El Gringoqueño

All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.

Page 31 of 51

Jesus: Christmas Really Shouldn’t Be About Me

Host: We got this note from J a bit ago and have been waiting in anticipation for the Christmas season to figure out just what he’s saying. Christmas not about Christ?! How can that be. He’s the man though, so we figured we’d give him an opportunity to explain.

Welcome back, Jesus. I think we’re set here to beat the ratings from the last show.

Jesus: Cool, I’m glad to help.

Host: Okay, so you notice the decorations in the studio, right?

Jesus: Oh yeah, sure. I love it – the Santa Claus’s, the reindeer, the elves, garland, wreaths. I like the tree and presents too. Very festive.

Host: Doesn’t it bother you a bit, though? I mean, it is called Christ-mas. Doesn’t it bother you how secular it’s all become?

Jesus: I don’t think it’s secular at all. It’s actually all about giving and charity. Maybe sometimes we get carried away with buying stuff, but I’ll give you all points for getting close to the mark.

Host: So you don’t mind the secular giving aspect. How come though, you don’t like the Christ part?

Jesus: It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s kinda more along the lines of I’m a little bit embarrassed by the whole homage. Let me ask you something. My disciples called me Rabbi. What does rabbi mean in English?

Host: Anyone out there? You there in the middle.

Eli: Hi, my name is Eli. Rabbi means "teacher."

Jesus: Yeah, that’s it. They used to call me teacher. I loved teaching. A teacher is primarily what I am. Let me ask another question: if a student wishes to honor his teacher, how should he go about it?

Host: An apple? Clean the blackboard? Stay after class and organize books… do extra credit?

Jesus: Um, I think that’s probably called a sucking-up.

No, I’m after something simpler. Think about your teachers. Didn’t you kinda take them for granted? But doesn’t what they taught you stick with you to this day? Sure, a thank you is nice, but a teacher isn’t really doing it for the thanks. Look at the thanks I got, for Christ’s sake!

No, a teacher is happiest when his students fly, when he disappears into the wall, and his students take to the field and use that knowledge. A teacher takes the most joy in inspiring his students. A teacher loves his students. A teacher cares about what he is teaching. What he teaches is important. If the student thinks it’s important too… well, that’s all that’s required.

A student honors his teacher by following his teachings. A student that cares about the subject and seeks to improve and continue to learn is worth more than all the "Teacher of the Year" awards in the world. It’s even better than a fat salary.

So, Christmas is nice and all, but it’s sort of the shiny apple placed on my desk as you leave the classroom. I like apples, don’t get me wrong. I’ll eat the apple, but I’d prefer it if you would take my lesson home and eat it up instead.

So, Christmas? I like it. It’s a nice holiday, but I was born in September.

Keep up your good works. Keep and honor your brothers and sisters.

Happy Holidays!

Five Tips for Parents

Parenting is like war, in fact it’s so much like war, I learned everything I needed to learn from Gen George S. Patton. Here are my tips for raising successful well adjusted children (which mine are, thank you very much).

  1. "Never fight a battle when nothing is gained by winning." and "Failure to adhere to verbal promises will destroy your credibility." This means if you issue a decree or threat of punishment or reward carry through with it. If a child misbehaves, take action and stick to it. If you promise a reward, make it happen. You’re tired? Tough. The opposite is also true. Don’t make empty threats or empty promises. If a battle is not worth fighting, don’t fight it, and don’t rattle your saber. Children will figure out when you are tired, your supply lines thin, and your morale low, and then it’s nothing but work work work. When Daddy or Mommy say something, the kids had better well know you mean it.

    "Child, if you do not put your clothes away, you will not go to Grandma’s house."

    What will you do if the child does not put his/her clothes away? Are you actually suggesting that you will in fact not go to dinner at your mother’s or mother-in-law’s house? Just don’t fight this battle. Don’t make a threat when you have no intention of ruining the entire family’s night out over it. I see parents make this mistake all the time. First couple of times the kid dutifully picks up, but he quickly figures out he can leave his clothes on the floor and still go out with the family.

    Now what do you do? You’ve got to escalate the battle. Sounds like work to me. No, the best war is the war not fought. Just ask GWB.

    Make it easy on yourself and the kid. "Child, you have a choice. You can pick up your clothes now or when we get home. Which shall it be?" No threat, no reward. Just the way things are.

  2. "You must be able to do everything your soldiers do, and you must do it better than any of them." Be more capable than they are. Be that person they need you to be. If you are a soldier leading others into battle, you must be more physically fit, smarter, better trained, with more discipline, and more drive. If you are a leader of soldiers, you must be the BEST solder. Same thing with your kids. If you expect them to be honest, trustworthy, faithful people, YOU must be the best of those things. You must exceed the standard. If they can’t look up to you, to whom can they look?

    I don’t know where we’ve gotten this from as a collective society that we can just live our lives for ourselves and ignore others, as if somehow we all live in our own little personal bubbles. You MUST always think of the other. If I let myself be unfaithful to my wife, I’m not just doing something that makes ME feel good (and after all if it feels good, how can it be wrong?). I’m destroying the notion that ANYONE can be faithful, that love has even a shred of value. If you are not honest, how can you expect your children to be so? If you decry the state of society for its selfishness, smallness, and lack of civility while you grab and scrape and hoard for yourself, who do you think your children will become? And don’t just emulate this great parent; be this great parent.

    From personal experience, it’s a lot more fun to be this parent too.

  3. "Do not fear failure." And "Go forward." This means you must move on. Don’t let your children dwell too long on their failures. If they need a time out, give it to them, and move on. What lesson did they learn? Use that lesson to further develop them. I would say this also works well by your own example. Admit your own failures. Ask for forgiveness when you screw up, show that you know how to pick yourself up and do better. If they see you don’t fear failure, they won’t either. Fear of failure is the big bogey man and needs to have his ass kicked and kicked hard.

    Jack Welch likes to say, "Hit ’em then hug ’em." Of course the "hit" is rhetorical. If you need to punish, do so, but then give ’em a big hug, let them know that their failure isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s an opportunity for improvement.

  4. "The more senior the officer, the more time he has to go to the front." As a parent, it’s your duty to engage your children. You must share with them the reality of things. Get up in their faces. Get in their business. Engage. Once you have abstracted yourself from your children and hide behind a desk far far away, you’ve lost the campaign, my friend. Spending time with them on the front lines, will show them that you care about them. With that closeness comes an esprit de corps that will enable your family squad to take on any challenge.

    This is especially important once kids grow into teens and the "cool" factor starts to invade. Parents invariably become "uncool." Fear not the uncool. Embrace it and get in there. Your kids will appreciate your presence in the end. As a captain in the Army, I used to hang with my troops. I’m sure I put a crimp in their style, but you know what, I knew what problems they had, what they were into, and was able to deal with it. They respected me because they knew I really cared about them. I’m not perfect, but my kids know that I care about them, and am willing to get in the foxhole and be shot at with them.

  5. "Every leader must have that authority to match his responsibility." Your children are leaders. Give them an authority commensurate to their responsibility. Guide them, don’t micromanage them. Set them free, but don’t abandon them either. Let them do the things for themselves that they should and can do. Do for them that which they cannot.

    Delegate choices to them. Which pair of shoes do you like better, this one, or this one? What would you like to eat for lunch, a sandwich or roasted chicken? If they are not accustomed to having authority to make choices, how do you expect them to make the right ones in a difficult moment under fire?

There you have it folks. Bet you didn’t think Patton had any good advice for parents, did you? Lest you think that any method inspired by Patton must be cold, hard, and cruel, I add this: We have never raised our hands to our children. We have never used any form of corporal punishment and have a strict policy against it. We have been consistent, firm, and present and the rest has taken care of itself.

La Paleta

We visited the inmates last night and brought with us an assortment of treats to share. Our group threw the young men a little Halloween party with chips, dip, soda, candy and a cake for good measure. We played a little party game, one of an audience participation charade-like sort and then shared some food.

I poured drinks and wiped spills and when it came time to leave, I looked to the bowl for a piece of candy – for the road, I thought. There was none to be found.

"Ay, no hay paleta," I remarked. One of the younger kids thrust his hand into his pocket and produced a lolipop.

"You can have this one," he said handing it to me.

"No, no, you keep it. I only wanted one if there was extra. Está bien, quedate con ella."

And smiling, he insisted, "No, it’s fine, I have another one in my pocket."

Jesus and Santa Claus Walk into a Bar

Host (talking over applause): Welcome back to our show.  Jesus popped in just a few minutes ago, so we dropped everything and decided to give him some air time. He seems hot to talk to us, so let’s hear what he has to say.

Jesus: Dude! Long time no see. How’s it been going?

Host: It’s been going okay. We’ve been fielding a lot, and I mean a ton, of questions about belief, faith, do you exist, etc. Are you some sort of CGI character or a slick video edit?

J: Hmmm, I could be, but you know it really doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter at all.

H: Okay, as always, you’ve got our attention. (audience buzzes with concern, whispers).

J: I’ll explain, don’t worry. Let me give you a heads up with what I’ve been thinking about for the past couple of months. And I’ll list them.

  1. How is believing in Santa Claus any different from believing in me?
  2. Does God answer prayers?

It’s kinda daunting when I put it like that, huh? I know, I know. You people sometimes think you’ve got me. Look, Jesus is like Santa Claus. I get it. I really do.

There are millions and millions of words written about why prayer doesn’t work, why miracles don’t happen, and why the breath of the universe has abandoned you on this insignificant blue world in the middle of nowhere.

I know it. I really do.

So, let me ask someone in the audience. Why am I different from Santa Claus?

Man (man gingerly raises hand): Hi, my name’s John, and you are different from Santa Claus because I can actually see you sitting there and you have saved me.

J: It’s nice to be recognized, John, but how do you know I’m me? I could just be a guy in flip flops in off the street from the local soup kitchen looking for some audience swag. How do you know who I am?

Man: You have a photo ID?

J: Nope. Let me help you guys out. You don’t. You won’t know it’s me. You can’t know it’s me. And you know what? It’s all right. Nobody expects you to. The short answer to the question: Why am I different from Santa Claus, is I’m not. We’re no different.

Host (palpable silence from the audience): Um, we’ve done enough of these to know you’ve got something up your sleeve… what is it, Jesus? Santa Claus doesn’t exist. How can you be no different from that?

Jesus: I’m just not. Look, let’s wade right into it, into that place you all fear to go. When we listen to those that would try to derail your faith, or explain away their own by saying that prayer doesn’t work, that the things for which you hope don’t come true, that miracles don’t happen, you will notice a pattern in their logic.

Want to know what it is?

H: YES YES YES… tell, us Lord!

J: Whoa, fella. It’s not that special. The straw man here is that everybody atheists and believers alike are looking for magic. You’re both looking at the same sweat stain of the Virgin Mary or weeping crucifix and saying alternatingly, ‘It’s proof that God exists’ or ‘It’s a hoax therefore God doesn’t exist’, and then there’re the fish eyes. Yikes, the depths to which you will all sink just to hold onto plausible deniability.

You’re all missing the point.

There is no magic. There are only knowns and unknowns, laws of the physical universe that you understand and those that you don’t. There is no Santa Claus. There is no God. Once you can throw out those two things, you can start to see the truth, see past the hoax, clear the fog and see for miles and miles and miles.

Once your mind is cleared from looking for me in the wrong places, you will be truly free. Miracles happen, if you look closely enough. Divinity is all around, in the smallest places, in the greatest places. Someday I promise you that spinal cords will be repaired. Someday I promise you that you will be able to grow back limbs, cure the blind the deaf. In fact, you’re already light years beyond where we were 2000 years ago.

It’s a miracle I tell you.

You have cars, efficient agriculture, civilized society (although you still have a ways to go), airplanes, space travel… the list goes on and on. I mean – get this – you people are actually considering plans to nudge asteroids on probable courses with your planet! It totally blows my mind. Do you know what a miracle that would be, and you’re starting to think about it!

Yeah, sure God doesn’t answer prayers, like Emeril, "BAM!" you’ve got new car. Congratulations. If you want that, get your ass to the Price is Right.

No, prayer, is more of a dream. If you dream something hard enough, you’ll get off your ass and make it happen, or talking about it will inspire someone else to do something. Or if you’re just around the hole enough, one day you’ll sink a hole in one.

Magic is either nowhere or everywhere. I know I just said magic doesn’t exist, but I had to kill it before I brought it back to life (little technique I like to use). Is it magic when a baby is born, when a flower blooms, when a cloud bursts? Just because you understand how something works, doesn’t mean that it is not special or mysterious. If you understand absolutely everything about a thing… you understand it so well that you find yourself contemptuous of it, take a step back and look with new eyes.

So here we are full circle. I wager no one in the audience would say they believe in Santa Claus. 

Except me.  I believe in Santa Claus.  I see him all the time in the mall. I see a ton of Santa Clauses, men who spend months perfecting their beards, honing their Santa Claus skills just to bring some joy to children at Christmas time. You adults know perfectly well where the presents come from, right? You’ve abandoned your simplistic view of Santa Claus, the guy with the flying reindeer who shoots up and down chimneys on Christmas Eve.  Why won’t you let your belief grow with your minds?  Santa Claus is alive and well.  I swear.  I know him.

Santa Claus is everywhere and he’s spreading. He started out as just a good man or a bunch of good men, they were real people who grew into legends who inspired others who then took that spirit, drank it in, imbibed it and became him.

And he’s here, alive in this room with us today. He died, but he’s here.  He came back.  And his love is everlasting.

Peace my brothers and sisters.

Why Pirates Lose Their Treasure

In the car on the way to a day at the beach in Manatí, Puerto Rico, discussing pirates and lost treasure in the Caribbean:

Olaia: Why did the pirates lose their treasure?

Jaimito: Because they had holes in their pockets?

Nature vs Nurture

Today, I had a frustrating moment with Jaimito. The frustrating moment is one that I live repeatedly in other contexts in Puerto Rico. It is a frustration that I attribute to cultural differences and not some ingrained natural biology.

It seems I was wrong, maybe.

Jaimito came to me with a pad lock I had oiled and left on the table. Javier had reached up and decided that he would play with it. Yuck. Jaimito dutifully took it away from his little brother and brought it to me.

"Daddy, Javier had this."

"Oh, thank you, Jaimito. Could you put it back where he can’t reach it?"

"Yes, Daddy."

What a sweet little boy, Jaimito is.

About five minutes later, I got up from my desk and went to wipe down the lock and put it back on our gate. "Jaimito, where is the lock?" He immediately directed me to his toy box. Then reconsidered and pointed me in other direction. When it wasn’t there, he took me to our bedroom. It wasn’t there.

"Maybe it’s under your bed?" Like, Daddy, let’s go through the standard places to look when something is lost.

"Jaimito, you just had it, like five minutes ago. What did you do with it after you left the room? Remember, you said that Javier had it?"

"Um, I… uh, maybe it’s over here," and he dashed off again.

I was getting frustrated. "Jaimito, the lock is the heavy metal thing that you had in your hands five minutes ago that Javier had grabbed. What did you do with it? Why can’t you tell me what you did with it? Did you forget?"

"I don’t know," he said beginning to cry.

And so it spiraled downward from there. Jaimito bawling, me, if not yelling, being downright grouchy for the lack of a simple direct answer as to what happened to the damn lock.

"Jaimito, the lock is the thing that goes on the gate, that keeps it closed."

And through tear filled eyes, he exclaimed, "Oh, that," and brought it to me.

I was dumbfounded, irritated, and befuddled. It dawned on me, this has happened more times in Puerto Rico than I care to mention. My son, has the manner of indirectness, of not disappointing, of not saying no, not questioning authority, not complaining, not back-talking, just making it happen. My father asked me for something, he seemed to say, and I shall fetch it, even if I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

I explained to him, that if he didn’t understand something, he should ask for clarification. I’m not so big and scary that he couldn’t have asked, what’s a lock. He nodded while wiping his tears.

Maybe I am scary.

"Jaimito," I told him, "just say you don’t know what I’m talking about and ask me to give you more information. There’s nothing wrong with asking me a question. Don’t be afraid to ask questions."

"Okay, Daddy." And I gave him a hug.

In Puerto Rico, when asking for directions, many an American can recount with some frustration at never being given a straight answer.

Is it close?

Yes yes, very close.

Is it far?

Ma’am, do you wish it to be far? Well, yes then it is far.

Do you know the area?

Yes, of course, I know a shortcut.

How much is it going to cost?

Not much. It is cheap I assure you.

Is it any good?

Yes, best quality.

What seems like dishonesty, hides a profound deep truth about Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans of the island. They don’t like delivering bad news to your face, or rather they can’t bear to be the bearers of it. And if humanly possible, they won’t be. They will transfer your phone call until you give up. They will give pathologically optimistic estimates.  They will smile as they tell you what you want to hear.

They will work tirelessly in a futile quest all for you, so that you are not disappointed so that you are not unhappy. They earn their reputation for great hospitality, friendliness, and helpfulness, but sometimes, a well-placed question for clarification or a simple "no, I don’t know where such and such is" goes a long way to being helpful, at least to this Gringo’s sensibilities.

So after all of that, the American asks, "Why didn’t you just tell me it was going to take this long in the first place? I could have made other plans."

The Puerto Rican, shrugs, smiles, and undaunted replies, "Ahorita (in a little bit)."

My Thoughts on Bottom Posting

Well, they (my thoughts) are mostly unprintable, but I will strongly express my position on bottom posting.

It sucks.

But first, a bit of history:

The top posting, bottom posting debate has been mostly won by the bottom posting folks, that is, when replying to an email, your response should go after the quoted portion of the original email.

That’s caca – big stinky pungent steaming caca.

First, if the email was lengthy, you must scroll for ages to even get to your response. Second, the assertion that bottom posting "conserves" the flow of the conversation and is more "right" is also caca. The flow of the conversation is contained in your threaded mail reader. You do use a threaded mail reader, right? The threaded mail reader will preserve the flow of the conversation just fine, thank you, without all the fuss and muss of quoted portions above and below and all around.

My reasons for top posting (in email… doing so in Usenet will get you keel-hauled) is that my response is the most relevant portion of the email. My response is the reason I am sending said email. If the recipient is too lazy to look at his last email to discern to what I am replying, I have included a snippet of relevant text after my important response for reference’s sake. It is just a little reminder, not the important portion of the email. Bottom posters just don’t seem to get this, little bottom feeders that they are.

I get it, I really do. You are so humble, so meek, so respectful in your correspondence that your pathetic little response must be relegated to the tail end of the email. You suck. I don’t want to do business with you. I would rather do business with someone who has the balls to believe his words mean something and places them at the top of the email accordingly.

Got it?

I understand that this is a sensitive topic for many programmers and Open Source developers and furthermore that the convention of "bottom posting" or "bending over and taking up the rear" has won the day. I understand that top posting is frowned upon in public discussion forums. I disagree of course. Again, your Usenet reader is threaded, right? If you need to bottom post, I think you are an idiot, but I am outnumbered, so I acquiesce. You shall, however, not have the pleasure of enforcing upon me your flagrant disregard for common sense and decency by encroaching upon my personal email habits.

In my email I will top post. I will defend my top posting. I will throw down with anyone that wants to start a flame war on the subject.

I am prepared to defend myself.

Iran president bans usage of foreign words – Mideast/N. Africa – MSNBC.com

Iran president bans usage of foreign words – Mideast/N. Africa – MSNBC.com

Haha, I almost fell out of my chair laughing when I read this hysterical sky is falling headline. Oh, look at those fascists Iranians. They are xenophobic. They are trying to ban language. This is big. Look how much better we — err, um.

Of course, the comical irony of this "look how whacked they are" story, is that we are trying to do the same thing in the US. Now, I will grant, it is a question of degrees, but I think most Americans support a ban on the use of Spanish in the US. They know it’s probably an impossible task, but we want to make it as hard as possible for those dirty immigrants who cheapen our country as we continue our spiral into isolation.

Make them fill out forms in English. Make the driver test in English. Take away bi-lingual requirements for government. Ban informal or formal use of Spanish within government offices and schools (remember the kid who got suspended for speaking Spanish with a friend at school?).

What the hell are you people afraid of?

Let me answer that for you: the same thing as the Iranians, people who are different from you.

We’re really not so different. Maybe that should be the basis of our next diplomatic talks. Well, Mr. Ahmadinejad, let’s focus on our common ground. One thing we share is our fear of foreigners. Let’s start there, shall we?

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2026 El Gringoqueño

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑