Sunday, November 30, 2008

Idontwanna hear Iwanna

I have banned the “Iwannas.”
No, not the want-ad magazines. You are free to shop for a used car. But you are not allowed to tell me over and over and over how much you want an Iwanna, which would amount to saying “Iwanna Iwanna” over and over. Follow me? No?
The problem has arisen because my children have taken to adding “Iwanna” as major parts of their vocabulary.
Case study No. 1: The Zaxby’s incident. We were heading home the other day, and I asked the kids what they wanted for lunch. Allie said, “Iwanna go to Zaxby’s.” I told her that we were going to eat at home, as our last 423 meals had been at Chick-fil-A and Zaxby’s, and I was fairly certain we were about to turn into chickens. For the duration of the car ride home, I was informed that a Zaxby’s destination was desired. Again. And again. And again.
At this point, there are a couple of options:
1. Announce that not only are we not going to Zaxby’s, we are never going to Zaxby’s again, and in fact, we are not even allowed to have Z words in the house anymore, so your brother has to get rid of his plastic zebras.
2. Clench the steering wheel tightly, lean forward, staring intently at the road, until you pull in the garage, get out of the van, walk inside, find your wife and say, “Yours.”
I opted for No. 2, which I am sure made her consider packing up the kids and going to Zaxby’s, just for chuckles.
Later that day, when the dust settled, I sat down with my children and informed them that the Iwannas were going to have to go. I then had them watch “Apocalypse Now” for perspective on how good their lives really are.
Ha! Little war movie humor. I would never have them watch that. It was “Full Metal Jacket.”
Just as bad, of course, are the “Idontwannas.”
Case study No. 2: I was getting ready to take Parker to school the other day. I told him to get his lunch box out of the fridge. He slumped his head, groaned and said, “Ohhh ... Idontwanna ...”
Now, keep in mind the laborious efforts that go into getting a lunch:
1. Opening the fridge
2. Grabbing a Transformers lunch box
3. Closing the fridge
And that effort gives you lunch, with a Fruit Roll-Up, thank you very much. Seems a small amount of effort for lunch. But the instinctive “Idontwanna” kicks in, and he doesn’t even stop to think, “Wow, I am spending more energy with this little display than I would actually getting my lunch.”
Don’t get me wrong. My kids are good kids, and they are, fortunately, not chronic whiners. Sure, they have their moments, but my wife says that I do, too, which I think is completely untrue, but I allow her to say it because it makes her feel better. I have never, ever shown a bad mood or whiny nature, and if I did, could it possibly, just possibly, be because I was tired? Or hungry? Or just generally fussy? Can’t a guy have a bad day!?!?!
Oh, wait, got sidetracked.
So we are going to work on the Iwannas and Idontwannas, especially as we head into the holiday season. It is very important for my children to grow up appreciative of what they have. It’s not that we live like kings, but I do want my children to be thankful for what they have and understand that you won’t get everything you want in life, and that’s not only OK, but pretty much a law of nature. I think each day, I need to remind them how important it is that they value things. I think I will follow them around saying “Idontwanna hear any more Iwannas.”
Michael Gibbons is the managing editor of the Aiken Standard.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Sell sell sell!

Admit it. You’ve been there.
You look out your window see a neighbor walking with child in tow.
The child is carrying a sheet of paper as they head to a house a few doors down.
Returning a borrowed magazine, perhaps? Maybe dropping off a few pages of a recently penned manifesto?
The door opens, and the little hand raises up the sheet of paper and a pen. Uh-oh. It’s fund-raising season.
FAST FACT: One provision of the No Child Left Behind Act is that every American child must participate in at least 11 fund-raisers each week.
Back to our story. You now have only a moment to decide your course of action. No one NEEDS wrapping paper, a pizza kit, cookie dough, etc.
You think about making an emergency grocery store run. You consider the “No speaka the English” routine that you tried on the telemarketer.
You even think about saying, “Sorry, Timmy. Burglars stole all of my money.”
And then you turn and see your kids. Immediately flashing before you is the memory of all the times you stood at a neighbors door, hawking wares.
And you remember how your neighbors never once told you they didn’t speaka the English, but instead dutifully bought a make-your-own pretzel kit that, no doubt, still sits in their freezer.
FAST FACT: No American has every actually eaten an entire box of oranges – and lived to tell about it.
The latest sales pitch that came around was a 2-year-old from across the street. (His mom even turned his ball cap around backwards to make it extra hard to resist. Well played, Mom. Well played.)
Seeing that helped me remember the first time we had to make the rounds with our kids to shake down the neighbors.
I don’t even recall what we were selling, but I took an almost embarrassed and sheepish approach as I went to each house.
Of course, neighbors with older kids understand you are simply going through your initiation.
FAST FACT: Of the cookie dough we bought, I will eat roughly 2/3 of it raw, only stopping because I am caught in mid-act, scooping it out with my hand.
At least the stuff that they sell these days is getting better.
I remember when I was a kid playing T-ball, and we had our door-to-door fund-raiser.
And what is the best thing to have little boys go around selling? Why shampoo, of course.
My parents ended up buying this industrial sized keg of strawberry shampoo that lasted for about 11 years.
Throughout my childhood, the only thing I remember using that shampoo for was to wash the dog, because what German Shepherd DOESN’T want to smell like strawberries?
FAST FACT: It is estimated that 90 percent of a child’s exercise comes from walking house to house selling things for fund-raisers.
But, so it goes when you have kids or when you live in a neighborhood with them. It’s just part of the rent.
If it makes you feel better, use this simple formula: Add up the number of children within a two-block radius. Multiply that by 12. Set that dollar amount aside at the beginning of each year, and your wrapping paper, cookie dough and pizza kit funds will be covered.
FAST FACT: $12 is a magical number required on all school fund-raisers.
So, the next time the doorbell rings, and you see neighborhood kid with paper in hand, don’t plot your exit strategy and grab the checkbook.
Just do your duty.
And you’ll know if it’s my kids selling stuff. They’ll be the ones with their hats turned backward.