The most precious gift...

                       The middle McMonkey joined the ranks of teen this week. Not wanting to be overwhelmed by expectations, he would get mad at me the last few days before his birthday, as I reminded him " 4 days and a wake-up", the numerical designator changing as the day grew closer...

                             Number two son is much different than his simian siblings; he knows what he wants, knows what he likes, and is not shy at all about informing us of brand, color, size, make or model. Sadly, the Wonderful Wife and I will often find ourselves staring at an Internet order page with a specific object he has fixated on. We have battled about that approach more often than I would like to admit, as both his mom and me struggled to teach him the meaning of " gift"; that it is not an order form to be filled exactly, but a physical representation of a sentiment...

                                         The funny thing is, if I handed him any present, he would smile graciously,  say thank you and use it, whatever it was, as we watched. He is very sentimental and grateful for the thought, when receiving a gift; but after a while, he will go back to something that he likes. It took quite a while for me to realize that this newly minted thirteen year old is not demanding, just answering honestly exactly what he really desires. How often as adults, have we been completely frustrated and frazzled by a relative or spouse that only answers with a " I don't want anything " or " I have no idea", when responding to our question?

                                    He is easy to shop for, I'll give him that...

                              Of course, his hearts desire was back ordered, so when he opened the other small presents setting before him, we smiled a bit sadly while telling him it was on its way. 

                             He was happy in a subdued way. " it was a great day. I love you dad", he said when I hugged him good night.

                                         Skip back about two weeks before...

                                    The eldest McMonkey is the exact opposite. He will bumble around, when asked for ideas for a gift, scratch his head, forget the question and then immerse himself in a video game; suggestions from him are like pulling teeth...

                                  The experience of shopping for him makes me almost wish he would pop an Internet page and a defined object in front of us.

                                                                   almost....

                      At an absolute loss of ideas, I wondered what he would really, really want...

                                     I searched, checking specs, trying to find the perfect set up, in a perfect gift, that was in an acceptable enough price range. It took days of reading reviews, comparing configurations, but finally, I had it set...

                                    When the Wonderful Wife asked me the next time if I had any ideas, I pulled up a screenshot with all ordering info readily viewable. Back and forth we bounced off each other the pros and cons, trying to decide...

                                     On the oldest's birthday, he opened a few small gifts, happily. When he opened the main package, he screamed in complete surprise, like he'd won a million dollars in the lottery. He had no expectations and was completed blown away...

                                    

                                                 So who had the best gift?

                           

                         Costs were nearly identical, as were the number of presents.

                               Before you answer, let's jump back three weeks or so...

                                         

                          Father's Day was coming and my little apelets were nowhere to be found. On my way to the upstairs bathroom, I saw one of them looking very emotional, sitting at his desk, with the lamp illuminating the paper he was writing on. Concerned, I went to walk in, and asked him if he was alright. He coughed, said " Sure dad", then gently closed his bedroom door...

                                      Not sure how to react, I grabbed a couple comic books and went into the bathroom. Mission eventually completed, I looked across the hallway as I exited the bathroom, just in time to see my son, still a bit emotional, walking past me, giving me a playful nudge and going downstairs....

                                                 Perplexed a bit, I let it go.

                               On Father's Day, no big presents were offered. My Wonderful Wife told me, as she looked around the table at my three sons, that this year everyone wrote what I meant to them, from the heart. As she spoke, I saw three sets of pupils, nervous, emotional and vulnerable, uncomfortably meeting and evading my eyes...

                                I began reading cards with many paragraphs, explaining how and why each of these precious McMonkeys loved me. I struggled to hold back tears as I read aloud what they had written; they struggled to hold back tears as they heard the words they wrote.

                              I didn't do well holding emotions back, and neither did they.

                                 It was the same with the words from my Wonderful Wife...

                                              So, of the three, who had the best gift?

                                              Not the one who got exactly what he wanted...

                                   Not the one who received what he never thought he would get...

                                              But the guy who got the most precious gift, the only gift any of us really needs, is the one who was shown in no uncertain terms, exactly how much he was loved, and by whom...

                                            I think it's that way with God, too...

                              We think we will be happiest if we're given exactly what we want, a fulfilled list of defined desires, but we usually end up finding that when we get exactly that, something inexplicably is missing.

                    Sometimes we look at our lives, and are completely amazed and blessed, seeing everything God graced us with, far beyond all our hope and exceeding our imagination... We mistakenly think that is His greatest gift, His greatest demonstration...

                                                  Until we hear His Word...

                              When we Hear His Word, just like how I heard my Wonderful Wife's and children's, deep and personal and undeniable, explaining how much He truly loves and adores us...

                             When we hear that, we know that is where every other gift comes from...

                                             

                                            

                                      

Before, after and in-between...

                                  The truth is, I don't really know much about being a dad...

                                                           I'm just faking it.

                                        That statement is certainly true, the whole " faking" thing, but it doesn't quite cover the confusions hiding behind all the coffee and donuts; it doesn't adequately address the few things that sometimes go well in a parenting style more in tune with unchoreographed Caribbean water spouts than binge watched episodes of Father Knows Best...

                                  I think I know where I'm trying to go with this, but I'm not entirely sure that is where we are actually going to end up....

                                  If you've read the blog before, you know what I'm talking about; if not, maybe a couple Excedrins might help the transition...

                                        An extra cup of coffee?... I don't know...

                             The day before Father's Day, I awoke my eldest McMonkey from a deep and well earned sleep, on the last weekend before the last days of school. 

                                                           At 6:00 am...

                                  Nick hates getting up early, but he loves his dad, so he got up with much less goading than he usually requires and with almost no threats of frozen marbles being poured under his covers. I promised hot chocolate and bacon, to motivate.

                                   Our Church has a "Men's Advance" every three months or so, a little pancake breakfast for the guys, both in and out of our congregation; a partial bribe with bacon and real maple syrup, sided with a bit of Bible and organized comradery... That's not how the flyer puts it, but I lost my copy of that, and have to wing it...

                                               A friend and mentor who organizes the breakfast section of this, asked for volunteers to man the griddle. 

                                           Of course, I volunteered my son...

                                  Like I said, I don't know much about being a dad.

                                         It was easier when they were little; a few funny noises mixed with copious amounts of potty humor, and you get the best dad trophy every single day. They forgot the "No's" pretty quickly then, the giggles and laughter seemed to follow them around like happy confetti clouds. 

                                         No pimples, no hormones, no angst...

                                   I never thought you had to raise teen boys; supply them with chips and meat and just let them run. Like dandelions, they will raise themselves...

                                          Then again, I have vast arrays of personal cautionary tales to disprove most of the brilliant ideas I'd ever thought, thruout most of my life...

                           My kids think I'm a pretty decent father and the Wonderful Wife has reviewed me much better than I deserve. I'm faking it at this stage, with a lot of whistling in the dark.

                                   An old proverb  says that it takes a village to raise a child; I think that they have that half right. I watch my kids, teens, really, and see in all of them a foundation that started when a frazzled mom made long trips with infants and toddlers to a place that gave her a few moments of peace, and a few Godly women that let her know she was going to be alright...

                               Who gave suggestions, help and support.

                         You see, I would have used crazy infants and kids as an excuse to miss Church; she used them as a reason to go. I wanted to cuddle with my complacency, not challenge myself to be better; coasting was ok with me...

                            But I saw what happens when a women loves God, loves her kids, loves her Church and becomes part of it by showing up, serving and making a few dear friends. I saw the contrast most every morning, looking at myself in the mirror as I would brush my teeth, measuring myself by uncomfortable convictions that haunted me every time my mind quieted. Never once did this amazing lady guilt me or even point out my discrepancies...

                                  She was overjoyed when I started men's studies at our Church.

                          I am so blessed to belong to a Church that supports men in their struggles to get this "Christian ", " dad" and " husband" thing right, that corrals us all together on mornings it would be much easier to sleep in. 

                               So on the day before Father's Day, I am not thanking God for a village...

                                                I am thanking Him for this Church.

                                      I am thanking Him for men and women who are worshipping Him, building each other, while at the same time putting down bricks on bridges to eternity, for feet they most likely will never see...

                                 Before we can help make the next generation better, we must insure that we, ourselves are walking rightly; we can't teach what we don't know or can't do...

                               That is what I'm working for, shooting for, and mostly faking.

                                       The best gift I can give my young men is to show them my stumbles, bumbles and bounces in trying to increase my obedience by smidgens...

                                         And walk beside them as they enter into the best struggle ever, on days they would rather sleep late...

                                         

                                    

                                  

     

Facebook, Silly Circuses, and Printed Tickets...

                                                   I want to dive into the fray...

                                 The Internet has exploded with half of its population calling for expanded gun control and the other half quoting statistics and opinions of exactly why doing just that would destroy the entire world...

                                        I fight every fiber of my being to just stand down and not alienate people I otherwise care for and respect.

                                                   I have my opinion; oh yes, I do...

                                        Throw that into a blog and let the chips fall where they may, that is how I want to react. I hear an old hippie Pastor asking me quietly, in my brain, if plastering this contrary opinion all over my corner of the Internet is worth more to me than keeping people in my life that disagree with it.

                                        Will I silence my opinion to keep them?!?

                                              I'm tempted to infer that I had no difficulty at all, in answering that question, but I struggled with it terribly, weighing my need to be " right" over all else.

                                                       I so want to be right...

                                               My answer was simple, look for something to distract me from the silly circus I printed tickets to; find something else that might actually add a tiny positive to a terribly divisionary and useless battle...

                                           I tried to find that place, but instead, I found myself in a conversation today, that troubled me to no end.

                                               An eighty year old man I know kept repeating to me that it was a " gay club" that was shot up.

                                                            I told him I knew that...

                            " But it was a gay club", he kept repeating, with a strange smile,almost as if that made what happened ok....

                                                   Hearing how those words were spoken, and all that was inferred by them, made me want to completely ignore my Pastors advice about offending people with my opinion...

                                 As I began to open my mouth, angered by the ignorance speaking before me, I understood that sometimes we must confront what we disagree with.....

                                         Then I looked deep into his eyes, and I realized that nothing I could say would change almost a century of programming...

                                                I wanted to argue anyway.

                                      I closed my eyes and took a deep breath; 

                    For a completely different reason, a day after tragic violence, 

                                                     my heart broke again...

                                             

                                                     

The Magic Kingdom...

                                      His eyes were almost hypnotized...

                         I had snuck into their room at 4:00 am and crowed like a rooster. All three of the McMonkeys awoke, perplexed and frustrated. Eventually, they all laughed, jumped out of bed and excitedly grabbed the bags they had packed the night before, for the big trip to Disneyland...

                           We pulled in on the bus about eight hours later, dragging from the stop and go merry go round of standing in lines for airports, planes and the eventual bus we just had walked off of...

                                     When we got to the Magic Kingdom, that was when I first saw that hypnotic gaze, so amazed and overwhelmed by the fairy tale world that surrounded him; he was lost for that moment in the exquisite unreality of that small section of time...

                                            Fast forward about six years...

                                 My father is talking about Orlando, a mass shooting, fifty dead and fifty three injured, as my now almost eleven year old sons mouth drops open, his eyes glaze over a bit, as he fights to understand that this really just happened.

                     An eerie kind of replay, of that day long past...

                                       It was not a movie or video game; it was tragic and real and almost unfathomable to his loving and innocent little mind...

                                        Miles away from where we had been, but not many.

                                             This was not the stuff of Disneyland...

                                 So Facebook loads up with all the people to blame, just as it did when a black church was shot up, when a Colorado movie theatre, an Army base and an east coast elementary school listed those murdered, to the press.

                               Homophobes, racists, Muslims and NRA gun nuts...

                        We have this crazy inherent need to define the ever changing enemy, in a useless attempt to pigeonhole some segment or group responsible for all of these tragedies. In hopes of illusionary control, we trade an uneasy feeling of brotherhood for any profile that fits our present fears...

                         

                                 My son will soon ask " Who are the bad guys"?!?

                                              I struggle for an honest answer.

                                    He will want a simple answer, just like all of us do, standing here today, crying for justice, want. He will want a picture, a face, a characteristic, that will fit all those who commit such atrocities...

                                                Me too, kid ; me too...

                                              I can give it to him, I think...

                                     Not one race or society has ever been free from atrocities. Jew, German, English, Native American... All the way back to Cain, the list goes...

                               No religion is free of crackpots, doing awful things in the name of a God they have no understanding of. No philosophy, exempt...

                                           Sadly, the one thing in common to all these killers is a DNA sequence called " human".

                                         I know many people of many faiths; I know deniers of God, doubters and devoted followers. 

                                      All of them shared broken hearts for every victim of these shootings.

                                         I think that's common in all our DNA, too...

                                              We are both a mess and a miracle.

                                                 So we can search for bad guys...

                                                    Or we can let that inborn spark of common decency and love, that we all share, unite us and bring us together...

                                          I can give him that picture we all want in our anger, or I can reframe it by changing my own viewing perspective, and focus on the best it has to offer, the best we all have to offer...

                                             So often, we humans find the ability; are Graced with the ability, to step over all that evil would use to separate us, and use it to unite us, in love...

                                Sometimes we screw that up big-time, and we release our worst.

                                      It feels like a crap shoot, sometimes.

                                                           But it's not...

                                                It comes down to a simple choice.

                                     We mirror the evil or we let God heal our souls, and allow Him to right our misguided instincts..

                                                        It can't be that simple...

                                                                 But it is...

                                                                     It is.

                                         

Out of time...

                             My middle McMonkey set up our PlayStation remote, yesterday...

                    As he was explaining it to me, I pressed the TV button to switch the input, but mistakenly pressed the wrong TV button, the power button to the TV...

                                                        The TV turned off.

                          He had previously instructed me three times not to press THAT button, and gave me a hopeless look of exasperation, not so quietly wondering how I could be so slow witted and technologically challenged...

                   " I thought you were an electrician, dad", he said with an irritating smile.

                              I started to explain to him about how in my day, we had no remotes; that we WERE the living remotes for the family TV set, describing the world of three channels and rabbit eared antennas that we sometimes had to take turns holding in place, to keep a strong signal...

                                        He gave me that same look I gave my father, forty or so years ago.

                                             The only difference between then and now, is that I didn't swat him beside his head, for his attitude.

                                     Ah, to have the freedoms parents had, back then...

                                                              Just kidding.

                                                                   Sort of....

                                                         At least I wish I were...

                          I tell people that your first colonoscopy is proof of being old.

                                                          I am wrong, on that count...

                                               Sometimes it transpires when you, who have always been the "techie" of the family, watch, as your wise acre twelve year old primate, breezes thru stupidly complicated set ups, with his tiny bionic like, opposable thumbs, and you just stare, mystified, trying to figure out exactly when the doctors snuck into your bedroom and labotamized that part of your brain...

                                                  Yep.  That's when it happens...

                                            Or maybe that's just when you finally notice...

                                  

                                        I am officially an anachronism, a man out of time...

                        My dad calls me into his room at least once a week, aggravated and perplexed that some how he pressed the wrong button on HIS remote, and nothing works anymore.

                                                  But he's eighty.    He's...old....

                                   

                                        I don't understand the society we live in, anymore.

                             I don't get the politicians that we have running for office, I don't understand the judges that we have in our courts, and I really don't get the media we have, that defines this unreal " reality" we are living in today...

                             I want the old days, the days of Reagan and Carter, the days of Morrow and Cronkite...

                            I don't want to have to explain to my pubescent McMonkeys about the things that happen behind dumpsters, and why it is such an important topic. I want to skate the issue, dodge and deny that it is so prevalent in our lives and culture...

                                     I don't want to have to talk to my boys about rape.

                          I don't want to describe the ways it can happen or their responsibilities and our expectations of them , to be the kind of men that will do everything they can to try to stop it from happening to anyone...

                                     Fathers shouldn't need to have a conversation explaining why this is wrong, but evidentially there are fathers that completely miss that themselves; fathers that justify and defend this awful act. I don't want to have to drag this topic into the open, but I do...

                                                                  We all do.

                                                 Hiding from it and ignoring it, unfortunately ends up communicating a condoning of it, in the minds of those who commit it. We must be clear and vocal and loud...

                                              Rape is never ok, never excusable...

                               I ache for a simpler time, one where I needn't forge these topics.

                                            I almost wish for the ignorance of generations past, and a naive innocents that never needs to face such darkness. Sadly, this was happening just as much back then, but it was not spoken of; it never was discussed outside of criminal courts...

                                   In one way or another, it always worked its way back to the victims, what they had drank, how they were dressed...

                                      I guess unfortunately,that part has followed us forward into this generation. Maybe, just maybe, we can call it the bullcrap that's it's always been, and obliterated the myth of its existence...

                                                          But we need to face it, first...

                                

                          What I really, really want, is to feel some form of trust for any human authority in our country, again. I want to be proud of.... Someone. 

                         Someone that is supposed to be leading us ...Somewhere...

                                                                     But I don't.

                                 I feel a country lost and abandoned by every earthly power and influence. 

                                        

                            Maybe this is a good thing. It forces us to place our trust in the only real Authority this world has ever known; it makes us insure that we are petitioning He of True Wisdom, Strength and Power...

                            This circus- like debacle, this Kafka-esque parody, is the perfect exhibit to contrast and prove our complete inability to govern, guide or even positively affect each other, outside of a Loving, Divine influence...

                                    There are people that see this all transpiring, and are joyous, because they know that Jesus is coming soon...

                                                           Me too, but I'm not in such a hurry...

                                   I would like to see my children become the men I already know that they can be, and maybe get to meet the children I'm hoping they will eventually have; I would like a few more romantic walks with my Wonderful Wife, and maybe gaze into her eyes a few thousand more times...

                         But I can't wait for this insanity to be finally and completely replaced, either...

                                         I have hope today, a hope that is real and guaranteed by the Ultimate and Perfect Authority...

                        I just need to keep my eyes where they always should have already been...

                                                                         On Him.

Millennials...

                                        I talked to one of my ultra conservative, trickle down economics, white lives matters- acquaintances, today... To be fair, he calls me reality challenged, socialist sympathizing, big business crushing, tree hugging, and race baiting.

                                        Our conversations are... energized, I guess.

                                          

                                               I am not liberal. I don't want to be a liberal. I have spent almost my entire  adult life defending capitalism, military necessity and blue law style values. I want so much to be a right wing, party line ballot checking, loyal elephant...

                                                         

                                                            But I'm not...

           

                                                        I'm against abortion.

                         I can't understand how one day the media is claiming a separate murder charge each, for a woman and her unborn child, but has absolutely no issue with unborn children of all stages of development before birth, being systematically killed... I can't get how they arbitrarily draw and erase that line, only to create and move the same line, again and again...

                                           That said, I don't think the answer to this dark tragedy is in our legal system. I think it can only be functionally addressed by a change of heart, changes in our own personal, family,social and societal hearts. If that deep seated heart condition was truly addressed, no man made law would ever be necessary... 

                             If people feel free to flaunt Gods Law, I'm not thinking that following mans law will be their major priority. And if man made law is placed above the respect of God, if our nation follows because we voted it, not because He Ordained it, I'm thinking we would be setting ourselves up for a terrible judgement, either way...

                                                              So, I pray...

                                                    Not for laws, but hearts.

                

                                                 I guess that makes me a liberal...

                                  I always supported tax cuts for businesses that created jobs for our community. It seemed like basic common sense and could only bring good...

                                        I grew up in a mill town, surrounded by mill towns. My mother walked down two streets to go to work in our little local factory. Jobs were everywhere, and most people had no  need for a high school diploma to be hired; the local economy thrived, and small businesses crammed our tiny Main Street, in the town I went to school...

                                      Bigger, better paying global firms employed many more, in the outlying, bordering communities... Then it began to happen...

                                    One by one, they all started leaving. Fathers of friends were layed off, and the time between a new job and the old one progressively grew, as salaries and benifits inversely dropped.

                               Soon, our rivers were polluted, and the fish inedible...

                                   Now, wells and drinking water are contaminated from these same factories and companies that drained our resources, destroyed our economies by downsizing to the point of ludicrousity and moving to any place that could give half a percent better profit by paying employees less and not enforcing environmental standards.

                                   I am told we drove the industry out due to our oppressive ecological concerns. Dozens of local communities need to truck in bottled water, but we were to " strict"?

                                                   I think businesses should pay a living wage for most all jobs, and that corporations should not be able to destroy our natural resources. I think joining a local economy should be akin to marriage; there should be a long term commitment for the betterment of each other...

                                            But I'm silly. I have unrealistic expectations.

                                                  My values are un-economical...

                  

                                                  I guess that makes me a liberal...

                                     What started this present run-on diatribe, was the workmate who I was conversing with earlier, explaining to me how a presenter of a safety conference that he'd went to, somehow proved that millennials reported more injuries than baby boomers.

                                                      Say that three times, fast...

                              Baby boomers "worked thru the pain" and had less work related injuries, this presenter said. She had all the statistics...

                                       This fellow I'm talking to is a little younger than my half century and is bright as a whip. He loves numbers that prove his point.

                                                   We're a lot alike, in that...

                                      Liking numbers, that is. He is much smarter than me.

                           But I'm a bit more white haired and longer in the tooth than him; I understand that numbers are important, but knowing how to read the numbers is paramount; that presentation can often skewe the results and dictate their outcome...

                                More often than not, there is an agenda behind all the numbers...

                          I forgot... Conspiracy Theorist. He also calls me a Conspiracy Theorist...

                                   I have seen the majority of men I worked with, these last thirty years, suck it up and keep on trucking. I have seen broken bones taped until they got home and gashes super glued shut. I have watched guys who need the paycheck keep going with a hernia they obtained on the job not report it, for fear of being fired or demoted. I have watched these same guys tossed into the proverbial garbage, as the companies they bled for relocated to a " more receptive" workforce...

                                                Most of these millennials have too...

                                    Most of them, first hand witnessed the same things I saw on the shop floor, except they saw it from the view of a child, watching their fathers come thru the door broken and bandaged, trying to get by one more day. They not only witnessed their dads and moms unceremoniously being  layed off, they watched all those things that happen behind the " numbers".

                                             They saw the jumps from closing factories to closing factories, and personally paid the price of having fathers putting all they had into their jobs because they had to...

                                            Because that is what that job cost to have...

                                     Maybe millenials do approach work differently.

                                 Maybe they know that that fifty year job, then retirement, is just an old folk tale these days, and that work is really only work, in the end...

                                       That no matter how much you make for a corporation , they will eventually move a thousand miles away for someone else willing to work for a pittance less...

                                       Maybe the " millennials " are smarter than all of us battered and bruised old geezers...

                                                              I hope so...

                                        

                                             I hope none of our kids ever have to be afraid of losing their jobs because they don't want to trade their long term health for a paycheck...

                                                    I guess that makes me a " liberal"...

                                                                  Go figure...

                                                   

Pooping in peace...

                                      I'll probably get bloody on this one...

            Not literally, of course, but figuratively; I'm going to end up on the wrong side from where most everyone I know and respect have landed, and likely will be relegated to that " crazy fringe" section on Facebook...

                                                            Again...

                                                    I've landed here before.

                           This time is a tad bit different. Hope upon hope and try upon try, I attempted to dodge this fray. I ducked, bobbed and weaved, to no avail.

                                                  But here I am and here it is....

                                 I remember being 4 or 5 years old and wanting to go to the men's room alone at Jamesways in Saratoga, and my mother throwing a panicked fit. She screamed stories of children being hurt by " bad men", sparing me the inappropriate details that I couldn't understand at the time. Never in my childhood was a public men's room ever remotely inferred to as a safe place. Always someone waited outside for us, listening for I didn't know what...

                                   I'm older today and sadly, have found myself stationed outside those doors as each of my three male children used public restrooms on the few occasions that I didn't accompany them inside.

                                       If you're a parent, I bet this sounds vaguely familiar to you...

                                             Women have always been smarter than men at bathroom safety. We men would laugh as ladies traveled en mass toward the bathroom and joked about how many women it took to flush a toilet. Never would we think of asking another man to accompany us to a urinal visit...

                                   

                                       96% of those who sexually assault children are male.

                                      

                         Until recently, all of them have been relegated to a men's room to do their business. If you do the math,  you will see a very disproportionate risk factor for victimization occurs in the place our young boys often go alone...

                                            Now, people with daughters are facing the same possibilities, with the same people, possibly using a toilet directly beside their child...

                           It is not so much the transgender person that terrifies them, but the predators that up until this point has been excluded by law, from the ladies room.

                                              Not knowing; having the fear...

                                           I understand their new found concern.

                            They are losing a reasonably safe area for their female children.

                                       

                                         It is a normal days worry for a father of boys...

                                

                   .

                                    If a child is lost, one of the best and safest pieces of advice is for them to find a woman with kids and ask for help. Women travel together and look out for each other and each others children as a matter of course; most moms I know instinctively feel safer leaving their kids with an acquaintance woman than an acquaintance man...

                                                              I know I do...

                              So this whole bathroom issue seems to break down into something much deeper than where some confused teen transgender boy needs to pee.

                                I find myself needing to step back from " the issue" today and instead, step closer to the real heart of this dilemma. I mess up on issues, most every single time, but if we talk about the emotions, emotions on either side of the aisles, I can do that...

                              If we talk about the confusion, feeling of disconnection and outright terror of a young and fragile transgender boy, not feeling safe and not being safe, using a public men's room, I can understand a little, why he might rather force himself to "hold it" than make himself a target for abuse. He not only must fear the "bad men", but the other ones, the average ones, that will at best make an inappropriate comment and at worst might physically harm him because he's a " fairy"...

           I do not understand how someone can identify as the opposite sex, but I do know that their lives would be unfathomly easier if it was a simple matter of changing their minds. For some reason, probably just as puzzling to themselves, as everyone else, it is not a simple choice, but an inescapable identity...

                            I know nothing about that, but I do know a little about powerlessness and the inability to choose differently, of my own willpower. I'm not comparing or classifying transgender as an addiction, but not being able to willfully change, when I want to, I certainly can relate to that...

                    I also understand a parents wish, a parents need, for privacy and safety of their daughters. I understand the anger of being forced to allow men into a place that they know deep in their hearts should be exclusive to a daughter or wives gender...

                      Maybe it's time to change our description of this into Bathroom Safety,  instead of a fight  over human plumbing...

                                Maybe expecting the same level of safety for our boys in the bathroom as the girls have been experiencing for over a century, might be reasonable?

                     Perhaps requiring single stall/ single occupant restrooms from corporations like Target and McDonalds might make all parents, children and transgender breath easier and feel safer?

                             Workplaces are mandated to provide safe facilities for their patrons and workers. It is law. Small businesses like Stewart's and Cumberland Farms already have single bathrooms for only one person and maybe a few family members. 

                            Corporations change their layouts all the time; it is not cost prohibitive. By providing a safe place for everyone to poop and pee, the legal savings themselves would probably absorb any cost. Finding a fair answer for everyone while making everyone feel safer is a win/win that can only make companies appearances better.

                              So, I'm not saying that everyone should pee defined by how God made their plumbing...

                                I'm not saying you should be able to pee next to another gender that might be made uncomfortable by your presence...

                                   Pretty much, I'm not supporting anybody's or any ideas agenda, and have probably managed to piss off most everybody who wants this to be about their particular religious right or left leaning political belief...

                                                              Sorry about that.

                                  I just want everyone to have a safe place to poop...

                                    The solution isn't rocket science or something that needs to squash anyone's religious belief or identity...

                                                       Can we agree on that ?