Bears

 

After seventeen years of coaching, I have retired from my position as the EJHS scholastic bowl sponsor, and I use the term “retire” because of its connotations. For example, you often retire from things on your own terms. Retiring is more final. It says to the world, “Look, it’s not personal, but I’m leaving. I’ve done what I came to do, and now I’m going to go golf.” Or fish, or play pickle ball, or, as in my case, drive my kids to practice.

            Speaking of children, I’ve decided to also retire from making breakfast for my two oldest kids on school days. It’s dumb. In some cultures they would already be protecting entire flocks of sheep for days on end, yet these two still shuffle into the kitchen every morning like they just woke up at a Holiday Inn.

            “Dad, what’s for breakfast?”

            I don’t know. Captain Crunch? Let me grab you a bowl so you can get back to watching other people play Minecraft on YouTube.

            Nope. No more. I’m retired. Craft your own breakfast. Also, while we’re on the topic, I’m also retiring from deciding which of your socks needs washed and which ones you just dropped on the floor to help you find your way back to your room. That’s it, Hansel and Gretel. I’m retired. We’ll wash Annaka’s clothes—she’s still cute—but you two are on your own.

            This is therapeutic, and so I’m also retiring from “liking” or “sharing” things on Facebook. In light of recent evidence from a whistleblowing former employee and an independently structured oversight committee, it turns out that Facebook is just terrible. Apparently every time we engage with a post the Facebook algorithm, which thrives on conflict and controversy, modifies what we see next. None of us are scrolling through the same feed; none of us are digesting the same information, and we wonder why America is in a cold civil war. 

            So I’m out. You guys can pick your tribe and stock up on military-grade memes; I’m reading the newspaper.

            Finally, I’ve decided to retire from worrying about getting attacked by a mama bear. I know this sounds insane since I live in south central Illinois and no reasonable bear would try to raise their cubs this close to so many deer camps, so, to clarify, I’m talking about getting attacked by an actual human woman who refers to herself as a “mama bear,” as in, “Don’t mess with my kids or you’re going to feel the wrath of this mama bear.”

            In reality, I have never even been growled at by a mama bear. However, reflecting back on my long career as an uncertified life coach, I now realize that I’ve often restrained myself when it comes to helping bear parents when so many of them just need curt and forward advice.

That ends today. So, in closing, let’s take some questions.

Mama Bear One: My kid won’t do their homework and is failing three classes at school. I’m at a loss. What should I do?

Answer: Do they have a smartphone?

Mama Bear One: Of course, they need it to…

Answer: Wrong. Children have been around for hundreds of years without smartphones. Take the dumb thing away until they’re passing. Next question.

Pappy Bear: My kid hates me because I won’t let them go camping with their friends.

Answer: They’re not camping. Next question.

Mama Bear Two: My two oldest children, whom my husband claims should be raising sheep, I think, struggle to get up in the morning. It’s about all we can do to feed them a bowl of nutritious cereal before it’s time for school.

Answer: Hmm, that is a tough one. Maybe they should go to bed earlier so their dad, who is probably exhausted and handsome, can also go to bed at a decent hour. Regardless, do they have a smartphone?

Mama Bear Two: Well, no, but...

Answer: They’ll probably be fine. They seem like good people.

And that’s all the time we have for questions. Fortunately, I will never retire from giving unsolicited advice, so keep those questions coming and be sure to “like” and “share” this column as often as you can.