whether intentionally or accidentally, it seems that they have now taken matters into their own hands. Their collective theory mirrors the “Lion King” circle of life lesson. Survival of the fittest! A kid in my house has to learn how to sleep with one eye open and the other eye on their stuff. If you don’t believe me, then ask one of them. Constantly we hear, “He hit me”, “He pushed me, ”. . . . Now to paraphrase and simplify this equation, you only have to follow this basic formula: Take the phrase, “He ____ me,” and then fill in the blank with a heinous verb, such as bit, scratched, stabbed, mangled, poked, touched, and the most horrible of all?? LOOKED AT! It seems that all children are afraid of the horrid “DEATH RAY LOOK.” The 5 year old, who makes Godzilla look like a wimpy salamander, has this look down to an art form. He will cast this “death gaze” on his siblings and announce that he is some superhero, like the “puce powered stranger”, and that now they are all dead. Once he realizes that they aren’t falling, or for that matter even paying him any attention, he then tries a more realistic approach......hitting them when they aren’t looking. (Of course if they were looking, he would announce it to all of us since that is the classic case of “HE IS LOOKING AT ME!!”) The 7 year old is far more advanced in his brand of terror. The methods employed here are more insidious, and frankly show an excellent aptitude for a bright future in politics. His goal is to get his little brother in trouble, and have one of the “parental units” kill him. This is often done by goading the 5 year old into committing some major offense against humanity (or nature). Now the boy has hit his stride when he can convince the 5 year old that the 3 year old is possessed by some evil monster and must die. So now, the 5 year old attempts mayhem against the 3 year old, and naturally gets caught when she beats the mortal hell out of him. This means that the 7 year old gets two siblings taken out for the price of one, and he figures this is not a bad deal if nobody is looking. Certainly the 7 year old doesn’t care about who wins the fight, since he thinks he can take the winner, or can he? This latter isn’t always the case. On one particular day, when his favorite plot was unfolding, the 3 year old girl made a preemptive strike. The three year old, while “just a girl”, has the uncanny knack of being a real quick study. You might pull something on her once, but God help you if you try it again. It seems that the 7 year old was laying out his latest scheme for stirring the pot, when he tipped his hand to the little one. Not being stupid she laid her own plot. It was a simple plan, and like most simple plans it was most effective in the execution phase. The 7 year old was sitting beside the 5 year old as they watched some superhero cartoon. During the show, the 7 year old began his normal dissertation about monsters and how the 3 year old was the “whatchemacallit monster.” Normally this statement is followed by the ritual ninja idiot dance, wherein the boys leap to their feet and begin the banzai frenzy that works the 5 year old into the appropriate state of stupidity that allows him to go on the attack. I said normally, because today was going to be different. As the 7 year old began to rise, his little baby sister with the sweet curls and cute face, grabbed him by the hair, while simultaneously leaping astride the 5 year old’s back. Nobody moved, probably because they couldn’t, and believe me they tried. At this point she only did what was natural, at least natural for a crazed gorilla trying to bust open a coconut on the pavement. When the dust finally settled, everyone was crying and wailing. The 7 year old was upset and sniveling because he had his plan thwarted, and his tail kicked by a 3 year old girl. The 5 year old was crying because of the sheer surprise of his sister’s assault, and because he didn’t get to do the ninja idiot dance before she kicked his tail. The 3 year old was crying because her plan to be an only child was suspended when she got pulled off her brothers. The 17 year old was crying because she was truly hoping for the mutually assured destruction of all three, and because she was laughing too hard not to cry. Of course I was crying, because I made the mistake of saying, “Isn’t that cute?” to my wife, who oddly enough had the same look on her face as my ex-wife did right before the cat hit her foot. As a parent you are faced with the problem of which child gets punished after the old fashioned, down home, all in the family, kind of donnybrook. The answer here is surprisingly simple, after all it works in the Army. Punish them all! “NO MORE TV, NOW GO TO BED,” you yell. This is right before the new bride slaps the back of your head for saying “Isn’t that cute?” or maybe she is hitting you in the head because it is only 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning. After all, naps can be a very dangerous thing, since they require kids to sleep with one eye open and the other .......well you know...... ~ Michael S. Pauley Today, I am taking a brief break from the story, I promise it will continue next week, but today I would be highly remiss if I were not to remember the events of this date. Aside from the obvious remembrances of the “Longest Day” or the Invasion of Normandy, this also happens to be the birthday of the love of my life! I will remember both, and remind the reader that these birthdays are honestly a coincidence, as opposed to a statement as to our relationship. After all these years, and all the trials and tribulations, she really is my better half! So for her, I will say “Happy Birthday, Gorgeous!” Just like in the Dedication of the book, you really are my muse and inspiration! ~ Michael S. Pauley
(Note and reminder to the reader. This was written in 1997, and the ages of these children have obviously all changed. Having said this, some of these observations are probably still quite valid!)
The 17 year old has her own views of her new step siblings. She is convinced that they are demon spawn, placed solely on this earth to peek at her and sneak through her stuff when she is not in her room. (Which explains why she keeps her room in such a way that it would discourage even the EPA from investigating the environs.) She was raised an only child, and believe me, it is a major stretch to have an instant family thrust on you. To her credit, my daughter has learned what I believe to be the most important lesson in having brothers and sisters, and that is the fine, and not so neglected, art of “torturing your siblings for fun and profit.” My three step-children are a boy, aged 7, a boy, aged 5, and a little girl, aged 3. Now it seems that I have two boys and two girls. Some people ask if it is the perfect family? Some ask, if it is fun? Still others remind me that children are such a joy. (Normally the only people who think this garbage are the grandparents....). Actually from my perspective, it is “like, you know, a really good reason to drink copious amounts of alcohol.” I am older and now I have more than one reason for being senile. After the divorce, I started out with only three nerves, and now, I have a kid for each one with one left over. Simply put, it is easier to look stupid and keep your mouth shut, than it is to go ballistic and rave like a lunatic. After all it is one thing to look and act infirm, and it is another to look like a mass murderer on steroids. Often times, being senile is a great excuse for avoiding the tough questions, and I don’t know if it is coming on as a factor of age or as a built in parental defense mechanism, but either way it can be a blessing. The biggest advantage is that sometimes you can lull the children into believing you don’t have a clue, and then when they least expect it, you can catch them completely off guard when all of a sudden you have a lucid moment. The key is to keep them guessing. Yes, being unpredictable is the spice of life, and perhaps the only weapon in the arsenal that still works. After all, being a Dad/Stepdad is like throwing a spear at an airplane, or kissing your sister. (Which only seems to work if you are from parts of, well you know, wherever that sort of thing happens....) Mark Twain once said that he realized how much smarter his father got as Twain got older. Believe it or not, while Dad was probably smart to begin with, no one would ever know it as long as the kids were home. It is the same condition as shell shock. Sometimes when Dad is staring into space with a lost and confused look, it is because that is where he would rather be, lost in space. At least June Lockhart and the Robot kept the kids off the old man’s back. Being elsewhere mentally is Dad’s only way of avoiding the reality of parenthood. Which by the way, gets more frightening as the age and number of kids grows. ~ Michael S. Pauley The next time you go out to eat just look around you at the restaurant. Play “Spot the Parents.” It isn’t that hard to play since they are easy to spot. They either eat very slowly to savor each moment while the kids are terrorizing a babysitter, or they are wolfing their food at the speed of light out of pure instinct and habit. They may also be wolfing the food to sneak off for a few short hours at a local motel without the kids. If the couple is young then what they will do at the motel is probably best left to the imagination, but if they are about 31 or older, then I will almost bet money that their activities will involve sleep.
Sleep is something that parents always crave. When the children are babies, you chase after the late night/early morning feedings and the crying. As toddlers, they discover that mobility is less hindered at night while mom and dad are snoring. This allows for maximum discovery and minimal parental supervision. As teenagers? You got to be kidding. Once you have a teenage girl out on a date, your heart stops, your head spins, and the last thing you want is sleep. Instead? You want heavy drugs and VERY large bore weapons! Recently, I was having trouble sleeping. The teenager was on a date, my bride was tossing and turning because she wasn’t feeling well, and I just couldn’t sleep no matter what I tried. So, I did the only thing a man can do under these circumstances. I retreated to a quiet corner of the living room to meditate in the dark. In the space of just 10 minutes, I saw everyone in the family....plus a couple of people I had never met before in my life. Now at midnight, you don’t expect a lot of wandering around the house, but then you have never lived at my house. First up, again employing the child radar that detects the proximity of my butt to a seat, the youngest boy appears from the darkness like an apparition. I ask him, “Why are you up?” “I couldn’t find my stuffed teenage mutated lizardman” “Wasn’t he in your arms when you went to bed, ... over three hours ago?” I say squinting at my watch. “Oh, .....” “Have you looked in your bed, maybe tangled in your sheets?” “Oh, .. Uh, ...” “Go look!” “Okaaay” he whines in his best impression of Grumpy the dwarf. He then rubs his eyes, scratches his head, yawns, and wanders back to his room. Settled down, I begin to let my mind wander, just as the 7 year old boy appears two inches from my face. After I got my heart rate restored to a pounding of less than 200 beats per minute, he announces to me: “Harry is not in his bed!” “Yeah, I know, he just came in here looking for his teenaged whatchamadoodle.” “Oh, that.... He left it on the floor in the bathroom!” “Okay, go get it for him and both of you get back to bed.” “Okay!” Now he then moves off like a turtle stuck to fly paper, as I attempt to regain my composure and get drowsy again. No sooner than he leaves the room than the little girl strolls in and starts to put a video tape in the VCR. Something that she isn’t allowed to do without adult supervision. I watch in total amazement as she plugs in her favorite Disney video and sits down in front of the one eyed monster, operating the equipment like a video professional. This time surprise was on my side. As I walk up behind her, she screams, yells, and runs from the room, headed straight for her Mom. I get the tape cut off just as Mom runs in to confront the intruder. “Oh, it’s you! What are you doing to scare her out of bed!” “Me scare her??? She just got up and came in to plug in a video!” “Why didn’t you stop her?” “I did, that’s why she ran upstairs.” “What are you doing up?” “I couldn’t sleep, and besides somebody had to direct the @#$%(# traffic!” As my bride mumbles about my insomnia and the vagaries of kids, we notice that we have drawn a small crowd. Now each of the boys are back, and boy are they mad! It seems that the ‘teenaged whateverthehellitis’ either fell or was pushed into the toilet. This naturally causes a major dispute between the boys, much to the delight of the little girl. Oh, but we aren’t done yet. We still haven’t assembled all of the troops! Just as the din has reached its zenith, or at least so I thought, the door flies open to admit the teenager and two girl friends who have decided to spend the night at our house. My reaction to the two new interlopers was mixed. I was thrilled that the teenager had returned safely, but I was less than thrilled at being in my underwear in the midst of a rather large crowd. Closing my robe, I sit back down to watch the rest of the show. My bride is now yelling at the boys, the boys are screaming at each other, the little girl is trying to grab the teenager to give her a hug, the teenager is yelling at her friends so that she can be heard over the rest of the racket, and the two strangers are talking back and forth even louder so they can be heard. At one point I even heard one of her friends say, “Waaay Cooool, my house is always like, like, way too calm. This is like, ya’ know, like, a party!” I thought, Oh yeah like a Viking raiding party. Oddly enough, though, I am not real sure what happened next since I finally fell asleep.......... (Again, a note to the reader. I would be lying if I said I made the above story up, or that it was a work of fiction. Unfortunately, it really did happen, and oddly enough, now almost 20 years later, I can remember it happening like it was last night.) ~ Michael S. Pauley |
AuthorMichael S. Pauley is a Navy brat and an old soldier who served in all three components of the United States Army. Living in Lexington, South Carolina, Michael is now a practicing attorney and member of the United States Naval Institute and the American Legion, Post 154, Tybee Island, Georgia. Archives
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