“I am an author, a lawyer, a husband, a parent, a grandparent, a son, and an old soldier.”  Admittedly, this statement sounds oddly like the opening line at an AA meeting, but it describes things quite well for me.  Those things are NOT in order of priority, but the list does cover it.  As a result of this rather eclectic mix of life (which to some degree we all have), I (like many), tend to be constantly searching for a way to keep these things in balance.  My days are filled with trying to keep up with the wife/parent/grandparent/son news, maintain my law practice, and then find a moment here and there to write.  I will confess that the second book has been finished for some time, and it has been edited to death.  (The third one is mostly finished, but time hasn’t been kind on this one.)  Regardless, the problem with getting the second one out has been the distractions from the other things going on around me, and the fact that I want one more edit.  I will say that we’re getting close, so hopefully it will be out before too long.  

I read somewhere that Stephen King has a similar problem with wanting more edits, changes, and even then only letting the book go at the eleventh hour.  As a reader, I always thought that his delays were not necessary, but as an author, I get it!  After the first book got out (ahead of schedule), I honestly blanched.  I had no idea from where some of those grammar issues arose, or how a simple mis-print could change the meaning of a sentence.  Now I do, and trust me, I do NOT want that happening to the second one.  I can only ask that you be patient for a little longer, because it will be out, and I’m right now shooting for sometime around the end of Summer or early Fall. ~ Michael S. Pauley

I promised to return to kids, and that is precisely what I’m going to do today.  Today’s topic is “Mystery Goo.”  Sometimes as parents we tend not to see the forest for the trees, which is why as grandparents we can laugh like hell at our own children and their initial encounters with the mysteries of their own children.  We are now standing back with a wealth of experience, (which no one really wants to hear), as we watch the forest for the first time.  It is a real and honest eye opening experience for us, since like our own children who are now young parents, we only saw the trees until we became grandparents.  This naturally begs the question of why is that?

To answer this conundrum, you must first remember that it can be hard to step back and examine things from a distance, when something that resembles toxic waste is now dripping down your sleeve.  Young parents have no idea of precisely what the goop might really be, but they are convinced that the source is the young child they are holding.  This triggers a lot of responses from the young parent.  Many range from “EWWWW” to “What the hell did she eat to turn into that?!?”  In my family, I referred to it as “GERB,” this was a name coined after that cute little Gerber baby.  As a young parent, you now are concerned for the health and well being for the little angel that just deposited this endless supply of “Gerb” onto you.  Let me just say, Parents?  Don’t worry about it.  Babies produce and carry more toxic waste than any three chemical companies combined.  It is natural, normal, and believe it or not, something that will pass until they turn old enough to start sneaking into your liquor cabinet.  

Other forest vs. trees moments come about as the young child progresses through the natural order of destruction that often accompanies childhood.  Whether it is the discovery of gravity, to wall art, to the flight characteristics of mom’s favorite china, the young parent is constantly reacting to the trauma de jure.  Grandparents are often chided for their apparent lack of reaction to some of these things.  Many of us will just sit and smile at young master destructo as he terrorizes the world as he knows it.  Trust me, it isn’t that we don’t care, it is because we’re seeing the forest.  For the young parent, it is nothing more than pure destruction, but for the grand parent, we recognize the youngster’s inherent curiosity.  OR it could be we’re just enjoying the parental curse of “Someday I hope you have one just like you.....”  One thing is sure, now that I can see the forest, my blood pressure is dropping, and for the first time in over 20 years, my heart rate is now back to a semblance of a normal range.  Sadly, this only lasts until our youngest decides to wander in and out of the house at all hours.  Amazingly, with my grandson, I see forest, but with our youngest, I’m still getting beat in the head with the damn tree.  Funny how that works. ~ Michael S. Pauley

I love my Twitter Account.  I’ve had a good time reading people’s thoughts about certain events, and the last few weeks have been no exception.  If anything, they’ve opened my eyes to some real interesting characters.  For example:  At the height of the MH 17 coverage, the rumor floated around the “Twitterverse” that because the airplane looked like Putin’s aircraft, the Ukrainians shot it down going after Putin.  “Wait, what??”  Okay, so you’re telling me that somebody in a field, peering at a radar scope in a piece of equipment that is fairly complicated to operate, could see what paint scheme was on the target at 33,000 feet?  Seriously??  For the American’s in the crowd, that is roughly 6.25 miles away in the sky, through clouds, and using a radar screen that does not see color or shape.  Now I don’t know about you, but I’m too stupid to buy that one.  Then there was the notion that there is no way the “rebels” could have done this, since they are farmers without any training.  Okay, again, let’s do the math.  The BUK, SA-11 missile system has been around since the 1970s.  The Soviets controlled the Ukraine in the 1970s and on up until the USSR fell.  The USSR had mandatory conscription, that would have included some of these “farmers,” add to this the fact that Russia has been feeding training, equipment, and trained personnel from various areas around the region, and BINGO, it doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going.  Now I realize that this isn’t really lighter material, but face it, when someone shovels this much manure at me, I personally have to laugh.  Again, you can’t fool me, I’m too stupid!  Maybe next week will be lighter, since I do plan on returning to the world of kids.  Face it, despite the world situation, kids are kids, and with them you never know what will be coming next.  (Oh wait, that sounds like Congress.....)  ~  Michael S. Pauley

Over the last few weeks, I have stayed away from geo-politics, and tried to keep things lighter with an old story.  Clearly, recent events have shifted me back to the more pragmatic side; however, since I’m so disgusted with these recent events, responses, and other global farces, I am going to head back to the lighter side.  It isn’t easy to come up with lighter material in the face of some of these recent events, but I’m going to give it a shot.  Mainly as an exercise in mental health.  After all, one can only observe rampant stupidity at the international level so long, before you realize that the lunatics are in charge of the asylum.  So, on that happy note, I hope to have something worth reading by Friday.  Assuming CNN, FOX, MSNBC, etc., decide to continue to give me material to laugh at, I should have something for you to giggle about by then. ~ Michael S. Pauley

I have held off posting anything about the events of last week, mainly because the entire incident was too fluid to discuss.  Of course, I’m talking about the MH 17 shootdown.  Daily, we would learn of more details, and daily my perceptions and opinion only hardened.  It appears to be exactly what I suspected, almost from first hearing the news, and now I can only marvel at the various responses of the “players.”  I will say that at this juncture, my only feelings are of disgust.  The event was heinous by any standard, and cannot be justified regardless of your position on the Ukraine.  Sadly, within minutes the scrambling began to cover up any trace of real evidence, fortunately, there are enough video and still images, along with radar telemetry, to tell us pretty much what happened.  Moreover, this discussion about black boxes is a pointless exercise.  There will be very little on a cockpit recording, since that particular weapon system would have destroyed the aircraft within 10 to 11 seconds from firing to detonation.  Without a radar/missile warning system, the flight crew simply wouldn’t have a clue it was coming, and most assuredly, nobody in the back would have known what was about to happen.  Yes, I’m disgusted and more than a little outraged.  Shooting at combatant aircraft is one thing, but an unarmed civilian jetliner at 33,000 feet, flying in an ICAO approved corridor, is another entirely.  In my view, this was a war crime, and the players should be dealt with accordingly. ~ Michael S. Pauley      

The bright spot to this Friday is that it is the culmination of what could best be described as the week from “Hoboken.”  (Hoboken is my euphemism for Hell!)  I have to admit that my creative side has taken a beating, and very little substantive writing has taken place.  Do I have writer’s block?  Not really, since I’ve got a ton of ideas, and I am well on the way to getting the third book done.  Instead, my problem appears to be remaining focused.  Somewhere out there is a gnat with ADHD that can focus better than I can right now.  I’ve had this problem before, and it happens every few years.  Unfortunately, this just happens to be my week for it.  In my misspent youth, I was afforded several opportunities to have a few all expense paid trips to some pretty dismal locations.  In one of them it seems that I picked up a minor case of malaria, which makes a reappearance from time to time.  Right now, as a matter of fact, I am shaking from the freezing cold 92 degree weather.  Trust me, it makes for a miserable week, with the only saving grace of it being a great excuse to focus on drinking lots of Gin and Tonic as a cure.  Sadly, I hate Gin, but not to worry, since I will persevere by adding a little lime to it.  Now on that note, I’m out until next week, when hopefully I will have a slightly better handle on things.  In the meantime, have one for me. ~ Michael S. Pauley

I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story from 1997.  I would appreciate any comments about the story, aside from the shots at my parenting skills, and whether you enjoyed reading it.  I do think that someday there will be a sequel.  The children grew up (mostly), without too many emotional scars from our life choices.  One works for me as a paralegal, one is pursuing a career in acting (which means he is still working on the day job concept), another is in the National Guard and working nights in the service industry (fancy term for bartender), and the youngest is in college.  Yes, the baby that kicked her way through the mountains of West Virginia did NOT become a dancer.  

We all appear to have survived it, but there were and still are moments of humor.  As recently as a few minutes ago, we were noting the joys of the present as the “teenager” has now embarked on her own path of parenthood.  Now she is learning the joys of sleeping with one eye open, while still working, and playing that tough job of wife and mother.  I can say, and this is the reason for some of our more recent humor, the parental curse went full circle for her.  She not only now has one just like her, but we’re convinced that it might be worse, since he is all boy with a very high IQ for finding the right button to push.  For her the slings and arrows of injuries, loudness, and experiments in gravity are now her life, just as they were mine all those years ago.  One of these days, maybe not in the so distant future, I’ll write about everyone facing their teenage years.  I can attest to the fact that those years did for my gray hair, what water does for fish.  

How I survived those teenage years is a wonderment.  Especially since there were nights where I actually did meet the boyfriend whilst clad only in my boxer shorts and carrying a shotgun.  (In fairness, someone locked themselves out after forgetting their keys, and then began bouncing rocks off my bedroom window at 2 a.m.  What can I say?  I’m an old soldier, who doesn’t much care for that kind of thing.)  Like when they were little, having multiple teenagers is a far greater challenge than you might think.  For example, at one point we had one in college, one in high school, one in middle school, and the youngest in grade school.  Talk about a reason to drink!   ~  Michael S. Pauley

Final Installment of the 1997 Story, along with a short Postscript!

Probably.  I know that I can still look down at my daughter, snuggled under her blankie (a/k/a woobie) fast asleep and feel a pang in my heart that can come from nothing else.  Love often heals all wounds, and that kid has got a permanent place in my heart.  She makes me laugh, cry, angry, happy, frustrated, joyful, and about a half dozen other emotions all at the same time.  She is the reason that I can look at Father’s day and not gag on the Hallmark hype and the Disney slant.  

When she calls me “Poppa” and says that she loves me, then all the past anguish melts and my troubles seem to evaporate.  No one can replace that part of her that is me, or the part of me that is her.  It is a special relationship that will last me until my final days.  It is the memory of a bouncing cat and the many other happy times, and will be the memories of the challenge of facing new kids and the obstacles of the teenage years.  It is rewarding, even if it is all consuming.  It is not for the weak of heart, and for those who lack adventure don’t bother to apply.  As for the Step-dad job?  Well, I can now say that Bill Cosby was right, you haven’t really been a parent until you have more than one....................  The transition is well on its way, and in another few years I will either be used to it, or I will be in a sanitarium...............Who knows??????

TODAY: Well, now I DO know.  I survived it.  Mostly anyway, although many might think that a grown man who writes a science fiction book should probably be institutionalized.  The oldest girl now has a baby of her own, and a great husband.  She too is mentioned in my Dedication, and without question, she is a huge part of what is now helping me stay sane in my day job.  She is also blessed with a son who is just like her, with a dash of his dad, and a pinch of me.  God, my daughter is so hosed!!  As for the rest, the “7 year old” is in the Army National Guard, while the “5 year old” works with kids and actually is pursuing an acting career.  The youngest, that little baby with the bouncy foot and curls?  She is in college, and still under foot, but that’s okay.  Finally, my bride and I outnumber the number of kids present in the house.  For ONCE, we have more hands that kids, which is always a plus.  

I hope you enjoyed the last several weeks of this little serial tale of parenthood.  There are tons more stories and observations, but they will be meaningless to most, and tedious to everyone but us.  Still, if you’re interested, then “go forth and multiply!”  Just do so at your own risk! ~ Michael S. Pauley  

Trust me, we’re getting close to the end...

So, what of the teenager while the rest of the family gallivants around the Eastern Seaboard?  It just so happens that she surprised us all, and actually turned out to be the best kid on the whole vacation.  But it sure didn’t look that way at the start.  Shortly after our arrival at our beautiful hacienda next to the Motor Pool, the phone rings with a message from the teenager’s Mom.  In a true panic, her Mom exclaims, “I give up!  She won’t listen to me!  I have no idea what she is up to, and frankly I am afraid to know!  You have to do something with her, because she refuses to stay with me!”

As my ex-wife speaks, my blood turns ice cold and I am at a complete loss for words.  (A rare event, I will assure you.)  All I can do is croak back, “What happened?”  She then explains that the teenager had lost her mind, was out control and refused to stay anywhere near her.  Mom’s explanation is that she is “probably out having a huge party at your house.  How dare you leave town!”  Reminding her that I had little choice (which deep down she already understood), I told her that I would do my best to find out what was going on.  Of course, this isn’t easy when the phone service is sporadic, the post switchboard is closing down, and you are physically four states away.  Panic being a great mother of invention, I pulled out the trusty mobile phone, noting the whole time that the long distance and roaming charges would most likely put me in chapter 11, bankruptcy.  (Yeah, it was that long ago!  Now it is nothing, but in 1997?!)

After several attempts I finally reached my daughter at my house.  Her voice appears to be fine, she sounds rather non-plussed, and certainly sounds as if she is not as out of control as I was already told.  I ask, “What is going on?  Your Mother is not real happy with you.”  Yeah, your momma is torqued, your step-momma is torqued, and I am very confused....

“Oh, nothing really, I just don’t want to stay with her since she’ll bug me wanting to know why I just want to be alone.  Besides you once said that you didn’t mind my staying at the house by myself.”  God, why can she remember every offhand remark, recall it out of context, and hit me in the head with it, when she can’t even remember to pick up milk on the way home??

“Well, yeah, but never this long and that was purely by yourself, who else is there now?”  Yeah, where is that low life, slack jawed, moron you call a boyfriend!!

“Nobody, in fact, I don’t want to be around anybody right now.  I am tired, and frankly a week in hiding from some of my so called friends will be good for me.”  Huh???

“What about your mother?”  Okay I’m really confused now....

“I’ll see her tomorrow and stay with her some this week, but right now, I honestly just want to stay here by myself.  You know it is great to not have those kids around!  I kind of like this...”  At this point, after having been cooped up with them for several days, I can agree with her.  How long would it take me to sneak home?

“So, are you planning to have a party while I am gone?”  Waste of breath, but the direct approach may just work.

“No way Dad, there is no way.  Most of my friends would trash the house and act like jerks leaving me to clean up.”  Great, now she is giving me what I want to hear.  This is not good.

“Sounds like you need new friends.”  Knowing full well she is way too defensive of her friends, I thought this would get a rise out of her.

“Yeah, well now maybe you understand why I don’t want to go anywhere.”  Huh??  This doesn’t sound right.....

Was I proud of her as I hung up the phone?  Nope, I was truly terrified.  Did I believe what she told me?  I wanted to believe, but actually, there was no way I was going to let it go without some verification.  What did I do?  Call the neighbor, of course!  Sure enough, nobody had been near the house except my daughter, and it appeared like there was nothing going on.  She noticed the TV was on most of the day and well into the evening.  She saw that my daughter had brought home fast food the night before, along with a movie from the local video store, and that she was picking the mail up.  That was it!  Damn, now this is scary.  Even the neighbor is not seeing the party that I still know must be going on.

Not feeling much better, I called her mother back, and tried to explain the deal.  She still wasn’t completely convinced, and I wasn’t either.  As the week progressed I continued to check on the teenager, and each time the report was the same.  She did stay some with her mother, but otherwise, she stayed at the house by herself.   The neighbor verified it all, and stated that the only person who ever came by the house was one guy carrying a pizza, driving a car with a sign on top, who left within 4 minutes of arrival.  Now, why can’t she be that good the rest of the year?????  Or was she??  Hey that was probably her boyfriend and it was just a real quick party!!  No, I guess not, he wouldn’t know what you called the topping on the pizza..............  (I will confess that my daughter is now married to a guy who DOES know the difference.  In fact, huge props to my son- in-law, who is actually depicted as a character in my book.  Through his eyes, we describe a lot of what is going on away from the mountain, and in real life, he is every bit as awesome.  Thank God he came along!!!) ~ Michael S. Pauley

(At least they were in 1997!)

When I wasn’t working, we would take little side trips to various portions of historic Virginia.  When I was working, Mom would still take trips with the kids, thus proving that she had more courage than Audie Murphy ever hoped to have in a gazillion years.  Mom and the kids especially loved Colonial Williamsburg, and for the most part these things were fun, more or less.  Oh, there was the requisite griping about having to walk in the heat, but after I shut up, everyone seemed to have a much better time.  Right up to the time the visiting high school kids next door at the motel decided to get drunk and have a pillow fight in the motel hallway.  (Yeah, don’t tell me you didn’t do it on a school trip in the ‘olden days.’)  A room by the way where we had hoped to get at least one night’s sleep not scrunched up trying to sleep with two adults in a bed designed for one.  (You would think this could be fun but, with an audience like we had, it certainly was anything but fun.)

You see, the time we picked was apparently the time a school from another state had decided to take a trip to see the historical area.  What we didn’t know, until it was too late, was that our little brood was nestled in the middle of a floor full of hormonal teenagers.  Teenagers who apparently were going through their mating season.  The screams, for once, were not our children.  The banging on the door, for once, wasn’t our children.  The fights, for once, weren’t our kids.  The police coming and the management yelling, for once, didn’t have anything to do with us.  The next morning, bleary eyed with little sleep, I explained to the desk clerk that next time I wanted to be kept awake by screaming kids I would just stay home.  He didn’t understand, but then he still had pimples, so I took satisfaction in knowing that someday he too would suffer the endless curse......

Now Mom and the kids did get to see lots of neat stuff, while I did my bit for my favorite Uncle.  They saw civilian and military ships, air and space museums, regular science museums, airplanes of many different types and descriptions, all of the army stuff around the cottage, the historical areas, the inside of a working military airfield control tower, zoo and farm animals, and a whole lot of the back of my head.  They enjoyed it and they enjoyed the nature walks.  They loved the endless fast-food, and they just thrived on the steady diet of video games and weird questions.  They even enjoyed watching Mom hit me in the back of the head for asking them......  

So, what was their favorite part of the trip?  Well, judging by the youngest boy’s behavior, it had to be the rest areas.  Trust me, this kid never met a bathroom he didn’t like.  I figured his personal mileage, and it worked out to about 10 miles to the stop.  Not only could we not pass a rest area, but we had to give him extra time to inspect the back of the stall door.  I just knew he was going to dehydrate before we got him home.....  As for the little girl, well for her it worked out to about 3,000 bounces of her foot per mile.  Someday, she will do well in a marathon, since I honestly believe she ran all the way to Virginia and back.  The oldest boy?  His favorite part was driving me absolutely bananas.

He spent the whole trip messing with his siblings, arguing with his mother, picking fights with everyone he met, and just making himself a real joy to be around.  The only thing he didn’t do was shut up.  At the ripe age of 7, this kid can whine like an expert, and on this trip he put his previous record to shame.  If you gave him life on a silver platter, he would still complain that the platter had to be polished.  He never missed a beat, and remained quite a pain until we got home.  Why?  Mom’s theory was that he was just cooped up, my theory was that he knew that we were more likely to catch him trying to kill a sibling.  Either way, the next time we travel, he will go in a pet carrier.  (Oddly enough, sometimes I still think that a little time in a pet carrier would do him some great services.  Even more odd, he joined the Army National Guard, and his grandparents blamed me!) ~ Michael S. Pauley