Don't Know Much about History

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
- George Santayana

"If you don't learn history, it will repeat. So don't teach me about the good parts."
- Wookie

Driving Miss Wookie

Emma just got off the phone with her daughter.

“She’s home?” I asked

“Yeah, it’s ‘early out’” she replied.

Yikes! – I forgot the Wookie has ‘early out’ too.

Early out Fridays – something I’m not used to. Jules usually gets Wookie to and from school, but Jules was at a conference. I would pick up Wookie instead. In fact I was in the process of setting my alarm to remind me in an hour when I realized I had to leave immediately to make it on time.

I got to school just before the bell. No harm no foul, but if I had missed the rendezvous the first distress call would go to Mom. Then the inevitable text from Jules: “Where are you? Did you forget again?!”  I’ve only forgotten once, but that’s all it took to get a reputation.

An hour late, Jules texted “Did you remember to pick up Wookie?”

She was an hour off too. I texted back and let her know I even remembered ‘early out’- that would help to restore my reputation.

Jules and I opted not to join a car pool. We both tend to get agitated waiting for kids marching to their own drummers. So we keep friendly relations with the neighbors and do our own driving. It’s just 10 minutes in the morning and 10 more in the afternoon.

“Dad! We gotta’ go back to school” said Wookie as we entered our neighborhood. “I forgot to turn in my registration for next year”.

Usually 10 minutes.

We treated the boys differently. When Tyler was the same age, he was on his own as far as getting to and from school was concerned. So were his friends. They rode skateboards and bikes down and back. We assured them this was great preparation for scouting. Or whatever. If it was snowing, I would drive the boys to school on my way to work. They formed their own car pool when they became drivers. There were six young men; one who had a car with only five seats. We let them figure it out. They were accident free – as far as I know.

But we get to drive Wookie for now. That way we don’t worry about skateboarding packs of boys.

That’s Mister Señor

When I mention I have a son on a mission in Uruguay, some who know Spanish condescendingly turn on the Ricky Ricardo voice and say “OO-a-gu-ay.” Or something Spanish sounding. It's amusing. Call me old school, but if I start a sentence in English I like to end it in English. After all, when Ricky tells me his kid is in Germany I don't wince and tell him it’s pronounced “Deutschland.”

But I will make an exception for the Tehas, Saint Anthony mission - you know, home to the Alamo. Mixing Spanish and English in the same sentence is quite common there. The locals call it Spanglish. It’s a bit endearing, but as one frustrated employer put it, “It’s not bilingual, it’s being illiterate in two languages.”

So I'll continue to pronounce "Uruguay" in Lucy's language while enjoying the inevitable Ricky impersonations that will follow.

White Shirts

“What IS the deal with the white shirts?”

Emma interjected the question during a conversation that began about business attire. I had just remarked that sometimes I wore my current outfit - green slacks and tweed jacket - to church, except I would change the tan shirt for a white shirt.

Emma is a Baptist, but has lived in Utah all her life. She has observed a lot of Mormons going to church.

“It’s nothing doctrinal” I said. “Peer pressure I suppose. I can see how that custom would be daunting for someone attending our church for the first time”

“I guess it is like the older ladies in my church who wear hats” She said.

“Not as much as we wear white shirts”, I opined.

“No, they always wear them” she said

We concluded a lot of what we wear at church is more a matter of culture then doctrine. I told her when I lived in the Philippines, as a teen, I wore a barong to church. No tie – it was great. My brother had a barong, too, but he also had a suit made from camouflage fabric. He and several of his friends would wear them to church. I can’t imagine seeing one of those today.

Emma told me she once visited a relative’s congregation. The minister met her wearing a baseball cap and the ushers wore doo-rags.

“That was different” she said, but she enjoyed the service nonetheless.

Later I checked conference reports for “white shirts”. As expected, I didn’t find any requirements for men to wear them but several brethren did encourage the Aaronic priesthood to wear white shirts when administering the sacrament. It would help prepare them to dress like missionaries where white shirts are a requirement. The other reason given is the white would help remind members of the other sacred ordinances made in the Temple. I concluded I would probably continue to wear white shirts in sacrament meeting as encouragement for the young men, however I also know I would feel self-consious if I didn't.

But wearing white shirts to church is not a requirement. Yesterday was stake conference – no sacrament meeting. I wore my green pants, tweed jacket, and tan shirt.

During my discussion with Emma she told me about watching a group of young men and women walking to the institute chapel next to Weber State University. Among the group was an African American wearing a red suit.

She said “I thought, ‘Brother, you already stand out, that suit isn’t going to help’”

“More power to him” I laughed.

But was he wearing a white shirt?

Thought of You - by Ryan Woodward

About the video

Negotiations

The other day I was sorting and stocking women's outfits as a volunteer at the local DI when I got a text from the Wookie.

"Hey"

"Hey, I got a text from my daughter!" I told my fellow women's apparrel volunteer.

But wait, she doesn't usually text me during school. I check my watch - its 3:30. School's been out for 30 minutes. Did Jules forget to pick her up? I text back:

"How are you?"

No reply. I figure she texted me by mistake. I go back to the long sleeve, knit tops. Later Wookie tells me "I meant to text Helga*, but your name is right next to hers and I accidentally sent the text to you instead."

Well at least I was able to gain a glimpse into the world of communication between teenagers.

Parent-child communication is a bit different. Last night I got this text:

Wookie: "What time do I need to come home?"

I'm thinking 10:00 pm. I check my watch. Its 10:06. Dang, is it that late already? We'll she had the courtesy to ask so I don't tell her to come home immediately. I text:

Dad: "10:31 and a half"

I tell Jules that Wookie just texted. "I told her to come home at 10:31 and a half". I think that's funny, so does Jules. "I bet she asks to stay till eleven". Wookie replies:

Wookie: "What does that mean"

Dad: "Be home before 10:32"

Wookie: "How about eleven?"

Of course I don't want to O.K. eleven. That's late and besides what are Helga's parents going to think if I let her stay out till eleven.

Dad: "10:15"

Wookie: "What? Please?"

Dad: "Be home by 10:32"

Wookie: "Ten forty five?"

It's now 10:15. I'm wondering what the point is in staying later when all you are going to do is spend that time texting.

Dad: "Ok"

Wookie: "Dad! Thats only a fifteen min different"

Jules quotes Ferdy the Fence from the movie Stardust: "That's not negotiation! I'm changing my number!"

Dad: "How about coming home now?"

Wookie: "No! But I just foot set why"

Dad: "And I foot set because".

I'm having fun now. Jules smiles, but cautions me. She knows Dads and daughters have different ideas on whats funny.

Wookie: "What?"

Dad: "Just sayin..."

Wookie: "Saying what?"

Dad: "10:45"

Wookie: "Ok"

Its now 10:30. I make a mental note to see if I need to check into unlimited texting. Am I paying by the "hey" or the message?

At 10:46 I hear voices on the front porch. Close enough.



*Name changed to protect the innocent.

Beginnings

When I told Jules I was thinking about starting a new blog she looked at me with a slightly raised eyebrow "About what?"

"Not politics" I said.

We've been married over two and a half decades, so I knew what she was asking in those two words. I love her and she loves me. She proves it by listening to me yammer about politics, but she knows no one else does, at least willingly. No, this blog will be about family with no gratuitous links to political commentary. Earlier I was reading to her Mark Steyn's latest essay. Twenty minutes into it I noticed she was scrolling through KSL's channel guide on her I-phone. She doesn't watch TV.

"You're not listening are you?" I asked.

"No, I am, 'One fifth of British children are raised in homes in which no adult works'" she quotes back to me.

I smile. Like I said, she loves me.

The first task was coming up with a blog name. Francis Peak is already taken - it's my blog for political ranting. As you can see nothing's bothered me since April of last year. Before the internet, I would just talk back to the T.V. Now we have blogs; they are a great outlet - in fact if you check the site meter you'll see just as many people who heard me through the T.V. screen are also reading the blog.

Anatreptic is also taken. Mick Stockinger, the blog owner, allows me to post there. When I do, people actually read my posts, until they realize it isn't Mick's post. He has great insights and they are worth the read. But I warn you, occasionally you'll see the words "Hell" and "Damn" there. Even the "P-word". My new blog is going to be a "G"-rated, family friendly blog - so you won't see those words here.

I finally decided to choose a title from one of the movie quotes our family is fond of repeating to each other. I had several to choose from:

"Beef and Nazis"
"Why do we even have that lever"
"You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means." - O.K. a bit long.

"Soon to be the two of us", however, fits Jules' and my situation. We like it.

Wookie came in and asked what I was doing.

"He is making a new blog." Jules said

Wookie came to my side of the bed.

"Oh, this is fun - scoot over Dad, I'm going to help." she said.

New Times Roman Font for the title, courtesy of the Wookie. Hot pink background - out.

"Hey, I get it" she realized. "The title is about me."

"Don't worry, it's not personal" I said. "We still want you around. I thought it would be a fun title that the family can relate to"

There used be be seven of us under this roof, now there are only three.

"O.K." she said. She didn't seem worried. After all, she is in line to get a drum set.

So this blog is primarily for my family, or those who can be considered family ("She IS Family" I just had to throw that in). If you don't understand something, chances are you don't remember the movie, it's a family joke, or you missed the last family gathering. Or just a typo. I'll write about family happenings and may even quote a few scriptures. But be warned, the scriptures use works like "Hell", "Damn" and the "P-word".