I’ve put together a lot of Lego toys over the past year or two, and I have to congratulate Lego for a really good job of ensuring each box has all the necessary parts. I’ve probably assembled two dozen toys, and there’s never been a missing piece. There are usually extra pieces, but never anything missing.

When you see how many pieces there are in even the most basic of Lego toys, it’s really amazing how they can get it right every time. And I’ve put together some larger toys, with lots and lots of pieces, and still all the pieces have been present. It’s an impressive feat.

I’ve gotten to where I actually enjoy putting together Lego toys. There are no words in the Lego instruction books, only images, and assembling is pretty easy. You must have all the pieces spread out where you can see everything without having to finger through a pile. I’ve many times looked through the pieces and started thinking that something was missing, and then found the piece in plain sight a moment later.

So, I’m sending a big salute to Lego for doing such a great job of packaging their toys. I’ll send them an email with my appreciation explained.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I’m not the kind to join a protest march. For one thing, I don’t believe modern protest marches actually accomplish anything more than give the protesters a “feel good” hour, at best. In previous decades (and centuries), I believe protest marches may have actually been a real force to show public opinion. But today, they’re more show and act.

I mentioned, back on December 13, that the school board of our area was reworking the local school districts to move/bus kids around to new schools. Our neighborhood is very unhappy about this. (And I agree with their unhappiness.) The parents of the area have deluged the school board with emails and phone calls decrying this proposal. Cowgrit is all over this thing — she tracks the news on it and keeps me informed of what’s going on with it.

A few days ago, the leaders of our neighborhood started planning a “walk to school day” as a show for how close our school and neighborhood is, and to show how unified the neighborhood parents are against the redistricting proposal. Cowgrit told me about it, and wanted me to walk with her and the boys that morning. I agreed by default (I didn’t say, “no”).

Thinking about it for a day or two, I thought it could be interesting. If the whole neighborhood showed up for the walk to school in the morning, it would be cool to see. Plus, we’ve talked about walking Calfgrit7 to school many times, anyway, so this was an excuse to finally do it, at least one time.

And, I have to admit, I did consider that this would be a show of literally “walking the walk” to support “talking the talk.” I still didn’t think anything would be accomplished by a united walk by a small neighborhood, but I’ve always supported the “put up or shut up” concept.

Yesterday morning was the date. The morning was very foggy, but fortunately, it was unseasonably warm — over 50 degrees. The four of us got out the door and immediately joined the family of four across the street. We walked down our short street and turned to head toward the school. The fog made it hard to see more than a hundred yards, but soon we saw the large crowd of walkers.

I was impressed. There were probably a couple hundred people walking down the sidewalk, police officers were around directing traffic, and there were at least two local news crews out. To make it a real protest march, there were a dozen or so signs held in the air with slogans like, “Don’t break the heart of our neighborhood!”

I was kind of embarrassed to be in a group holding protest signs. Walking to school with neighbors and friends is one thing, but actually carrying signs was tacky. But the news crews went for the parents with signs. As we passed one such interview, I asked Cowgrit and a friend if I should run up behind the interviewee and make a scene.

I could think of a few good things to shout: “Earnhardt!” “Freebird!” “Hey y’all, watch this!” But I held my cool and just walked Calfgrit7 to his school door.

The local newspaper reported, “. . . hundreds of [school] families holding a protest march at the school today to show how close they live to the campus.”

So I’ve now officially taken part in a “protest march.” I feel a little dirty. I should have at least gotten a tie-died t-shirt.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Every once in a while, I go back and read a few posts I’ve written in the past months. This blog is not my best work. Most of these posts are just not particularly well written. A few, I think, are good, and a few are pretty poor.

Many sentences are short statements without any color or vibrancy. There’s not much life in some of these posts. I think the past few years of writing bland manuals and instructions has put me into this habit. Or maybe it’s because I write these things as quickly as possible, and only give them a cursory proofread/edit. Or maybe it’s because I’m a basic hack.

It’s funny, in a not-really-funny kind of way, that it seems every time I tell someone about this blog, my posts over the previous few days have been badly written and/or on lame subjects. I need to post some things to this site that I’ve actually taken time over, that I’ve put some real effort and thought into, something I’ve given a serious editors eye.

Very little stuff here is of what I would consider professional quality — something I would include in a portfolio. I need to work on that.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

At the bowling alley birthday party, there was a moment I’m glad wasn’t actually caught on video. Most of the kids were around a table watching Calfgrit7 open his gifts, with Cowgrit, her mother, and another mom watching over them all.

Calfgrit3 was at the bowling ball return trying to pick up a ball. I was heading over to help him, and I passed one of the little girls of the party who had wandered away from the group and was standing alone twirling back and forth, swinging her arms out. I was looking at Calfgrit3, fearing he’d hurt himself with the ball, so I didn’t really notice the little girl. Well, I did notice her; I just didn’t note how her arms were swinging about.

As I passed the little girl, she started swinging her arms back at full wind up. . . pow! Ka-ching! Right in my . . . .

I stumbled half in surprise, half in pain. Calfgrit3 was forgotten momentarily while I watched all the pretty stars flashing in my eyes. I turned around and staggered back to the party table. I got Cowgrit’s mother’s attention and pointed with my thumb at Calfgrit3. She hustled off to attend to him.

Cowgrit and the other mom at the table looked at me with confusion and concern.

“What was that?” the other mom asked.

“Did you trip?” Cowgrit asked.

“No,” I said with a catch in my throat.

I really didn’t want to talk about it right then, especially in front of the kids and the other mom. And the stun hadn’t yet fully worn off, anyway, so words were difficult.

“Did you hurt your back?” Cowgrit asked.

I shook my head no.

“Oh,” said the other mom, “I think I know what happened, but I’m not going to say.”

The kids were engrossed in the gift unwrapping, so they weren’t aware of the discussion.

“What happened?” asked Cowgrit.

One of the other dads approached, and said, “The little girl was twirling and swinging her arms. I think she hit him.”

“Oh,” said Cowgrit, now realizing why my face was a little twisted up. “Are you all right?”

“No,” I said, “but I’ll walk it off.” I tried to walk around a little, because that’s supposed to help with such injuries.

The other mom commented, “I’ve never seen a real man get hit like that. I mean, I’ve seen it on TV, but I’ve never seen what it’s like in person.”

“Yeah,” Cowgrit said, “I just saw him jerk and stumble. I didn’t even see him get hit.”

She offered to help me, but I waved her off so she could continue with the party. I just kept walking around for a while. The shock wore off quickly, but the “stinging” continued for several minutes.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of that kind of injury. “Sting” isn’t really an accurate word. It doesn’t sting like a cut or slap. It’s more of a stun. Bad hits will take a man to his knees immediately, and moderate hits (like this instance) will throw you off balance. I haven’t had a solid hit to the jewels in a very long time. I’ve had some glancing blows, that make you stop what you’re doing to evaluate the situation. But this was the first full-on tag I’ve suffered in many years.

You see these hits all the time on shows like America’s Funniest Home Videos, and yes they make everyone chuckle, including me. But when you’re the one taking the hit, there’s nothing funny about it. Until the next day. Now, I can laugh.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com