I'm not sure if my adult son and the father of my grandchildren remembers hearing such things from me and saying such things back to me when he was the age his children are now. I will find out. But for now, I just don't know.

I do know that somehow the same sort of banter I had years ago with the one person I loved more than any is the same sort of banter that has begun with a couple of folks I love just as much – my grandsons. And just as their dad did so many years ago, so too do my new young pals seem to get carried away with the delight of it all.

I can still hear my young son from so many years ago. But that's an easy recollection these days. His sons now say exactly the same things back to me and with exactly the same vocal inflections and laughter. It's a simple but thorough thrill for a simple and thoroughly old man.

Against adult warnings of “don't get them riled,” I tend to confront, antagonize just a bit, and rile the young guys. And it almost always ends with periods of me saying and hearing the same things I said and heard as a young dad when I riled my son some 20-plus years ago.

“Knucklehead,” I say to them.

“You're the knucklehead,” they say back to me.

“No, YOU'RE the knucklehead,” I remind them.

“You knuckle head!” they repeat.

And it goes on and on until whichever one I am with at the time reduces our intellectual conversation to words like, “You're a do-do,” or “You're a pee-pee butt.” The youngest grandson has sort of condensed that last declaration into, “You're a peanut!” I'll take that.

But most of all, I will take whatever they can dish out. Young-ins' need to dish sometimes. Maybe often. When they can do it with laughter and joy, they seem to tend not to carry much guilt about it. That's my thought, anyway.

A couple of times when my son was young, I remember playing with him and getting the child so riled that he got physical with me. He swung his tiny fists at me, and he landed more than a few punches. I just covered my face and let him swing away. He needed that at the time.

A couple of years ago, the same thing happened with my son's oldest child and me. I gave that young child the same allowances I gave his dad so many years ago. That kid whaled on me good – much better than his dad did. And just like his dad when he was a child, my grandson ended the pummeling with laughter and delight and the certain knowledge that it's okay to feel some things and to express them. And then it was okay for him to move on to more wholesome things.

Kids just need to vent sometimes, too. Taking a few tiny and weak punches from an enraged pre-schooler is a tiny price to pay to strengthen the self-esteem of a kid one loves. I just hope the youngest grandson doesn't need to vent the way his dad and brother did. That young one is much bigger and stronger.

Then again, he can't hurt me. All I would have to do is to remind that young guy that HE is the peanut. And just as with his dad and brother, the pummeling would surely end with a smile, laughter and an ultimate declaration from the young guy.

“YOU'RE the peanut!”

Click HERE for this week's Bonus Blog, "Thought Invasion" on LUNACY

The “just wait 'til” proclamations from friends and relatives ended years ago. Maybe those folks all just tired of the inaccurate predictions. Or maybe they ended because the friends and relatives now know better. But they mostly all appropriately ended.

All those times I heard the “just wait 'tils,” I smiled and yucked it up with the speaker and acknowledged the possibilities. After all, I was a novice at all of this. The “just wait 'tils” came from more seasoned folks usually.

 

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“Personal authenticity leads us to abandon the masks and masquerades we do not truly own, so that we can embrace and celebrate our most central character. We give up only the laborious task of playing games. In fact we simplify our lives. One face greets every situation without embarrassment or regret. Rather than rehearse the 'right' response, we can trust ourselves by allowing the response we feel in any given moment.”

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My son is kind of big on tradition. That warms my heart really. Traditions build memories. They seem to build some pretty strong family bonds as well.

One such tradition use to lead my son and me to the I-95 southbound ramp every Thanksgiving. His mom always seemed to have to work on that holiday. So the two of us spending Thanksgiving with our Florida family became “our” tradition. That one has changed quite a bit lately. Some of the Florida family ...

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Y'all need to bear with me a bit here. I learned the story of Christmas when I was around 7 or 8. I was Joseph in the school play. My current biblical information of the story pretty much comes from that play. And frankly, at the time, I had a bit of a crush on the little girl who played Mary, so my attention span was limited back then and so is my memory today.

 

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I encounter people like this almost every day. Maybe it's because of the work I do. Maybe it's because of the neighborhoods I visit. Maybe it's because I live in a youthful college town where drugs and alcohol are as common as Food Lion brown beef.

They are all the same, these people. Eyes glazed over, pupils dilated, mouths usually open, blank stares and almost total disregard for others in their presence. And the aggression when ...

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I guess we all quite often take our good friends for granted. This is especially true of the longtime ones. Well, it took a relatively new friend to show me the way. Just last week, my new friend wrote a blog piece on her reactions to being asked personal questions. Her reactions are basically of the “none of your business” type.  My first reaction - the one of the enlightened more “senior” Dave Moon - was, “I love being asked questions!” 

Then. I remembered my old friend of over five decades.
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As divisive as the old woman could be sometimes, Mama kind of kept us all together all these years. She had her favorite family members, and she had ones she enjoyed complaining about. Complaining was one of the few joys in life she had. Don’t get me wrong. She loved us all. I just kind of think that sometimes she loved complaining more.

For years, Mama and Daddy’s children and grandchildren would gather together for Thanksgiving. Some of us traveled hundreds of miles to be there each year. But since 1992, the year the ... << MORE >>

It’s time for me to weigh in on some current events. This “occupy” movement intrigues me. And I agree with it. I always have. Well, except for the alleged rapes and murders in the occupied campgrounds. But, you know. A few bad apples, right?

I remember as a child feeling that things were just unfair. Why did the Mason family up the block have a nice two-story house with a perfectly manicured lawn while my family lived in the only rental in the neighborhood?  You know, the one story dump with a Jacksonville, ... << MORE >>

“Homeless” is a harsh word. The reality of homelessness is so much more harsh than anything I’ve been through.  But my reality was certainly harsh enough. At first.

A few months ago, the adult son of a good friend of mine came home to Chapel Hill, North Carolina for a visit. The kid is about the same age as my only child. The kid’s parents gave him a safe and secure place to stay for a couple of days, cooked for him his favorite and most comfortable dishes, washed his clothes and, on the ... << MORE >>