When my kid brother was young, I mean still young enough to be a serious pest, he created several characters that he actually became when he played. One of them was a cowboy named “Pardner.” No, Roger wasn’t much flakier than any other little brother … in fact as an adult he became a fairly good actor. Anyway, that little kid was even more proud of his silvery six-gun than I was of my pair of Lone Ranger pearl-handled revolvers.

All the kids back then had toy guns and those who couldn’t afford to buy one made one. Mom’s broom handle with a nail in it for a trigger made a pretty nifty rifle. We could defend the fort against attacking Indians with a revolver if we had to, but you needed a rifle if you were going to protect the beaches against invading Nazis. None of these guns made a noise, mind you. The authentic exploding cartridge sound had to come from the kid himself. “Bang!” was for nerds who didn’t know what a gun should sound like. No real gun ever went, “Bang!” “TF-F-F-F-F!” was a favorite and “KH-H-H-H-H!” was a popular standby. Some guys could even do ricochets which were more like, “CHI-CHI-OH-N-N-N!” It was really a complicated sound and my friend Russ was the best at doing that one.

We had pretty active imaginations in those days. We needed them. Creativity meant kid survival. There were no Play Stations, cell phones, computers, DVDs or anything ‘techie’. We didn’t have television, so the only reality shows had to do with leaving the toilet seat up or getting a “C” in math. My point is, despite all the gunplay, horseplay and even the occasional fist fight, none of us turned out to be mass murderers, terrorists or bank robbers. In fact, most of us went on to become semi-model citizens. Some even honorably served our country … like Russ who was killed in Vietnam by a gun that made its own sound and fired real bullets. But that didn’t happen because he played with toy guns or developed a dark side due to dangerous childhood influences. It happened because some other guy loved his family and was passionate about defending the things he believed in, the same as my friend. He had no way of knowing that Russ was probably able to make that ricochet sound better than he could.

Forrest Gump said that “Stupid is as stupid does.” Enter State Rep. Scott Saiki, who is either a Gump disciple or has been spending too much time in the hot Hawaiian sun without a hat. Mr. Saiki is actually sponsoring a bill making it a crime to sell or offer a toy gun to a kid. If you break the ban, you get 90 days in jail and a hefty fine. Even more incredible, despite a complete lack of evidence indicating that toy guns turn kids into criminals or violent adults, some of his colleagues are actually listening to his gibberish … as are several legislators nursing their own neuroses in a couple of other states! It just seems to me that decisions like this are the responsibility of parents, not political bureaucrats.

Want some honest-to-goodness sources of violence? Take a look at the games, movies and T.V. shows kids are watching these days … graphic violence  ‘rules’! Even many of the popular commercials feature heavy doses of violence, and cartoons are downright brutal. Remember the fast-healing character who got blown up or walked off a cliff, only to come back just fine in the next scene to do it again? So what do we do, ban childhood … or is there just some insidious plot against squirt guns? Oh by the way, Hawaii wants to loosen its restrictions on marijuana, so if the legislators have their way,  it’ll be easier for a kid to get high than to get wet!

Rather than feeding some politician’s paranoia and turning guns, toy or otherwise, into a compelling mystery for kids maybe we should try teaching them how to responsibly exercise their Second Amendment rights. Paranoid may sometimes be good thinking but I’m afraid this isn’t one of those times. The Greeks wisely said, “Nothing in excess” … Forrest Gump already weighed in on the subject.

If producing violent adults is honestly our fear, the best bet might simply be to shut down the computer, toss away the Game Boy, pry the T.V. remote from a kid’s hand … and send him outside to defend the backyard, making the wild West safe for decent law-abiding citizens.

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

I was peacefully perched on a stool at the kitchen counter enjoying a ham and turkey on rye, with a slice of Swiss and a schmear of horseradish sauce, when the voice in my radio announced “Now we’ll take time out for one of our obscene profit breaks.” It wasn’t kidding either, because what came next nearly spoiled a great sandwich.

No one should be surprised that ads for Valentine’s Day have now reached fever pitch … but what happened to giving your loved one traditional stuff, you know, like flowers and candy? I hadn’t even swallowed my first bite when a commercial suggested that I give my special someone a certificate to have her toe nail fungus removed. That was followed by one from another doctors’ group stating if I had “performance difficulties” they could have me “ready for action” after my first visit …  if my caring Valentine would give me the loving gift of their vast experience with “ED.” I found all this kind of puzzling since I don’t even know anybody named ED and the only performance difficulty I have is that I can’t tap dance. As for Vigi’s toe nails, they’re always polished with that red stuff. You don’t suppose she’s trying to hide something, do you?

The spot that almost caused me to cancel lunch came right after the “Give her the unique gift of naming a rare, hissing cockroach” ad from some zoo. A soft, sultry voice began beckoning me to buy my Valentine one-piece pajamas featuring a hood and attached feet. Oh, they were guaranteed to “keep her snug and warm,” too.  Now, there were more than a couple of things wrong here … forget the cockroaches. To begin with, I always thought keeping Veege snug and warm was MY job. Did this mean I could be covertly retired by a few measly yards of synthetic fuzz? I’m not even sure they had that little door in the back! The pronouncer never said so, anyway.

My sandwich was now drying out in my dish and my cold cuts becoming warm cuts, as I was forced to admit my real objection to this mummifying toggery. I had dedicated the better part of 33 years to finding sheer, filmy little frocks for Vigi, that would peel off easily … even with my teeth if necessary. Now that my smooth, catlike movements are all but gone and a certain level of stiffness has set into my fingers, I’m supposed to schlep my way through “hoodies and footies?” And what about all those other guys whose impatient fingers no longer adapt well to buttons or zippers?

Besides Hallmark and a bunch of Madison Avenue Marketeers, I began to wonder exactly who or what was behind this whole Valentine thing in the first place. I tossed my last crust of bread to the dog, headed for the computer and Googled around a little … only to discover there may be more than one explanation for our February 14th madness. Nothing I read, however, provided insight as to how a buck naked little cherub with archery skills got mixed up in the celebration.

One legend has it that Valentine was a cleric who served during the 3rd century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than men with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, continued to perform marriage ceremonies for young lovers in secret. When Claudius the Deuce found out about this, he ordered the cleric to be put to death! While languishing in prison, legend has it that St. Valentine actually sent the first Valentine greeting himself. It turns out his jailer’s daughter visited him frequently and they became smitten with each other … but before he literally lost his head, the starry-eyed romantic wrote her a love letter and signed it, “From your Valentine.” For obvious reasons, no known royalty arrangements were ever made on the phrase.

Another legend doesn’t say much about St. Valentine but claims the holiday was held around this time of year because it was the beginning of Spring, considered by the Christian church to be a time for purification and fertility. The priests would sacrifice a goat, as a symbol of both, slice its hide into strips and dip them into sacrificial blood. Then, they took to the streets gently slapping both women and fields of crops with the bloody strips. Women, in particular, welcomed being slapped with the bloody goat hide because they believed it purified them and would make them more fertile during the coming year.

Having shared Vigi’s every mood and preference for more than three decades, I somehow feel it is safe to say that she would rather celebrate Valentine’s Day with a dozen roses, some chocolate-covered cherries, or even the P.J.s without a door in the back … and leave the rest of ancient Christianity’s holy ritual to chance!

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

To me, our National Anthem is many things: It’s the song that uniquely represents America, just as our flag is our enduring national symbol. It’ s supposed to be presented in a way that is inspiring, respectful and reverent … not rewritten as part of some here today-gone tomorrow entertainment act. If really well done, The Star Spangle Banner may bring a lump to your throat and even a tear to your eye. It is the embodiment of pride and persistence!

Last Sunday I settled down in front of my sixty inch hi-def widescreen T.V. for an evening of ear splitting, mind thumping commercials when, suddenly, a football game broke out! The exercise in excess, billed as the halftime show, featured a group of electronically wired people that resembled a short circuited pinball machine on steroids. They were named after a variety of ‘pea’, which may provide some insight as to why a lot of kids refuse to eat their vegetables.

But before any of this began, an awkward slightly bow-legged young lady perched herself in the middle of the field on a platform, and proceeded with an acoustical assault upon the above-mentioned composition by Francis Scott Key. The announcer said she had won five Grammy Awards for previous attempts at conjugating musical notes, which instantly rekindled a flood of memories about why I haven’t bothered to watch those presentations in more than twenty-five years.

I can’t imagine a bigger moment or better venue for a performer than singing our Nation Anthem in front of a worldwide audience at The Super Bowl. Nevertheless, here was this Christina Aguilera person not only messing up the melody, but focusing so hard on doing so, that she screwed up the words as well. “What so proudly we watched, at the twilight’s last streaming” was, to my knowledge, not one of the visions beheld by Mr. Key as he sat in his precariously positioned prison cell. Do they audition people for such a multi-million dollar extravaganza or simply ask for a show of hands as to who wants to do the Star Spangled Banner this year, and just pick somebody? By the way, why doesn’t EVERYONE know the words and the history behind this song?

Older folks often find fault with a lot of things that just aren’t the same anymore and I’m no exception. Change, you know? It may be the only constant we can count on but, sometimes, it’s not easy to make certain adjustments. I can put up with bigger wrappers and smaller chocolate bars, tooth jell instead of tooth paste, and cars that measure power in  liters instead of cubic inches [I'm still working on those new, curly-fry light bulbs]. But when it comes to disappearing traditions, especially those affecting the texture and fabric of my country, about the best I can do is dig my heels in and say, “Enough already. Look behind you … the line is back there.”

A few years ago, I saw an old baseball movie about the minor leagues called “Long Gone”. It opened with a sort of flashy femme fatale who removed her chewing gum just before singing a nearly on-key version of our National Anthem … then placed the gum back into her mouth when she was finished and jiggled her way off the field. End act one, scene one. Even the tootsie’s rendition was more respectful. I liked it better.

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.