Hockey Tape and Old Trophies Bring Out Sentiments

etcguy eric blazer champs

(This article originally appeared in Hockey Player Magazine, May 2015)

The line between frugality and nostalgia is not much wider than a skate blade.

Consider hockey tape, the adhesive that binds equipment, body parts, and adult recreation teams.  Players hoarding rolls of UHaul® tape to strap on shin guards are frugal.  They’re too cheap to buy real sports tape.  Thriftiness is admirable unless it interferes with selecting post-game beers.

For less than $2.80 per roll, hockey players can buy 55 yards of UHaul tape, long enough to reach between goal lines.  The cost is about a nickel a yard, as compared to a quarter a yard for high tensile strength athletic-trainer-grade strips used for taping ankles, wrists, hands, sticks, pads, or fixing radiator hoses.  But hockey players, among the most intelligent breed of athletes, are an industrious and environmentally inclined group.  Cheaper than packing tape are recycled skate laces that are given a second life to fasten shin guards.

etc guy uhaul tapeIn our bantam years my brother, Kirk, and I got a four dollar seasonal allowance to buy hockey tape.  Back then we were too young to rent moving vans and were thus unfamiliar with the utility of UHaul tape.  When supplies ran out we developed craft weaving skills by fashioning slip knots with recycled skate laces.  We suffered a minimalist existence and also harvested tape from broken sticks or from unwary teammate’s sticks.  Kirk, a forward, never figured out that the guy unpeeling tape from his stick was me, a defenseman.  It served him right.  Kirk never got caught pirating from his fellow forwards, a narcissistic pair that stared at locker room mirrors.

Much has been written about hockey player psychology except for this little known fact: Hockey players, as a statistical collection, are a sentimental group.  Without words we speak a language non-hockey players cannot understand.  Spectators only see cursing, yelling and body-shots.  For hockey players those are expressions of affection.

“Dude, love your # 99 jersey.  Gretzky was awesome.  But you’re a #@$% puck hog!”

Blazer champs 141214Verbal exchanges become more meaningful in penalty boxes.  In one game I shared two minutes in the same penalty box with Doc, a hack who cross-checked me from behind.  By day, Doc is a proctologist.  But on game night his tender mannerisms vanish.  Doc is a dirty cheap-shot.  I retaliated, threw a punch, and mouthed off.  The referee escorted us to the same bench because the other penalty box was filled with cartons of UHaul tape.  I asked Doc about his jerk-like behavior.

“Guess I’m depressed,” he said.  “It’s not personal.”

“What?” I fumed.  “You use sports tape and your Porsche doesn’t leak antifreeze.”

Doc sighed.  “My parents sent a care package.  Inside was my State hockey peewee championship trophy.  I was just a kid…sniff, sniff…”

I reflected on Doc’s story. My folks sent me a care package that contained an old hockey trophy from years ago. Doc and I watched our teammates battle four on four.  We had a minute of remaining penalty time and reminisced on our youth.  Doc’s boyhood dream was to be a forest ranger, a desire born from playing pond hockey and hunting for lost pucks in the woods.  Now he’s hunting for polyps. I sensed Doc’s embarrassment when I noticed his teary eyes wistfully longing for those happy personal associations.

Noah Kiko trophyOur two minutes were up.  We hopped over the boards back into play.  Doc cursed, “Watch your back you #@$$% weasel!”

On a recent family visit I watched my nephews, Nate and Kenny, win a tournament.  My high school buddy, Jimbo, and Kirk coach their peewee team.  Jimbo, a former all-league player, is still intense.  He carried an iPad with diagrams, videos, and wore a head set connected to nothing.  Both coaches wore ties as did their team, a dozen fidgety peewees amped on Red Bull® and Cheetos®.

I never heard the pre-game speech.  Nate and Kenny later told me it was something about not getting penalties and to eat their vegetables.  Their team, tougher than Tasmanian Devils, came from behind to beat the top seed.  The championship trophy stood waist high.

Trophy wins are farther and fewer between as you age.  If Nate and Kenny continue playing, maybe they’ll someday win an adult league championship.  They’ll compete for a t-shirt and bragging rights.

I’ll send them rolls of sports tape next season…in a box wrapped with UHaul tape.

### Visit my main Etc. Guy site for more stories or to connect with me via Twitter.  Or join the Etc. Guy Facebook page by LIKING it.

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Spider Man Gets No Credit for Chivalry in the Kitchen

I don’t like spiders and snakes, and that ain’t what it takes to love me, you fool, you fool.

Jim Stafford, Comedian, musician and singer-songwriter

etc guy viking refrigeratorMaggie, my 9th grader, screamed louder than a jet engine.  Hun, my wife, shrieked “Get it out of there!”

Good thing the patio door was open or they would have ripped away hinges.  The commotion centered at the refrigerator’s ice tray.  Our “fridge” is the kitchen’s nerve center and Captain’s Deck for Hun, the senior officer in charge of menu navigation.  Without the fridge, we starve.  Without the fridge’s ice dispenser, a two-barrel contraption that cubes and crushes ice, we’re doomed to room-temperature drinks.  Without the fridge, our home’s feng shui falls from harmony with the surrounding environment.   TV remote controls mysteriously disappear as do cordless phones and toilet paper.  The car no longer starts.  We can survive without the stove but not the fridge.  The fridge is hallowed land.  We circle the wagons for the fridge.

etc guy jumping spiderUpon realizing the significance of the situation, I tip-toed to the fridge and peered inside while Hun and Maggie climbed a nearby tree.  A spider stared at me from his (her?) position in the ice tray. I reached for it but the creature slipped between ice cubes. I emptied the cubes into a zip-lock bag to catch the dude, a jumping spider no larger than my pinky’s fingernail. No luck.  Eight eyes stared at me from a hiding spot of ice remnants near the bottom of the dispenser.  The spider flared back on hind legs and challenged me.  His forelegs beckoned me for a fight.  I think I actually heard laughter.

I had to think quickly before Maggie and Hun climbed to higher ground.  So, I ran the spider through the ice dispenser (I like “crushed ice”) and caught the remains along with some ice chips. The bug is in the garden now.

etc guy squirrel high five I emptied the zip-lock bag of ice into the tray, tested and purged the dispenser, and carried a ladder to Maggie and Hun who were now three tree limbs high.  My damsels in distress didn’t even give me a “High-Five” for my heroism.  The way they screamed you would’ve thought a deer carcass hung in the living room.  Is chivalry dead?  I hope not.  I’d do it again even if we had an army of spiders living inside the ice tray.

But if it’s an ice tray full of snakes… that’s another matter.   ###

Feel free to join the Etc. Guy Facebook page and LIKE it.  Or follow me on Twitter @etcguy.  Copies of my book “Let Me Tell You a Story” are available at the Etc. Guy Store and for a limited time at Lyon Books in downtown Chico.

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Track Meet Timer Duty was a Challenging Time

etc guy timersWe stood on the bleachers, eight of us squinting.  I was one of the eight, a volunteer  ”timer” for Maggie’s track meet.  I was more stressed out than the athletes. The officials assigned us stopwatches.  I got timer #7 thinking that I’d time Lane #7. Nope. I was to track runners and time the runner who finished in 7th place.  All by eyeball and a quick twitching thumb muscle. Several volunteers fretted.  One parent asked if I wanted to trade for timer #3 , #4, or #5.

“No thanks, I’m a rookie,” I said.  ”Plus, the LASIK eye-surgery I had seven years ago wore out.  I have mono-vision.  I’m both near and far-sighted, but mostly near.”

It was easy work for distances 300 meters or longer. But for the 100 or 200 meter sprints….what a traffic jam keeping track of who was 4th, 5th, 6th or 7th. Eye tests should be required for parent volunteer timers.etc guy starter pistolThe guy with the starting gun had it best. Point up and shoot, that’s all he had to do.

“Don’t just listen for the bang,” one dad said.  ”Watch the gun for smoke.  Or you’ll be off.”

Maggie signed up to run the 100 and 200. I told her the 200 wasn’t much farther. “Dad, it’s TWICE as far!”

2013 Audi S4 SedanI seldom got A’s in math.  It’s getting harder to outsmart that kid.

For the 100 meter race I recorded a time of 7.4 seconds. A WORLD RECORD.  Nearly as fast as an Audi S4.  Amazing.

The head official grabbed my stopwatch, shrugged, and switched timers. I got demoted to timer #8 (last place).

Maybe I’m better off judging the shot put.

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NOTE to readers:  Hey folks, I’ve been writing a new book and getting more magazine work.  Pretty cool.  Visit my main Etc.Guy  site, or join the Etc.Guy Facebook page and LIKE it for weekly updates.  Copies of my book “Let Me Tell You a Story” are available at Lyon Books in downtown Chico and also at the Etc. Guy Store.

 

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Word of Wisdom – Reggie Leach

Philadelphia Flyers' Reggie Leach in Hockey Action“Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion.  You must set yourself on fire.”

Reggie Leach, Philadelphia Flyers 1974-1982

 

Hey folks, I’ve been tied up with other writing projects but have these stories in development for Etc. Guy:

  1. Adopting Old Men
  2. Equipment Migration
  3. The Guy Who Never Throws Stuff Away
  4. School Fundraising Lasts Longer than School

Let’s hope March brings California much needed rain and snow.

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Also, be sure to join the Etc.Guy Facebook page and LIKE it.  Or follow me on Twitter by visiting Etc.Guy.

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Hockey Dad’s Love-Handle Saves the Game

(Hockey Player Magazine, January 2015)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWe lumbered inside the locker-room and grimaced as hockey bags slid down our shoulders.  I hadn’t seen my Blazer teammates for over a month.  Inside the guys slouched like dough-boys, suffering from extended tryptophan hangovers.  None admitted to exercising over the holiday break.  Crazy Eddie maintained his same pear shape.  He’s tough in goal but outside the rink the man’s hide is thinner than tomato skin (it’s rumored that Pampers commercials make him cry).  Blaze shrank since I last saw him, from hunching over golf clubs instead of hockey sticks.  Curly braided his beard into dreadlocks. Mick grew his side-burns from ear to ear, which wrapped around his jaw.  The holiday break suited my teammates.  The guys appeared relaxed except for Stretch, a 6′ 3″ beanpole who weighs 135 pounds.  With a Body Mass Index of 15, the same as a starving coyote, Stretch is a bag of bones held together by a string of tattoos.  I noticed new artwork.

“Hey Stretch, is that a jeep on your back?”

“Yep, just inherited a 1944 Willy’s so I got a jeep tattoo.  What’s that above your hip?”

“A love handle.  This left one upsets me—it’s disproportionate.”

“Looks like a rolled up sock.  You mus t be right-handed.”  Stretch grinned.

“How’d you know that?  I shoot left.”

“You sling gear over your right shoulder and are working the right-side harder.  It’s skinnier.”

His logic, although unscientific, made sense.  My right arm is more muscular than my left, which resembles more of a tyrannosaur arm.  My backhand shot is pathetic.

The holiday weight gain causes personal, and marital, grief.  I grumbled to my wife about it.  She’s an incredible cook.  I eat everything she prepares, whether in large or small portions.  I need to play a third of a hockey season to undo the calories.

etc guy marisa tomei pilates“Quit your belly-aching,” she scolded.  “I don’t control what or how much you eat.  Those pounds aren’t my fault.  I saw you with the chips and salsa, potato chips, and chocolate chips.  Wayne Gretzky would never match you in putting away chips.”

Like I’d ever match Gretzky in goal scoring but she had a point.  I’m addicted to chips.  Plus I took a month vacation from exercise.  My holiday workouts included hanging Christmas lights, adjusting the TV’s height, and watching Marisa Tomei Pilate’s videos while slumped on the sofa.  I stayed up late and slept in.  Between the chips, sleep deprivation, and slouching, my circadian rhythm and metabolism changed up.

The first games back from holiday break are always the toughest.  The equalizer is that most everyone else in the league is in the same boat.  On any given game night I’ll lose up to three pounds.  But for this season’s inaugural game I’ll aim for four.  Granted, most of that is water, but by March I’ll trim away the waistline and by April my left love handle will melt to just a nub.  I can’t really knock that love-handle though.  It’s come in handy.

Blazer champs 141214 In one particular battle last season we had been outshooting our opponents, the Zombies, two to one.  It was the third period and we were locked in a scoreless tie.  I skated from the blue line to fore-check.  Stretch dropped back into defense, with Blaze, to cover the point.  Mick circled in front of the net then darted for a loose puck in the corner. I returned to center to screen their goalie.  A Zombie shoved me to clear the zone but I pushed back.  Mick gained the puck and passed it to Blaze who faked a shot.  Blaze then ripped a pass to Stretch who anticipated the trick and wound up, perfect timing.  Stretch’s slapshot zoomed low, got deflected by a Zombie’s stick, and rose about three feet.  The puck careened off my left love-handle and ricocheted into the net.  Their goalie never saw what happened.

The referees weren’t sure who to credit the goal but I think Stretch got it with Blaze earning the assist.  That’s okay with me.  Because I wouldn’t want to see “some guy’s love-handle” printed in the record books.

Now, if my love-handle fully went away I may need to rely on actual skills to score.

###

Eric Miller skates with the Hamilton City Hockey Club at the North Valley Hockey and Sports Complex near Chico, California.  See more of his articles at Etc. Guy or join the Etc. Guy Facebook page.  His book, “Let Me Tell You a Story,” is available at Lyon Books in downtown Chico and also at the Etc.Guy Store.

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Christmas Tree Hunt is Annual Tradition

Etc guy looking up at treeDon’t call the Sierra Club.  The wood we chop isn’t for building or heating.  We are Christmas tree hunters—amateur lumberjacks that thin the forest one tree at a time.  The permit costs $10 but getting lost is free. Continue reading “Christmas Tree Hunt is Annual Tradition” »

Posted in Holidays | Tagged , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

Humor Writers Gift Christmas Smiles

Christmas is a week out and I’m in the same state of mind as I was 365 days ago. Hurried, disheveled and trying to jam fifteen minute errands into eight. We need a mega-blizzard in my fair town to slow things down, or at least slow down everyone else. Continue reading “Humor Writers Gift Christmas Smiles” »

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Phooey, Let’s Gain Weight Over Thanksgiving

Jeans wider than longer“If you think about a Thanksgiving Dinner, it’s really like making a large chicken.” Ina Garten, Host of Barefoot Contessa, Food Network

It’s not the minutes that put on weight, it’s the seconds.

I’m unsure who said that but whoever said it was right. Hardly three weeks have passed since my final raid on the kids’ Halloween candy. My body weight has inched up and out, with muffin tops laying over my jean tops—a new seasonal baseline for my waistline. One of my life’s goals is to have a smaller waistline number than inseam number. I should forget about it during Thanksgiving because I’m definitely not getting taller.
Like many Americans we indulge in typical fare: turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, pumpkin pie—the works. At meal time an unfinished game of Scrabble® usually sits on a table top in front of an unfinished football game on TV.
Etc guy & turkeg leg1My wife Hun cooks up a tasty bird but this year her mom and my youngest daughter Maggie have the honors. Maggie, a ninth grader, is a good cook but very linear when it comes to implementing a menu. She’s a sequence chef who methodically prepares one dish at a time. Left without oversight, Maggie’s mashed potatoes would leave the stove four hours after the bird was already consumed. Two hours after the mashed potatoes she’d follow with vegetables, then pumpkin pie another hour or two later. Thanksgiving Dinner preparation has the potential of lasting into Black Friday breakfast, a serial affair.
My parents are visiting this Thanksgiving but Mom isn’t a playmaker in the kitchen. My siblings and I never understood her methods or rationale when we were growing up. But we didn’t complain. We just assumed that air compressors, torches and ball peen hammers were part of her tool kit for making turkey.
finish line bestA few years ago we started a new family Thanksgiving tradition, participating in a local turkey trot. The “Run for Food 5K” is a good cause and benefits a faith-based organization that feeds the needy. The irony in this 5K event is that many of us who race aren’t running. A few hard core folks wear computer chips to record their times and actually break a sweat. But for the rest of the pack it’s more of a community group hug and waddle. I’m competitive though. I want to beat last year’s time of 77 minutes.
I’m grateful for many things this Thanksgiving. The economy could be better but several work projects have promise. We have a roof over our heads. Our cars work. My parents are healthy enough to visit and my kids are young enough to stay home. And I now remember most of my computer passwords.
Thanksgiving sweats bestI don’t care if it is the seconds that put on calories. I’ll eventually work them off. For tomorrow I’ll wear stretchy sweatpants. It’s the minutes and hours with family I’ll count. Happy Thanksgiving.

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PS  I’m not into Black Friday but if you’re in need of a stocking stuffer, check out my book “Let Me Tell You a Story” which is available at Lyon Books in downtown Chico (or at Amazon).  You can also follow me on Facebook or Twitter by visiting Etc.Guy.

 

 

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Hockey Mom Gives Best Excuse to Miss Games

(Hockey Player Magazine, October 2014)

women hockey players old photoThe five of us frowned as we tied our skates. We were down two players and knew the next 45 minutes would test our lungs and legs.

“Where’s Blaze?” Swifty asked.

“At a Raider game,” I answered.
“Good excuse. Better than when Chuck got lost hunting or when Lefty had his vasectomy. Those guys had the lamest excuses.”
“Yeah, how did Chuck get lost hunting birds? I heard he fell asleep in a duck-blind. I can understand Lefty skipping work but it’s unforgivable to miss a game. So what if he was sore? My tomcats hunted gophers an hour after getting neutered. ”

Swifty laughed.

A short-handed team is as noticeable as a three-legged dog. Opposing teams drool when there’s an opportunity to massacre undermanned teams. It’s like Custer’s Last Stand except that the annihilation occurs on a hockey rink instead of prairie grass.

crazy pete ponytailOur coed inline hockey league includes California natives and ice hockey transplants from colder climates. We’ve traded blades for wheels because our nearest ice sits frozen on either Sierra Nevada mountaintops or inside garage freezers. League players include college students, moms, and dads. The ladies, who are outnumbered in our league, skate hard and have the respect of the guys. It’s not surprising to see ponytails flailing behind helmets. Some guys also wear ponytails though, like Crazy Pete, the goalie. Goalies are off-kilter anyway.

Each team has seven players—perfect for four-on-four hockey but it’s critical everyone shows up. A roster of five means doom and four is an automatic loss, even if skaters have elephant lungs. We greet one another before games, curse each other during combat, and shake hands afterwards. We thrive on competition and hate missing games.
My pregame routine includes strapping on knee braces. Seven years ago I endured a forced sabbatical from sports when I tore my anterior cruciate ligament (ACL). Blaze sat out ten months after tearing his ACL. Other players missed games due to strained muscles or broken bones.

Lousy excuses for missing games include staying home to stack wood, nurse hangovers, or rotate tires. I even rescheduled my colonoscopy to avoid missing a game. That stuff can wait. Hall passes are granted for celebrating kids’ birthdays or anniversaries. When hockey players miss those we suffer terrible consequences at home. Probably the most unique excuse came from JT Flyer, a hockey mom. I saw her during the summer break.

photo by Vinnie Johnson

photo by Vinnie Johnson

“Hey, I didn’t see your ponytail last spring.”

“Missed the season,” she said, “had surgery.”

I instantly reflected on my knee surgery. I hadn’t realized she got hurt.
“That’s awful. Was it your knee?”
“Higher.”
“Shoulder?”
“Lower.”
“Wrist?
“Try again.”

I have a working knowledge of female body parts but was losing this guessing game. Our conversation was becoming clinical and socially awkward. I was dumbfounded and wondered what ailed her. We all have our fragile areas but I hadn’t noticed any black-eyes, crutches, or missing teeth.

“It was my uterus.”

etc guy hockey player evolution pic“Pardon?”

“You heard me, the reproductive organ where hockey players come from. We didn’t evolve from sea animals, you know.”

I gawked at JT like a deer staring at headlights. I didn’t want to come across as an insensitive oaf. When hockey players harass referees we get penalties and I didn’t want an interference call from JT. I dug deep into my soul and searched my one feeling for the right words.

“Bummer.”

JT grinned, realizing she got the best of me. “Guys aren’t tough enough to have uteruses. Men give the worst excuses for missing games.”

 

JT nearly scored a hat-trick. Not only did she get in the last word, but she gave an excuse I’ve never heard or experienced. It wasn’t on my radar. Athletes at all levels understate their vulnerabilities. They’re too focused on the camaraderie and spirit of competition. Regardless of gender, we are all vulnerable in areas we can’t even see.

I won’t pass judgment on a comrade’s excuse for missing games. Life happens and sometimes gets in the way of hockey. But I sure miss my friends when they’re not playing.

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Eric Miller skates with the Hamilton City Hockey Club near Chico, California.  Read the Coaches Corner in Hockey Player Magazine for more of his hockey stories.  Contact him at either eric@etcguy.com or via his blog at Etc.Guy where you can also follow him on Facebook or Twitter.

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Maggie’s Run for Office Breaks Drought

(Originally appeared in the Chico Enterprise-Record in Nov 2012)

Humility is tricky. Once you think you have it, you’ve lost it.”

Etc. Guy, aka Eric Miller (confused dad)

etc guy american flag and eagle2I’m not politically astute -blinded by irreverence—and have the knack of saying the wrong thing at precisely the wrong time to the right people. I’ll insert my size 8 foot into my size 13 mouth quicker than a lightning strike. If the emperor is naked, I’ll say so. This bluntness shocks Hun, my wife. “You said what to whom? A closed mouth gathers no feet.”

“Politics” happen when three or more gather. Political discussions are difficult even among close friends, with arguments sometimes resulting in ex-friends.

etc guy englishmenMy ancestors arrived in Virginia in 1609 as merchants on a mission to colonize the Americas. I imagine King James 1 and Queen Elizabeth 1 commissioning the voyage, “Sail forth and seek ye what belongs to England.” In 1616 my forefather George Yeardley served as the colonial governor of Virginia. Yeardley’s clan probably preferred life in the new land rather than serving future monarchal leaders who had bad teeth. My free thinking ancestors wanted better dental care.

Austin Powers bad teethThree centuries later, in 1915, my great-grandfather Andrew Miller, an attorney and farmer, was a Democratic candidate nominee for Congress to represent South Carolina’s fourth district. He lost and never held office.
My great-aunt Ellen was the most recent Miller to hold office. A true pioneer for women in California’s judicial system, Ellen Miller Quarnstrom was appointed as Kern County’s first woman judge in 1957. I’m sure politics were involved.

My back stiffened after hearing that another close relative considered office, breaking the family’s 50-year political drought. Maggie, in fifth grade at the time, was running for Student Council. We sat together for a heart-to-heart discussion.

“Politics can be noble,” I explained. “Leaders are held with high esteem. You’ll need a platform.”

“Huh?”
politcal signs2“A platform, so voters know your position. Are you a Republican or Democrat?”

“I’m a kid. I don’t even know what Republicans or Democrats do.” I didn’t want to layer confusion by admitting the same thing.

“What are your goals? Longer recess? Lower prices on chocolate milk? Red Bull in the cafeteria?”

“Dad…I’m running for publicity director, not President. I’m an artist. I’ll make posters.”

Wow, a Director at age 10. Many climb the corporate ladder and never reach that title.

“You’ll need a brand then. Remember President Reagan and Reaganomics?” Pause.

“You mean like Obamacare?” she asked. “It was on TV.” Maggie understood the concept of name recognition. I asked her approach.

Maggie explained she would create campaign posters and give a speech on school TV. She was enthusiastic, honest, genuine and committed. We discussed her $20 campaign budget. Negative campaigning was prohibited.

No on 46She rehearsed her speech to an audience of family members and pets. Running time was three minutes. Her weakness, or strength depending on one’s view, was her humility. She spoke confidently, as our lawyer ancestors probably did. She actually portrayed a lawyer in a community play one Halloween, as Dracula’s legal counsel. “Dracula had an attorney?” I asked. “It’s reasonable for a vampire to need a lawyer, Dad.”

On Election Day I fidgeted at my office, organizing pencils, until the afternoon school bell rang. Hun learned the results first and alerted me. Maggie lost. The parenting books we own don’t explain how to console kids who lose elections. I feared Maggie’s spirits were crushed, knowing that a tender shoot is easily bruised. I searched for the right words as we spoke afterwards.

“I’m fine, Dad, really. Can I have a pony?” Then she skipped off. No agony of defeat here.

I smiled. Maggie prepared well and tried her best. She ventured into a realm I never considered and risked losing when it was safer on the ego to stand aside.

Vote for Maggie2If our politicians today demonstrated they can successfully collaborate and get actual work done regardless of affiliation, voters would react favorably. A dosage of humility would also help their public image. But humility is tricky. Once you think you have it, you’ve lost it.

Perhaps she’ll run for public office one day. I’ll help make the ads that end with, “I’m Maggie Miller and I approve this message.”

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Hey Parents, if your kid won, or lost, an election comment below and brag about them.  I’ll really be impressed if I hear from a Bush, Clinton or an Obama…..  Be sure to visit my main blog at Etc. Guy and join my Facebook page.

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