What I wish...

I absolutely adore writing prompts! My third-graders were given the following prompt and three minutes to write whatever they wanted. This, however, was my response...

Oh, the limitless possibilities!

(Prompt: If I could have one wish, I would wish for...) I would wish for large vocabularies for all my students.

If my students have large vocabularies, they'll understand what I mean when I tell them they are doing phenomenally. They'll be able to perform stupendous work. They'll be able to write prolifically.

They'll know to avoid egregious and audacious behavior. They'll also be able to keep the decibel level in the classroom to a manageable minimum. And they certainly won't be loquacious!

Above all, their reading levels would be monumental! Words like insipid, retroactive and redundant would inspire them to read with deep comprehension and alacrity! Wow!

I simply couldn't muster the courage to read any of the students' responses. I'm too afraid I'll see "I wish Mr. Haworth didn't throw all those big, scary words at me! What do they even mean?"

Battling Darth Lilly in the Snow

I normally love my three fuzzy, black dogs. But when it snows, I don't. Snowstorms bring out the worst in my dogs.

As I detailed in my very first blog post, there's a certain protocol that must be followed when the dogs go out to go potty. I open the back door. They run into the yard. They do numbers one and two. They run back up. I let them back inside. All done!

Five years later, the fact is, Lilly still hates snow. The "all mighty princess" now takes three steps out the door, turns to face the door (and, of course, me!), looks me in the eye and squats on the deck. If she were a Star Wars dog, she would be an evil Sith Lord!

She still refuses to go outside in any adverse conditions -- defined as any conditions that don't include sunshine and blue skies!

Bob is usually oblivious to the weather conditions. Rain? No problem. Fog? No problem. Night? No problem. The snow, though, throws poop Bob off his game.

He ran outside. He paused. Whoa, everything looks different! Let's have fun! Excitedly, he begins running around like a crazed animal, except he's like a race car with no traction with his back end spinning wildly out of control.

Sadly, as he comes spinning back up onto the deck, he realizes that in all his exuberant excitement he forgot to do numbers one and two in the yard. Do I need to finish this paragraph? Really?

Luckily, Ace still uses the yard in all conditions. You've got to take the small victories where you can.

Meanwhile, I'll be waiting for the snow to melt in order to clean up the near-miss victories. And I'll also be waiting for the next snowstorm when I'll once again do battle with Darth Lilly.

Parenting Advice for Fathers: Teenagers

My son turned 18 recently. Technically, that means he is now an adult. But not really!

I've read somewhere that the human brain isn't fully formed or mature until about 24 or 25 years old. I can vouch for that! Since that doesn't help me now, I've come up with some tips and advice on dealing with older teenagers.

First and foremost, they are never, ever wrong. Nor do they make mistakes. Even when they're completely wrong, or you catch them making a mistake, it's never through any fault of the teenager!

The littlest, fuzzy, black dog actually being nice! Back to sleep...

Also, teenagers are veritable geniuses and know everything. Yes, everything! If you catch them in the wrong, refer back to the first rule above.

Parents, you are no longer adults. You have now become 'older, clueless people who lack vision.' In fact, your job is to prevent your teen from finding his (or her) true inner self and reaching his (or her) worldly potential through the dispensing of sound suggestions and sage advice. Gosh!

Also, parents, learn when to just not say anything. The words that come out of your mouth will either be ignorant, politically incorrect, racist, sexist, narrow-minded, or just plain biased in some way, shape or form. Take the following conversation, for example...

"Hey, son! Check out that tall guy..."

"What have you got against tall people?!"

"Umm... Nothing. Him. In the plaid shirt."

"Now you're making fun of what he's wearing?!"

"The dude! With the brown hair!"

"It might be gray. Or a wig! What if he has cancer?"

"Just look! Him! Over there!"

"What about him?"

"Never mind now. I don't remember."

I must say that after 47 years, 18 of them as a parent, I have finally understood the magic of the word "whatever." Honestly, I used to hate it because it followed questions like "why is the milk out?" "have the fuzzy, black dogs been fed?" and "who was at the door?"


Now I use it. It's quite exhilarating and I highly recommend trying it. Here's how it works...

"Dad! There's no gas in my car! And I'm taking Beth to the movies after we go out for dinner and I'm flat broke! And Mom said to talk to you!"

"Whatever."

Holidays, Good Deeds and Mipso, Oh My!

I started off my holiday weekend by doing some good deeds -- a feat I hope to repeat next year. It seems to have started me off on the right foot, so to speak, and in a good frame of mind.

I raked the leaves in my and my neighbors yards. I jumped my wife's and her mom's cars. There's a joke there involving two blondes and two red cars, but I'm still being nice! I ran the Early Bird 5K in Lexington with my wife's sister. Now I'm ending it by helping a cousin.

Technically, he's my first cousin, once removed. And, yes, I had to ask my mother in order to make sure I got that correct. Thanks Mom!

Regardless, I decided my final good deed for the holiday weekend would be to provide a plug for him and his band. What better place to have your band advertised than in the most famous of Internet venues, Fuzzy, Black Dogs?

I considered asking my cousin, Joseph, the singer and guitar player, (did that sound like name-dropping? Nah!) if he wanted his picture with me for this blog post during Thanksgiving dinner. Luckily, good sense won out.

First of all, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable since we are family. And secondly, I felt it would be most unfair to him for me to eclipse his chance at success with my amazing celebrity status as the creator and comedic genius behind this wildly successful blog.

Anyway, the name of his band is Mipso. Perhaps you've heard of them. I believe they played on a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few days ago in New York, NY. Their new album, Old Time Reverie, is currently at the top of the Bluegrass charts. I've heard them. They're good!

In the meantime, I'm petitioning the parade's float and balloon committee to request a Fuzzy, Black Dog balloon in the parade for next year. Of course it will be big! I'm just hoping it won't be so big to be considered gaudy, or anything like that!

Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to go eradicate a sparrow from my mother-in-law's laundry room. I'm hoping that this will be the last good deed because I am worn out!

Chaotic Books Cause Suffering

Even though I really don't suffer from OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, in case you're wondering), I have to admit to having just a few particular tendencies towards certain... Things.

Books, coincidentally, fall in this list. In fact, they're probably pretty high in that list. They may possibly top the list, but I'm digressing.

Anyway, I just happened to visit my wife at her school earlier today. She likes to give me "little projects," as she calls them.

"These books," she said, pointing to a rather large-ish stack of banded books, "need to go back into the Guided Reading Library. Would you do that for me? If so, I need you to find some more..."

First of all, I love books. Secondly, I like to hold books. Thirdly, I like to peruse through various books. Fourth, I like to find books. Fifth, I like to read books... Wait! Did I mention I love books?

Anyway, I gladly staggered into the library under the weight of the books. Upon first inspection, everything seemed pretty tidy. Fiction on one side, in order by level (difficulty level, that is). Nonfiction was on the other side, also in order by level. And that's where it stopped.

I looked at the first bin in the first section. I expected a book with an "A" title, but Junie B. Jones was there, sticking her tongue out at me. I stood there a moment, stunned.

Perhaps Junie is just out of place, I thought. I started rifling through the books to fix Junie. The next book started with an "M." The next, "R." The next, "C." I began to panic. I flipped through faster. Not a single book was in its rightful and proper place!

Thank goodness someone thought to put chairs in there! I had to sit and collect myself a moment.

I felt like Atlas, the weight of the world resting upon my hands and shoulders! I faced a monumental decision.

Everyone knows that if you have more than three books, they should always be in alphabetical order! So there I sat, stunned and debating whether I should begin alphabetizing them. It's only five shelves, I reasoned. Each shelf is only 30 yards long, give or take a few yards.

I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I found empty spaces for the books in their proper levels. I took a deep breath. I shoved the first set of books in a spot. I shuddered and hoped the next set of books would be easier. They weren't!

Needless to say, I did get the books put away, though not properly. That was more than five hours ago. Luckily, I've long since put it out of my mind. And I'm definitely NOT thinking about going back to fix it.

Hurricane Naming Made Easy

It seems that I'm not up on my Spanish currently. For those of you who don't watch the news or are rusty on your Spanish, the hurricane that has meandered along the East Coast and is loitering who knows where over the Atlantic Ocean is pronounced wah-keen, not joe-can.

It's important that someone save the less informed from any undue embarrassment that could be caused from improper pronunciation.

I would like to take this opportune moment to address the powers that be that actually assign names to hurricanes. That, in fact, would be an international committee of the World Meteorological Organization.

Joaquin? Really? I'm not saying it's a bad name. Quite to the contrary, it's a pretty cool name. From what I understand, it's a relatively common Spanish name that comes from the Hebrew name Joachim, which literally means, according to Wikipedia, "lifted by Yahweh."

Regardless of what the name means, some people see the "J" and get confused as to how to pronounce it, though I'm not going to name any names

For you folks at the WMO, I'm all for unique names! In fact, let's go for some different, unique names like, perhaps, Hurricane Ace. Now that has a nice ring to it! So do hurricanes Bob and Lilly. 

It is but a mere coincidence that those happen to be the names of my three fuzzy, black dogs!

Here are some others for your committee members to ponder over for future hurricanes. They are as follows: Harper, Davis, Ariabella, Ethel, Franny (since Frances was retired, of course!), Carl, Mae, Spencer, Gray, Hannah, Buffy, and Beauwater.

While you don't necessarily have to credit me with supplying these other cool names, WMO, I won't mind if you do. It won't go to my head.

In the meantime, the name Joaquin has begun to grow on me. Perhaps if I acquire another fuzzy, black dog, I'll name him Joaquin.

Men, Women, and Foreign Objects

I have extensive knowledge on the subject of women. I grew up the middle child between two girls. I've been married for nearly 21 years. Trust me... I know stuff!

The most important thing that any guy needs to know about women is that they don't like foreign, unsightly, or out-of-place objects. Allow me to elaborate with a simple test.

Study, if you will, the photo above. Then proceed to the multiple choice answers listed below. While there may be more than one correct answer, you may pick only one.

A. Wow! This dude can't even take a decent selfie. Perhaps there's something wrong with him...

B. Hmm... I don't see anything wrong with this photo. Whatever.

C. Goodness. That's a long hair. He should probably cut it.

D. OMG! Foreign object alert! Somebody, quick, hand me the tweezers and stand back! 

If you picked A, that means you're a guy and you're only half correct. While I may not be the best selfie taker, I'm a pretty well adjusted, with-it, and swell kind of guy! Really!

If you picked B, you are, without a doubt, a guy. And you're right! There's really nothing... Too wrong about this photo.

If you picked C, your powers of observation are impressive. However, define long. Now define too long. Also, if I cut it, wouldn't another just grow out to take its place? Just some questions to ponder...

If you picked D, no doubt about it, you're a woman, plain and simple. This is okay, of course, because oftentimes men need women in their lives to take of these types of things.

My wife eradicated the "offending foreign object" last night with a pair of tweezers and extreme prejudice!

To my wife, and all women out there, men aren't weenies. It really does hurt, and for more than just a second, too! I nearly called in sick to my school due to the excruciating pain I felt upon waking...