Sunday Reads V: Authentic Living, Savvy Writing and Cookies You Won’t Believe Actually Exist

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photo credit: chris favero StormTrooper Bucket shot via photopin (license)

Never raise a hand to a child, I read once – it leaves your midsection unprotected.

Comedy writer Robert Orben said that. I’ve never raised a hand to any of my children. I have, however, left my midsection – from the bottom of my rib cage to my upper thigh – vulnerable. I’ve been kicked by kids in shopping carts a thousand times.

I should be writing this post in falsetto.

There are better, healthier ways for a dad to remain vulnerable. It’s crucial for us to exude strength to our kids; we often want to take it to the extreme, though. There’s a balance to discover, between The Terminator and The Cowardly Lion.

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Go Ask Daddy About Football Laundry, Wacky Words, and Our Next Outdoors Adventure

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Referees and me. Hmm.

GAD GRAPHICYou know me. I’m mostly the agreeable type. Sure, I mutter insults to people who tailgate me and blow past me on the highway – all while snapping chats on their mobiles. But for the most part? Live and let live.

Except for, maybe, refs.

Not all refs, mind you. I’ve had enough run-ins with our striped adversaries to write a post on it. I’d be itchy afterward, though. I don’t really want to get into it. How bad does it get?

I wouldn’t go to Sports Clips for awhile because the stylists wore referee shirts.

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Go Ask Daddy About Scholastic Schedules, Commemorative Symbols, and Picking Nits in Our Language

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This week, it’s all academic.

GAD GRAPHICMeaning, there’s some deep philosophical questions here. Well, one at least. And one about cheese, which to me is a sign of higher intelligence. Although, when I was in college, it didn’t really feel like a haven of higher learning.

Was it just me?

I once got an 8 – yes, e-i-g-h-t – on a science test. I stayed after to ask, “is there any mathematical reason I shouldn’t hit drop-add after this?” My prof, he of feathered hair and a beard before beards were cool, simply shook his head.

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Sunday Reads II: Records, Discomfort, and Mama’s Boots

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It’s actually Sunday morning, now.

My goal for this Sunday post feature is to finish it before midnight Saturday night, so i can go to bed and hope for those of you so inclined can open a link or three and read something good I discovered during the week.

Not to be up another night of the week fending off sleep to finish a post.

(Did you know that sometimes, I read my posts the morning after, and it feels as if that’s my first go through? It’s true. I’ve found the same photo in twice, or sentences that jumble together, and once I even found that I forgot to title the damn thing.

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Go Ask Daddy About Saxophone Glory, the Cost to Watch and Celestial Endings

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So, this one time, in marching band …

GAD GRAPHICWe got to play at halftime of a Colorado State football game in Ft. Collins. It was Band Day, and they played the University of New Mexico. I played baritone sax. I was first chair, I might add. The cheerleaders came with us.

Stick with me … this will tie together eventually.

Her name was Kaylie. (It was actually Shawna, but I don’t want to use her real name.) She was dreamy. Silky, curly brown hair, hazel eyes, braces. Sigh. The universe had a little fun that day and put Shawna – I mean, Kaylie – next to me on the bus.

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Go Ask Daddy About Fellow Passengers, Childish Children, and the Legacy of a Hawaiian Legend

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Ben Kenobi spoke to me again.

GAD GRAPHICNot actually Obi Wan. But, the voice. Know how he told Luke after he self-incinerated him when he was losing a lightsaber duel with Darth Vader – Use the Force, Luke? Only to me, he says stuff like, Use more cheese, Eli, or, Write about Kesha, Eli.

This time, he was clear, as usual: Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Eli.

You don’t question a dead Jedi. I’d already plopped a rotisserie chicken in my basket ($4.99, Harris-Teeter), and turned on autopilot toward the cereal aisle. I am one with the Force and the Force is in me, I muttered repeatedly.

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Go Ask Daddy About Soda Bottles, Laws of Tanning, and the Ultimate Greenback

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Court, over at Baking in my Bathing Suit, had an idea.

GAD GRAPHIC“Have you ever done a ‘Readers Ask Coach Daddy”? She asked in comments on my most recent Go Ask Daddy post. “I bet you people have some good questions for you.” So I aim to find out.

Send me your Go Ask Daddy questions this week.

Put “Go Ask Daddy” in the subject line and email to bloggingeli@gmail.com. If I get five or more, I’ll pick five and answer them. If not? I’ll act like this never happened.

I’ve had similar bad luck when I asked for questions for my short-lived Ask a Boy feature. Maybe this is different.

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If I Could Spend a Day Alone … This is How it’d Go

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I spend a day wishing for time to write after the kids’ bedtime.

Yet, when I get that time, I miss them. And I fall asleep. I’m always sleepy if I don’t keep the Coke Zero flowing. I slow to a crawl. Mind, body, and spirit. I institute process and procedure to possibly accomplish anything and also the leeway to set it all aside.

If I could just get a day, though …

What could you do? If Jesus or Buddha stuffed in an extra day – just a one-off, not an extra day. We can’t mess with the interval between Thursday night football and Monday night, or Sunday meditation service and Wednesday.

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#AtoZChallenge: U is for Unconventional Loves

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I’d wanted to write, during this A to Z Challenge, about my girls’ stuffed animals.

UAll three have one that has meant something to them over the years. Haven’t we all? I had a stuffed dog I found in a park when I was a boy. I named him … boy. I loved him until he fell apart.

One of my girls loved a German Shepherd, so big she could use him as a pillow.

Another slept with a bear named Daddy. I last saw him tucked behind her headboard. Unceremoniously. A third girl kept a rasta monkey I won her at her bedside. I scrapped the idea, although to read the first four paragraphs here, you wouldn’t know it, right?

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#AtoZChallenge: K is for the 7 Women I’d Sing Karaoke With

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photo credit: Nukamari Just voice and guitar via photopin (license)

I get crushy.

KAlways have. At first, it was Judy Jetson, then Ms. Truesdale, the kindergarten teacher’s aide. All of a sudden, I’m drinking whiskey, eating sunflower seeds and writing blog posts about seven famous women I want to sing cheesy duets with.

Just like that.

Two years ago on the company trip, I sang La Bamba. Sally, the tall, winsome blonde from our Dallas office, swayed back and forth, stage left, and let me take center stage. I might as well have been the Mexican Mick Jagger. (Meek Yagger, as it were.)

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