On Father's Day....

As Father's Day approaches my mind is drawn inexorably to memories of my now deceased father, who passed away a few years ago in California.

I don't have very many memories, and none of the fond variety, of my father because he left my mother and four boys when I was four.  Between the ages of four and about eleven we neither saw nor heard from him.  At eleven my mother, who was in desperate need of a break, agreed to allow my brothers and I to live with him in California for a time.

My memories of the California days are of him selling pot out of his bedroom, getting drunk and laying out in the yard crying about a dog that had recently died and that we suspected he had killed, and him leaving us with a friend of his and then promptly disappearing.  Shortly after his disappearing act my mother sent for us and I didn't see him again until I was in the Navy and stationed in San Diego.

I never addressed my father as dad, but I also never called him by his first name in his presence because for some reason I felt that it was the respecful thing to do for this man that I did not respect.  If I ever called his house and he didn't answer I would ask whoever did if "he" was there.  After a few phone calls though I quickly learned that he wasn't someone that I even wanted to talk to.  On the few occassions that we did talk I found that he liked to discuss how proud he was of his stepson Tommy.  I always thought how wonderful it was for him to have such a great relationship with his stepson when he had completely abandoned his four boys and never provided a penny of support.

My lack of respect for him had nothing to do, necessarily, with what he had done to his kids.  Instead, my lack of respect stemmed from how he had treated my mother.  About six years ago, which was probably two years before his death, I sent him an email asking him if he regretted how he had treated my mother and walking out on her and four kids.  I told him that I wanted closure and needed to know.  His response just reemphasized for me that I was actually pretty lucky to have grown up not knowing him.  My brothers have always been angry that we grew up without a father.  I, on the other hand, was just happy that we had a mother who did absolutely everything she could to make up for it.  All I ever asked him for was some expression of regret.

I used to think that reflecting on how you raised your kids with a somewhat critical eye and fear that you didn't do as good as you needed to was something that just mothers did.  I've since learned that fathers do this too. 

A buddy of mine recently said that he feared he hasn't been the parent he wanted to be because his kids didn't have the things that he wanted to give them.  He's a great dad and being a good parent isn't about the stuff your kids have, it's about the time you spend with them and the love that you show them.  It's about being a dad and not just a father.

Kids grow up and hope that they can make their parents proud of them.  Parents raise their kids and hope that their kids are proud of them; both sides are really seeking the same thing and in that sense parents and kids really aren't so different.  At the end of the day you do the best you can and hope that it's enough.

So if you have a dad who has done the best he can, make sure that you let him know that you appreciate him on Sunday.  As for me, I take comfort in knowing that although my father's gone, he's down there somewhere looking up at me.

On growing up....

Today for the first time my little girl, who isn't so little any more, and my little boy, who also isn't so little anymore, are both away from home in their first cars.  As I watched my son pull out and drive down the road I realized something; underneath my hard, crunchy exterior lies a soft, milky center.

I've always joked with the kids that they were getting a U-Haul for their 18th birthday.  In fact, I searched eBay and got my son a little toy replica of one just as I had always promised.  But today makes me realize that I never really wanted them to grow up; I've kind of grown fond of them.

All of the plans that I had for when they leave the house: walking around naked (except when frying bacon), turning their rooms into a wood shop, changing all the locks; all of those plans suddenly seemed trivial and meaningless to me.  Instead, I sat here and observed that a salty, water-like substance was carving tracks down my dusty face.  I realized that I was sad, and probably needed a shower.

So fly, fly young birds, spread your wings in flight, but you better be home by 9.  And remember, you will always be my little boy and little girl and I'm proud of the young people you both have become, but also very, very sad.

On birthdays....

Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
~Jennifer Yane

I turn 45 today and the above picture was taken 27 years ago when I was just 18.  Back then I was a lot smarter, or at least I thought I was.  Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell 18 year old Phillip that he's an idiot, and I'm sure that there are many who share that desire.

As I approached my 45th birthday I started to wonder why in the heck we celebrate birthday's anyway.  I suppose that when you're young and yearn to be older it's just another step in what you consider to be the the right direction.  But with every passing year it becomes less of a celebration, for me anyway, and more of a reminder that I'm not young anymore.

I've already decided what I want for my 46th and subsequent birthday's, and that's to forget that it's my birthday and that I'm a year older.  Of course, as several people have pointed out to me today, getting older is better than the alternative, but it still sucks.  Maybe I should just consider myself 18 with 27 years of experience.

On the Mayan calendar....

December 21st will be here before you know it and I don't know about you, but I have an extra pair of Fruit of The Looms packed away with my Vienna Sausages just in case I'm wrong and all of the nut cases aren't.  I find comfort in the knowledge that that I have a spare pair of drawers and a can of congealed pig parts should the unthinkable happen.

My mother always taught me that you should always have a clean pair of underwear with you in case you're ever in an accident.  I guess she figured that if you had that clean pair of underwear and were in an accident you could put them on quickly before emergency crews arrived.  Or maybe she meant that you should always wear clean underwear.  I'm not sure exactly how she meant it, but just to be safe I will change into a fresh pair the morning of December 21st and have that spare pair on me.  I call them my doomsday underwear and I have them behind glass.

In a post-apocalyptic world clean Fruit of the Looms are going to be worth their weight in gold.

People have been predicting the end of the world for about as long as the world's been in existence, so I really don't expect anything to happen except for a lot of disappointment and wall-to-wall news coverage of the nothing that was.  Every network will go live to correspondents across the globe who will all confirm that nothing happened.  Then, the very next day, some scientist will hold a press conference to say that his calculations were incorrect, thus spawning renewed distress in people who have nothing better to do than worry about stuff that they can't control.   

On the other hand, those news reports might look something like this:

I remember sitting down to draw up a multiplication table when I was a kid because I was too stupid to realize that there already was one in the back of my math book.  I got to about 2x9, saw something shiny, lost interest, and went outside to annoy the neighbors.  I kind of figure the same thing might have happened to the Mayan who created their calendar.  Doing all of those calculations and then transferring said calculations onto a big ass rock is hard, tedious work, and the guy might have had a short attention span, or he might have just been tired and wanted to be outside sacrificing rival tribesmen like everyone else; he just never picked back up where he left off.

Every 18 months or so I create a calendar to stick on my wall that I can glance at and see all of the important dates; vacations, holidays, etc.  The calendar I currently have expires on the last day of July, 2013.  Just because I didn't complete all of 2013 doesn't mean the world ends at the end of July, it just means that I got lazy.

On assvertisment....

My post on Exciting Business Opportunities and the Waistline-Age Continuum got me to thinking about butts and money for some reason, two things that aren't often closely associated with one another.  Nevertheless this is how my mind works; it's the cross that I must bear.

You've probably seen the shorts and pants with stuff written on the butts.  I don't really understand the rationale behind them; I personally don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to my buttocks, nor do I want my daughter drawing attention to hers, but to each his own. In case you don't know what I'm referring to, here's an example:

Like I said, I don't really understand why anyone would want anything written across their butt, but being a guy that tends to roll with the punches I think that I've figured out a way to cash in on the pant writing craze.  Instead of some nonsensical term or word, why not sell ad space on your backside?  After all, if you're going to have writing on your butt, you might as well cash in on it, right?  Here are some samples of what I propose:

After the idea came to me I broke out my abacus and slide rule and did some cyphering to try to figure out if the numbers would work.  I didn't want to go off all willy nilly investing my hard earned fortune on some crackpot idea that came to me in the shower; I learned something from my failed Port-a-Hottie venture.  And I don't want you to lose money either because this isn't about me, it's about you. 

I took a class or two in Quantitative Business Analysis when I was getting my Bachelor's in Business Administration at a highly prestigious business school (Spoiler alert:  I've just started my sales pitch, the first part of which is to point out and grossly exaggerate my business qualifications) and came up with a chart that I believe accurately reflects potential assvertising revenue projections.  Here is the chart:

Don't ask me to interpret this chart because that would just confuse and disorient you, and I don't want you to be confused or disoriented just yet, that comes later.  The important thing here is that it's a pretty chart, and pretty charts sell.  All that you really need to understand is that this is a cottage industry in a growth market.  There is a ton of low hanging fruit out there and I expect incremental growth if you're willing to take it to the next level and think outside of the box.  I just used six catch phrases in the last two sentences, which should illustrate to you that I know what the heck I'm talking about.

So I'm looking for business partners, people who are willing to absorb all of the risk in exchange for the empty promise of future rewards.  It's time to quit working for the man and instead make the man work for you.  This is a limited time offer, so don't miss out on this exciting opportunity.  Supplies are limited and callers are standing by.

Disclaimer:  Offer not available in Alaska, Hawaii and Puerto Rico.  Past performance is not indicative of future results, people can and will lose money.  Contents may be hot.  Exposure to this offer may cause lightheadedness, hair loss and trouble breathing.

On The Waistline-Age Continuum....

The left half of this graphic, sans the age ranges, was posted on a friends Facebook page a couple of weeks ago and it reminded me of a concept that has been bubbling around in my noodle for a number of years, so I added the extra people and the age ranges.  I guess that if I had to put a name to this concept I would call it the Waistline-Age Continuum.

This concept first started to blossom while I was working at a group home for "troubled youth" (politically correct term for thug) in Chattanooga.  One of the kids ended up there because he held up a fish market.  The visual on that always made me chuckle.  "Give me all your cash and two of those lovely tuna, and tell me, are they best served with white or red wine?" 

A couple of times a year I would have to take these young men shopping and they always wanted to buy pants that were several sizes too big for them; all of the Klumps could have fit into some of those pants.  Try as I might I could never convince them that they should buy size appropriate pants, and since I was always of the mindset that adults should let kids be kids (until I had two of my own) I never pushed it very hard.

I would take these kids to the YMCA to play basketball and they would have to hold up their pants to run and dribble.  Some of them had legitimate ball handling skills, even with that self-imposed handicap.  I tried to introduce them to the belt concept, explaining to them that it would take their game to a whole new level, but to them having their pants fall down while playing was just one of the costs of being cool.  Two handed basketball was just a little too progressive for them I suppose.

I used to work with this guy that was on the other end of the pants spectrum; me and a co-worker referred to him affectionately as pappaw.  We called him this not because he was old enough to be our pappaw, but instead because he wore his pants in such a way that the waist of said pants fell just below his chin; if his zipper was open you could see his Adam's Apple, and I don't mean that euphemistically.  It was as if that waistband was some kind of shield that would protect him from us young whipper snappers.  Pappaw looked kind of like a turtle in those pants.

So I've come to the conclusion over the years that, not unlike the rings of a tree, you can tell how old someone is by how they wear their pants.  The lower their waistline sits, the younger the person.  Think about it for a minute, have you ever seen a teenager not named Urkel wearing their pants up to their nipples?  Have you ever seen an older person with their crack showing?  Okay, have you ever seen an older person with their crack showing who wasn't working on your sink?

You never really have to ask a man how old he is.  Instead, start by asking yourself a series of questions.  First, can you see his shoes from the back?  If the answer is yes, then he's between the ages of 23 and 90.  Can you see his socks?  That narrows his age range down to between 40 to 90.  Can you see his shoes, socks and most of his leg?  If so then he's clearly between the ages of 50 and 90.  After 50 the immutable laws of physics won't not allow you to wear your pants any higher.

People over the age of 90 tend to abandon pants altogether in favor of the jogging suit, sweat pant or pajama bottom; when you get that old you just don't care, it's all about comfort.  Women are pretty much the same at that age.  I saw a woman the other day who had to be all of 115 wearing cowboy boots and a pair of sweat pants with "juicy" written across the rear.

I turn 45 this year, so by my count I have 5 more years before I have to figure out a way to get my belt line up around my nipples.  I don't know how to accomplish that yet, but I'm resigned to the fact that it's something I must do; it's as inevitable as the tide.  Don't hate the player, hate the game.

On "exciting business opportunities"....

The other day someone who I had previously unfriended on Facebook sent me a new friend request.  This probably sounds mean, but I have a habit of unfriending people who annoy me, and I'm pretty easy to annoy.  Don't get me wrong, I like this person, but if you post a bunch of stuff about politics, religion, your relationship or how crappy your life is you're setting yourself up for exclusion from the club.  Not that they did all of this, but they did enough of it to try my patience.  I post about those things on occasion, but those posts are the 15%, not the 85%.

Call me a cynic, but the minute I saw that request I knew that I was in for more aggravation; that they were working an angle.  I got the friend request and thought to myself "self, why is this person, who I exiled to the desolate landscape of the Facebook wilderness, forcing them to fend for themself without the comfort of my witticism's, friending me again after such a lengthy, and no doubt painful, banishment?"  Surely this banishment made them bitter and jealous of those left behind.  I learned what the angle was about 15 minutes later when this was posted: 

Call me if you want to have your own business & be your own boss. No set hours. Not a juice or pill company. No inventory, No experience, No employees, No Boss, No territories, No LIMIT To GROWTH. UNLEASH your potential! A real business dealing with brand name Fortune 100 companies! Unlimited Income Potential, BMW car program, Vacation program. Call me & let me show you the vehicle that could give you financial freedom, 256-XXX-XXX Why wait? Where will you be this time next year? Again, call me. Always looking for partners.

My mistake was responding with this:

I logged on to Facebook and stumbled into an infomercial.

What I really meant was "I didn't log on to Facebook to be subjected to an infomercial, take that crap somewhere else", but my comment wasn't taken that way.  Instead, it empowered them to use that response as an excuse to message me and invite me to an event in Huntsville where all of the secrets of this phenomenal income opportunity would be revealed to me.  I had been invited into the secret society, and this secret society would teach me how to get a BMW and vacations. (Spoiler alert:  there are BMW distributors all over the country that will sell you a BMW and you can call a travel agent for the vacations, but like everything, it ain't free). 

Ironically, she also posted the above image.  The picture pretty much sums up, for me anyway, what all of these "exciting income opportunities" boil down to.  I had to chuckle at the notion that the person who had just friended me because they saw me as a fat plum ripe for picking had posted this picture as an expression of their disdain for corporate life when in fact it is an accurate, visual representation of what these pyramid schemes are all about.  Let's be real here, people don't try to get you involved in their "opportunities" because they're concerned about your financial freedom, they do it in an attempt to move up to a higher perch.

Probably all who read this have been offered at least one of these exciting opportunities before, and some of you have probably taken the sales pitch, spent $250 for a kit, and converted your homes to the products that these companies peddle, only to realize later that you were paying $20 for a pound of laundry detergent that can be picked up for $10 at Wal-Mart and not making a penny off of it.

These "opportunities" make money for the people at the top of the pyramid because, as P.T. Barnum once said, there's a sucker born every minute, and a healthy percentage of those suckers are going to be spend the $250 and buy the product, thus benefiting the top birds.  Eventually, though, these suckers experience that moment of epiphany where they realize that the fruits of their labors and the profit from their purchases only benefit the upper layers.  Barnum's observation is truer today than ever before, and the supply of suckers will never be exhausted because people these days want to take short cuts rather than putting in the time and toil needed to be successful, which makes these opportunities very attractive.  After all this is the Occupy Wall Street generation, remember?

I've noticed one thing in common with all of these opportunities; when you ask for specifics the person recruiting you gets all cloak and dagger on you and says something like "you'll just have to come see for yourself, but I promise you won't be disappointed."  If you don't know the secret handshake they won't tell you anything until you're sitting in a room with 50 other marks listening to their best salesperson giving his spiel.  They say it's a great opportunity and that you will not be disappointed because they believe these things, they've already had the Kool-Aid and it tasted good.  They won't detect that unpleasant after taste until later. 

There are great products out there that are almost exclusively available through direct sales.  Pampered Chef is a good example.  I have several Pampered Chef pans and I would buy more; it's a great product, if you're willing to pay a little extra for it.  However, you're not going to get rich selling Pampered Chef to your small circle of friends because eventually your friends will have all the Pampered Chef they can handle, and you'll run out of friends.

I like to consider myself a pretty good investigator, although more in the tradition of Inspector Clouseau than Sherlock Holmes, so I did some looking around and figured out the name of the company, which turned out to be FHTM, a company I had never heard of.  Here's a snippet from their website:

You may have also heard the term multilevel marketing (MLM).  MLM is not a type of company or industry.  Rather, MLM is a type of compensation plan found in the direct selling industry.  Instead of using a single-level compensation plan, FHTM utilizes a multilevel marketing compensation plan. This allows compensation to be based on a Representative’s product and service sales, as well as the sales made by a Representative’s downline.   This helps FHTM to encourage Representatives to build a business, while still placing an emphasis on product and service sales.

This also encourages people to bend the fabric of reality just a bit, stretching the truth about their own success so that they can suck you in.  They their dreams with you, but present it as their reality. 

Here's a screen shot from a video that was labeled "Here are the people who earned their trip to Tuscon, AZ:

Do you see anyone in this clip?  I don't.  All of those people in these empty lounge chairs earned their way to Tucson though, which I have to admit is impressive.  To be fair, here's a picture from the website that they said was taken in Tuscon as well:

Did you notice Waldo standing beside the girl who apparently was told that she was posing for Playboy?  If not, here's that part of the image blown up:

Odds are that in 2 years Waldo will be easier to find at an FHTM event than the rest of this crowd; by then they will have figured it out.

Don't get me wrong here, this soon-to-be Facebook friend twice removed, person is a well-meaning soul, but since the dawn of mankind folks have lost their shorts looking for those "great income opportunities" and I'm rather fond of my shorts.  They aren't pretty, but they're mine if you know what I mean.

Here are a couple of things that I've learned in my 44 years of existence:

1. The saying "if it sounds to good to be true, it probably is" is incorrect.  See #2.
2. If it sounds too good to be true, then it absolutely is too good to be true. 
3. There are no short cuts. 
4. If this opportunity was so great, everyone would know about it.
5. If this really was a phenomenal opportunity the secret society stuff would be out the window.
6. Just because someone you know is doing it doesn't mean that it's good for you.

The only vehicle that is going to be driving me to financial freedom is the one I drive to work in.

I'll leave with this, the last sentence in that initial post:  "Always looking for partners".  Partners are the birds sitting at the bottom of that first picture.  No thanks.