Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Thursday, November 13, 2003


Wow--turn the machine off for a while and come back and there's all sorts of folks hanging around wondering what the heck's going on. Hey to everyone who have dropped by from Acidman Central--sorry there's not much in the way of bright, shiny new posts around here. Life, y'know.

Anyway, my thanks to Rob for the link--it really is a great compliment, considering his view of his real-life dad.

Thankfully, I haven't been put in a situation like the one Rob recounts, but should it ever come about, I can guarantee that my reaction would be just about the same. In a world where there's a lot of wrongs and uncertainty and fear, kids need to be able to count on something.

At my house, they know that they are loved, whether they've been bad or good. They know that there are consequences for misbehavior, and having to bear those consequences does not mean that they aren't loved. They know that despite what they might see going on in the world around them, they can count on a bedtime story or an Etch-a-Sketch picture of a cat, and someone reminding them to brush their teeth. They know where we're going on Sundays, and they know that there's more to religion than a few hours worth of time filling a pew. They know that the stuff Dad tells them not to do, he doesn't do himself. (Although they probably don't know that the reason he is so adamant they not do them is the result of too many long, mistake-filled, stupid years when he was a young man.) They know that as long as Mom and Dad are still able to breathe, they are going to be together.

The hard part of all that is knowing that even with it, success is not guaranteed. Just because they know what's right doesn't mean they'll always do it. But it won't be because no one ever showed them different--clenched jaw, throbbing veins in the forehead, and all the other.

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