As a child of a particular strand of American Protestantism, I was warned from an early age to be weary of this world and its offerings. “All that glitters is not gold”. Essentially, there were a great many “beautiful” things in this world which would never lead one to God. Instead, they served at the very minimum as mere distractions and at their worst, steps towards a slow deceptively innocuous descent into hell. Beauty and the truth of God simply could not be found outside of Scripture and the church. This thinking applied to a wide array of things in the world – everything from nature to popular culture and art.

Click the link above to read the rest.

I grew up listening to the Giants on the radio, and being taken to games at Candlestick by my dad.  I remember standing on the seats at the park (always along the third base line for my dad, so he could look into the home dugout), and watching Willie McCovey hit homeruns over the left field fence.  We’d make a few games a year, and the rest of the time we’d settle for the play by play on the radio.  Over time, I actually came to prefer the radio call, for the story the announcers would tell, and the emotion they would convey.  The only thing better was being there yourself.  During the late ’80′s I went to a ton of games, either sitting in the season ticket seats my dad owned, or spending $5 to sit in the left field bleachers, where the fans were loud and prone to crazy inebriated acts.  Candlestick was a miserable place to watch a baseball game, especially in the evenings.  It was always cold and windy, and you could often watch the Bay Area fog licking over the upper edges of the stadium, and then trickling down into the bowl.  The mark of a true fan were the Croix de Candlestick pins given out to those who stayed through the end of an extra inning game.  I’m happy to say I earned a few.

I texted my friend Dave (we cut a lot of psychology classes to get to a game) tonight to see if he wants to drive down to SF tomorrow to catch the parade on Wednesday.  I don’t think it will happen, but it would be cool.  For now I’m ecstatic that they have won, and am looking forward to February when pitchers and catchers report, and the grand game of baseball starts again.  Until then, there’s the Sharks and the Raiders.  Emily was chanting, “Go, Giants” in her room this afternoon, and I think I’ve succeeded in training her up on the proper team baseball team to follow.  Now we can start working on hockey and football.

]]> http://www.grassstains.net/?feed=rss2&p=1112 2 http://www.grassstains.net/?p=1108 http://www.grassstains.net/?p=1108#comments Tue, 28 Sep 2010 16:20:01 +0000 admin http://www.grassstains.net/?p=1108 Continue reading →]]> Surfing the net this morning, I ran across this.  We’ve all seen similar things before, but I like the way these have been presented.  It removes any confusion.  So for all those who are lucky to have a daughter . . .

Daddy’s Rules for Dating His Daughters

Rule One:

If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:

You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:

I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “Barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:

It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is: “early”

Rule Six:

I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:

As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is getting ready, a process than can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:

The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:  Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden tool. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to introduce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house.

Rule Ten:

Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveways you should exit the car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car – there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Yesterday, was also the anniversary for Gotcha Day, which means that Emily has been in our life as a daughter and sister for one year.  Today would mark the one year anniversary when Emily officially became ours in the eyes of China.  It’s been an amazing year, and we are so blessed to have been a part of this journey.  Crazy enough, there are still a few hoops to jump through.  Tonight we have our final post placement visit with the social worker who will write an update on Emily for China, and we look forward to this hurdle being cleared.