What a wonderful world we live in, I just can’t seem to see it on TV
Not to long ago, people didn’t have running water or electricity in their houses. Personally, I would go absolutely crazy.
Not too long ago, we didn’t have telephones, much less cell phones that fit into the small right side pocket of our jeans. I could do without the phone, but it’s important and most everyone couldn’t live without theirs.
We all know how our vehicles have evolved over the past 106 years since the day that Henry Ford rolled the first black, hand-cranked car out of his shop. I don’t know a person that wouldn’t want a car.
The world has launched numerous astronauts into space and actually had them return to earth. THAT is amazing.
We have thousands of satellites that circle the earth at thousands of miles per hour that help us watch our TVs, make our calls, and help us direct our cars in the right direction when we are traveling or lost and refuse to ask for directions.
America, alone, is full of technology and promise. When you add all of the other countries in the world that are contributing to our global progression, one would think that there is nothing we can’t accomplish.
Then how is that after my kids get hold of my remote control, I can’t find it?
Days will pass until I can change the channel on my TV while sitting on my couch.
Military missiles have laser tracking built in so that you can see where they are going and remotely steer them to their target. Why then doesn’t my remote have some sort of locating device? Something that at least beeps. How hard would that be?
I have tried to place them in areas of the living room that I can easily get to them, but the kids can’t. They somehow always find them and want to use them.
Nash, my one-and-a-half year old, likes to get her hands on it and run around the house pointing it at everything that has a little power light. She has stood in front of the TV pushing buttons and has recorded shows and almost signed us up for some unwanted channels.
I’m not sure what it would take to change a remote’s design in order to have a device in there that will allow us to find it when it is “lost.”
It can’t be that hard. There are devices that allow a person to walk into a room, clap their hands, and watch their lights turn on. Let me do that with my remote.
Maybe I just want it all or maybe I just hate getting off of the couch when I have to change the station.
I think that one of these guys that can figure the trajectory of a space probe that is going to travel halfway across the galaxy and land on a planet that has the opposite rotation than the earth and also account for daylight savings time and leap year should be able to devise something for a remote on his lunch break.
Ultimately, I think it is up to me to just find a better hiding place. After all, I would probably also need a key fob that I would have to find and push a button to make my lost remote “beep.”
On the other hand, maybe, just maybe, my daughter can figure it all out, well, after she is done ordering all of the movie channels on Direct TV.
Bryan Pinkey can be found searching through toy boxes and under beds for his remote or at bpinkey@nccox.com.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
3-19-09
Leave me alone, or I‘ll sic my little sister on you
Jessica Pinkey has been my sister and personal bodyguard for the last 30 years. I have never paid her and have never been asked to.
I was taught at a young age to never pick a fight, never hit girls and unless your life depends upon it, walk away. The latter was always easier said than done.
When my sister came along, I think my young frame of mind changed. I was told to always take care of and watch out for my sister.
I didn’t ask for her. Why was I responsible for her well-being? Didn’t she have parents?
As we grew up, I learned to care for her, keep her safe and make her get me things that I was too lazy to get for myself.
My mother and father say that I let her get away with anything. She would hit me, climb on me, take my stuff and generally treat me like a human trampoline.
I guess as I got older, I learned to let things roll off my back a lot easier. Friends would argue with me and it didn’t bother me. Neighborhood kids would want to play with something of mine, take it, and I would usually let it slide.
It just wasn’t worth it to get into a fight over something dumb and I knew that if I got into a fight with a girl, my tail would be lit. As I said, Dad had made it clear to me that there was no excuse for hitting girls.
One day, the relationship between my sister and me changed. It was a change that would be a turning point for the both of us for the rest of our lives.
Lisa Fowler was a tiny, short, super small, little girl that lived next door to us in Clinton, Maryland. I think I was about eight or so and had a group of about seven friends, including Lisa, that I ran with non-stop. We did everything and there always seemed to be one or two of us fighting on any given day.
One day, Lisa was mad at me. I’m sure I did something to start the fight, as this is still a curse that has been cast upon me to this day. I made her mad but I think her mom didn’t have the “don’t hit boys” talk with her.
Lisa found the biggest pieces of driveway blue-stone that would fit in her tiny, little fists.
I began dodging rocks as my tail went between my legs and I made a bee-line for my front door as I yelled for my mom.
Mom asked what was wrong and I told her about the events and how they unfolded. I am sure I spun it in my favor but that didn’t matter.
Jessica was standing there and was listening intently. The next thing I remember and Mom says she remembers is that Jess went storming out of the glass and galvanized metal storm door with a letter “P” in the middle. (Don’t ask how I remember that)
By the time we got outside and found Jess, she was ringing the doorbell on Lisa’s house. By the time we made it halfway across the front lawn, Lisa had opened her front door. By the time Mom and I made it to the edge of Lisa’s lawn, Jess had her hands on Lisa and was dragging her from the front door and had laid her out with a few swift punches to the face and trunk.
Did I mention that Jessica was only about five years old and Lisa was seven?
Now, I don’t condone fighting, but I am all for sticking up for someone, especially family. Jessica showed her true colors that day like a gangster with her first “job.” This loyalty has been a binder between my sister and I to this day.
When Jess met Leigh for the first time, the three of us were out for lunch. When I left to visit the rest-room, Jess put her drink down and calmly asked Leigh, “What are your intentions with my brother?”
Leigh couldn’t wait for me to get back.
Jess is getting married this summer. She has a family of her own now and takes great care of her fiance and her son Justin. Note: She loves me so much that she named her son after me; my first name is Justin.
Jessica, to this day still looks after me and my brother Josh. She has always been there for us and stuck up for us. She has interrogated all of our girlfriends and tried to hit on all of our “cute” friends.
Now that we are older and don’t get into many fights, we just reminisce about the past when we get together.
Jess reminds me of beating up Lisa and she reminds Josh of the time that she beat the school bus bully that was tormenting him and his friend on a daily basis. She waited at his bus stop and when the bus driver opened the double hinged yellow doors, she went running on. The person she was after knew it and took off out the back fire escape door. I won’t bore you with what happened after that.
We owe her big and she makes sure that we know it. She can take both my brother and I in arm wrestling and has pinned us down during all-out wrestling matches that seem to take place around Christmas time late in the evening after a few to many cups of eggnog.
Things like this have a way of repeating themselves.
Now that I have a little boy and he now has a little sister, I try to teach him the same lessons that I was taught at his age. Don’t pick fights, never hit girls and walk away when it isn’t important.
Nash climbs all over Ethan, pushes him off of toys and chairs, hits him and snatches stuff left and right. He takes it on the chin and continues to look after her and love on her whenever she lets him.
He makes me proud but I know that one day he may get a “fist-full of rocks” thrown at him but I am sure he will be quickly vindicated by his little sister, Just like I was.
Jessica Pinkey has been my sister and personal bodyguard for the last 30 years. I have never paid her and have never been asked to.
I was taught at a young age to never pick a fight, never hit girls and unless your life depends upon it, walk away. The latter was always easier said than done.
When my sister came along, I think my young frame of mind changed. I was told to always take care of and watch out for my sister.
I didn’t ask for her. Why was I responsible for her well-being? Didn’t she have parents?
As we grew up, I learned to care for her, keep her safe and make her get me things that I was too lazy to get for myself.
My mother and father say that I let her get away with anything. She would hit me, climb on me, take my stuff and generally treat me like a human trampoline.
I guess as I got older, I learned to let things roll off my back a lot easier. Friends would argue with me and it didn’t bother me. Neighborhood kids would want to play with something of mine, take it, and I would usually let it slide.
It just wasn’t worth it to get into a fight over something dumb and I knew that if I got into a fight with a girl, my tail would be lit. As I said, Dad had made it clear to me that there was no excuse for hitting girls.
One day, the relationship between my sister and me changed. It was a change that would be a turning point for the both of us for the rest of our lives.
Lisa Fowler was a tiny, short, super small, little girl that lived next door to us in Clinton, Maryland. I think I was about eight or so and had a group of about seven friends, including Lisa, that I ran with non-stop. We did everything and there always seemed to be one or two of us fighting on any given day.
One day, Lisa was mad at me. I’m sure I did something to start the fight, as this is still a curse that has been cast upon me to this day. I made her mad but I think her mom didn’t have the “don’t hit boys” talk with her.
Lisa found the biggest pieces of driveway blue-stone that would fit in her tiny, little fists.
I began dodging rocks as my tail went between my legs and I made a bee-line for my front door as I yelled for my mom.
Mom asked what was wrong and I told her about the events and how they unfolded. I am sure I spun it in my favor but that didn’t matter.
Jessica was standing there and was listening intently. The next thing I remember and Mom says she remembers is that Jess went storming out of the glass and galvanized metal storm door with a letter “P” in the middle. (Don’t ask how I remember that)
By the time we got outside and found Jess, she was ringing the doorbell on Lisa’s house. By the time we made it halfway across the front lawn, Lisa had opened her front door. By the time Mom and I made it to the edge of Lisa’s lawn, Jess had her hands on Lisa and was dragging her from the front door and had laid her out with a few swift punches to the face and trunk.
Did I mention that Jessica was only about five years old and Lisa was seven?
Now, I don’t condone fighting, but I am all for sticking up for someone, especially family. Jessica showed her true colors that day like a gangster with her first “job.” This loyalty has been a binder between my sister and I to this day.
When Jess met Leigh for the first time, the three of us were out for lunch. When I left to visit the rest-room, Jess put her drink down and calmly asked Leigh, “What are your intentions with my brother?”
Leigh couldn’t wait for me to get back.
Jess is getting married this summer. She has a family of her own now and takes great care of her fiance and her son Justin. Note: She loves me so much that she named her son after me; my first name is Justin.
Jessica, to this day still looks after me and my brother Josh. She has always been there for us and stuck up for us. She has interrogated all of our girlfriends and tried to hit on all of our “cute” friends.
Now that we are older and don’t get into many fights, we just reminisce about the past when we get together.
Jess reminds me of beating up Lisa and she reminds Josh of the time that she beat the school bus bully that was tormenting him and his friend on a daily basis. She waited at his bus stop and when the bus driver opened the double hinged yellow doors, she went running on. The person she was after knew it and took off out the back fire escape door. I won’t bore you with what happened after that.
We owe her big and she makes sure that we know it. She can take both my brother and I in arm wrestling and has pinned us down during all-out wrestling matches that seem to take place around Christmas time late in the evening after a few to many cups of eggnog.
Things like this have a way of repeating themselves.
Now that I have a little boy and he now has a little sister, I try to teach him the same lessons that I was taught at his age. Don’t pick fights, never hit girls and walk away when it isn’t important.
Nash climbs all over Ethan, pushes him off of toys and chairs, hits him and snatches stuff left and right. He takes it on the chin and continues to look after her and love on her whenever she lets him.
He makes me proud but I know that one day he may get a “fist-full of rocks” thrown at him but I am sure he will be quickly vindicated by his little sister, Just like I was.
Monday, March 9, 2009
3-12-09
My wife is doing dishes, the recession is officially here
Money is tighter than ever, now. We have been in a recession ever since Leigh and I moved to North Carolina.
I have talked about our life in Maryland before, and how we sold our house there right before the housing bubble burst and quickly switched to a buyer’s market.
We were building our house over the course of a year and a half. During this time, the recession kept creeping up on us and everyone else in America.
So far, we have made it through, but things are always tight. We have always tried to save and make things stretch as far as we can.
Eating out has been put on the back burner as well as taking trips up to Maryland to visit with our friends. Lights get turned off behind me by Leigh sometimes before I even make it out of the room I am leaving.
I give her a hard time, all in good fun, but she and I both know that she is the major reason that we are able to save money. This isn’t because I waste money, she just has a knack for making sure every dollar works as hard as it can.
A good example of this was when she heard about turning off items in the house that consume needless power. I think it was from an episode of a morning talk show or something. We tried to unplug all the appliances in the house that used power even while they were not in use. The TVs, DVD player, and home stereo. During that two month period, we were even turning off the hot water heater at night and during the day while we were at work.
After two months, we reviewed our electric bills, there was no savings that we could find.
We now live like normal people once again. We can just walk into the room and hit “Power” on the remote and see a show instantly instead of plugging in hard to reach cords and bringing our house back onto the Duplin County power grid.
Recently, I have been feeling like we had things under control in our household. We just make it through each month but we are not going hungry and every once in a while, we can squeeze in a family dinner out. I even get to have my “midnight snack” on the weekends.
My “snacking” consists of frozen food. I have a soft spot for frozen burritos, seasoned french fries, or chicken patties. Anything frozen, pre-cooked and has the potential to raise my cholesterol level, I love it.
A normal Saturday night for me, consists of me covering my trusty baking sheet with a layer of tin foil, throw a few snacks on for a 12 to 18 minute baking session. I, then, get my plate, fork and seat ready and tune the TV in for Saturday Night Live or the History Channel.
The great thing about frozen food, baking sheet and tin foil is that you can eat with your hands and when you are done, you just throw away the mess. There is nothing to clean.
A few nights ago, I was on my Saturday night auto pilot mode and Leigh told me to “Stop.”
“Just use the baking pan. Save the tin foil.” She instructed.
I quickly told her that “I don’t want to clean dishes. This is why I have always used tin foil.”
“We need to start saving a little more money,” Leigh informed.
“It is just a small piece of tin foil,” I interjected.
“But it adds up.”
“Not that much.”
“Yes it will.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I will do the dishes.” Leigh finished and I am sure mentally stomped her foot. “Just cut back on the tin foil.”
I now sound like I’m struggling with a junk food addiction and need an intervention. Maybe I do, but that’s for a later story.
A side note: When Leigh and I first started dating, I went to visit her in Boston for the first time. I remember her having a mound of something under a kitchen towel in the extra small sink in her extra small North End apartment. Tucked in, was a pile of dishes that were supposed to be hidden so well that I would not notice that she absolutely hated doing dishes.
“Deal.” I agreed.
As I said, Leigh hates doing dishes. She hates doing dishes like I hate a broken arm. If she says that she will do dishes, then I can’t say anything to cutting back on foil. I don’t see where a Sam’s Club size box of tin foil that costs $11.98 and lasts us about... oh.... a year, will make that much difference.
I think this cutting back will do a lot of good, probably as much as taking our house off of the power grid, but part of me is wondering if our water bill will increase more than $11.98 over the course of... oh... a year?
Money is tighter than ever, now. We have been in a recession ever since Leigh and I moved to North Carolina.
I have talked about our life in Maryland before, and how we sold our house there right before the housing bubble burst and quickly switched to a buyer’s market.
We were building our house over the course of a year and a half. During this time, the recession kept creeping up on us and everyone else in America.
So far, we have made it through, but things are always tight. We have always tried to save and make things stretch as far as we can.
Eating out has been put on the back burner as well as taking trips up to Maryland to visit with our friends. Lights get turned off behind me by Leigh sometimes before I even make it out of the room I am leaving.
I give her a hard time, all in good fun, but she and I both know that she is the major reason that we are able to save money. This isn’t because I waste money, she just has a knack for making sure every dollar works as hard as it can.
A good example of this was when she heard about turning off items in the house that consume needless power. I think it was from an episode of a morning talk show or something. We tried to unplug all the appliances in the house that used power even while they were not in use. The TVs, DVD player, and home stereo. During that two month period, we were even turning off the hot water heater at night and during the day while we were at work.
After two months, we reviewed our electric bills, there was no savings that we could find.
We now live like normal people once again. We can just walk into the room and hit “Power” on the remote and see a show instantly instead of plugging in hard to reach cords and bringing our house back onto the Duplin County power grid.
Recently, I have been feeling like we had things under control in our household. We just make it through each month but we are not going hungry and every once in a while, we can squeeze in a family dinner out. I even get to have my “midnight snack” on the weekends.
My “snacking” consists of frozen food. I have a soft spot for frozen burritos, seasoned french fries, or chicken patties. Anything frozen, pre-cooked and has the potential to raise my cholesterol level, I love it.
A normal Saturday night for me, consists of me covering my trusty baking sheet with a layer of tin foil, throw a few snacks on for a 12 to 18 minute baking session. I, then, get my plate, fork and seat ready and tune the TV in for Saturday Night Live or the History Channel.
The great thing about frozen food, baking sheet and tin foil is that you can eat with your hands and when you are done, you just throw away the mess. There is nothing to clean.
A few nights ago, I was on my Saturday night auto pilot mode and Leigh told me to “Stop.”
“Just use the baking pan. Save the tin foil.” She instructed.
I quickly told her that “I don’t want to clean dishes. This is why I have always used tin foil.”
“We need to start saving a little more money,” Leigh informed.
“It is just a small piece of tin foil,” I interjected.
“But it adds up.”
“Not that much.”
“Yes it will.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I will do the dishes.” Leigh finished and I am sure mentally stomped her foot. “Just cut back on the tin foil.”
I now sound like I’m struggling with a junk food addiction and need an intervention. Maybe I do, but that’s for a later story.
A side note: When Leigh and I first started dating, I went to visit her in Boston for the first time. I remember her having a mound of something under a kitchen towel in the extra small sink in her extra small North End apartment. Tucked in, was a pile of dishes that were supposed to be hidden so well that I would not notice that she absolutely hated doing dishes.
“Deal.” I agreed.
As I said, Leigh hates doing dishes. She hates doing dishes like I hate a broken arm. If she says that she will do dishes, then I can’t say anything to cutting back on foil. I don’t see where a Sam’s Club size box of tin foil that costs $11.98 and lasts us about... oh.... a year, will make that much difference.
I think this cutting back will do a lot of good, probably as much as taking our house off of the power grid, but part of me is wondering if our water bill will increase more than $11.98 over the course of... oh... a year?
Monday, February 23, 2009
2-26-09
Creativity comes in all shapes and sizes; mine is a triangle
I had a column for the paper all worked out in my head about this past weekend.
Friday night, after work, I left for a weekend with my longtime friend Matt Brozey who lives in Myrtle Beach.
This was a weekend that had been in the making for about 2 months. We had a full weekend planned out to utilize every hour to its fullest.
We were to shoot pool on Friday night, ride motorcycles and four-wheelers at an ATV park all day Saturday and see a live boxing match Saturday night.
Sunday, I was served a great blueberry pancake breakfast, packed my bags, and started back home.
That story was trumped by a surprise from my son.
On the way out of North Myrtle Beach, I stopped at a large gift shop to find a little surprise for my two children.
Whenever I travel somewhere I try to bring home a gift for them. I bribe my son into being a good boy for Mommy by telling him that, “If you take care of Nash and Mommy and go to bed on time, I will bring home something special for you.”
This seems to work and every time I call home to check on the family, Ethan asks, “Whad’ja get me, Daddy?”
As always, he was a wonderful boy for Leigh and helped out with turning out the lights at night and reminding Mommy to turn on the alarm before they went to bed.
So I got him a present. I was going to get him one anyway.
As I pulled under the carport, I was getting excited to open the door and hear the kids yell, “DADDY.”
I love that.
I asked Ethan to give me a report on the weekend and quizzed him on whether he did his “man-of-the-house” duties like I asked.
He informed my that he did everything and even ate all of his dinner and played with his sister.
“Good job son, I am proud of you,” I commended him.
“Whad’ja get me, Daddy?” Ethan quickly asked.
I gave him his surprises and he was excited and proud that he had done a good job.
All of the sudden he dropped everything and looked at me and smiled.
“I have a surprise for you, Daddy. I made you something.”
He ran back to his room and after some shuffling of papers and moving of some toys, he came running back down the hallway yelling, “Close your eyes, Daddy.”
I closed them and held out my hands.
Something that was heaver than one piece of paper was in my hands.
“Open them.” Ethan shouted while doing a quick jump in the air from the balls of his feet.
In my hands was a triangular shaped piece of tan construction paper. Crayon-drawn shapes were adorning the front and they were all meticulously laid out and colored in the lines.
“Why thank you, Bud. This is a great picture.”
“It’s a hat, Daddy. It’s a Creativity Hat. Put it on.”
Opening up the triangle-shaped construction paper “hat”, he continued, “When you have a hard time thinking of something to draw or color, you can put the hat on and it helps you think. You can take it to work and wear it.”
I wore the hat all night. We played video games and he kept telling me that the hat was making me think better and that is why we were winning.
I am going to take it to work. When ever I have a hard time designing an ad or laying out the paper, I am going to put it on. It might even help me come up with a subject for a column.
After all, it helped us win at Mario Kart.
Bryan Pinkey can be found under the “Hat of Creativity” or at bpinkey@nccox.com and now all of his stories are archived at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.
I had a column for the paper all worked out in my head about this past weekend.
Friday night, after work, I left for a weekend with my longtime friend Matt Brozey who lives in Myrtle Beach.
This was a weekend that had been in the making for about 2 months. We had a full weekend planned out to utilize every hour to its fullest.
We were to shoot pool on Friday night, ride motorcycles and four-wheelers at an ATV park all day Saturday and see a live boxing match Saturday night.
Sunday, I was served a great blueberry pancake breakfast, packed my bags, and started back home.
That story was trumped by a surprise from my son.
On the way out of North Myrtle Beach, I stopped at a large gift shop to find a little surprise for my two children.
Whenever I travel somewhere I try to bring home a gift for them. I bribe my son into being a good boy for Mommy by telling him that, “If you take care of Nash and Mommy and go to bed on time, I will bring home something special for you.”
This seems to work and every time I call home to check on the family, Ethan asks, “Whad’ja get me, Daddy?”
As always, he was a wonderful boy for Leigh and helped out with turning out the lights at night and reminding Mommy to turn on the alarm before they went to bed.
So I got him a present. I was going to get him one anyway.
As I pulled under the carport, I was getting excited to open the door and hear the kids yell, “DADDY.”
I love that.
I asked Ethan to give me a report on the weekend and quizzed him on whether he did his “man-of-the-house” duties like I asked.
He informed my that he did everything and even ate all of his dinner and played with his sister.
“Good job son, I am proud of you,” I commended him.
“Whad’ja get me, Daddy?” Ethan quickly asked.
I gave him his surprises and he was excited and proud that he had done a good job.
All of the sudden he dropped everything and looked at me and smiled.
“I have a surprise for you, Daddy. I made you something.”
He ran back to his room and after some shuffling of papers and moving of some toys, he came running back down the hallway yelling, “Close your eyes, Daddy.”
I closed them and held out my hands.
Something that was heaver than one piece of paper was in my hands.
“Open them.” Ethan shouted while doing a quick jump in the air from the balls of his feet.
In my hands was a triangular shaped piece of tan construction paper. Crayon-drawn shapes were adorning the front and they were all meticulously laid out and colored in the lines.
“Why thank you, Bud. This is a great picture.”
“It’s a hat, Daddy. It’s a Creativity Hat. Put it on.”
Opening up the triangle-shaped construction paper “hat”, he continued, “When you have a hard time thinking of something to draw or color, you can put the hat on and it helps you think. You can take it to work and wear it.”
I wore the hat all night. We played video games and he kept telling me that the hat was making me think better and that is why we were winning.
I am going to take it to work. When ever I have a hard time designing an ad or laying out the paper, I am going to put it on. It might even help me come up with a subject for a column.
After all, it helped us win at Mario Kart.
Bryan Pinkey can be found under the “Hat of Creativity” or at bpinkey@nccox.com and now all of his stories are archived at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
2-19-09
A sweet lesson in middle school economics
With all of the talk about the economy and greed on Wall Street lately, it got me thinking about a time when I was on top of my game and was loaded with money. Maybe I have a weak spot for money, but for some reason, I find myself relating. Let me explain.
I remember sitting a few seats up from the back of the school bus when I started sixth grade. Sitting in the back was a privilege for the kids that were cool, knew someone, or were in the eighth grade. I just happened to get on the bus early in the morning.
There was a tall and lanky guy that wore a light gray Members Only jacket on his back and a black “unbreakable” comb in his back pocket. He seemed to have a lot of friends on the bus.
I remember his name well. Sean O’Riley.
I soon found out that if you wanted a pack of gum or a sucker, or anything sweet, for that matter, he was the guy to go to.
He sold candy on the bus during the morning and afternoon rides. He was the only eighth grader that sat in the middle of the bus. I found out that this was so that everyone could get to him easier. Smart.
I studied his movements and procedures for about a month or so until I caught on.
While buying a pack of gum and a few Blow Pops from him one morning, we had a little talk. I asked him if we could work something out so that I, too, could sell candy on the bus so that I could make a little money for myself.
Sean didn’t have a problem with it, so that night I asked my dad if he would let me borrow $20 and drive me to 7-Eleven (a D.C. equivalent to Circle K).
“What in the world for, son?” Dad asked.
“I want to buy candy to sell on the school bus,” I said as if this was a normal request of every level-headed sixth grader.
We went back and forth trading the points of saving money and making dumb decisions.
“Dad, trust me. I can sell candy on the bus and make money. I will be able to pay you back the money I borrow and I shouldn’t have to borrow any money again.” I finally pleaded.
“I am going to do this just to teach you how quick your money can be lost and how it is important to save. If you don’t make the money to pay me back, then you will have to work it off,” Dad retorted with a bit of defeat.
Off we went.
After “shopping” for the type and brands of candy that I had learned would sell, I laid out my investment on the well-worn melamine counter. The clerk looked down at me and then at my dad as if to say, “What the heck kind of parent are you?”
Blow Pops, Hershey bars, Nerds, Sour Patch Kids, Atomic Fire Balls, Bazooka gum, Pixi-Stix, if it was popular and demanded a price, I bought it.
The next morning, I walked through the yellow double-hinged doors of the school bus like a man in Vegas that new his opponents tell.
It was on.
That night, I sat down at the dinner table and Dad asked me, “Well, how did the candy sale go?”
I told him, “Good.”
I think he was expecting to hear a sob story and give me a pick-me-up talk
“How much did you sell?” Dad asked.
“All of it,” I responded while shoveling in another fork-full of mashed potatoes.
“By the eleventh bus stop!” I finished.
There was a pause.
“How much did you make?”
“$45.25, not counting what I ate,” I updated.
From that day on Dad took me to 7-Eleven every Sunday and Wednesday.
Over the course of the three middle school years, I rose from “kid in the back of the bus” to a full-blown “Tony Montana.”
I began taking special orders and buying in bulk. Sam’s Club helped with my profit margin.
I bought a larger book bag to carry ALL of my books in so that my locker could be turned into a makeshift candy store.
Between classes I would sell from my locker.
Yes, my teachers knew. But I kept my grades up and there was no reason for alarm.
We always went to Ocean City for our family vacation. During those years I always had my own spending money.
Candy, baby. I was in the big time. That summer I bought the best skateboard that every kid wanted and I paid in cash.
Vision Gator skateboard, red Chuck Taylors, parachute pants. I bought them all myself.
By my last year of middle school, I realized that I wasn’t reaching my entire market. I was now in eighth grade and lost touch with my people. There were sixth graders going around without sweets.
I reined in my friends and began to make boxes of candy to sell. I would sell a box of $3.50 for $6.00 to my friends and explain how they could sell it for $12.00.
Why not? We were all winning and I was still on top.
Making money hand over fist, it was time for me to graduate to the ninth grade.
The next year I quickly realized that I was back on the bottom and candy wasn’t in demand. High school kids could drive to the store and get whatever, whenever. I had to find a new “career.”
So I guess with all of the economy troubles going on now, I have to be careful with my money. Although, if I were to lose my job, I think I would try my hand at being a bus driver.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com or now all of his stories are archived at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.
With all of the talk about the economy and greed on Wall Street lately, it got me thinking about a time when I was on top of my game and was loaded with money. Maybe I have a weak spot for money, but for some reason, I find myself relating. Let me explain.
I remember sitting a few seats up from the back of the school bus when I started sixth grade. Sitting in the back was a privilege for the kids that were cool, knew someone, or were in the eighth grade. I just happened to get on the bus early in the morning.
There was a tall and lanky guy that wore a light gray Members Only jacket on his back and a black “unbreakable” comb in his back pocket. He seemed to have a lot of friends on the bus.
I remember his name well. Sean O’Riley.
I soon found out that if you wanted a pack of gum or a sucker, or anything sweet, for that matter, he was the guy to go to.
He sold candy on the bus during the morning and afternoon rides. He was the only eighth grader that sat in the middle of the bus. I found out that this was so that everyone could get to him easier. Smart.
I studied his movements and procedures for about a month or so until I caught on.
While buying a pack of gum and a few Blow Pops from him one morning, we had a little talk. I asked him if we could work something out so that I, too, could sell candy on the bus so that I could make a little money for myself.
Sean didn’t have a problem with it, so that night I asked my dad if he would let me borrow $20 and drive me to 7-Eleven (a D.C. equivalent to Circle K).
“What in the world for, son?” Dad asked.
“I want to buy candy to sell on the school bus,” I said as if this was a normal request of every level-headed sixth grader.
We went back and forth trading the points of saving money and making dumb decisions.
“Dad, trust me. I can sell candy on the bus and make money. I will be able to pay you back the money I borrow and I shouldn’t have to borrow any money again.” I finally pleaded.
“I am going to do this just to teach you how quick your money can be lost and how it is important to save. If you don’t make the money to pay me back, then you will have to work it off,” Dad retorted with a bit of defeat.
Off we went.
After “shopping” for the type and brands of candy that I had learned would sell, I laid out my investment on the well-worn melamine counter. The clerk looked down at me and then at my dad as if to say, “What the heck kind of parent are you?”
Blow Pops, Hershey bars, Nerds, Sour Patch Kids, Atomic Fire Balls, Bazooka gum, Pixi-Stix, if it was popular and demanded a price, I bought it.
The next morning, I walked through the yellow double-hinged doors of the school bus like a man in Vegas that new his opponents tell.
It was on.
That night, I sat down at the dinner table and Dad asked me, “Well, how did the candy sale go?”
I told him, “Good.”
I think he was expecting to hear a sob story and give me a pick-me-up talk
“How much did you sell?” Dad asked.
“All of it,” I responded while shoveling in another fork-full of mashed potatoes.
“By the eleventh bus stop!” I finished.
There was a pause.
“How much did you make?”
“$45.25, not counting what I ate,” I updated.
From that day on Dad took me to 7-Eleven every Sunday and Wednesday.
Over the course of the three middle school years, I rose from “kid in the back of the bus” to a full-blown “Tony Montana.”
I began taking special orders and buying in bulk. Sam’s Club helped with my profit margin.
I bought a larger book bag to carry ALL of my books in so that my locker could be turned into a makeshift candy store.
Between classes I would sell from my locker.
Yes, my teachers knew. But I kept my grades up and there was no reason for alarm.
We always went to Ocean City for our family vacation. During those years I always had my own spending money.
Candy, baby. I was in the big time. That summer I bought the best skateboard that every kid wanted and I paid in cash.
Vision Gator skateboard, red Chuck Taylors, parachute pants. I bought them all myself.
By my last year of middle school, I realized that I wasn’t reaching my entire market. I was now in eighth grade and lost touch with my people. There were sixth graders going around without sweets.
I reined in my friends and began to make boxes of candy to sell. I would sell a box of $3.50 for $6.00 to my friends and explain how they could sell it for $12.00.
Why not? We were all winning and I was still on top.
Making money hand over fist, it was time for me to graduate to the ninth grade.
The next year I quickly realized that I was back on the bottom and candy wasn’t in demand. High school kids could drive to the store and get whatever, whenever. I had to find a new “career.”
So I guess with all of the economy troubles going on now, I have to be careful with my money. Although, if I were to lose my job, I think I would try my hand at being a bus driver.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com or now all of his stories are archived at jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
2-12-09
A crafty family shopping trip ends with a Valentine ‘Secret’
This past Saturday, my family and I went down to Wilmington for the day. We did a little bit of running around, mixed in some visiting with family, and a little bit of playing.
The Children’s Museum was our first stop. This was a place that none of us have ever been. After a surprising $32 to get in, we ran behind Ethan as he quickly visited every station in the building for a fifteen second preview.
“Wow, look at this!” “Hey, Daddy, a cannon!” “Whoa, can I have this?”
Needless to say, he was excited.
Ethan is a very creative little boy and loves to make things and color. When he came to the room that housed a sixteen foot craft table covered in brown paper piled high with colored pencils, glue, glitter, markers and miscellaneous pieces of fabric, he stood at the doorway like a deer in headlights.
He stayed in that room for a solid two hours, he and Mommy made Valentine’s cards for every person in our family.
Ethan missed half of what the museum had, but he didn’t care.
After the craft fun, we ended up at Mayfair shopping center for a late lunch, or what I like to call an early dinner. We all had a great meal, mostly because we had a large table away from the rest of the crowd. This allowed us to let the kids play a little. What also helped was the fact that they were allowed to color on the table.
After our dinner, we walked around to do a little window shopping. One thing on our agenda was for Ethan and me to find Valentine’s presents for Mommy and Nash.
Ethan told me that while he was with Grahm and Pop-Pop (my mom and dad) the week before, they came to the same place and that he saw a stuffed dog at a store that he wanted to buy for Mommy.
He couldn’t remember the name of the store but he told me that “It was a pink and white store and there were “statues” and it was “girly.”
We ducked in and out of every clothing and gift store that I could find. I would ask, “Is it this one?” “Not this one,” he would respond.
Finally, I called my mom. “Where did you and Dad take Ethan that they were selling stuffed dogs?”
I can’t remember,” Mom answered. She listed off the places that she took him into and we tried a few of those.
I told Mom that we would just keep looking and thanked her for helping.
At that second Ethan blurted out, “Here it is! This is where Pop-Pop and I went”
We were standing at the festively decorated entryway into Victoria’s Secret.
Thanks, Dad.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com
This past Saturday, my family and I went down to Wilmington for the day. We did a little bit of running around, mixed in some visiting with family, and a little bit of playing.
The Children’s Museum was our first stop. This was a place that none of us have ever been. After a surprising $32 to get in, we ran behind Ethan as he quickly visited every station in the building for a fifteen second preview.
“Wow, look at this!” “Hey, Daddy, a cannon!” “Whoa, can I have this?”
Needless to say, he was excited.
Ethan is a very creative little boy and loves to make things and color. When he came to the room that housed a sixteen foot craft table covered in brown paper piled high with colored pencils, glue, glitter, markers and miscellaneous pieces of fabric, he stood at the doorway like a deer in headlights.
He stayed in that room for a solid two hours, he and Mommy made Valentine’s cards for every person in our family.
Ethan missed half of what the museum had, but he didn’t care.
After the craft fun, we ended up at Mayfair shopping center for a late lunch, or what I like to call an early dinner. We all had a great meal, mostly because we had a large table away from the rest of the crowd. This allowed us to let the kids play a little. What also helped was the fact that they were allowed to color on the table.
After our dinner, we walked around to do a little window shopping. One thing on our agenda was for Ethan and me to find Valentine’s presents for Mommy and Nash.
Ethan told me that while he was with Grahm and Pop-Pop (my mom and dad) the week before, they came to the same place and that he saw a stuffed dog at a store that he wanted to buy for Mommy.
He couldn’t remember the name of the store but he told me that “It was a pink and white store and there were “statues” and it was “girly.”
We ducked in and out of every clothing and gift store that I could find. I would ask, “Is it this one?” “Not this one,” he would respond.
Finally, I called my mom. “Where did you and Dad take Ethan that they were selling stuffed dogs?”
I can’t remember,” Mom answered. She listed off the places that she took him into and we tried a few of those.
I told Mom that we would just keep looking and thanked her for helping.
At that second Ethan blurted out, “Here it is! This is where Pop-Pop and I went”
We were standing at the festively decorated entryway into Victoria’s Secret.
Thanks, Dad.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com
Friday, February 6, 2009
2-5-09
My son and I argued all the time. Now, Wii get along just fine
I have included my son, Ethan, in many of the stories of my trials and tribulations that I have written about.
My wife says that we are just alike. Stubborn, set in our ways, have a temper and are the angriest SOB’s when we are hungry.
We, Ethen and I, have been known to argue ‘til we are both blue in the face... over very simple things.
I hold strong to not talking back, please and thank you, no hitting, and treating Mommy with respect. If I can get him to do just one of these during the course of a week, I feel like I have won the battle. The only problem is that I am fighting a war.
There was a time that I was taking Ethan to day care before I went into work. Leigh was going to school to finish her teaching degree. She was commuting to ECU from Kenansville everyday and having to leave at 5 a.m. Ethan’s day care wasn’t even open at that time.
I would go in his room to wake him up and he would start to cuss me from the start. I would struggle to get him dressed, socks on, teeth brushed and set him in front of the TV so that he would stay still so that I could quickly get myself ready and maybe shave.
Most of the time, I would get ready and walk back out to the den and not see him anywhere. He had taken his clothes off and gone back to bed.
Son of a ....Gun!
I found out quick that he was not a morning person, just like his old man.
Apple trees make apples!
We would battle from the time I tried to drag him out of bed to the time I pushed him through the door at his day care. By this time, I was usually running about 20 minutes late for the start of my day. Those ladies at his day care must have known what a struggle I just had because there were a few times that they said, “Mr. Pinkey, why don’t you sit down for a minute.” Or “We made sausage for the children and have some left over, why don’t you get yourself a bite before you go to work.”
Was it that obvious?
Yup.
My boss knew! At least once a week he caught me on my way in and pulled me aside to let me know that he understood my situation with Ethan in the morning, “But could you please try to make it into work only fifteen minutes late... please?”
It was a tough time.
Everything is better now. Leigh takes him to school in the morning.
Ethan and I have been getting along a lot better these days. I like to think that it is because he is older and all of my lessons and lectures have sunk in or my patience has become stronger. But I am just fooling myself.
We just bought a Wii.
For those of you who don’t know what a Wii is, it is a video game system. Unlike the older systems that use a joystick, this one works off of motion. If you ar playing a bowling game, you have to hold the controller and move your arm in the same way you would if you were rolling a real bowling ball.
The rule is, Ethan can’t play until he takes a bath, eats his dinner, picks up his toys and his sister is in bed.
What a change. He comes home and takes his clothes off, jumps into the bathtub and washes off. He then gets his PJs on and gets to the dinner table to shovel in his food. After dinner, he asks if it is time for Nash to go to bed. “No, son, it is only 6 p.m.” He usually lets out a long, “Awwww Maaann.”
As soon as I come out of Nash’s room from putting her down, he knows it’s on. It’s time to battle in the world of Mario Kart, a race car game that makes us laugh, stomp our feet, and makes Mommy shush us and say, ”If you boys don’t quiet down, I’m going to turn it off.”
We giggle and keep on racing!
I’m going to soak this up as long as it lasts. I know that as soon as the game system gets old to him, we will be back to the same old routine.
My feeling is that as long as he remembers this brief moment of Ethan and Daddy laughing and stomping our feet, it’s OK with me. I will just wait for the next great bonding hobby between father and son.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com or now all of my stories are archived at www.jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.
I have included my son, Ethan, in many of the stories of my trials and tribulations that I have written about.
My wife says that we are just alike. Stubborn, set in our ways, have a temper and are the angriest SOB’s when we are hungry.
We, Ethen and I, have been known to argue ‘til we are both blue in the face... over very simple things.
I hold strong to not talking back, please and thank you, no hitting, and treating Mommy with respect. If I can get him to do just one of these during the course of a week, I feel like I have won the battle. The only problem is that I am fighting a war.
There was a time that I was taking Ethan to day care before I went into work. Leigh was going to school to finish her teaching degree. She was commuting to ECU from Kenansville everyday and having to leave at 5 a.m. Ethan’s day care wasn’t even open at that time.
I would go in his room to wake him up and he would start to cuss me from the start. I would struggle to get him dressed, socks on, teeth brushed and set him in front of the TV so that he would stay still so that I could quickly get myself ready and maybe shave.
Most of the time, I would get ready and walk back out to the den and not see him anywhere. He had taken his clothes off and gone back to bed.
Son of a ....Gun!
I found out quick that he was not a morning person, just like his old man.
Apple trees make apples!
We would battle from the time I tried to drag him out of bed to the time I pushed him through the door at his day care. By this time, I was usually running about 20 minutes late for the start of my day. Those ladies at his day care must have known what a struggle I just had because there were a few times that they said, “Mr. Pinkey, why don’t you sit down for a minute.” Or “We made sausage for the children and have some left over, why don’t you get yourself a bite before you go to work.”
Was it that obvious?
Yup.
My boss knew! At least once a week he caught me on my way in and pulled me aside to let me know that he understood my situation with Ethan in the morning, “But could you please try to make it into work only fifteen minutes late... please?”
It was a tough time.
Everything is better now. Leigh takes him to school in the morning.
Ethan and I have been getting along a lot better these days. I like to think that it is because he is older and all of my lessons and lectures have sunk in or my patience has become stronger. But I am just fooling myself.
We just bought a Wii.
For those of you who don’t know what a Wii is, it is a video game system. Unlike the older systems that use a joystick, this one works off of motion. If you ar playing a bowling game, you have to hold the controller and move your arm in the same way you would if you were rolling a real bowling ball.
The rule is, Ethan can’t play until he takes a bath, eats his dinner, picks up his toys and his sister is in bed.
What a change. He comes home and takes his clothes off, jumps into the bathtub and washes off. He then gets his PJs on and gets to the dinner table to shovel in his food. After dinner, he asks if it is time for Nash to go to bed. “No, son, it is only 6 p.m.” He usually lets out a long, “Awwww Maaann.”
As soon as I come out of Nash’s room from putting her down, he knows it’s on. It’s time to battle in the world of Mario Kart, a race car game that makes us laugh, stomp our feet, and makes Mommy shush us and say, ”If you boys don’t quiet down, I’m going to turn it off.”
We giggle and keep on racing!
I’m going to soak this up as long as it lasts. I know that as soon as the game system gets old to him, we will be back to the same old routine.
My feeling is that as long as he remembers this brief moment of Ethan and Daddy laughing and stomping our feet, it’s OK with me. I will just wait for the next great bonding hobby between father and son.
Bryan Pinkey can be reached at bpinkey@nccox.com or now all of my stories are archived at www.jbryanpinkey.blogspot.com.
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