Now it can be told

by the Night Writer

Some have noted that I have yet to endorse a candidate for President. This is not due to an oversight on my part, or because I’ve been too busy. Actually, I have been busy behind the scenes. Very busy. While I wanted to keep things on the QT a little longer, events are no longer completely in my control and circumstances have forced my hand.

Go here to see who I think will be our next President. And remember, it’s spelled with an “H”.

Like a ton of bricks

by the Night Writer

It’s been a busy couple of days, complicated with a couple of headaches at work and ONE real migraine that has lasted now into it’s second day. I spent most of Tuesday evening updating my notes for this week’s “Marriageable” class, which was held last night. The focus in Week 3 was the difference between Courtship and Dating.

As the Mall Diva and Ben have a lot of experience in this area I asked them to come in and describe the way their relationship has progressed and answer any questions the lads had. It was a very lively session with a lot a lot of questions and some excellent answers; I’ll write more about it in an upcoming post that will be part of the “Are You Marriageable” series.

At one point, however, the young men were especially concerned about how courting is carried out in front of the family (or families, if possible), and the inherent expectation of proper behavior. During one answer, Ben made reference to knowing that any impropriety could result in me coming down on him “like a ton of bricks.”

“Oh, you’re exaggerating,” I said. “I don’t weigh anywhere near that much.”

It did remind me, however, that Ben has escaped my attentions relatively unscathed — at least compared to the experience of another would-be suitor who found himself at the point of a bloody knife. That was a story I’ve posted before, but I’ll re-run it here for amusement and edification of both new and long-time readers. It’s also a way for me to buy a little blogging time until my next post while my brain heals and work settles down.

A Night at the Prom
Regular readers of this blog know that my wife and I have a pretty simple philosophy when it comes to our teenage daughter, Faith, dating: No. (See here and here.) Therefore you might be surprised to hear that Faith went to the prom last Saturday night. And yes, there was a boy involved from an unrelated gene pool. How did this happen? One word: conspiracy.

Are You Marriageable — Class 2: What is the condition of other relationships in your life?

by the Night Writer

What do the current relationships in your life say about your capacity to be married? Do you understand the relationship between love and respect and how this may be different for men than for women? What will you bring from your parent’s marriage into your own? These were all covered in the second class;

Why I should be paid to blog

by the Night Writer

I am 11% Idiot.
Friggin Genius

I am not annoying at all. In fact most people come to me for advice. Of course they annoy the hell out of me. But what can I do? I am smarter than most people.

I think I got dinged a little on my score because I answered “yes” to the question about whether I’m a manager. I was much smarter before that happened.

HT: Mr. Dilletante, by way of Anti-Strib.

Like “The Kool-aid Report” on clay tablets

by the Night Writer

They didn’t exactly find a heiroglyphic of a someone pulling another person’s finger inside the tomb of King TootTut, but a link from the online Wall Street Journal describes how research has revealed that early civilizations were just as prone to recording scatological humor and to laughing at farts, sex and stupid people.

Scouring ancient texts, researchers from Wolverhampton University found the jokes laid down in delicate manuscripts and carved into stone tablets up to three thousand years old.

Dr Paul MacDonald, a comic novelist and lecturer in creative writing, said ancient civilizations laughed about much the same things as we do today.

He said jokes ancient and modern shared “a willingness to deal with taboos and a degree of rebellion.”

“Modern puns, Essex girl jokes and toilet humour can all be traced back to the very earliest jokes identified in this research,” he commented.

Lost civilisations laughed at farts, sex, and “stupid people” just as we do today, Dr McDonald said.

But they found evidence that Egyptians were laughing at much the same thing.

The world’s oldest surviving joke “is essentially a fart gag”, he said.

The 3,000-year-old Sumerian proverb, from ancient Babylonia, reads: “Something which has never occurred since time immemorial; a young woman did not fart in her husband’s lap.”

Dr McDonald commented: “Toilet humour goes back just about as far as we can go.”

Similarly, going about as far as you can go sounds a lot like these guys.

Like a lover’s voice fires the mountainside

by the Night Writer

Mitch notes that it was 25 years ago today when Big Country’s album “The Crossing” was released in the States. The big Top 40 hit from that album was the song “In a Big Country” …

In a big country, dreams stay with you,
Like a lover’s voice, fires the mountainside…
Stay alive..

Four years prior to that album coming out I had spent a semester in England, taking some classes and traveling the country as much as I could. The first time I heard “In a Big Country” (and every time since then) I thought of a conversation I had with a fellow American student after we’d been there for a couple of months. We both realized that one of the biggest things we missed was “the horizon” and the sense of how much land was beyond it. Even in the English country-side the horizon always seemed too close and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being squeezed. As much as we missed good hamburgers and American sports, we found ourselves having longing thoughts of the Kansas interstate.

I don’t think much about Kansas anymore, but the lines of the song have always stuck with me.

So take that look out of here it doesn’t fit you
Because it’s happened doesn’t mean you’ve been discarded
Pull up your head off the floor — come up screaming
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted

As dark and obscure as they are, there’s a certain “suck it up, wait it out” optimism underlying them. I’ve lived long enough now to have experienced several economic and political cycles, as well as times of feeling isolated and other times overwhelmed, and I think I’ve learned to hold onto the constants — faith, the relationships you can count on, and the promise of another horizon and what may lay beyond.

I’m not expecting to grow flowers in a desert
But I can live and breathe
And see the sun in wintertime

Stay alive.

What a Dad’s to do

by the Night Writer

When my oldest daughter was born, nigh on 20 years ago, they put that tiny little bundle in my arms — arms that had, just a few hours earlier, been lifting furniture and heavy equipment in the delivery room as I tried to vent my anxiety and frustration. The contrast between the weight of those items and her seven measly pounds belied the heavy but invisible mantle that had just been laid across my shoulders.

Our pastor knocked and came into the room about that time and I turned my daughter toward him and said, “Now Faith is” — as in “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen” (Heb. 11:1). Our little miracle baby, Faith Christine, was amongst us and I had just taken up my first watch.

I thought of this the other day as Ben made his case for how much he admired Faith and, in exchange for my blessing, gave his personal promise to safeguard her heart and well-being, to support her physically, emotionally and spiritually, and to raise my grandchildren in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.

I know there are a few people — well, probably many — who question the need or propriety of a would-be husband these days asking his prospective father-in-law for the daughter’s hand in marriage. “Women aren’t chattel to be passed from one patriarch to another!”, or “Doesn’t she have a say in the matter?”, or “What right does Dad have to get in-between young lovers?” Some of the more perceptive might even ask, “Why isn’t he asking both the father and the mother?”

To me it’s all part and parcel of a culture that has grown accustomed to demeaning and diminishing the role of parents, going back to the days when we started saying “Don’t trust anyone over 30,” the presentation of adults (especially dads) as dolts on “family” sit-coms and the cultural and educational conceit that young people are wiser and more informed about “how things really are” than those stick-in-the-mud old folks. As a result we miss, or become uncertain about, certain nuances.

Now, I enjoy playing the role of patriarch and benevolent dictator, but that is because I take it seriously and have not shirked the robe that comes with it. It fits. I have not viewed my daughters as my property to be maximized for the greatest return on investment, or as servants and dependents sent for my own amusement. My wife and I have always realized that we were not owners, but stewards, of what we were entrusted with and we structured our lives and our daughters’ with an eye to providing the things that prepare them for long-term happiness (especially how they can get this themselves), even if it involved some not-so-happy decisions.

I have to say we are well-pleased with the results to date. Yes, Faith is well able to direct her own life, but every woman needs a man in her life who knows her value and is willing to sacrifice for her well-being. Before I cede that position to another I want to be darn sure he knows what is expected.

Ben may not be perfect (he’s got some dents where the University of Hard Knocks has deposited wisdom), but the situation has been nearly ideal. They’ve known each other for almost three years and have progressed gradually from acquaintance to friendship to courtship and now engagement. While they have not been physical, they have been intimate, taking the opportunity to really know each other and weigh their respective characters. Similarly, our family has had the same amount of time (actually, longer) to get to know Ben and make our own evaluation. This isn’t some shaggy freak Faith has drug home from a concert and asked if she can keep him.

So, while my stewardship is not yet finished, its days are clearly numbered. The promised land my daughter and I have been preparing for for so many years is at last on the horizon though, like Moses, I will not cross with her. She will always be my daughter, but then I will have something even better. A friend.

Two, actually.

Le chat is out of du sac

Breaking (actually, “bonding”) news over at Hammerswing for all you romantics, or the just plain curious.