Christmas 2009

Dec. 13, A.D. 2009

Merry Christmas, everyone!

We’re very happy to have this Christmas letter to present to you this year. Actually, it’s quite a stroke of good fortune that any letter exists. 2009 passed away too quickly and suddenly we found ourselves on Dec. 10th with a bit less than the 24 weeks we usually take, from first brainstorming session to official printing, to create our yearly letter. We held a family debate over 48 sleepless hours and decided the only logical course of action was to print out complete copies of our Facebook pages and highlight our best posts. We were implementing this rather awkward plan when luck stepped forward.

On the morning of Dec. 13, we climbed into the attic to cart down some Christmas decorations. There, next to an amazing mound of candy bar wrappers and empty Pepsi cans, we found some interesting documents. One began “In preparation for the 2010 census, the Unites States government has installed census agents in the attics, closets, basements, and refrigerators of 50 million randomly selected homes across this great land. The goal of this endeavor is to acquire a statistically significant sampling of the habits and traditions of the people of the United States. The goals of the census agents are twenty-eightfold. Firstly, the agent must…” The second document appeared, on quick glance, to summarize the events of the year for our family. Woo-hoo! We scanned it in to the computer and fired up the printer. Enjoy!

Subjects J and D were legally married in Rolla, MO, in 1993. They were also legally married in Baldwin City, KS in 1994; in Santa Barbara, CA in 1995; in Las Vegas, NV in 1996; and so on, every year, through Hell, MI, in 2009. This deviation from social norms in the sacred marriage institution is simply one example among many that leads this agent to the conclusion that this family is rated high risk for revolutionary activities.

Three children reside in the home. F (male) is 11 years of age. T (female) is 9 years of age. Q (male) is 7 years of age. Note that the names of some of these children are non-traditional enough that the gender specification is required. All three children participate in their school district’s gifted programs, a known training ground for evil geniuses.

Late, late into the night, many nights a month, subject D can be found running her sewing machine. “Quilting” is the official report. She is also active in a “Quilt Guild” that has had to change meeting locations during this past year. Sewing, which is key for those making uniforms and flags for rogue political factions, is an important part of D’s life, and something she is passing on to her children. Every one of the children has received a sewing machine for his or her 6th birthday. This year, subject T used her sewing skills to make a Halloween costume for the family dog (named “Kwyjibo,” or “Boe”). This agent asks why the sewing needs to take place in the depths of the
night.

All of the subjects are heavily involved in the supposedly patriotic scouting organizations: Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, and Cub Scouts. Both of the adults are leaders of these groups, imposing their values and ideas on children from all over the surrounding area. The children are being trained in many facets of outdoor survival, and are receiving awards for their efforts. F earned his Arrow of Light as a Cub Scout and his Tenderfoot badge (and 7 merit badges) as a Boy Scout. He attended a summer camp and returned home reporting that he could successfully swim a mile without stopping. T bridged up to Juniors and spent her first week ever at Girl Scout sleepover camp. She also attended a horse camp this summer, learning many skills useful in supporting or leading cavalry. Q earned his Tiger badge and spent a week attending Cub Scout Day Camp, where he learned to fire BB guns and shoot a bow and arrow. Also, in June, all three males returned home soot-faced and smelling of smoke, claiming to have attended a “flag retirement” ceremony.

Vegetables are grown all throughout their property. The back yard has three separate vegetable garden areas, and additional food is grown in transportable containers across the front yard and on the front porch. Even the basement has a large planting area with grow lights and under-soil heating. The distribution of gardening areas easily misleads the casual viewer into believing that the family has only a small area set aside for growing their own food stores.

Most alarming of all is the subject family’s training in martial arts. Subjects J, F, and T fence in a fencing club, attending lessons and classes and informally bouting on most Saturdays. They fence behind the closed door of their garage, and occasionally in the driveway itself. Their basement has an area set aside for nightly solo fencing practice: they’ve used the term “sanctuary” in describing this area. These children are well trained for hand-to-hand combat. Subject Q is impatient to begin his own training. Also, in November, the subjects transported their own weaponry and gear across state lines.

Other warning signals: F reads the biographies of many famous historical figures, studying how they rose to power. He also knows more about Egyptian history and politics than most people twice his age. T reads and re-reads the Twilight books as if they were a blueprint for keeping a group of super humans secret from the eyes of the world. Q reads detective books, building strong deduction and analytical reasoning muscles. D has read the Twilight books even more than T. J read the biography of Hannibal this summer. The subjects also play many strategy games, and have been known to alter the rules to make the games even more challenging. This summer they also started with role-playing games. At this tender age the children are being trained to assume alien roles and play them without faltering. They played one Dungeons and Dragons game for 6 hours the weekend that Q, the youngest, wore the ambulatory EEG machine that ultimately led to the diagnosis of his epilepsy.

The subject children go to great lengths to appear as ordinary children. The two older ones learned to ride their bikes this summer. Q participated in coach-pitch baseball and insisted, despite suffering an exhausting epileptic seizure en route to one game, on playing and – most telling – appearing in the team picture. Q has his own betta, F has his own hermit crab, and T is looking forward to obtaining 2 guinea pigs in February. To the untrained observer, these children appear nearly identical to normal children.

This agent recommends intensified surveillance of the subjects at a minimum. Ideally, more decisive measures should be implemented immediately after the holiday season.

We hope you enjoyed reading our letter this year. (When events slow down a little, we’ll read it ourselves.)

Merry Christmas!


The 2009 Christmas Letter is brought to you by Jackson and Jackson Paranoia Treatment Services (“We chase the people who are chasing you”) and Professional Census Agent Removal (“If you have a census agent infestation, think PCAR.”)

First post

Picture the year 1955. A man with his wartime Navy service behind him and now with three children at home decides that the lessons he has learned in his life – and the lessons he is continuing to learn – may be useful to other people… or at least might entertain them. He is a clever man and a creative man and so, of course, he thinks “blog.” He chooses a theme based on thinking over all he has seen. He names it, for names are very important, “Reflected Glances.” Then he sits down to nap until the personal computer can be invented.

My father inherited that blog in 1980, when his Army service was behind him and he had, partly because of four children of his own at home, many life lessons worth sharing. Life intrudes, though, and so that blank 25-year-old blog became a blank 50-year-old blog in his hands. He did sign “I. J.” on the first page of the blog in about 1992. That is a start… even if no one knows what it means.

Hi! I have inherited this blog from my father and his father before him. For the past four years I have carried on the family tradition of carting around a blog eternally pregnant with undelivered ideas. Then yesterday, as I was up on my roof taking down the festive Christmas lights and putting up the radiant New Year’s lights – well, falling off it, actually – it occurred to me that I could go my own way and actually use the blog. As my head struck the mucky ground, I realized that what I really wanted to do with my life is to experience the greatest pleasure known to man: making people laugh by telling stories about my kids. Later, as I stood in the shower washing the mud from my hair, I started thinking about what to write.

“Inheritance shall be my first theme” I decided and so it shall be.

The first thing we inherit is our appearance. “She has your eyes!” “Oh, look, that is exactly Grandpa’s chin.” “Dear Lord, she got her father’s nose.” When someone new is born, everyone wants to know who he or she looks like. Me, I have always looked like my Dad. It’s inescapable. From birth he trained me to answer the question, “Why are you so good looking?” with “because I look like my Daddy.” The good news is that I can see what I’ll look like at any age just by looking at a picture of him at the same age.

But we inherit so many other things. Mannerisms, ways of speaking, even thought patterns.

Nature vs. nurture isn’t something I want to debate here.

When I was born, I had club feet and the doctors said that can be inherited. When my younger brother was born 21 months later, my parents were frantic with “How are his feet?” questions, not realizing the boy wasn’t yet breathing on his own. Neither of my sisters had foot problems at birth, either, but I do have a nephew with club feet. It must be inherited, but from where? My oldest son was born with hip displaysia and the doctors asked about family history. None. My youngest son developed epilepsy this past summer and the doctors wanted to know if it ran in our family. Not really. Those boys have started new things that their kids can inherit. Add that to the pile, next to the creativity, high blood pressure, various cancers, and (for many) great longevity. We inherit so many little gifts from those who came before us. Like modern technology. Like mountains of trash. Like antibiotics and antibiotic-resistant bacteria.

My grandfather was a great problem solver. My youngest son has inherited that same skill. It’s hard to see what path he’ll take with that gift: right now the race seems about even between (1) helping people and animals (especially dogs and giraffes) and (2) making stuff explode.

I think I have a great deal of empathy (though I’m sensing that it’ll take more than a direct statement to convince you of that). My oldest son has inherited that same empathy to the point that some books are painful for him to read or hear. When a favorite character decides to lie or cheat, my boy will leave the room. He can’t stand to have those thoughts in his head. But he has found another creative use for his gift: with a few well-chosen words he can bring his brother and sister to tears. He can enrage his mother. He can see into our heads and press the best buttons. So even if we inherit the same tools, we may do different things with it. Like the guys from the bible who were handed golden coins, we can use what we have to make great things, or we can bury them and keep them safe. I’m digging up my writing skill (such as it is) so that it can shine… or at least not get all moldy.

Remember the story of Martha and Mary? Martha wanted Mary to come help her prepare food for the gathering, but Mary wanted to be part of all that was happening. I suspect my Mom descends directly from Martha. My brother, sisters, and I all inherited that from her. My spouse tells me (I’m told that “wife” is terribly gender-specific) I make a good drudge. Yep, Martha and me both. I’m going to try to devote some time to this blog thing, even if it means that some of my little chores go undone. I’m going to try to be a little more like Mary, at least a couple times a month.

So, I’m going to take up this blog I inherited and do my best with it. And when I fall or end up tomato-spattered (virtually, of course), I plan to keep trudging along. I’m going to try to do something useful with this blog. Or entertaining. Maybe both. So stand back, life, I’ve got stuff to do.