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Delusions that are forced to appear real


It is unfortunate that so many, too many fail or refuse to watch news reports. Whether it is religious reasons, lack of time or loss of interest, one might find of interest what the new laws the government has forced upon the people. While I am so sure that many are troubled with, unemployment being an all-time high since 1953 and increased oil prices since the days of slick Willie; some people may feel a need to find and adhere to other distractions. Many worried folks not knowing if they’ll have a place to lay their head or where their next meal is coming from, may have tried to do something with their time and make use of current resources. (Whatever they might be). Notwithstanding, some still deciding if food and other necessities are more important than having medication or a roof over their heads. As for desires, well, they are outdated and have hence become a thing of the past; forget about it here in one of the richest Countries on this planet. (At least for now.)While I attempt to spread joyous news and be amiable, it is often difficult. I was so sure that this would be one of those times, however I am wrong.

When I first became eliminated from the workforce, I spent many hours watching FoxNews Network, CNN, MSNBC, and many other worldwide news stations. I read the newspaper from front to back as well as the small local free newspapers left outside the door of retailers. While I am so sure I was being informed about the world around me, I was becoming inundated with politics, crime, and the like. I had ceased paying attention to the things that I enjoyed most. Almost demented with the plethora of information flooding my surroundings, I had considered admitting myself to the nearest mental health institution. I tell ya, I was just so sick and affixed with it, that it became apparent to my family that I had become neglectful a.k.a. partially or totally insane. I began to imagine what the tight white jackets would feel like. Heck, you have to admit (both women and men), no matter what color of clothing you wear, white goes with everything.

Well, suddenly I assumed that I had good news. Wait, let me say that before hurricane Katrina, I finally realized my obsession to current events and slowly ceased my manic craze, but with Web Pointer MD saved in my favorites and Dr. Kevorkian’s number in speed dial. Yes, I continued to watch the local news two to three times a day and kept informed by daily news articles, however within reason and with www.biologicalunhappiness.com at my fingertips. Notwithstanding and with all earnestness, I could not tear myself away from the television while I watched with sadness, fear, and disbelief while the catastrophic event destroyed and took so (too) many lives.

At one moment, I began to watch sitcoms. Whew! That was more than I could take. I enjoyed re-runs of All in the Family, Sanford and Son and many others. While Everybody Hates Chris is still a must see, I had to put an end to all of the others-new and old.

One afternoon, I received a call from a friend of a relative, and wham! I became inspired again.

Here’s my story:

One evening, I was pecking at the keys on my keyboard and I felt it was time to hear the jams from my favorite musician’s strum. I finally unwrapped a box that I had received some time ago. I knew what was inside - my new office-stereo. I performed my ritual when I received new things that came with an Owners Manual; I tossed aside the wrapping and Owner Manuals and plugged it in. What about the Owners Manual, you ask. Well, it must remain in the factory shipped wrapper until removal is necessary. See the way I see it is that when I finally do read it, - a year or more from now, I will discover new things. And walla, it’s just as new as the first day I opened the box a year prior! With the reference book close to the wastebasket, I plugged in my new stereo. I played with the CD thingy (no wonder I needed a new one), touched all the unread buttons and then started turning the knobs. Finally, I tuned into one of my favorite radio stations and noticed something that has not occurred in such a long, long time. (Wow, just the little things amaze me.) THEY WERE NOT TALKING! Nope, no talking nor commercials but continuous jams. I was groovin and a movin. I was on to something. They called themselves, Jammin 92.5, whereas I think they should have considered something more fitting like, Continuos Jams or something nother. (I’m so sure if I gave it more thought, I would have come up with a catchier moniker.) Now, I know, you might say, she is some over-weight broad who has nothing else to do but waste time watching television or listening to music 24/7. But, you’re wrong. When able and not stuffing my face, I hit the treadmill or ski machine and when I do, I would listen to the continuos jams from my Walkman. Now, listen, I’m not an advertiser for any musician or radio station, but just desired to spread good news; something I think would help ease some folks from the day to day drab.

Well, this release has changed

As I said, I just wanted to spread some good news or share something that I had embarked upon and was delighted to pass on. For all I know, the good news I wanted to pass on may not have been new to many. However, like a used car or any used item passed on to me, it may be used, but I was not the previous owner, so hence, it would be new to me. Nevertheless, I will say that I have listened to this radio station for years at work or in the car. However, I was always limited with time; I had a job with clients who did not share my taste in music and my manager wasn’t too kind when I walked the office with headphones attached to my head. Thinking back on those dark days, I suppose it may have had something to do with the time someone accidentally pulled the fire alarm and I failed to notice the panic of 100plus employees. And, as far as the car. Well, tell me this, how much time can one spend in a car? I can eat and drink (non-alcoholic beverages, of course) and even get a little freaky inside my car, but then again, I cannot sleep in it. I mean at least I’m not forced to do so - yet.

While I wanted to relay good news, instead, I have awful news. The radio station once known as Jammin 92.5 is gone; it is no more. This disappointment came at a surprise, as I had no idea that the change was coming.

This is how I become aware of the transition: Yesterday morning I was performing my morning ritual. You know, feed the dog, take the dog out. Feed the fish and see if any fish need to be taken out. Wash my hands, wipe the kitchen counter, go to the bathroom and check my look in the mirror. (Yep, its me.) Turn on the shower and the shower radio, grab my shower-mat, looffa bar, and wait... Uh huh, something is new here. Should I have saved that Owners Manual or, should I have not listened to my 17 therapists? The radio was doing some sort of count down. What the heck! I did as I was told when the announcer told me not to stare at my radio. By the time I finished cleaning, the count down thingy had come to an end and the announcer proclaimed that 92.5 was the new radio station for “Country Willie 92.5.” What?!?!? I quickly dried my not so corpulent not so J-Lo body, applied lotion, dressed in my drab, and went into my bedroom. I turned on the amp and searched and searched for my radio station but to my displeasure, it could not be found. Later that day, I made a call or two and sent emails to family and friends inquiring about my station but no one seemed to know. Non one answered me, so I have to believe that they were spending time with their co-worker-radio or not inside a vehicle.

Today, December 16th, I opened an email with the title, What Happened to 92.5FM? I read, and I read. (frown) The radio station is gone. After reading the article, hmmm, I didn’t perceive any obvious reasons, so I’m not so sure as to why I am being forced to tune into FoxNews, yet again. While considering a call to the good Dr., I thought about the changes the station had made when Gloria Neal was added to “The Morning Show.” It was a comforting that an African American was attached to Old School music played by mostly African Americans. Now, don’t get me wrong, as certainly I enjoyed the former, popular DJ Neal replaced, but just that it made sense or was easy to grasp. (No irony there) It was a different twist to the range of listeners.

I suppose, this release has made a round trip. As stated in the beginning, people are stressed and stretched about the economy and their lack of means to know the definition of economy. While money certainly isn’t everything, it certainly helps. And at times like these, it seems so prevalent that there is a lack of it. Well now, the good news is this: Those who love country music well, they have a new station for b-boppin and line dancin. I’m sure I’ll be a partial fan as I’m considerably eclectic when it comes to music, however I have a preference of time as well as when and where.

In short, I have learned from my therapist is that wellllll, I need to look on the bright side: white goes with everything and reasonably poises well against my pale skin. In addition, due to my own struggling surplus, I may be forced to live in my car WITHOUT a radio but with “Fuzzy Math.”

©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor

K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator.

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Beauty for a Price


Beauty Has its Price Getting Implemented

Yesterday, I had my hair beutified. Now what does that mean? Well, as an Black African American woman, I define it as making an appointment at my favorite beautician, then waiting an extra 40 minutes even though I made the appointment last week. I sit and I wait to have my hair washed and then dried with an extra-hot flaming-heat blowtorch-dryer. I then sit and wait an extra 15 to 20 minutes and then am directed to another chair-as if the first one was not suitable for styling, but yet a warning. Nonetheless, I sit and watch the beautician apply gunk to my hair, grab additional combs and styling brushes, teasing devices, along with more styling-gunk and more flame to detonate the hairstyle. And then 1 hour and 45 minutes later, ta-da, I am beutified! Simple? Yes. It was worth my time and $125 as I walk out of the salon and watch old men gawk and stare. Although my scalp is still burning, my ego is pumped as the old men whistle at me as well as their dogs in the nearby park. But the dogs are anxious; jumping around and then chasing the fire engine. Too bad they missed the fire on top of my head. I thought, whoever said it is better to be pissed off than pissed on, was not walking around with a fire on their head and dogs running loosely to urine on fire hydrants in lieu of my hair.

I ignore the compounded-tingly-sensation yet open sores in my hot, painful scalp. Men need to understand that we women go through complete burning hell to look good.

After the blowtorch torture, I bypass the rinky-dink stores and drive to a retail franchise to purchase non-chip fingernail polish. Could you tell I was a glutton for punishment? While there, I purchase facial cleanser and other items that would only be used once and then saved until dehydrated in the bottom of the bottle. Next year, when I’m invited to the party of the year, I hope to consider going to the cheaper outlets to buy unnecessary products. If not, I would be sure to apply water in an attempt to revive what was meant to be preserved or placed in a time capsule.

With my fiery head and tortured wallet, I am at the end of the line in my grocery store buying pain reliever.

That night, I slept in a fashion that only sistas or women with class would understand: I recline on my left side with my left palm adjusting my swollen scalp. Throughout the night, I may have given my failing wrist a break, thereby switching to my right side. If my head should slip out of my palm, I would gently pat my head to make sure the style stayed in place. Of course, my eyes would remain closed, as I would do anything to alleviate swollen-eye-bags to match a swollen head. (Good thing I went to bed at 7:00PM.)

The next morning, I tried to focus on my chores before getting ready for the party of the year. With the pain ever present, but reduced swelling, I was able to clean part of the house but adhere to every need of my owner a.k.a. my dog, D. Queen.

Hours passed when I had finished complying with my dog’s demands. It was now time for a need of my own. One must take into account that all I wanted to do was to make myself feel and smell better. There I was in my bathroom partially dressed, as I certainly was not expecting company. I was preparing myself for my shower routine. Now, I’m so sure that most people just get into the shower, bathe two or three times and hop out. But, no, not me. I have a routine to adhere to, it is extremely important, and a must-have that I do it or everything in my life will fail. Ok, now, that is extreme, just my day, or is it my psyche that goes haywire.

There I am shaping myself for what others can complete in a matter of minutes. One would think that with the increased prices of water and other public utilities that I would try to get this done in less than 5 minutes. No one would know ‘cept for me. Well, not only me, but also everyone else who stands within 5 feet of my person. Most people do not know this, and I would certainly hope that this isn’t shared with anyone. But, you see, over the years, I had developed a minor, sometimes severe chronic illness, which causes me to sweat like a rhino in 100-degree heat. Well, although I often looked in the mirror at my naked body, it would come into view that I had the frame of a large beast. Nonetheless, the grotesqueries had been with me for over 30-plus years, I had not intentions on attempting to change now.

I looked in the mirror and wondered how well my makeup would stick to my face because only inches above it was very irritated. I tossed the shower mat into the bottom of the tub and reached for my beauty bar. Who moved it? While searching, I accidentally broke a nail, thus chipping my non-chip very expensive fingernail polish. If only my husband would not move things that should not be of interest to him. Besides, wasn’t it he who thought it was a great idea for us to share the same bathroom? Hmmm, perhaps I should teach him a lesson by using his tools.

I went to his special tool drawer, removed his crazy glue, and thought about not putting it back where I found it. I unearthed the mucilage in a package that had been opened. I took the glue out and squeezed the tube just lightly. Hmmm, nothing came out. Drats.

I opened the main opening and saw that the seal had not been broken. I reached for a pin and slightly pierced through the foil. Ah. I replaced the lid and unscrewed the tip of the tube, slightly applied pressure to the tube and waited for about one and ½ seconds, or less. The glue gushed out unto my fingers and the countertop. Immediately, I reached for a towel and wiped the porcelain along with some of my fingers.

When I thought the danger was over, I picked up the tube, applied the glue to the nail of my thumb, and attempted to replace the cap. With the glue still on my thumb and forefinger, I kept my coolness when holding on to the open glue machine thingy. Through all of the craziness of the crazy glue, I had glued two of my fingers together. I couldn’t get them apart! I began to panic, which brought back the pain to my skinless-scalp. Lawd! I thought about calling the man who promised to honor, obey, and do everything I say, but he was out picking up my dress from the cleaners. The next thought, was to call 911, but because I was partially dressed and peering as though my fingers were throwing gang signs, I feared that it was not the best thing; at least not at the moment.

I hurried into the bedroom, retrieved some fingernail polish remover, and poured it on my fingers. I tried to yank-stretch my fingers apart, but as the advertisement on the glue tube says, “Instantly bonds,” that was not about to happen. With my burning scalp, I had no idea that I would even think or consider reading the package. However, it states, “This product should be kept out of the reach of children, avoid eye or mucous, contact” along with some other useless small print. There were multiple warnings on this small wachamacallit. (There were other explicates I could assume to utter.) I peered at the crazy glue warnings. The words were small yet firm (no pun here). In such a panic-emergency, my eyes glanced over some of the words, but what I can gather, the tinny tiny warning of words, calmly stated the following:

1.) If you are over the age of 21, please do not consider yourself an adult.

2.) Consult a man who can read as well as follows instructions. (No, not just ANY instructions, but THESE instructions.)

3.) Consult a man who actually follows directions and actually knows what the consequences are for using this product - Even if he made the mistake of gluing his hands to his face or other body parts in the past.

4.) Once a man has made the mistake of misusing this product, it is considered trial and error, however, he is certainly certified, authorized and bonded (no pun intended), to make use of this product. However, MUST be done with supervision of the maker of this product, two doctors, and three lawyers.

5.) If you’re a not-so-smart male, before making use of this product, make sure you have your wife’s permission to use her fingernail polish remover. Or, better yet, purchase your own fingernail polish remover or some other strong smelling glue-removing device.

6.) Before making use of this product, make sure all pets that you wish to own after today, are removed from the immediate area. If not avoid the humane society legalities by making sure that any pet identification is removed from the deceased.

7.) Prior to using this product, make sure 911 is in speed dial.

If you are just stupid enough to glue your body parts together, then have enough sense to pray to the good Lord. Asking Him to shine His ever-loving light on the idiot who just had to use this product improperly and without the certified supervision, and/or the help of a smart minor.

Continue with prayer while soaking a q-tip in fingernail polish remover and GENTLY pry the source apart.

If you decide to skip some of these instructions, but read the very last one, yell to the top of your lungs in hopes that the EMT’s will hear you.

Well, the paramedics just left my home. Oh my, for those of you who witnessed this near fatal for my dog incident. Shame on you for staring at me during this event. I now wonder how will I ever show my face in public again. Oh, and for those that missed it, just thank God that you did not miss much. The neighbors came out and were staring and pointing at my partially dressed body. Just a horrible time to kickoff the holiday season among other things.

Now, I am literally stuck with the embarrassment of my neighbors and glue residue. And to top it off, my scalp hurts!

©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator.

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New Year’s Resolutions


I tried making New Years Resolutions, Renewals for the New Year, Promises for the New Year, or whatever you desire to refer to them as. It does not matter what you call them, because I know one thing for sure; they do not work for me. About some odd 22 years ago, I had an epiphany – a revelation came upon me and I discovered that they were false promises I was making to myself and that they just didn’t work. So with this newly learned thing, that if it doesn’t work, then try something else, and hence, I did. Now, this is not a secret as I have decided that I would share it with most of you – okay, all of you.

Before I reveal the cryptic remedy, just remember that an insane man finally came to his senses and said that if one continues to do the same thing over and over again, reveals their own insanity. I say the man/woman who said that had to be insane because they found out through experience. Well, as you know, I have been released from the white jackets and hence, have learned that New Years Resolutions just do not work for me. I’d like to think that I listen to myself and at least attempt to try to learn from my mistakes. I stopped proclaiming to others what I promise to do and not to do, as I just know that I am not willing to make a life change. And when I think of making a life change, I think how far reaching that would be for a person like me. “Life change” seems silly and useless. The words alone are not profound and for me, do not carry much weight.

In the past 22 years, I have learned that I will never change and as my dear dad use to say, “That’s just how it is.” Moreover, as some unknown smart person once asked, “Why change a good thing?” No, I’m not perfect in all that I do, but hey, I’m as happy as an effeminate man in Canon City prison.

Over the years, one of my New Years Resolutions were that I would lose weight. Well, as you know, that was not true as I am certainly a few pounds overweight and contest that I have gained and lost more than 100lbs in my lifetime. Some of my New Years Resolutions were that I would eat healthier. I have eaten healthier from time to time, but if I am hungry, I eat, and if I’m not, then I won’t eat. It is as simple as that. Since I have an order to eating, I adhere to an illness that calls for medication that increases as well as decreases my appetite. Either I eat, eat, eat, or I do not eat at all, and hence, I have developed an eating disorder. Now, have no fear, I’m not worried, as it’s just how it is.

The epiphany I received just came upon me one morning while I was in the shower, or brushing my teeth one or the other, I forget. Either or, but destined to repeat what I already had done and was not willing or able to discontinue my old habits. It was just that, a habit. The secret: just continue to do what you’ve always done! You can expound on it, just as long as you continue it with decency, dignity and consistency. I needed to be true to myself and remind myself that someone once said that honesty was the best policy. Who was the weak exposed person that said, “To thy own self be true?” It works for me.

When the clock stuck 12:01AM, I vowed the following:

I promise to eat whenever and whatever I want.

I promise to not care what anyone thinks as I have learned over 25 years ago, that no one cares as much as I do, and that’s a lot about nothing.

I promise not to telephone people (that I know) who do not wish to be called after 9:00 PM. Those that I do not know, watch out, I’ll be phoning ya soon.

I promise to continue picking up trash and debris from both sides of my home as well as well as both of my trashy neighbors.

I promise to wipe the kitchen counter 3 or 4 times daily even when I don’t make a mess.

I promise to yell obscenities at anyone who calls my home after 10:00PM if they are not in need of my immediate services, sick, dying or dead. (Dead people can’t call, and if they did, I hardly think I’d yell any profanities.)

I promise to love and obey my dog for as long as she demands and commands it as long as we both shall live.

I promise I will not forget those that have forsaken me.

I promise not to promise anything, but keep an honest conscious thought about what I promised.

I promise that I will not promise not to get upset with stupid people including the Village Idiot, my government, my husband, family members, friends and foes.

I promise not to promise that I will never procrastinate ever again.

I promise that I will not promise to say what I mean and to mean what I say.

I promise not to promise to stop abusing my health.

I promise to limit my shower time to 30 minutes.

I promise not to promise to tell white, black, green, or any other color, lie. I promise not to promise that I will not eat after 8:00PM as well as in the bed.

I promise to read more.

I promise to try to listen and adhere to God more.

Others seem to be more practical when making the vows and promises for New Years Resolutions. I have heard that they will lose weight, be a better driver, clean their homes more, cease cheating on their spouses, pray, read their Bible, be more content, slow to anger, be more trustful, etc.

For those of you who have made those promises, I only have a few responses to you fat, licensed-yanked, dirty, cheating, sinful, dyslexic, irate naïve folk:

I will always be fat When I was just a little baby, the doctor told my mother that I was overweight. My mom argued that I was just so cute that I resembled a fat little dolly. The doctor however retorted that I was so fat, that it was dangerous to be so fat. And that although I was just a baby, I could have a heart attack.

The doctor gave my mother some goat milk to help me slim down those extra pounds, but my mother said I cried and cried. Now, I can only imagine that no new mother likes her baby crying without supplying aid, so my mother did what any mom would - she gave me portions of the regular milk that I enjoyed so much. And with that said, I could - although I would never - blame my mother for promoting my obesity. I still wonder where my beauty derived from.

I will never be a better driver in less than or within the next 365 days

For the last two years, I have vowed to be a better driver, but today, I am the same nasty impatient driver. I still spout obscenities at other stupid drivers even when I later realized that I was at fault. Oh, I don’t think that was a wise resolution to make as my doctor had told me several times not to drive in the first place.

I will not keep my office cleaner

When I was growing up, my parents always made us clean the house from top to bottom and from bottom to top. It was such a chore dusting, mopping, washing clothes, making beds and washing walls and windows. Sheesh, it was an all day job. I felt as though I was a live in maid. Now that I am older, I dread the thought that there should ever be such organization. Once, I cleaned my office so well, that I called my brother to inform him of my good deed. And as the youngest of seven, yet older than 21, I suppose I expected a rooha or a trinket. However, my brother was not amused, but simply asked, “What do you want me to do about?”

“It looks really good,” I chimed.

“And?”

“Well, I just wanted you to know that it’s much cleaner than what I usually keep it.”

“Humph, you act as though this is something that is unusual or that you’re not suppose to keep it clean.”

I was disappointed by his remarks, so I just say the heck with it. If no one else cares, then why should I?

I will not dust every item in my home on a regular basis

As a child, we had to dust every single Saturday, so I need to rebel at some point. With my parent’s heavy slaved-labor, it kept me from doing what I enjoyed most; playing with my Barbie dolls from sunup till sundown. If we decided to skip dusting a piece of furniture, my mom or dad would come along and write their name on it; an indication that Barbie would be playing by herself.

Every now and then, I will play those same smarts as my parents, but when I write my name across the coffee table or TV on Saturday, I end up writing the date on it two Saturdays after that. I suppose I should have had children, or better yet, hired a maid.

I will always try to be a faithful wife

I am as faithful as my opportunities. I have never cheated on my husband, but my characters have and that calls for some heavy mind alerting fantasies. What am I suppose to do, allow all of my characters to have a perfect life, with no personality defects. What is a story without conflict?

I will always pray

I never claimed that I would cease praying, but did pledge to pray more often. I use to pray six or seven times a day. Now, I only pray constantly.

I will always read my Bible

When I was just a young child, my preacher said, “Don’t believe me, but read it for yourself.” After that heavy concession, I went out, purchased a Bible, and read it all the time. As the years would follow, I would purchase a New Translation Bible and read chapters at a time.

In the NTB, I have read the entire New Testament and am currently working on the Old. With my great organizational skills, I am sure to finish it before my worn out days when I am confined to my bed.

I will always ask God for forgiveness

I am not proud, but must be honest when I say that I am a hypocrite. Enough said.

I will always be content with Peace

Some years ago, I prayed for patience. I retrieved Peace, and I am as about as happy and content as my dog rolling in the dirt after a shower.

I will always consider that the Village Idiot was wrong to go to war in Iraq. (Even if WMD’s were found)

So what if Saddam Hussein had WMD’s in his possession? Was it not we who gave them to him? Duh! So what if Saddam killed his own citizens. People in the U.S. certainly are not living longer because of their government. And for those who are, wish they weren’t… (well, I’ll leave that for next year IF I’m found alive after publishing anything about Iraq, the president or the likes.) [Seems to make sense or is no big wup to our government that they allow people to go without medical insurance, food, water, housing, and other necessities while they sit so comfortable in their warm HOUSES.]

I will never trust anyone

I put my faith and trust in no man. Case closed.

Through the years, I have learned two things about the past. 1.) One who never learns anything about the past and their mistakes, is bound to repeat them. 2.) Memories reflect realities, and the reality is, I am not going to change, or at least, I promise not to promise.

©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator.

After that, pray for me.

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I Do Not Have Children...But I use to be one!


I do not have any children If you are childless and are planning a move, move to a place without children. Mind you, I do not have kids, but I use to be one, and I certainly know what it took to be Mr. Smith’s child and I tell you, it certainly was not easy. At least at times.

My parents were just that: PARENTS. REAL parents who took the time to raise their children. They took the time to raise their children while facing many sacrifices. I certainly applauded them for their dedication as well as discipline.

While growing up, my parents seem to raise us with little effort. Well, it appeared effortless until they had to discipline us and remind us who was boss. Nevertheless, they did a GREAT job!

I live in a supposedly controlled community. The association is suppose to regulate or manage mine and some other 5000 plus properties. However, what they are unable to do, is watch other people’s kids. I call them Bay-Bay’s kids who run amuck 24 hours a day 7 days a week, destroying people’s property. And what makes matters worse, the parents do not even care. One may argue and say that the parents do not know, then I would ask, "Why? Why don’t they know?”

Here’s my gripe: I went outside this morning to retrieve the morning paper and you know what one of those bad rascals has done? Yep, they broke one of my security lights! Not the wireless cheap ones, but one of the electric lights that will take some time to be replaced.

Lawd!

Those Bay-Bay kids are destructive and this is not the first time they have taken it upon themselves to alter my property. Last year, one of those scoundrels purposely kicked one of my fake squirrels off the wooden frame around my tree. At first, I thought my spouse had removed it thinking that it was too girlish or something. As I prepared to give my spouse the third degree and compose him to receive 5 hours of questioning under the hot lava lamps, I discovered he was innocent. I suppose it was obvious that it was not the Tim Allen-wannabe who walked around the house as well as slept in an empty tool belt.

It was a short investigation when I looked at the wooden frame that once housed my friend the squirrel, as his little, insy-winsy tinny tiny squirrelly foot was intact. So no, it was not the home improvement person.

Last year in June, Home Improvement guy and me spent many laborious hours replacing and redecorating our white stones on the West Side of our home. What did the little scoundrels do? Yep, they found pleasure in removing a few rocks at a time and placing them in a location that was suitable for them! My only question is where were those little snots when I needed them last June.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. My parents would have slapped me to sleep if I even THOUGHT about touching someone’s property. And if I ever THOUGHT about removing someone’s property, they would have called the police on me only AFTER I endured 6 weeks of Mr. Smith's torture.

One day, I was only a mile from my home, when I noticed these scoundrels standing in this man’s yard, holding one of the man’s rocks. I rolled down my window and told the Bay-Bay kid to put it down. You know what he did? Yep, he ignored me.

Yesterday, when I was leaving my home, I noticed a very large bolder-like red rock sitting displaced. It was just sitting there away from the other rocks. Who did that? I am certain that the owner did not decorate his landscape that way. Who did it? Do you suppose that particular rock decided to step away from the rest, a Black-rock of the other rocks? Hmmm, perhaps this rock was a rebel of rocks. I’m not sure.

I have politely asked the scoundrels behind me, time and time again - lawd - I am so tired of asking them to stay off the fence as I paid more then $200 to repair it. Do they listen? Please, I would have a better chance being adopted by Donald Trump.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. When we climbed up on the fence, my dad would beat us down as if we stole something. Now, I do not condone beatings, but I DO condone discipline.

I recall a friend of mine, Teresa. Some years ago, I was at her home and her child performed an act that was not to Teresa’s liking. Teresa informed the child that she would be spanked. The child was unlike me when I was a child – quietly shaking in my boots. No, not this child. She yelled, screamed and hollered BEFORE Teresa even laid a finger on her. I thought the child was just considering the thought of getting the beat down. Lawd! Anyway, the child’s roar was heard a million miles away and before you could say, "I was only kidding," the police was at the door.

Teresa stood her ground when the cop told her he would have to place her under arrest for child-abuse.

"You can put me in handcuffs now, or you can put me in handcuffs later, said Teresa. "But she will be spanked."

"Ma’am," said a posed cop in a cop-like stance and voice. "I can not stand here and allow you to spank this child."

"Well, then you can leave and then I’ll spank her, but she will be punished."

"Ma’am, I can not allow you to do that."

"Well, then you take her."

The police officer vacated the property without having to labor over paperwork.

Now mind you, I’m not saying that every parent should go around beating the stuffing out of their children. No. At least not to the point that the white meat is revealed, but I do believe strict discipline is always in order. Moreover, I honestly feel that parents are not able to be their child’s friends, as it just does not work.

When I was a youngster, we had chores from sun up till sun down, or when Mr. Smith went to work – which was often. Nonetheless, the second warden, Mrs. Smith was ALWAYS on duty. She was strict, but allowed us to have our freedom (from time to time).

While the history books state that the emancipation proclamation was signed in 1863, we were in dispute as my parents did not recognize it as law. We were not free! We had chores on top of chores = chores-galore! Lawd, it seemed to never end - just endless.

We were rich! Yep, richer than most as we had 4 dishwashers, 7 remote controls and in-home housekeepers 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You see, my parents thought if we were busy working around the house, then there was less time for us to get involved in any mischief.

One of the most memorable moments, was when my Mr. Smith did a roll call: "Lynn, Cymmne, Greg, Sean…" Once all of the seven crumb snatchers answered, Mr. Smith was able to account for all of his little progenies and knew who he would be calling to do this and/or that.

Another one of Mr. Smith’s stunts: He would call out, "Lynn, go and tell Cymmne to come here." If memory serves me correctly, Lynn was outside with Cymmne!

Last Smitty stunt: Mr. Smith would stand near the sink, which was only less than a foot away from the refrigerator and he would instruct, "Ranell, give me a glass of ice water."

When Mr. Smith was on late night duty, he would make sure that the kitchen sink was empty. If not, then someone would be wakened from a deep sleep. The tile floor in the kitchen was always mopped. Throughout the house, the bare wooden floors were always mopped AND waxed. The furniture was always dusted and the windows were so clean that they appeared as if the glass was not even there. All of the beds were made daily and the bathroom spotless. The worse part of it all, was waking up at dawn to pickup paper on the front and back lawns.

The worst and BEST part of it all, my parents did it out of love - teaching us respect and responsibility.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. Some years ago, my brother was arrested for hitting his child. At the time, my brother worked for a juvenile detention center. My brother was also a detainee in the same detention center as a youth and was doing his best to keep his child from becoming a number-bearer.

I applaud my brother for doing whatever it took to be heard. He is a parent who has a job to do. If not, then the State can have him.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one. I have witnessed kids talking back to not only their elders, but to their parents! Please, if I even THOUGHT about attempting such an act, my parents would have skinned me alive.

I do not condone beatings however I do condone strict discipline. I have seen kids run up and down the aisles in grocery stores, while the parents do nothing but wish they were childless. I watch in sadness as the parents try to act as though they are calm, but I know differently. Instead, of watching excessive gray hairs extend from the parents’ head, I perform an act that is unlawful but permissible by the tired parent. Yep, you guessed it! I trip those kids for their parents as I feel it’s the least I can do. The parents will thank me later.

Once while in Wal-Mart, I noticed this young mother with an over-sized child in her shopping cart. The woman seemed to be in a rush as she darted out from one of the aisles in such speed, that I could have sworn I seen smoke burning on the wheels.

"Just wait till we get to the car," I heard her calmly say. "Just wait till we get to the car."

Moments later, I was in the checkout line and I noticed a very similar woman. This woman had on the same attire as the one with the child in the cart, but her equipoise was totally different. Here, I saw a very calm mother pushing her child in the store. I do not recall the expression of the child, but mommy seemed very pleased.

I do not condone Charles Martin’s actions, but I think I understand. I honestly believe there is more to the story then just some kid "walking on this man’s lawn." I believe Mr. Martin was just fed up with the scoundrels who rendered stress to a hobby that he once enjoyed. I believe that he enjoyed working on his lawn and was probably a favorite pastime. However, I believe he was just so annoyed by the destructive acts of the rascals in his neighborhood, that one day he just loaded his gun. The story reports that Mr. Martin called the police and waited for them to arrive and he admitted his crime. He sounds peaceful to me; a caring and observant property owner’s dream neighbor. I wish that he had not taken this kid's life, as well as taken the law into his own hands. In contrast, I can only imagine that he was at wits end and that the law had not worked for him in the past. At least that is my experience, anyway. (My heart goes out to the family as well as to Mr. Martin.) I do not condone people killing others.

I do not have kids, but I use to be one and am certainly thankfully that my PARENTS taught me respect and responsibility.

Remember Colorado’s “Cool Mom? Well, don’t be a friend, but a parent!

©Keeba Smith-Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor

K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator.

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