Kobayashi Maru

So the Muppet is in pre-school and this week the are doing the Terry Fox run.  For those who do not know, Terry Fox is a Canadian hero.  The Terry Fox Foundation continues his vision every year by holding Terry Fox runs all over Canada to raise funds for cancer research.  I have to admit, it is quite an amazing story, and he has my (and most Canadian’s) complete admiration.

So the Muppet’s school is participating in the run on Friday.  The Muppet came home with the paperwork and a pledge sheet and a note that all the students will be running in the event.  And so it begins…the love/hate relationship between schools and parents and fundraisers.  One would think that I might have a little more patience for this type of thing since I am a fundraiser by profession.  But I don’t.  Maybe I am offended that all these cute little kids go out and do my job easier and better than I do.  Maybe I get torqued that millions of children go out and do fundraising with such ease and carefree freedom.  Maybe I am spending a lot of time trying to figure out how I could get hundreds of thousands of kids to go out and raise money for me and can’t seem to come up with a good way to do it…

But I digress.  The Muppet came home with the info and absolutely no understanding of what the whole thing was about.  Ferf and I talked about it and decided that if they could make 4 year olds go raise money, then we could use this as a teachable moment for her.  We figured that since she had lost 3 out of 4 grandparents before she was even born to cancer that a cancer fundraiser was about as good a cause as we could get.

So we sat her down and started to explain the concept of having a cause.  That it is something bigger than yourself. That it is something that you give to - time, money, effort, etc.  (ok, so maybe we didn’t say etc, because we would have had to explain what etc meant, and that would have been a whole other discussion and I normally try not to rabbit trail - all evidence in this blog to the contrary notwithstanding)  She seemed to pick that up pretty well, so we moved on to talking about cancer - which is a topic that she is actually aware of already.  Then we talked about inviting others to join you in a cause - specifically through sponsoring you in a run and giving money.  This she got really excited about - showing again that she really is my child.

Then we decided that we would let her walk through my office and ask my new friends and co-workers to sponsor her.

But before we did that, I sent an email around to all of them telling them the whole thing and explaining that we wanted to let the Muppet come around.  I told them all that we wanted her to learn some life lessons and they were welcome to say yes or no.  In fact, that would be great if they said no, so she could learn to deal with rejection too.  It was a simple email and I even gave people the option of giving a buck or two, or even the change in their pockets if they felt an unrighteous sense of obligation.

Then came the day that the Muppet showed up at my office.  When Ferf called me to say they were in the parking lot, I ran down to meet them.  The Muppet came running and jumped into my arms.  At that point, I might should have known that the day was going to be different than I expected, because as I put her down she pointed at the door and said (with much enthusiasm)  “lets go in there and get some money!!!”  I was somehow equitably horrified and proud at the same time - and in equal measure.

So, in we went.  We went in and she walked right up to a lady in my office and said (loudly) “Daddy, do you think I can ask her?”  I looked over and got a nod and then kneeled down and said, “you bet baby girl.”  So the Muppet walked up and put out her hand and said, “Hi, I’m the Muppet.  Would you support my cause?”  It’s a very strong opening for a 4 year old.  She did it every time she talked to someone (all 7 times she talked to someone).  The immediate response was always the same question, “What’s your cause?”

At this point, the Muppet did the same routine.  I think she realized that she was in the direct spotlight each time she got to that point.  It was like watching the birth of a nervous twitch.  It was awesome, especially because it was so dang effective.  She put both hands in her hair at the scalp and then ran her hands through them to the ends.  It was like seeing her channel Farrah Fawcett.

I had to remind myself that she has never seen Farrah - in a movie, on TV or even the poster that I had on my wall as a kid.  And yet, there she was tilting her head to the side, giving a rye-smile and running her hands through her hair and twisting the ends, as she said, “Fighting cancer.”  This answer always solicited the same follow-up question, “How are you fighting cancer?”  They were expecting her to say something about Terry Fox, but that is not the direction she went.  She said, “By getting money.”  Then we jumped in and asked about the run, and she talked about Terry Fox and his cancer and losing his leg and that he died.  It was always really important to her that everyone know that he died.  I wasn’t sure why, but it was true, so we let her tell the story her way.  Then she usually showed them how she was going to run.

She talked to 7 people, go 100% positive responses and raised about $200.  And the funny thing is, she never asked how much anyone gave, nor did she ever really seem to care about the total.  She just went looking for her next mark donor.

That night she wrote everyone of them a thank you note and signed it.  Then she recorded a thank you and reminded everyone to pay their pledges to me at the office.  Which I emailed to them all.   The run was Friday and she did the run with a huge smile.  She still doens’t really care how much money she raised, but she noticed that there were 3 thank you notes left from the pack of 10 that Ferf bought, so she has taken them to her room.  She told us that she was going to keep them so that she had them for her next cause.

I think that on some level, the older she gets, the less secure my job is.

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Allow me to keep you in the dark no longer. I am officially a CFRE. My seester-in-law Merf recently pointed out to me that I have never once mentioned what those initials stand for and so the google search engines have been working over time of late as people went to the source of all web based knowledge and asked, “What the crap does CFRE stand for?” I suppose that I might could have mentioned what it meant, but now CFRE International’s website has more traffic in the last two days than in its entire history, so hopefully I helped them a little.

That being the case, for those who are less inclined to source out everything I talk about (and forget to hyper-link) allow me a brief moment to elucidate for you.

CFRE Fast Facts

Total Number of CFRE Certificants 4, 929
United States – 4,113
Canada – 691
Australia – 62
United Kingdom – 36
New Zealand – 16
Other – 12

Gender 35% Male 65% Female

SO I am one of very few people and evidently even fewer men who have this designation. Not that this make me insecure in my manhood. I am much man. Yes I am. AM TOO!

Anyways, I have now taken one of the harder tests I’ve ever endured and am a better person for it. It’s odd that now I have some credibility that before Wednesday at 5pm I did not. Nothing changed within me. I don’t know more now than I did on Tuesday, but I have more credibility. It’s funny that culturally we have such a hang up with letters behind our names meaning that we are an “expert” in any given field. Not that I am complaining (you know, now that I have some), but objectively it does seem weird to me. Somebody somewhere (or a group of somebodies somewhere) decided that if you could answer a certain percentage of questions correctly that they had written, and thus decided were indicative of expertise probably because they could answer them, then you too were an expert and to be set apart from others as “special”. Well, I answered their darn questions and showed that I know a certain percentage of what they think one ought to know and so now I am set apart as special. Funny, I don’t feel special. At least no more special than I felt before. In fact I feel about the same as I always have - or at least as far back as I remember feeling myself…

So to those who wished me well - thank you. To those who have since sent congratulatory wishes and thoughts and emails - I thank you. To everyone else, I am now special and part of what makes me special is the ability to be patient and understanding of people like you. Or to quote the great American bard Ferris Buller “it’s what allows people like me to put up with people like you.”

Of course that was a funny line…but only because I wasn’t talking about you!!! I didn’t mean you. You’re different. You’re special too… no really. You are.

So, while I was waiting to finish this pot, we spent the weekend in Vancouver with some friends. The Muppet and I spent Saturday afternoon with Q-tip while our wives (mine and Q-tip’s) went shopping. And yes, I am now taking on a second job to cover the cost of that little outing. I have never understood why women are always wanting to buy clothing that covers less area than if they just stuck the dollar bills to their body. Besides, I happen to think that a woman (especially my wife) would look really sexy covered in money too. Then we would have the sexy look AND have the added bonus of still having the cash. I know, I am not a professional clothing designer, but I could pretend to be on on the internet…

Anyways, the Muppet and Q-tip and I are hanging out at Granville Island - or as the Muppet calls it, Thankful Island. And since I am thankful for Granville Island because I like it so much, I am not inclined to correct her on that. But we are hanging out and enjoying the buskers and walking around and we decide that we should get some ice cream - ok, so the Muppet decided that, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I got a tiramisu flavored and the Muppet got a strawberry swirl. Q-tip got something but it is superfluous to this story so why bother with details??

After we get the ice creams we decide to sit on a bench and listen to the buskers. The Muppet climbs up and begins to wiggle and wiggle and wiggle. Both Q-tip and I warn her about the impending doom of such continuous actions. She declines to listen and continues to squirm. Until…the inevitable happens. Without warning, the Muppet falls off the bench right on her thigh with ice cream lying on the pavement like collateral damage. She looks at me, then glances to her leg then to the remnants of her “special treat” and then back at me. The the tears start to well up and she stammers, “Daddy! My ice…my leg…my special treat…swirl…owwie…help!!!” With some humor in my eyes I am sure, I say to her (as I reach down to pick her up in my arms) “Baby girl, what’s the biggest issue? Your leg or the ice cream? I can only solve one crisis at a time. Which is the most important to you?”

She thinks for a moment and then says, “My leg Daddy. Look at my leg. Once we make the owwie all better you can buy me another special treat.”

Every day I realize more and more that this child will be able to out think me soon….very very soon….

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SO it has been a bit since I posted, and while some of that time was spent engaged in a comprehensive viewing of the contents of my stomach and bowels (the results of which I will not share with you here, or anywhere for that matter you freaking sicko - who wants pictures or even graphic descriptions of vomit and poo!?!), there have been other reasons for my absence. Though before I get into those reasons, I would like to thank those who sent me heart warming condolences on the death of my uncle. I appreciate the thoughts as well as you as people. In some cases, I appreciate the thoughts more than I appreciate you as people. And still in others I appreciate you as people more than your thoughts. In which ever scenario you fall, I thank you equally.

Now, to the point of this post, which really is to justify the recent lack of posts. I am not sure that this then qualifies as an actual post, but I will call it such anyway. In fact, “I will love him, and hug him, and squeeze him, and I will call him George.”

So, back to the excuse post.  Tomorrow I shall be taking the all day exam for my professional certification.  Assuming I pass (which to be honest, I am assuming, becuase if I were to assume that I would fail there would really be no reason to have spent the effort and resources, not to mention the last 5 years of my life doing all that I have been doing so that I could even qualify to have the right to take this dumb thing.  Honestly, at times I can be self abusive with the best of them, but that would go right past foolish and into some heretofore unknown realm of absurdity from which one would be less likely to return.  In other words, to sum up, I hope to God I will pass this darn thing), I shall be not only certifiable, but certified. Which many have said I should have been years ago, but they were not refering to my profession. (I forgive them all…okay some of them)

Anyways, I will be closeted away for an entire day to be tested and prodded and mentally poked.  And then, I can come out of the closet…wait!  I am not liking my analogy anymore.  Let me start again.   I will be secreted away to an undisclosed (to you) location and then subjected to testing the likes of which you cannot imagine.  Seriously…go a head and try.  Nope.  Nope.  Nothing like that.  EEWWW, you are sick!  This is a family blog!  Sheesh…aren’t you a pastor!?  Why would you even imagine that kind of thing?  You need help!  OK OK enough!  That should be a suitable sample size to prove my point. 

The testing is beyond the veil in it’s sinister trickiness and intionally misleading of poor test takers such as myself.  I must however believe that I am up to the task.  I am equal to the piece of paper that it is written on!  (Ok, so it’s actually computer based - but really, who can say they are equal to a freaking computer!?  Cut me some slack here)  I shall be victorious in my quest to best the test. So after tomorrow, you can no longer think of me as merely Tex.  You will have to think of me as Tex, CFRE.  Which is much more impressive you have to admit.  Not that there is anything wrong with Tex.  I like Tex (and I hope you like me too it too).  But Tex, CFRE is way more impressive you have to admit.  CFRE is almost mystical in its sound.  One would think that being able to say CFRE after one’s name would imbue them with certain talents and abilities that they were unable to access previously.  And once I have that, I will have to decide if I will use my new found powers for good, or for awesome!  On that point, I am, as yet, undecided.  But I will accept input from my loyal reader(s).

I have been studying the likes of which I have not done since my collegiate days.  Yes…I studied in college.  (I thought it would impress the chicks.)  Nothing like flexing your GPA to make the ladies swoon.  Yep…strolling across campus with a backpack full of Cliff’s Notes and an impressively sized syllabus is one way to get noticed by the fairer sex.  The library is like a hunting ground…I digress.  The point is, that I stand by my original comparison.  In fact, I migh tbe studying harder now, cause none of your friends really cared if you passed or not in college.  Come on, it’s college man.  It’s for socializing and experimenting.   Jut kidding on that last part.  No experimenting!  Unless you are willing to have those kinds of photos end up on flickr and some awkward video being uploaded to youtube when you want to run for office.  It’s almost as bad as having your unmarried kid turn up pregnant right as you run for VP on the conservative family values ticket.  OK, so that’s so overboard as to be unrealistic - like that would EVER happen!

My point is that I have been a studying machine.  I have been unsocial and snarly and occasionally unresponsive.  But I shall soon come out from under this cloud of academic seclusion and will once again take control of my little Maru and captain you all into storms and sunny days with humor aforethough and seemingly harmless sarcasim mixed in with some gusto.

Until then, feel free to pray hard and long (like my college syllabus) for me to rememeber everything I have forgotten and to be able to recall everything that I might have not even looked at, and finally that the proctor will be someone of compromisable morals as well as cheap.  And may those prayers be honored, even if you are not honorable in praying them.

I thank you all in advance for your support.

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