I was checking out some information on other web sites when I came across a “Sexy Cruise Blog” highlighted in a blogger’s favorites listing. I was all alone in my home office, with the door closed and the boys asleep in their beds. So, being the curious guy I am, I clicked on the link.

Hey, don’t think I’m looking for trashy stuff. I wasn’t going to read the blog, I was just going to look at the pictures.

While the page loaded, I clicked back over to my other browser window to work on this site. Then Cowgrit walked into the room. Perfect timing. She often comes in to chat or hug, and usually she looks over my computer monitor to see what I’m doing — not nosing in my business, or anything like that, but just interested in what I write.

The button on the taskbar showed “Sexy Cruise Blog” right there, in plain sight. I hadn’t seen the site yet, so I had no idea what it would be showing — would it be raunchy? Cowgrit hugged me and then sat down on the day bed to read a book while I wrote.

“Are you laughing?” she asked me after a minute.

“Just chuckling,” I said.

“What about?”

I told her that I had just clicked on a blog “with an interesting name” just before she walked in the room.

“Sexy Cruise Blog,” I said.

“What is it, old people?” she asked.

I laughed at that. I hadn’t thought about that possibility. And thinking for a moment: I know several people who have been on cruises, but they’re all older than I — at least 50. Hmm. I was intrigued even more than when I originally saw the link. The only thing that can attract my attention as much as “sexy” is “funny”, and if this site turns out to be a good spoof . . . or maybe it would be seriously sexy . . . I had to see this site.

“I don’t know, yet,” I answered. “I haven’t actually looked at it yet.”

She stood over my shoulder as I clicked the taskbar button to bring up the page. It was pictures of young women in bikinis on cruise ships. No funny, just sexy. Yay for honesty in advertising.

Cowgrit sat back down on the daybed with her book. “Is this what you do in here in the evenings with the door closed?”

“Nah,” I said, “I look for pictures of old people.”

“Like you?” she deadpanned.

Now that’s not nice. Santa should note that.

Bullgrit

In the spirit of my post back in June, Questions From a 3 Year Old, here are some questions Cowgrit has heard recently from our youngest boy (since he turned 4 in October):

We were dining at a local restaurant, and Calfgrit4 asked about the waitress: “Mommy, is she a stranger?”

“Yes,” Cowgrit answered.

“Then why does she bring us food?”

* * *

While sitting at an intersection in town: “Mommy, how do the red, yellow, and green lights work?”

* * *

“Mommy, what makes us have to go to the bathroom?”

Cowgrit explained the biology.

“Why?”

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen table during dinner: “Mommy, you don’t have a penis? Daddy has one, why don’t you?”

Cowgrit replied, “I am a girl, and girls don’t have one.”

Later, while getting ready for bed, he asked a follow up: “If you don’t have a penis, how do you go to the bathroom? Do you have a hole?”

Cowgrit: “Yes.”

Calfgrit4: “Well pull down your pants and show me.”

Cowgrit mentioned out how late it was getting, and he needed to hurry and brush his teeth before they ran out of time to read a book.

She advises: Long distraction speeches work best to make them forget a question.

* * *

Bullgrit

May 1985. For my high school senior prom, I was part of a double date. The other guy in our foursome had an uncle who worked as a limousine chauffeur, so he arranged for us to ride in style to our dinner and prom.

I drove my own car to my date’s home, and there the limo picked us up. “Uncle Bob” treated us like VIPs, opening the doors for us, calling us “sir” and “ma’am,” and drove the four of us to our fancy restaurant (fancy for a small town of less than 25,000 people).

Unbeknownst to us, Uncle Bob spent the hour while we ate dinner in the restaurant bar, drinking. When we were ready, he escorted us out to the car, opened our doors, and then drove us to our high school gymnasium.

While we were dancing and socializing at the prom, Uncle Bob had gone back to the bar. When 11:00 rolled around, our limo was back to pick us up as planned. But this time, Uncle Bob wasn’t alone.

Good ol’ Bob had two younger women up in the front seat with him. Now, note that Uncle Bob was a married man. Not knowing what to say about the situation, we teenagers were uncomfortably quiet during our ride towards home, along the rural back roads. And then halfway home, a sheriff’s deputy came up behind us and turned on his flashing lights. Uh oh.

Uncle Bob pulled the limo over. There was talk in the front seat about Bob’s breath smelling of alcohol, so one of the women gave him her chewing gum, right out of her mouth. The evening had gone from blissful ignorance, to uncomfortable silence, to surreal worry. What happens to a group of 16, 17, and 18 year olds (I was 17) if their limo driver gets arrested for DUI? Would our parents have to come pick us up? And we still had no idea who these two 20-something women were up in the front seat.

Well, after a brief conversation between the deputy and Uncle Bob, Bob was handcuffed and stuffed into the back of the deputy’s cruiser. The deputy asked the women to drive us prom kids home and then take the car where it belonged.

After the deputy left the scene, the women discussed what they were gonna do. We told them where to take us, and during the rest of our ride home, they debated where to leave the limo. Who would they tell? What to do with the keys? What about Uncle Bob’s wife? — they apparently knew he was married.

Well, we teenyboppers were dropped off, and the women drove away in the limo. The second half of our ride home had been even more quiet between the four of us than the first half had been. Having free limo service for our prom night seemed like such a great idea the day before.

I later heard that the two women drove the car back to Uncle Bob’s home, told his wife that he was in jail, and asked her to drive them back to their own car at the restaurant bar. This last bit of the tale is a bit apocryphal, as I wasn’t personally present, but I don’t dismiss it as not possibly true.

Bullgrit

Continued from yesterday. Our guns for this day were: two 9mm semi-automatics, a .22 semi, a .22 revolver, a .357 revolver, a .38 revolver, and a 7.62mm SKS rifle. Since we couldn’t set up a proper target for tracking our shooting, there was no competition for this outing. We were just shooting for the fun of it.

We used proper safety — we all wore earplugs, the only loaded weapon was the one on the line, and those not shooting were behind the shooter. Since my 7-year old son was with us this time, I made sure he knew and understood all the rules we were following.

I grew up with guns around me. My dad owned a few guns, but they were usually just for owning and/or target shooting. They were always unloaded and put away up in a closet. My step-dad owned several guns mostly for hunting. Although they were usually stored in various closets, sometimes one was loaded (especially the one he took hunting daily).

My exposure to guns at an early age — being used to having them around, and occasionally actually shooting them on a range — gave me a healthy respect for the things. I didn’t have the urge to show them off to a friend or to sneak peeks at them when my parents weren’t around. All the kids in my family understood guns — their use and their danger. I believe this respect kept me and my siblings safe from accidental death that too many kids were and are vulnerable to.

I want to instill this understanding and respect in my boys. I don’t want them afraid of guns; I want them to respect them. I want my sons to understand what they are, know how they work, and understand that they are very dangerous. I don’t want them to be a forbidden secret that becomes a siren’s call to experiment with them without adult supervision.

If either of my boys are at a friend’s house and the friend says, “Want to see my dad’s gun?” At best, I want them to say, “No,” and then tell me. At worst, if they do look at the gun, I want them to know better than to play with it — to know it’s not a toy.

So I exposed Calfgrit7 to guns for the first time during this outing. He was interested and willing to learn. He watched the adults shoot some first, and then I took him to the firing line and helped him shoot for the first time.

I instructed him on how a gun works, how to hold it, and how to aim (and when, where, and why to point a gun). I stood behind him, with my arms around him helping him hold the gun. He shot several rounds from the .22 revolver. He handled the gun calmly and comfortably, describing the gun as “bouncy” (referring to the kick/recoil).

A few minutes later I let him take a shot with the .357. That sucker has a kick, and it’s really loud compared to a .22. He handled the gun and himself well enough, but he didn’t want to shoot it anymore.

During everyone else’s turn on the shooting line, Calfgrit7 spent more time playing and drawing in the dirt behind us, than watching our sport. I take that as a good thing — it shows that he’s not afraid of guns, and he doesn’t have a potentially dangerous fascination with them. Even though I don’t have any firearms out in our home (there’re stored away in the attic, without any ammunition) I want him aware and smart about guns.

It’s just like he can play in the kitchen while we cut with sharp knives, and cook with a hot stove. And like he can play in the front yard while cars may pass on the street. He’s not afraid of knives, stoves, or cars, but he understands their danger, and so he’s less likely to be harmed by them — because of someone else or through a dangerous curiosity about the “forbidden fruit.”

Bullgrit