Death Is a Relative Thing

Death is a relative thing.
Indeed, when relatives die, you mourn some, and others, well, let's just say good things come to pass, too. In other words, you lose some and you win some, and sometimes, when you lose one, you WIN.
But I'm not talking about dysfunctional families, or even the death of a relative. Rather, the topic is how kids cope with death, when they don't even understand it (indeed, lots of adults don't understand it, or cope with it). And how to help them channel the surge of conflicting emotions.
This particular case involved only the possibility of death, when the disappearance of Jack's hermit crab, appropriately named "Mr. Krabs," sent him into inconsolable, uncontrollable and unrequited sobs of grief.
The 5-year-old had had Mr. Krabs, whose name also commemorated the boys' fondness for all things SpongeBob, for only a day, so it's not like they were longtime pals. They might as well have been, though, the way Jack carried on when Mr. Krabs went AWOL.

One minute, the little fella (Mr. Krabs, not Jack) was playing in the sandbox, and the next, he was gone. Jack wasn't nimble enough, nor were various family members quick enough, to put Mr. Krabs back in the box again.
For some reason, Jack fixated on the possibility that a bird might sweep down and pluck Mr. Krabs up for a tasty bite, perhaps with a bit of drawn butter.
He cried day and night, from bedtime to reveille, sobbing to sleep and awakening teary-eyed.
Of course, Melissa tried to ease his mind, suggesting that Mr. Krabs probably was off on a lark. However, if he had met an untimely end, she said, she could understand Jack's anguish — and even feel his pain — because she had felt sad when her Grandma Honey died several years ago.
Jack had never met Honey, but he has seen videos, and she seemed like a good vehicle for Melissa to connect with Jack's grief. She told him how she missed Honey and how blue she had been when her grandmother died.
Imagine Melissa's surprise, then, when her second-born replied belligerently, "YEAH, but were you little?"
She had to admit that, well, no, she hadn't been.
That's where we get back to death's being a relative thing. (And here you thought that the beginning of this recollection was just for shock value and I'd never get to the topic.)
Relatively speaking, the escape, and possible death, of a hermit crab is infinitesimally insignificant in the wider scope of eternity. Unless, of course, you're a 5-year-old.
Jack's got a new hermit crab now, one that'll never get to stroll in the sandbox, thanks to Mr. Krabs' elusive ways. But I've got to believe that, in Jack's quiet moments (perhaps while he's sitting on the throne), in his deepest thoughts, in the very depths of his soul, he's wondering whereinHELL Mr. Krabs is.
Chances are, he'll never know.

My School on Wheels Would Leave Meals on Wheels in Dust

I recently saw that commercial about the fella who taught his kid to read at 8 months and thinks you should, too.
Obviously, he just wants you to buy his reading program, but I did feel a tinge of guilt that I was such a slouch of a parent that I let the schools teach my brood how to read. That hearkened back to my own upbringing, when I started with one-syllable words on colored leaves in first grade.
Now, of course, even kindergartners can read some words.
The commercial also lit a fire under me, though, to pitch in on helping the grandkids learn to read. Of course, it’s too late for the older ones, because Anthony’s on the downside of high school, and Vincent, Jack and even 3-year-old Luke can read to varying degrees.
But I’ve got a clean slate with Patrick, who doesn’t even talk much beyond “ma-MAH,” “da-DAH” and BALL, which comes out BAH!
I haven’t mentioned Patrick all that much because, well, I confess that my interest in kids kicks in when they’re around 1 year old. (You won't catch em in a gaggle of wimmin ga-gahhing when a kid moves or breaths or toots.)
But he's cute and bright and, well, his middle name is Michael, so I’m quite fond of the little nipple biter. But I’m even behind the 8-ball on him, because he’s damnnear a year old already.
And I realized the other day that I’ve got textbooks at my fingertips. So I think I’ll rip off the Meals-on-Wheels idea and start a School-on-Wheels franchise. It’s quite simple, and the textbooks are free: bumper stickers.
I got the other day when I saw this one on the back of a pickup that an independent-looking woman was driving: “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”
Even though that runs contrary to Patrick’s T-shirt that proclaims, “Lady Killer,” but the gal is entitled to her opinion.
Besides, there’s the bumper sticker that answers her: “Never judge a girl by her bumper sticker.”
Of course, many bumper stickers take a political position. They’re already selling THIS number on the Internet: “Sarah Palin wins 2009 Alaska Iquitarod.”
HOWEVER, since this column is politically neutral, I’ll cite this one, too: “So how’s that Hope and Change thing goin’ for ya?”
And some are downright belligerent, such as this gem: “If punching you in the face is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”
Some others:
* When surveyed, 4 out of 5 older Americans answered, “What?”
* Life can be lived only forward and understood only backward.”
* Legally, it’s questionable. Morally, disgusting. Personally, I like it.
* Land of the FREE because of the BRAVE.
* Who would Jesus Torture?
*What would Reagan do?
* Some days, it’s not worth gnawing through the straps.
* Hang up and DRIVE!
* Giving money and power to government is like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys.
* TV is gooder then books.
* The best things in life are not things.
* In case of fire, do not use elevators. Use water.
* Don’t settle with words what you can settle with a flamethrower.
* Never let your mother brush your hair when she’s mad at your father.
I could go on and on, but why reinvent the wheel? You can see LOTS more textbooks at http://www.cafepress.com/ibs_store. The selection provides a wide curriculum for Schools on Wheels, including affirmations, admonitions, aspirations, declarations, exhortations, modern thought, etc., etc.,
I figure that, if I get the technique down, I can start teaching Amelia when I go see her for the first time in a couple of months. Even at less than a month old, she's already taken the pose of "The Thinker." (Obviously, I need to go to computer school to find out how to make her picture look upright; her mom's the film editor — I don't know beans.)
And, if I get her started on the right foot, Annie and Kevin can sport a sticker that’s a take-off on the old “My D student can beat up your A student.
I’ll close with one of my favorites, which I saw a couple of years back: “Praise the lowered.” At FIRST, I thought the poor bloke couldn’t spell Lord, but then I noticed that his pickup was lowered.
I LOVE to see people who let words out of the dictionary to play with each other.

There's A New Princess in Town

Today’s entry takes an estrogneous tack instead of the usual testosterone-laden missives because a new queen has danced onto the scene.
Blame Amelia’s arrival Thursday for the hormone rebalancing. Here are the answers to the typical wimmin questions: She peeked out of the C-section window at 8:31 a.m. Pacific time, weighing in at 6 pounds and 13 ounces and measuring 19.5 inches.
(In SHORT, if she were a bass, I’d have her stuffed and on my wall. (Dang fisherman’s testosterone level just WON’t stay down.)
Anyhooooooooo, full name is Amelia Tighe Kansy and parents Annie and Kevin are doing fine, after they got some well-deserved naptime. (Probably the last they’ll get in awhile.)
Seems like only yesterday that Annie was standing on my feet as we danced around the room to Abba’s “Dancing Queen.”