Dear Child


Dear Child,

One day when you are a parent, adult, lover, employee, or boss you will discover how much disrespect hurts. With the power of love comes the power of respect through empathy. Empathy is the ability to understand and be sensitive to the feelings and thoughts of others.

When you are a parent sometimes, you are the child.

When you are a teacher sometimes, you are the student.

When you are a doctor or nurse sometimes, you are the patient.

When you are the business owner sometimes, you are the customer.

When you are the writer sometimes, you are the reader.

When you are the politician sometimes, you are the taxpayer.

When you are the General of the Army sometimes, you are the Enlisted Soldier.

When you are the actor sometimes, you are the audience.

What does all this mean to you? Simply, it means that through love empathy is born. Empathy is the key to your success. Throughout life, you may be one, many or none of the above titles; whatever you do, do it with love. Have empathy for others. Never forget that you and everyone else are special. You are one of a kind, through passion and creation you were born to this world. You are a collection of your experiences, if they are bad or good they make you whole. Never judge others for who they have or have not become. Give love and have empathy for others. Do not treat people with disrespect for their lack of wisdom or title in life. Pass on your many talents, joys, and wisdom with people around you, but always be true to you.

Love Always,


Daddy is a seismographer

It was black Friday, Vern and her father drove to the King of Prussia mall in Prussia, Pennsylvania. After making the way around the first floor of the mall, the two had lunch. Vern’s father was tired of shopping. “Vern, can we go home now?”

“Daddy, this is the best shopping day of the year.  I’m not finished.”

“What’s all this stuff you’re buying?”


“What kind of things?”

“Just some things.”

“Sweetheart, who are you buying that stuff for?”

“Fine daddy, all this stuff is for me. I’m going around buying things for me. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well, yeah, I kind of do. My feet feel like I’ve been in a twelve-mile road march with a ruck sack. I want to go home, take off my pants, drink a beer and watch television.”

“Daddy, I always take care of you. After everything happened, I stopped taking care of me. I am ready to start treating myself. This day is mine, so you can sit over here on this bench. It has a great view of the first floor and second floor.  I only need to go in one more store.”

“Ok, ok, I get it.” Vern’s father sat on the cross walk on the wooden bench. “Hurry up, I’ll wait right here.”

“Fine, don’t get adventurous, just stay there.”

“With feet like mine, I’m not going anywhere.”

Vern walked off in the direction of the nearest department store. Daddy sat on the bench playing a shooting game on his cell phone. He started getting agitated, because whenever someone walked in front of him the floor would shake. The shaking was strong enough to lose aim and cause him to lose the game. He kept attempting to play the game over and over again, but the vibrations were getting worse with the growing crowds. Frustrated he stopped playing the game.  Searching on his phone, he found an application called seismograph. He wondered for a moment if he could actually measure the vibrations of the floor of the people walking by.  He downloaded the application and began to use it.

Vern,toting two large shopping bags, walked towards her father. She could see her father was up to no good.  He was sitting on the same bench, but when large groups of people would walk by, he would start chuckling while looking at his phone.

“Daddy, what in good nations are you doing?”


“Let me rephrase that; what are you doing with your phone?”

“I’m using my seismograph when people walking by. Watch, it’s funny.”

“Daddy, that’s so rude! Put that thing away. People are going to think you’re making fun of them.”

“I kind of am.”

“Daddy, you cannot go around measuring the vibrations created by people.”

“Who said?”

“I do. Seismographs are to measure seismic waves of earthquakes. You’re being rude.”

“But it’s not fair to me when people stomping, running and giggling by are messing up my video game. I lost a lot of points here.”

“Fine, old man let’s go home.”

“I’ll go home, but I’m not an old man. I’m a warrior.”

“Really, I think today you are more a seismographer than a warrior.”

Thank You for the Liebster Blog award!

My heart goes to Scriptor Obscura for nominating me for the Liebster Blog Award.

Scriptor Obscura a poet and literary creator blessed me with the nomination for the Liebster Blog Award.  Thanks to all of you for taking the time and reading my works.  I am so grateful to have my stories honored with the Liebster Blog Award.  It was such a wonderful surprise to awake and find out that my creative stories and blog entries had been honored with such grace.  I hope to continue to entertain readers.  I will strive to enhance my blog. Thank you Scriptor Obscura for your kindness in awarding me with the Liebster Blog  Award.

Thank you!

The Liebster award is given to bloggers who have less than 200 followers, all in the spirit of fostering new connections. 

Liebster is a German word that means “dearest” or “beloved”, but it can also mean “favorite”, and the idea of the Liebster award is to bring attention to blogs with less than 200 followers. Please write a post about the award.  Then pass the award on to at least 5 (or more) bloggers.

The Rules are:

  1. Show your thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
  2. Reveal your top 5 (or more) picks for the award and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
  3. Post the award on your blog.
  4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the blogosphere – other bloggers.
  5. And, best of all – have fun and spread the karma.

I would like to nominate the following blogs







Daddy goes to Macy’s Parade

“Vern hurry up! We’re going to miss it!”

“Daddy I didn’t get up at four in the morning to start the commute to the city at five to just sit in traffic all day. I’m trying to find us a parking spot.”

“Try harder! We should’ve took the train.”

“Nope, the last thing I want to do is sit with you on the train locked in with a bunch of strangers. I can never anticipate what’s going to come out of your mouth.”

“Fine, but you should’ve not taken the damn Lincoln Tunnel.  That’s what slowed us down.”

“I know…”

“Those tourist busses and large trucks think they own the roads.  They cut off all the cars off, slow down traffic to standstill and blow that black smoke out all over the cars. They don’t even have a place to go. It’s Thanksgiving.”

“Daddy, I’m sure those big truck drivers just want to drop off their shipments and head home. Let’s be nice. It’s the holidays.”

“Nooo, it’s more.  This is my first time at the Macy’s Parade. Your mom always insisted on a traditional dinner. I’ve sat in the living room watching the parade for my entire adult life. Now your mom is peacefully resting, I’m going to the parade.”

“You deserve it daddy.”

“Damn straight. Whip the car in there.” Vern’s father pointed to a parking garage near Times Square.

“Got it” Vern took a sharp turn to the right. She got out of the car and handed her keys to the attendant. She grabbed for the backpack, her coat, hat, scarf and bottle of water out of the backseat of the car. “Let’s go daddy. We’ve got a bit of a walk.”

Vern’s father was coming out of the garage bathroom. “Coming sweetheart!” Vern’s father was smiling. He was beaming with the cheer of a child. Then on the bottom of his shoe was a five-inch piece of toilet paper. Vern did not want to ruin the mood for her father so she lightly stepped on it so it would come off her father’s shoe. The two of them started walking West on 52nd Street to Broadway. The gusty winds were freezing. Vern stopped for a moment. She wrapped the scarf around herself and one around her father. “Vern, I’m a warrior.  I don’t need this crap.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Then let’s step it up. It’s after eight. I want to see the entire parade.”

“Fine, I got it”

They continued to make their way towards 34th Street, front and center of Macy’s. Closed to traffic the streets were full of crowds of people walking towards the parade.  At the corner of 36th and Broadway, a police officer was turning away crowds. Vern’s father approached the officer. “What do you mean we can’t go any further?”

The officer stood alongside of a group of other police officers. There was a police truck handing out coffee and bottled water to the officers. “You need a V.I.P. pass to go any further.”

“I’m a war veteran. Is that V.I.P. enough for you?”

“Not my rules.  I can’t let you pass unless you have a V.I.P. ticket.”

“Ok, ok, where can I buy one?”

“You don’t. Macy’s mailed them out. If you didn’t get one, I can’t let you pass.” At this, time another officer came up to join the conversation.

“Daddy, let’s go. The parade starts at Central Park and goes all the way to Times Square. We still have plenty of time to find a spot.”

“Ok Vern”

Vern and her father worn out by the long drive, long traffic waits to get into the city, search for the parking spot and tiring walk, started walking back towards Times Square. They stopped on the corner on Broadway and 40th Street. “I can hear it coming Vern.”

The band music was echoing off the buildings. Her father was excited.  He stood at the corner watching the parade with amazement. The crowds on the sidewalks were growing. People were pushing against Vern and her father, but the chilly winds, crying children and pushy people could not ruin the joy that came to Vern and her father. After the parade, they began to walk towards the parking garage.

“Vern, thank you, after your mom passed, I didn’t think I would ever be a happy man.  This is one of the greatest days of my life, but…”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that… I want to see if I could go one more place before we leave the city.”


The two were in Times Square when her father stopped at what appeared to be a restaurant with thick tinted windows. Her father opened the door. Vern stepped in. A hostess wearing stiletto heels and bikini welcomed them. Vern grabbed her father’s arm. “I’m sorry. We’re in the wrong place.”

“Vern, I’m hungry.  It’s almost one o’clock. I want to eat.”

“We are going to eat, but not here.”

“Come on Vern. They serve food.”

“Not the kind I want. This is a bikini dance place.”

“You have to imagine it as entertainment. What could be more beautiful than a girl like that dancing on stage while we eat a steak?”

“You’re pushing it old man…” Vern gave him the evil eye and pulled him out the door.

“Can’t blame a warrior for trying.”

Daddy’s Jeans

Vern’s father was upstairs getting ready for bowling.  He was busy tossing things out of his dresser onto the floor.  He shouted, “Vern where’s my blasted jeans?!”

“Daddy, they’re in your dresser.  They are right where I always put them.”

“No, Vern!  They’re not here.”

“Yes, they are.  Keep looking.”

“Damn it Vern!  The only jeans in my drawers are not mine.  Mine had a stain on the right thigh.”

Vern went to her father’s room.  He was standing in his robe with black dress socks.  “Daddy those jeans on the floor are yours.”

“If they are mine; where’s the stain?”

“There was no stain.  It was dirt.  I washed them.”

“There is no way in hell these jeans are mine.  They don’t even go to my thighs.  I’ve been wearing the same size of jeans my whole life.”

“Let’s face the facts.  You’ve gained weight.”

“I’m a warrior.  I don’t gain weight.  You lost my pants and  you don’t want to admit it.”

“Daddy, I’m going to prove to you that those jeans are yours.”  Vern picked up the pants.  She looked for the washing tag.  Underneath it in permanent black marker was F5555.  She showed the writing to her father. “There you go.  It’s the first letter of your last name followed by your last four of your social security number.”

“There not mine.”

“Yes, they are.  You even wrote your identification number in them.”

“Ok, so if those jeans are mine you’ve ruined a perfectly good pair of jeans.”

“How’s that?”

“You shrank them.  You made them so small they won’t cover the front door or back door.  Damn things don’t even go up my legs.”

“Don’t get your underwear in a wad old man.”

“I’m not old.  I’m a war veteran and I don’t wear underwear!”

“Fine, after work I’ll go to the store and buy you some bigger jeans.”

“I don’t want bigger jeans.  I want my jeans.”

“Daddy, the truth is your special diet of beer and chips, followed by an excruciating workout of video games are causing you to gain weight.  If you just went for a walk with me and lay off some of those chips you’ll be back in your favorite jeans in no time.”

“Vern, I don’t get.  I don’t believe I’ve gained weight.  I think you are just lying to me.”

“Daddy, the jeans are yours.  The jeans don’t lie.”

Whatcha doing? Thanksgiving

“Whatcha doing?”


“But you never exercise”

“Yeah, but Thanksgiving is this week, duh…”

“So, how’s exercise going to help?”

“I’m making room for lots of food.”

“That’s stupid.

“Noooo, It’s smart. When everyone else is puffy and full with food, I’ll be looking good.”


“Yeah, I’m gonna exercise for the next three days. I’ll take little breaks, but never stop. Then on Thanksgiving I can rest.”

“Is this your list of thanks?”

“Noooo, it’s a list of food I’m gonna eat.”

“My question to you is:  What would the Pilgrims do?”

“How would I know?”

“Do you know the Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria and Mayflower?”

“No, I drive a Ford.”

“They’re not cars.  Ok, let me ask you: How did the Pilgrims celebrate Thanksgiving?.”

“I don’t know!  I was not invited.  I’m spending it here with my family.”

“Fine,  what do you think about Plymouth Rock?”

“I don’t like rock. I like country music.”

“That’s not what I asked. Whatever…”

“Shut up and hand me that metal weight ball.”

“Kettle ball?”

“Nooo, I don’t need a kettle.  I’m not cooking.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupider!  You keep talking about Plymouth Rock, Pilgrims, Pinta, Nina, Santa Maria, and stuff like that.  Thanksgiving is in three days.  Focus!  I need to exercise!”

“That’s not what Thanksgiving is about.  It’s not about seeing how much one can eat.”

“Oooohhh, I get it… You are preparing for Black Friday.”

“Whatever, I give up.”

The movie going experience

The movies are a great place for enjoyment. At the beginning of most movies are instructional advertisements like: no talking, cell phones off, no texting, and pick up your trash. The instructional advertisements give helpful tips so the entire view audience can enjoy the movie going experience. Well, I think they have forgotten a very important tip indeed, no pissing in your seat.

Last night, the movie theater was packed for the sell out showing of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 1.   Arm to arm the audience sat in the dark swept up into the drama of Bella, Edward and Jacob. The movie is a little over halfway through the plot when a spoiler in the theater happens. Someone in the theater wets his or her pants, not only can you smell it but for a slight moment you can hear the urine pour down the floor. The heat from the body temperature of a sardine packed movie theater, combined with someone’s mishap really put a dent in the movie going experience. Life is not perfect, so movie going experiences sometimes will not be either. The victim here was not only the viewing audience, but could have been a child. Perhaps it was a child with a tiny little bladder that could not hold it any longer. The majority of the audience was not crazed teenagers; instead, they were children under the age of nine. I felt really bad for these small children that were being hushed, pulled and dragged into the theater by their mothers. The movie is great but my perception is that it is not really intended for small children.

The fact of the matter is if the pissing occurred from an adult with incontinence, fan crazed teenager or a potty training child I am certainly sure it was purely accidental. The smell of the urine kind of ruined the movie going experience for some. In the future, it would be nice to perhaps add that note to any new instructional advertisements at the beginning movies asking people to leave the theater to use the bathroom maybe it could save the embarrassment of a child or anyone else for that matter.

Today, I am a boob

Today I reposted an old story. The reason is simple; I feel like a boob. Here I am like a tit just hanging around. I’m being pulled and dragged down like an old wrinkled one. I have come to writer’s block. I hope I get my funny back soon. Kodos to all the readers out there. I hope I get my groove back soon

Allergic to Peanus

“Whatcha doing?”

Fay  shakes her head no, but says nothing.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I cun’d ulk”


“Peanus, I’m allergi du peanus.”  A small amount of drool slides down the corner of her mouth.

“Wooo, TMI!” Then he points to the drool that has escaped her mouth.

“Nooo, I cun’d pronunciae cuz my tun has bisers. You’re sooo ruuue! It maes me drool.”  Fay uses her sleeve to wipe the drool off.


She opens her mouth to show the blisters on her tongue to Max.

“Oooh, I get it. You’re not acting stupid.  You just can’t talk because you have blisters. Ok. Why did you get the blisters?”


Max looks at her with a very confused face. “Stop saying that word.  That’s bad!”

“Nooo, peanus nu penis!”

Frustrated, she gets up and walks to the freezer.  She pulls out the Jamoca Fudge ice cream Max had brought over.  Scooping out a spoon full she looks closely. “Heeereee” She shows the small morsels left.


“Yeees, I’m allergi du peanus.”

“Then why’d you eat the ice cream?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Cuz I liked id a waat.”