When I'm an old lady, I'll live with each kid, And bring so much happiness just as they did. I want to pay back all the joy they've provided.
Returning each deed! Oh, they'll be so excited! When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
I'll write on the walls with reds, whites and blues, And I'll bounce on the furniture wearing my shoes. I'll drink from the carton and then leave it out. I'll stuff all the toilets and oh, how they'll shout! When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
When they're on the phone and just out of reach,
I'll get into things like sugar and bleach. Oh, they'll snap their fingers and then shake their head, When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
When they cook dinner and call me to eat, I'll not eat my green beans or salad or meat, I'll gag on my okra, spill milk on the table, And when they get angry I'll run if I'm able! When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
I'll sit close to the TV, through channels I'll click,
I'll cross both eyes just to see if they stick. I'll take off my socks and throw one away, And play in the mud 'til the end of the day! When I'm an old lady and live with my kids.
And later in bed, I'll lay back and sigh, I'll thank God in prayer and then close my eyes. My kids will look down with a smile slowly creeping, And say with a groan, "She's so sweet when she's sleeping!"
Little girl in the grocery store was having an argument with her parents. She looked like she was maybe four or five. My husband and I round the corner and this girl looks at us, then her parents, then us, and comes running down the aisle. "I'm going to go live with THEM and THEY will be my new mommy and daddy because YOU'RE MEAN!" My husband ADORES kids, and I am very obviously pregnant-we smiled at her parents and they said, "Oh. Well, Mr. and Mrs.
New Dad and Mom-good luck with her," before turning their cart and walking away.
The girl gets this brief panicked expression and I shouted, "Hey-wait!" Parents turned around, "Does she have allergies or anything?" "Nope, she's healthy as a horse. She does need a nightlight though." "Oh, that's too bad-we don't have nightlights."
This girl let go of my husband's shirt tail and hauled back to her parents so fast she looked like a cartoon character running. "I don't really need that toy. I love you." You could tell she really reevaluated her choices up to that point, and it was adorable.
This is the answering machine message the Pacific Palisades High School (California) Staff voted to record on their school telephone answering system.
This came about because they implemented a policy requiring students and parents to be responsible for their children's absences and missing homework. The school and teachers are being sued by parents who want their children's failing grades changed to passing grades even though those children were absent 15-30 times during the semester and did not complete enough school work to pass their classes. This was voted unanimously by the office staff as the actual answering machine message for the school:
"Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting the right staff member, please listen to all your options before making a selection:
To lie about why your child is absent, press 1
To make excuses for why your child did not do his work, press 2
To complain about what we do, press 3
To swear at staff members, press 4
To ask why you didn't get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you, press 5
If you want us to raise your child, press 6
If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone, press 7
To request another teacher for the third time this year, press 8
To complain about bus transportation, press 9
To complain about school lunches, press 0
If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behavior, class work, homework, and that it's not the teachers' fault for your children's lack of effort... hang up and have a nice day!"
A group of kids was given an assignment in class by their homeroom teacher one day. Their task was to write about the ocean—you know, the deep blue sea—in their own words and what they thought about it. They weren't given any directions whatsoever by their teacher or any supervising adult, so what they came up with was purely out of their own imagination. Their answers were incredible.
1. This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles. (Kelly, age 6)
2. If you are surrounded by ocean, you are an island. If you don't have ocean all round you, you are incontinent. (Mike, age 7)
3. Oysters' balls are called pearls. (Jerry, age 6)
4. Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily Richardson . She's not my friend any more. (Kylie, age 6)
5. A dolphin breaths through an a**hole on the top of its head. (Billy, age
6. My uncle goes out in his boat with 2 other men and a woman and pots and comes back with crabs. (Millie, age 6)
7. When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross the ocean. Sometimes when the wind didn't blow the sailors would whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would have been better off eating beans. (William, age 7)
8. Mermaids live in the ocean. I like mermaids. They are beautiful and I like their shiny tails, but how on earth do mermaids get pregnant? Like, really? (Helen, age 6)
9. I'm not going to write about the ocean. My baby brother is always crying, my Dad keeps yelling at my Mom, and my big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write. (Amy, age 6)
10. Some fish are dangerous. Jellyfish can sting. Electric eels can give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where they have to plug themselves in to chargers. (Christopher, age 7)
11. When you go swimming in the ocean, it is very cold, and it makes my willy small. (Kevin, age 6)
12. Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Divers can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other. (Becky, age 8)
13. On vacation my Mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water fired right up her big fat A*S. (Julie, age 7)
14. The ocean is made up of water and fish. Why the fish don't drown I don't know. (Bobby, age 6)
15. My dad was a sailor on the ocean. He knows all about the ocean. What he doesn't know is why he quit being a sailor and married my mom. (James, age 7)
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They ended with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.
When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck. Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son.
You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.
"These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me." We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. ' When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again."
He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.
When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make away out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again...unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room.
"Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins.
With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt.
Neither one of us could speak.
Our parents deserve our honor and respect for giving us life itself. Beyond this they make countless sacrifices for us...share this with your parents and make them feel special.