Mother’s Day is not only a happy day around here. It’s also a great day for irony. That makes us laugh to. 

   My dad brought steaks over this evening for me to grill while we all wished Mom a happy Mother’s Day.  This is her special day and we didn’t want her to do anything but relax.     So after Mom set the table. Tossed the salad. Boiled the corn on the cob. Baked the potatoes and did my boy’s laundry because he was “scared” he’d mess it up,  it was time to eat so she didn’t get to relax yet.   Despite everyone telling her to relax because there were plenty of adults that weren’t moms to do all that stuff.    But Mom said “I’ll do it. I gotta do it all.”

   Mom’s love to do it all.   Nurturing instinct or something.   They just don’t want us to know it so the martyr guilt complex will keep us in line.    I know this because two years ago my wife and mother in law were over for Mother’s day and busting their rear ends cleaning and cooking.    I figured after years of watching them clean and cook on Mother’s Day while refusing help, that’s what they wanted. to clean and cook.   So I layed on the couch watching sports.     My mother in law finally got angry enough to ask if I was going to lay around all day.   I told her I was giving them the ultimate gift for Mother’s Day. I was staying out of the way and letting them do the things only mothers could do.    What better way to show my appreciation than by watching two wonderful mothers do mother stuff.    I’m still apologising.

  Lazy Earl said he would break me.  More prophetic words have never been spoken.

  It started a couple nights ago. Earl had been doing his job and keeping quiet.   I thought he had changed. In fact, this night Earl brought in a grocery bag full of bacon,eggs and toast.   Earl said he would get his tasks done early and cook breakfast for everyone.    I shook his hand and congratulated him for getting on the team.

   A few hours later Earl told me he was done and would start cooking. I told Earl I’d let everyone know to wind down and be ready when he rings the dinner bell.  Soon the sweet smell of Lazy Maple Bacon filled the plant.   The bell finally rang, but it was not the dinner bell. It was the fire alarm.

 I ran into the breakroom and there was Lazy Earl trying to put out the bacon that had somehow caught fire on his electric skillet with the contents of a coffee pot.   The sprinklers were also going off. I screamed to Earl that you don’t pour water on a grease fire.   The emergency response crew came in and put the skillet out with the right fire extinguisher. At least something went right.

  After the excitement was over Lazy Earl asked if he could leave to get something to eat because everything he brought was ruined.   I told Earl he had to clean up the mess in the breakroom and not to speak to me again.

  The next day I got an early call from the day shift manager.  She said I needed to come in and see the Big Boss.   Uh Oh.

  I made it in and was ushered into the big boss’ office at once.    I asked him if lazy Earl had to come in also.  The boss said Earl was going to be out for a while.  I said good and asked how long he suspended Earl.   The boss told me he didn’t suspend Earl so I thought good. He fired that idiot.   No. The boss said Earl was going to be out on workman’s comp because the paper towels he was using as a greasetrap instead of a real greasetrap on his electric skillet caught fire.  They fell on Earl’s shoe, burning his foot.  The doctor said Earl would need six weeks to recover.      He then said that I owed him $150 for the microwave and toaster that were ruined when the emergency response team sprayed them with the foam flame retardant from the fire extinguishers.

  I told the boss that that was a severe punishment and have learned my lesson.   I figured if I slinked out that would be it. But it wasn’t.  The boss then said he talked to the regular second shift supervisor and he could come back that night.   He told me I had to stay on this awful shift and fill in for Earl till he could come back to work.

   Some men succumb to the lure of sultry women or booze or money.  I lost everything for bacon.

  My wife and daughter decided to go shopping and needed a babysitter.  Of course old granddad came to the rescue. “Are you sure?” they asked.   Of course. I raised three of my own and had a hand in raising a dozen other nieces and nephews.  Could I watch a baby?  Does Turner Original make the finest casual wear you can get?   Hell yeah!

   Off they went and it was just me and my granddaughter.    Things went well for a while. She does these exercises where we pull her up from a horizontal position to strengthen her core. That’s what my daughter says they do.   She’s right cause this baby is strong as an ox.  If she doesn’t like the way she’s being held it’s like holding a mad wolverine.      So we fought that about twenty minutes then she started fussing.  I went through the ritual of changing the diaper.  Giving her a bottle.   Walking her around the house. Singing. Reading a book.   Finally I put her in her swing cause she was wearing me out.    I was getting beat up by a six month old baby.

   The swing usually calms her down but not this time.  She was screaming her head off. No tears though and I recognized it as an angry scream.  The angry look on her face tipped me off also.

  In the old days when under stress I could imbibe in the relaxing bliss of a tobacco product.   Alas, one of the many pleasures I gave up in the name of marital harmony.   So I went to my secret stash of Slim Jims.   All the while the baby screaming like Elvis was in the building.

 I went back to where she was with Slim Jim in hand, ready to deal once again with the empress.    Funny thing. She noticed the Slim Jim and her eyes got real wide.   The volume of her screams lowered also.   So being the typical male, I went and got her her own Slim Jim. I wiped the grease off before giving it to her of course.   That stuff is bad for you.  It’s also the best part but I didn’t want to spoil the baby.     For the first time she actually grabbed at something and nabbed it on the first try.   The Slim Jim found it’s way to her mouth and serenity reigned.

  I thought this would be a good time to file a patent for Slim Jim flavored pacifiers.    Better judgement ruled though. I knew my wife and daughter would not be pleased that the same baby that does ab work was using a Slim Jim as a pacifier.   So I decided to keep this our little secret.

   Home and at work, things are going well.    The tempory supervisor gig has been smooth as silk.  Lazy Earl is at least doing what he’s supposed to be doing now and not bothering everyone.    It would be nice if he went above and beyond but as long as a guy does the minimum well I can live with it.

   The home front is even better. “Meathead” and the brood moved out finally.   All my lectures about independence and taking responsibility either sunk in or he got sick of them and decided to leave.    They still come over for dinner every night and borrow something I know I’ll never see again. But heck. If it costs me a pan or a screwdriver to see my granddaughter small price to pay.  I have my basement back. Plus, my wife has an extra room to store things we’ll never have any use for.   That always puts her in a happy mood.

    And keeping our loved ones happy is the most important thing we in Big N Tall Nation can do.

    I know us big guys aren’t supposed to be sensitive or sentimental. But if can look at this without saying “aaawwww” then there’s something wrong with you.

         My neighbor, Don, must have some type of radar.  No matter what time of day or night it is, if I’m outside he is sure to come out to see what I’m doing or just give a friendly wave.      Other than striking me as kind of odd, half the time it’s no big deal.  The other half it’s a pain because my neighbor always needs somebody “tall” to do him a favor. 

   This weekend was no different. I’m sitting on my deck relaxing and here he comes.  He said: “Joe.  I need a tall man to cut a branch off this tree.”    I asked him if he had a chair he could stand on but he said it would be better to have somebody with two feet on the ground cutting on trees.   The branch was only two inches thick but being neighborly I grabbed the saw and cut the branch down.   

  Not long after that here comes my neighbor again.  Said he had to change a light bulb on his porch and needed a tall man.    Once again, Big N Tall Nation to the rescue.

  The third time he showed up was the last straw for me.  Before he could say anything I said “Glad you’re here Don. I need a short man to help me out.” I took Don by the arm and handed him the pooper scooper.    I told him I was too tall to be scooping that stuff and needed him to do it because he was short.   I was gracious enough to hand him a bag for it.   Then I said “You’re a real prince for helping a too tall guy out Don.  You need a tall guy for something just let me know.”  

   I went inside while Don was scooping and trying to figure out what went wrong.    The rest of the weekend went great. Nobody bothered me at all.

  The second shift supervisor had back surgery and will be out six weeks so the boss asked (told) me I would be acting supervisor until his return.     Being big and tall and full of ambition, I of course accepted the assignment.  Plus it would give me a chance to fix “Lazy Earl.”

  Lazy Earl is like a cat.  He can pick through everyone’s lunch for Twinkies without leaving a trace or making a sound.   Unfortunately,  he also doesn’t do a trace of work so the poor guy that follows him spends half his/her shift either fixing something Lazy Earl messed up, or doing something Lazy Earl was supposed to do but didn’t.     We’ve all tried to get the  boss to fire Earl but he likes using this stuff as abstract life lessons.   If you can deal with Lazy Earl, anything else that comes your way is easy he says.

  So my first evening as second shift supervisor went as expected.   There’s a low spot in Earl’s work area that collects water.    I told Earl to get a shop vac and clean it up knowing full well Earl wouldn’t do it.    Sure enough,  I went back through the area 45 minutes later and the pool of water was still there but it now had a little electric fan blowing on it.    I told Earl to get the shop vac and clean it up as I told him to or he’d be sent home.    Earl said the regular supervisor didn’t treat him this way and he would break me before my time was up.      I wished Earl luck then lorded over him while he fumbled around with the shop vac and finally cleaned up the pool of water.      I couldn’t reply to Earl’s threat either but I had 14 years of cleaning up after this clown and I was going to get it all back in the next six weeks.

   Earl behaved for a couple days after I threatened him and made him do something but as usual, he couldn’t just do his job and shut up.   Earl claimed the power to his station wasn’t working and he couldn’t do anything so he would use some holiday time and go home.   I told him I needed him at work for something else and since his work area was inoperable,  I could transfer him to another job.. Lazy Earl just flipped the breaker that powers his equipment and thought I wouldn’t figure it out until he left.    So ten minutes later Earl was scrubbing the toilets in the men’s locker room.

  Earl’s called in sick the last two nights but he will be out of sick time soon enough.   I just hope he remembers that  you can’t get over on Big And Tall Nation.   But not until I’m through with him.

    As with every holiday I usually get some kind of education from my family on the importance of Dad giving gifts to everyone.     I was all for getting an Easter Basket for my five month old granddaughter but while we were out, my wife told me we had to get baskets for my kids and their boyfriends and girlfriends, plus some nieces and nephews, all of whom range from 17 to 23 years of age.

  Money wasn’t a problem because I sold an old set of golf clubs for $300 last week and the idiot that bought them, not because he paid $300, but because he dropped the money off while I wasn’t home and gave it to my wife.    I don’t care what they say, the greatest thrill a man can have is income that doesn’t have to be reported.

  So, with my $300 in hand we went to the mall because they had the best Easter Baskets and baby stuff.    I asked for my share so I could go to Sears and get these cool pliers that Bob Villa was selling on TV but was denied.   “Teaching our kids the importance of Easter was more important than another toy for you” my wife said.

  Funny when money is no object how Hershey and Nestle’s chocolate get passed by in favor of chocolate that is three times the price.    It is Easter though so Cadbury, Dove and this stuff that the wrapper said was from Belgium and cost $2 for a piece the size of a “fun size” Milkyway.    It did have an aura about it because the price on the wrapper was in Euros.   That was about the only thing good I say about this stuff. It was bitter and more like a jawbreaker in texture than a good old fashioned Milkyway.   But money and flavor didn’t matter because we were teaching our 17 to 23 year old kids about Easter.

  On the whole, despite the commercialization Easter was a success.   My daughter’s fiance has exotic tastes and claimed to enjoy the Belgian candy bars.  We got some great pictures of the baby in her Easter Bunny outfit.   If I can figure out how to get pictures to load I’ll add them.   So all in all,  everyone was happy and together. $300 well spent.

  Well, yeah. It’s still opening day but Cub fans need to celebrate  any good news they can.

  I spent four years as a kid in the Chicago area.   I was and still am first and foremost a White Sox fan but I’ve grown to love the Cubs since despising them  nearly 40 years ago.     Games at Wrigley Field were a drag for kids back then.   If a player was signing autographs the ushers would quickly run over and shoo us back to our seats.     Parking was and still is a nightmare.   The bars and restaurants in “Wrigley-ville” were staffed with smug jerks who thought they were doing their customers a huge favor by allowing us to order an $8 hamburger.   It may be worse now. I haven’t been to a Cub game since 1985.     Plus, living six hours away now, economics and technology make watching games on television the sound choice anyway.

   Although the White Sox have also endured their share of futility,  I always appreciated the way they conducted business.   Who couldn’t admire their former owner and master showman Bill Veeck and his wooden leg or Disco Demolition night.    I remember one event, Bat Night, when all the kids 12 and under got a bat. Of course bat fights broke out. When the umps made bad calls bats were thrown on the field.   A hot dog cart caught fire.    That was the best night at the ballpark Dad and I ever had.    Plus, I got lots of autographs.  Carlos May, Bill Melton, Stan Bahnson and Ed Hermann all signed my scorecard. Plus some guys from the other team but I forgot who the Sox were playing.    And the ushers never bothered anyone at White Sox games.    Especially on Bat Night.

   The best part of the White Sox then wasn’t the baseball. They had a good team but they were in the same division as the Oakland A’s.   Best team in baseball those years.

  The best part was listening to Harry Carey do White Sox games.  Even then, before I was of legal age, I appreciated a guy that got paid to watch baseball and drink Falstaff beer and get paid for it.   Harry did both well.     Harry Carey’s also the reason I grew to love the Cubs after Jack Brickhouse retired and Harry took over announcing Cub games.

  I apologise if baseball isn’t your cup of tea.    I’m just excited the boys of Summer are back.   And by the way, if you were wondering about the Super Hero Tournament on ESPN Radio, Batman crushed The Joker in  the final.   I wasn’t surprised that it was them in the final  despite all the heroes with superhuman powers.  Call me a homer if you want, but it was humans that imagined up all the aliens and supernatural beings that were in the tournament.  It’s only logical that humans would also know how to defeat them.   Go Humans!

 I’m of an age and physical limitation that being “chic”  just isn’t going to happen with me.     My town is just about out of real barbers that just cut hair and I hate “stylists”  with all their damn questions about what I want to do with what little hair I have left.   Just cut it.   $15 plus tip later  I still look like the same moderately overweight middle aged guy except my sideburns are even.

   Two of the wisest things my grandfather told me were that a man looks naked without a belt.  And that he cut his own hair.    His exact words were “I get drunk and cut my hair.”

  My wife gave me the go ahead to start cutting my own hair.  She said as long as I cleaned up after myself go for it.  A clean house is far more important than George Clooney like locks to real women anyway.   So I went to store and got some professional quality clippers.  

  I was a little shaky my first attempt with the new clippers but my boy, chip off the old block, brought me a cold one which promptly put me at ease.   My wife commented that I seemed to be going through beer more than I used to but I reminded her of all the money I was saving the family on haircuts.    She wasn’t buying  that argument but she was okay with the job I was doing with my hair.   Or that I wasn’t leaving a mess.     But most importantly, I know Grandpa would be proud.