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Doctrinal Battle Ruins Friendships, Family
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2003
To the outside world, it's a spring morning just like any other. Garbage trucks clang down sleepy streets. Commuters battle rush hour traffic. And lines of coffee fanatics wait to get their morning fix at their favorite coffee houses.
But at Little Lamb Day Care, a storm is brewing that threatens to end its long and illustrious history.
Recently, the school was rocked by a controversy that has shaken the very foundations of early childhood education. Not since Martin Luther nailed his Ninety-Five Theses to the Wittenberg Door has there been such an upheaval.
The issue is one that has caused many sleepless nights, wet beds, and nightmares for both children and parents. It's a simple question, but one that has many answers:
Is it "Itsy Bitsy Spider" or "Eensy Weensy Spider?"
While the controversy may seem trivial to some, it has torn apart this small school that had previously preached tolerance and acceptance of everyone.
“We thought everything was going great," said Stacey Hostetler, father of Britney, age four. "Then one day, Britney came home singing 'Eensy Weensy Spider.' I asked her where she learned it, and she said Mrs. Matthews taught them. Eensy Weensy Spider?! We're an 'Itsy Bitsy' family. It's in Mother Goose, for God's sake!"
Darlene Matthews, longtime teacher at Little Lamb, said, "I cannot believe the unwillingness of some of these parents to accept the truth. The song is 'Eensy Weensy Spider.' It has always been 'Eensy Weensy Spider.' And no screaming or gnashing of teeth will change that."
Matthews recently left her job -- one she has held for 23 years -- over the dispute. She dispels the rumors that she was terminated for her views, saying instead that she left over "educational differences."
“I did not agree with the school or its views on the teaching of that song," Matthews said. "I can't be a part of an organization that would dismiss the beliefs of others out of hand like that."
The battle was indeed bloody. Teacher fought with teacher. Parents who were once friends no longer speak to one another. Even families have suffered the backlash of the spider song squabble.
Whitney Humphries, mother of five-year-old Jonathan, said, "I used to sing 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' to him when he was a baby. Now he refuses to call it anything but 'Eensy Weensy Spider.' He wears t-shirts that say 'Free the Eensy Weensy Five,' and has shaved his head in protest. He even quit watching Sesame Street, because they sing 'Itsy Bitsy.'"
“I don't know what's -- I'm sorry," Humphries choked back a sob. "I don't know what's happened to my little boy." She was unable to continue the interview.
“I don't need some heavy-handed autocrat dictating my worldview," shouted Jonathan during a recent protest. "I'm a big boy! I can choose my own form of musical expression!"
The Eensy Weensy-Itsy Bitsy debate has caused such a stir in the community that the mayor was even asked to intervene. While there has not been an official position on the matter, one anonymous source inside the mayor's office told this reporter, "No way are we going to touch this thing with a ten foot pole. We've got a reelection campaign to think about in two years. Memories live long and hard around here, and an emotional issue like this could spell the end of this administration."
So what's on the horizon for Little Lamb Day Care? One possibility is that teachers like Matthews and students like Jonathan Humphries may start their own school.
Other members of the Eensy Weensy camp have threatened a lawsuit. Local attorney R. Bob Robertson feels so strongly about the issue that he has agreed to work on their case at no cost.
“This is a country that was built on the free expression of ideas," said Robertson. "My clients have been harassed, and even received death threats, simply for expressing themselves."
But not everyone takes the issue this seriously.
“Frankly, we don't see what all the fuss is about," said Ernest Tolliver, Little Lamb's executive director.
Helen Byrne agreed. "Not at all. It's a silly issue when you think about it. This doesn't really change lives or affect the world."
“Too right," Tolliver laughed -- a sound that has been sorely missed these last few weeks. "I mean, what's next? A hunger strike over 'Hush Little Baby' about whether Poppa bought a billy goat or a cart and bull?"
“What did you just say?!" demanded Byrne. "Everyone knows it's a #&*%! goat."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of June 2nd, 2006)
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Barry vs. The Hoons
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
To paraphrase Saturday Night Live alum Norm MacDonald, "Australians hate Barry Manilow!"
At least the teenagers do.
That's because Barry's dulcet tones are being used to chase off teenage hooligans ("hoons" as they're called Down Under) in Rockdale, Australia, a district outside Sydney.
It seems the man who wrote the songs that made the whole world sing has become the man who makes the young hoons cringe.
I know, I know. That was awful. But that's what the members of the Rockdale Council are counting on: pure, unadulterated awfulness.
According to an article in Australia's Daily Telegraph, Rockdale's councilors are worried about the growing number of young ruffians and ne'er-do-wells whose "anti-social cars and loud music" are crowding streets and car parks.
"There are restaurants nearby and people can't park in the car park because they're intimidated by these hoons," said Bill Saravinovski, a Rockdale councilor.
Their plan is to install a loudspeaker and pipe in the "daggy" music to drive them out. ("Daggy is defined as "unfashionable, or lacking style, even eccentric or stupid," by the Oxford Concise Australian Dictionary.)
See? See?! I've said for years that Barry Manilow is unfashionable and lacks style. For years, I railed against his "Bandstand Boogies," his "Copacabanas," and his "Can't Smile Without Yous." For years, I've rolled my eyes so far back into my head I could see my brain whenever someone sang along with "Even Now," "I Made It Through the Rain," or "Jump Shout Boogie." For years, I've cursed that these albums were ever in my house, because it was embarrassingly easy to recall all of these song titles without any assistance.
And I've taken a lot of grief from all the women in my family over my feelings for Barry. I will -- very reluctantly -- admit that he's a good singer, and that I still know all the words to "Copacabana." But there's just something about the guy that's so totally, oh I don't know, unfashionable, lacking in style, and eccentric about his music.
"He is not uncool," my female relations shriek. "He's totally cool and hip!"
You can imagine my excitement at the news that the Rockdale District Council AND the Oxford Concise Australian Dictionary back me up on this. I feel totally vindicated now.
The councilors got the idea after a 1999 experiment when officials played Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" album to shoo off their own infestation of teenagers in the Warrawong Westfield shopping mall in Wollongong. (That part isn't really important to this story, I just like saying "Warrawong Westfield shopping mall in Wollongong.")
The idea of using annoying sounds to drive off unwanted guests is similar to an invention that made the news this past December. Welsh inventor Howard Stapleton's device is yet another teeanger repellent.
The invention is called the "Cheerleader," and it's a device that exhorts teens to show school spirit, but then, like, totally blows them off when they see her in the hallway because she's too busy getting the latest gossip about Amanda who started going out with Greg but I think Sasha's really ticked off because she and Greg had supposedly started dating over Christmas break and does this skirt make my butt look big?
Actually, it's called the "Mosquito," and it emits an ultrasonic sound that is annoying to teens, but is inaudible to most adults over the age of 30, because of the natural deterioration of our hearing. That, and we listened to too much Van Halen when we were younger.
So which would be worse, being Barry Manilow, or being the guy who has to tell Barry the news? And how would you even tell him?
Friend: Uhh, Barry, I've got some good news and bad news.
Barry: Great! Give me the good news first.
Friend: The good news is they're going to start playing your music in public in Australia.
Barry: Wow, that's great. So what's the bad news?
Friend: They think your music is so uncool, they're using it for riot control.
Barry: Gee, that IS bad news. Maybe Erik Deckers has been right all these years.
Unfortunately, I don't think the Rockdale Council has thought this idea through. While it will drive off the teenage hoons and their loud music and souped-up cars, they'll instead be faced with rampaging hordes of middle-aged women in matching tracksuits, shaking their purple nylon-clad booties to the infectious beats of "Bandstand Boogie."
They've already made a complete mess of the Warrawong Westfield shopping mall in Wollongong.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of June 9th, 2006)
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Move Over, Miss Manners. . . Please
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I think society has lost its sense of etiquette and politeness. We've forgotten simple manners and the niceties of a civilized society. No longer do we display the manners we were taught as children. We've become petulant and rude. We're quick to whine about the slightest offense. And we voice our displeasure at the top of our lungs like a spoiled child who didn't get the toy he wanted.
A simple smile and hello from a stranger is often ignored, thank yous are forgotten, and the greetings by a salesperson in a retail store are met with suspicion, or more often, a sneer and a glare that says "who are you to disturb me?"
Those should be met with a look that says, "the person you're trusting not to wipe a booger in the outfit you're about to try on, that's who."
I've heard from people who work in service industries, as well as seen firsthand, that many customers are as snotty as a kindergarten class during cold and flu season.
One friend, who was also a nursery school teacher, used to work at a printing company. She constantly dealt with irate customers, but finally got fed up.
After being yelled at by one caller, she said, "Ma'am, I teach nursery school. My kids would never speak that way, and there's no way I'm going to let you do it either," and hung up. She quit her job soon after.
It's standard practice in many retail outlets to greet customers with a friendly "hello, how are you?" The acceptable response is "fine, and you?" But the typical response is a snide "I'm just looking!"
Many shoppers seem to have a phobia that the sales clerks might -- gasp -- actually talk with them. So they shun all forms of contact with the staff, and then get upset because no one will help them.
I see this in restaurants as well. Customers will barely acknowledge their server, refuse to make eye contact, won't engage them in conversation, and then complain that their server wasn't very friendly.
If you have ever done this before -- and I have yet to meet someone who has not, me included -- there are two things you should do: Step 1: Get over yourself. You're not any better than the person who's there to help you. Step 2: See Step 1. Repeat as necessary.
I learned this the hard way. Several years ago, I made the horrible mistake of taking my frustrations out on a airline ticket agent. I was flying home from The Netherlands, with a stopover in London, and connecting flight home.
I had to pay an extra surcharge for my luggage that I didn't pay on the flight out, and I wasn't happy about it. So I let the ticket agent know my true feelings on the matter, but she was resolute. I grudgingly paid the fee, and boarded my flight without giving it any further thought.
Once I landed in London, I went to the ticket counter to see if I could get an upgrade, or at least an aisle seat.
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't show you as a passenger on this flight," the agent said.
"There must be some mistake," I said and showed him the ticket.
"That may be, but you're not on this flight. It shows that you were, but you were recently canceled."
"Really? When?"
"About 90 minutes ago."
That's when I realized why the Dutch agent had been so calm -- almost giddy -- as I left her counter. She had canceled my flight, nearly leaving me stranded in England. Luckily, there were still seats available, and I was able to get back on the flight and make it home on time. But I learned my lesson.
Now, whenever I fly, every ticket agent is my buddy. I treat them with a hearty friendliness that only a person who was nearly stranded in a country with a 150% exchange rate can treat someone.
So let this be a lesson to those of you who try to boost your own ego by making others feel small. If you're the kind of person who ignores your server, dismiss them with a curt, "that'll do," or if you snap your fingers to get their attention, just remember, they have many ways of getting back at you.
I can't say what they are, except to say that the terms "salad fork," "sweaty fat guy," and "chest hair comb" are often mentioned.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of June 16th, 2006)
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The Unfairness of Fairness
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
In my 3.9 decades on this Earth, I've come to the conclusion there is no such thing as true fairness. (I've also come to the conclusion that I'm getting old.)
I first learned about fairness and cooperation from watching Sesame Street when I was four. Two Muppets were arguing over a piece of cake. Both wanted it, but neither was willing to give it up. Finally, one of them had an idea.
"Let's share!" he said. It was the cake-flavored light at the end of the tunnel.
So the first Muppet pulled out a knife, and threatened to stab the other if he didn't give up his share of the cake.
Actually, that's not true. He said something to the second Muppet that has stuck with me forever: "I'll cut, you choose. That's 'cooperation.'"
So he cut the cake, the other one chose it, and I learned a valuable life lesson that stayed with me for the next 35 years. Of course, I also thought "cooperation" meant cutting cakes in half, so what did I really learn?
I was able to apply that lesson a couple years later, when my little sister and I were faced with the very same problem over a piece of cake. So I did what I learned from Sesame Street. I pulled out a knife and threatened to stab her if she didn't give up her half.
Okay, that didn't really happen. I very carefully and precisely cut the cake down the middle and let her choose. And that became our practice over the next several years. One cut, the other chose, with only a minimal amount of stabbing.
The problem was we never wanted to share in the first place. One of us would express an interest in the last piece of something, which automatically meant the other person wanted it too. It wasn't so much that we actually wanted it. It was more like we didn't want the other person to get all of it.
As a result, we both got really good at making that precise cut, to insure the other person didn't get a single micron more than the first. We did it with such laser precision, scientists would monitor us to calibrate their lab instruments.
But it was our own desire to see the other person get less that made this fairness so unfair. In order to inconvenience the other, we were willing to settle for less than what we really wanted. This is commonly known as "compromise," and it creates huge problems that lead to global conflicts.
When I was in college, I learned that compromise is actually the worst outcome, because neither party gets what they want.
Let's say you and I are going out to lunch. (Can you spot me ten bucks?) I want Mexican, and you want Italian, so we need to decide where to go.
If we go to a Mexican or an Italian restaurant, one of us gets exactly what we want, but the other doesn't. That's win-lose. If we go to a place that serves both Mexican and Italian, we each get what we want. That's win-win.
But let's say neither is willing to budge -- I'm not in the mood for pasta, and Mexican food gives you gas -- so we compromise and settle on Chinese. As a result, neither of us gets what we want. This is lose-lose.
According to scholars who study this kind of thing, it's actually better for a situation to end in win-lose than compromise. Because in terms of total satisfaction, there is more satisfaction in win-lose than compromise. Of course, most scholars think Mexican food is spicy, so they stick with turkey sandwiches and avoid the entire situation.
Unfortunately, a lot of bad things have been perpetrated in the name of compromise. Compromise bills are passed by Congress that benefit both parties, but hose their constituents. Cease fires and peace treaties give neither side what they want, so they're guaranteed to be broken two weeks later. Two little kids fight and bicker over the last helping of creamed corn, even though neither of them really wanted it in the first place.
So don't compromise, don't settle for 'almost.' Strike up a deal. We'll do Italian this time, and get Mexican next time. You vote for my bill this time, and I'll vote for yours the next time.
Or do what you should have done in the first place. Get a bigger cake.
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Erik Deckers
(published week of June 23rd, 2006)
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An Open Letter to Ann Coulter
Erik Deckers
Laughing Stalk Syndicate
Copyright 2006
Dear Ann,
Can I call you Annie? I'd like to think we could be friends, or at least colleagues. Sure, you're a big time author with several books, and I'm just a weekly humor columnist, but we're siblings in the written word.
As your friend, I think you need an intervention. You seem so angry all the time. But I know what's really going on. Your attention-seeking behaviors -- saying the September 11th widows enjoyed their husbands' deaths, saying liberals hate God -- really cry out "pay attention to ME! I need LOVE!"
I can't imagine what you're going through these days. You're enjoying a wave of massive popularity, but you're also one of the most reviled people in America. How lonely you must be. Pretty enough to date any guy you want, but so frightening to any potential suitor, they avoid you like a lawyer at a medical convention. You're a literary Black Widow, and I think you hate it.
You probably sit at home, weekend after lonely weekend, eating a tube of cookie dough with a spoon, watching old Benson reruns, and weeping silently into a tattered "Love Is..." pillow, wondering why none of the boys call you.
But while the rest of the nation excoriates you as a skeletal shrew who will say anything to stay in the spotlight, I defend you at every opportunity. Recently, I was sitting with someone who said, "Ann Coulter is a cold, heartless (B-word) who hates anyone with a conscience."
I stood up, voice quaking with rage, and defended you. "Annie is not cold! She has a core body temperature of 98.6 degrees, just like the rest of us!" I shouted. Sure, it was a little dramatic, but it had to be said. Friends stick up for each other.
I don't believe you really want all liberals and Democrats to go to Hell. It's just some role you're playing on the political stage. A character in the media theatre. After all, you're in the party of Compassionate Conservatism. A woman who calls herself a Christian wouldn't really take pleasure in seeing more than half the United States spend the rest of eternity in lakes of fire, would she?
I'd like to think that deep down, you really care about people, regardless of race, nationality, religion, or political affiliation. Some may scoff, but I can tell by the gleam in your sunken eyes that there is the tiniest glimmer of humanity in there. Somewhere. We just need to help you find it, if it takes months, or even years.
So what happened in your life that makes you say such hurtful things? Were you teased as a child? You weren't always the blond, svelte -- some would say emaciated -- beauty we see on television, were you?
Were you a dumpy brunette with stringy hair, braces, and chronic acne? Were you a band geek? President of the Mathletes and Latin Club treasurer? One of those lonely girls who clung to the wall at the high school dance, praying fervently the captain of the football team would ask you to dance, knowing deep down that he didn't even know your name? I'll bet he called you Amber by mistake once, and your heart sang for a week because he got the first letter right.
I'm worried for you. You've become a caricature of what you once were, and you can't stop. You've gone from being mildly controversial to the most hated woman in America. You say you don't care, but I think you do. You probably want to stop, but don't know how. How soon before you hit rock bottom? With each book, your rhetoric becomes more poisonous. Now you're actually accusing the September 11 widows of dancing on their husbands' graves. Where will it end, Annie?
A public flogging of the more moderate conservatives? Kicking orphans and puppies because they receive welfare? I'm worried you'll end up passed out in a gutter of venomous hate with Bill "Falafel King" O'Reilly and Rush "Little Blue Pills" Limbaugh.
Ann Coulter, tear down this wall. Take off the mask. Put down the poison pen. Liberals are a caring and forgiving people. Just ask, and all will be forgiven. You'd be welcomed with open arms, and can find refuge in a safe and loving space. Say the word, and you can start the healing process.
But eat a sandwich first, would you? You look like a friggin' skeleton. I keep expecting you to show up my house yelling "trick or treat."
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Erik Deckers
(published week of June 30th, 2006)
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