It’s An Odd Feeling Meeting People. Especially, When They Already Know You.

Every so often people read this blog.

I personally think this is a good thing.

The question: Why do they read it? The answer: I’m not sure.

It could be a sign of poor judgment. Or it could be they simply have too much free time.

Whatever the reason, I consider myself lucky.

Joe Pesci in GoodFellas.

Joe Pesci in GoodFellas.

It’s nice when people take a moment out of their busy days and stop by the Blog to read my thoughts.

Maybe it is comforting for them. Maybe my problems and issues help them put theirs in perspective.

If that’s the case, I am providing them a service.

You could even say I’m making the world a better place.

I’m doing my part to help heal the human spirit.

Ahh, who am I kidding?

I slop down the first thing that pops in my head and call it a blog.

People read it because they are wasting time at work instead of doing something productive.

That being said, something has happened with the people who read this blog.

No, they haven’t gotten dumber (although this isn’t out of the realm of possibility and is certainly up for discussion).

They know me.

Or at least they think they know me.

This realization smacked me upside the head during my trip to Washington D.C.

As I was introduced to people, they started to figure out who I was.

And they were shocked.

And possibly horrified.

And some quite disappointed.

I wasn’t what they expected.

They thought I would be taller, shorter, thinner, fatter, smarter, younger, older, and certainly wiser and… most of all…


Way funnier.

As in, “Say something funny Blog Boy.”

I believe the exact phrase went something like… “When I met you in person, I really expected you to make me laugh. And you don’t.”


My feelings would have been hurt, but luckily for me I’m a school administrator (dead inside… no feelings… in fact my middle name is Hollow).

Actually the pain (if I could feel it) was worth it.

It was a good lesson.

People who visit the Blog don’t really know me.

They read the blogs (or quickly and very politely scan them… while being prepared to hit minimize if their bosses walk by…) and come up with their own versions of what they think I am like.

And that version is way cooler than the real me.

Which is okay.

I just have to remember to not go out in public.

Or if I do, at least come up with something funny to say.

Because no one likes an unfunny Blog Boy.

Note from wife – aka: Editor in Chief – He is funny in person…VERY funny. But also quiet. And I must admit, it is a little disturbing that he is now referring to himself as “Blog Boy”. If you ask me it’s just a matter of time before he starts wearing a cape and tights… and makes Buddy the Dog his faithful sidekick.

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Proof That Readers are Much Funnier Than I Am.

After I post a blog, I receive comments and emails from readers around the world (turns out poor taste knows no boundaries).

Surprisingly, most comments are well thought out and the authors have something to add to a blog.

But, I especially enjoy the ones from people who are borderline lightweight crazy. Don’t get me wrong, these aren’t from full-fledged standing outside my bedroom window, wearing snow boots and a top hat, smoking a candy cigarette through the mouth hole of a hockey mask crazy.

Although, it would be nice if these people also took an interest in reading more.

The one thing that most responses have in common is they are generally funnier than my original post.Not This is Funny.

This one is a great example of that.

It was written in response to my blog, “FORGET THE GAME, WATCH THE PARENTS“.

The author is Angie Bicknell from Forth Worth, Texas. She is working on her doctorate, which also proves that there is no direct correlation between the amount of education you have to your good taste in blogs.

But, we won’t hold that against her, or the fact that she was a cheerleading sponsor (I actually respect her for surviving that… 10 years… you are a glutton for punishment… and by respect I mean of course… pity).

I also feel a certain kinship to her because she uses my patented “looking busy” move (more on that in her response). This particular move has gotten me through a thousand awkward moments in public when I don’t want to stop and talk to students, alumni, or anyone else I am avoiding (the list is too long to get into here).

In my estimation, she is not only funny but a good mom. Also, I think this story should be printed on the back of every program at any event where parents gather to cheer, boo, scream, yell instruction from the stands, complain about coaches or referees, and form a tunnel so their children feel important.


My son just started soccer (5 years old-played 3 games).

The first game he got hit somehow. I didn’t see it, just noticed him holding his face. We made eye contact (big mistake) and then – in the middle of the game-came running off the field crying.

I tried to push him back him (at this point my husband called me “cold-hearted.”) and told him he couldn’t just leave the field when he wanted.

The good news is that he hasn’t done it the past two games, so I think he got the message.

My husband and I are definitely in the first category. We hate the tunnel hand thing.

We refuse to do it. I pack up the chairs (look busy) to avoid eye contact with the weirdo’s who will yell at me to get out on the field and make a tunnel! Not doing it.

I love my child and everything, but isn’t actually signing him up, paying the fee, buying shorts and socks and cleats and taking him to practice and games every week enough?

I’m even willing to provide “snacks” (i.e.: sugar) whenever I’m told to.

I will not tunnel or paint my car or buy a fake soccer ball that looks like it busted through your windshield thing.

My son needs to understand that, while I love him tremendously and it’s all about him for one hour on Saturdays, the rest of the world does not revolve around him.

And-even more important- the outcome of the game will not be rehashed at home for 3 hours so he can “improve his skills.”

The author is quite possibly the smartest parent I have never met (hard to tell for sure, since I haven’t not not met everyone). You can read more thoughts by visiting her blog, Human Voices Wake Us.

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She is the Funny One. I am the Lucky One.

Laughter is the Best Medicine (I Just Made That Up...).

Why are the graves always shallow? Why don’t people put a little extra effort into the job and do it right the first time?

But, I digress and possibly frighten. I need to quickly change the subject before someone calls the authorities.

There is one thing that always strikes me as odd when people leave comments on the supposed humor in this blog. The fact of the matter is that I am probably the least funny person at my own dinner table.

My daughter has a very good sense of humor. In particular, the continued state of disaster of her room is a riot (if I don’t laugh, I would cry). We still can’t find her bed.

It was somewhere toward the middle of her room the last time we saw it.

We used to have a dog. I think he is somewhere near her bed, but I am not sure. I assume he will come out when he gets hungry (he might be better off crawling out the window and coming in through the front door- I don’t think he has the strength to climb over all the clothes and stuffed animals). At this point, he may have simply given up.

The funniest person in the family is my wife. I am hesitant to admit this because I have spent 14 years trying not to acknowledge this fact. I don’t want her head to swell.

I have done this because when she tells a funny story, she cracks herself up. I mean she really cracks herself up. Before she can even get to the punch line, she is rolling on the floor. It is funny and a little tragic. Mostly funny. Sometimes I fear she may have an accident (if you have been pregnant you probably know where I am going with this).

She is presently a 4th grade teacher and that can be a big job. And sometimes a funny one.

Last week she came home and said there was a new student in her class. His name is Jesus (hey’zues).

He was getting along just fine with his new classmates and studies, but he had forgotten to write on the SmartBoard if he was eating school lunch or not.

That was quickly rectified when another student announced in their loudest voice that Jesus (gee’sus) was not eating today.

I wish Gee’Sus went to my school. That would look very impressive on the school website.

One of her funniest stories about school involves her sexuality.

She came home after school one day and stated that there was a possibility that her students now knew our marriage was a shame.

I mentioned that I thought we had agreed to keep this a secret.

She stated that I was an idiot. But back to the story.

At the time she was teaching 6th grade in a much larger school district.

On that day she was having some difficulty with a young man. She had to get on him several times during the morning and she could tell that he wasn’t happy with the situation.

She thought that he would get over it in short order, especially since they were about to take a break and head to PE class. Sometimes young men just need a break from the women in their life (for the record, marriage is nothing like that).

When it was time to dismiss the kids so they could get to PE, she realized that she had forgotten to run off some papers so she needed to head down the hall to the office.

The kids were going down this same hallway and she ended up following them. The young man in question did not realize this.

As they were all going down the hallway, he turned to his buddy and said, “She is a mean lesbian.”

Since my wife overheard this, she had no choice but to respond. So she tapped him on the shoulder.

She said “I can assure you that I am not mean.”

The young man stood in total silence as he attempted to comprehend the fact that his teacher may have just acknowledged she is gay (not that there is anything wrong with that).

This is why she is the funny one.

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While this site operates with the knowledge and awareness of the Tuscola CUSD #301 School Board, Tuscola, Illinois, the content and opinions posted here may or may not represent their views personally or collectively, nor does it attempt to represent the official viewpoint of Tuscola CUSD #301 administrators or employees.