The War to End All Wars

by Hero Jenkins

It all started when my wife took our daughter with her on a trip to see her mother, leaving me to look after my sons and the sons of family friends. That was all it took. The complete absence of estrogen was, in my view, the main cause of the all out war that would soon erupt.

It was my wife’s fault of course - though she will never admit it. She should never have left town (and left me in charge). At the time, two of my friend’s teenaged sons were staying with us. Add me and my two sons and that's five guys. Alone. Folks, that is a lot of testosterone to leave unchecked by female intervention.

I had a rare three days off and I was determined to make it count. I began making plans the moment I learned of my wife’s trip. I quietly enlisted the help of my middle child because he was by far the most devious. By the time my wife left, my devious son and I had already taken a trip to Toys R Us to buy a "butt-load" of toy guns - the kind of guns that shot those little plastic disks about the size of a quarter. I wonder if they still make those. Anyway, we bought a bunch of them, a bunch of goggles to protect our eyes, and a TON of ammunition (believe me… there was a ridiculous amount of ammo available).

As soon as my wife left we were ready. I doubt her car made it out of the driveway before we got started. My first-born and my other two victims were oblivious to the destruction that was about to rain down upon them. We (my devious middle son and I) almost gave it away though we were giggling so much. I remember they (our victims, the enemy) were in the family room playing video games. The first inkling they had that something was about to go down was when I tossed a plastic bag filled with three guns, goggles and several boxes of disks on the floor in front of them. They looked up and saw my devious son and I already goggled up, weapons loaded.

It didn’t take long for them to figure it out and they began laughing and screaming and desperately ripping at the bag. They scrambled for cover... but it was too late. They hurled threats of dire consequences as they frantically loaded their weapons, but the threats didn’t stop us. We unleashed HADES and blasted them mercilessly (aiming for torsos and butts). By the time they got their goggles on and their ammo loaded we'd already emptied our weapons and retreated to the fortress we built earlier… unbeknownst to them.

My son and I had constructed our fortress using whatever was available. We built it with the family room couch we had overturned. Our opposition was left with the love seat, a couple of chairs and the pillows they'd stolen from our couch-fortress during a daring "midnight raid".

The battlefield was limited to the living room, the family room, and the kitchen. For the most part we stayed behind cover in our fortress, only venturing out to get more ammunition (which lay strewn around the room in abundance) or to attack when we knew they were low on ammo. The fighting was relentless and on more than one occasion degraded to hand to hand WWE style combat and tickling.

I ordered a bunch of pizzas each day and a truce had to be called when the delivery guy rang the doorbell. I made it absolutely clear… if anyone took a shot at me when I left cover to pay the pizza guy there would be NO PIZZA for them. They weren’t stupid. As soon as the pizza was paid for and divided up the war recommenced. You ate whenever and wherever you could. The war raged for three days with only periodic truces being called for bathroom breaks (or complete exhaustion). Couches and chairs were overturned; pizza boxes, candy wrappers and empty soda cans were everywhere.

For three days nobody showered… for three days no one changed their clothes. Shirtless smelly bodies darted here and there collecting ammunition or attacking the enemy. The excited shouts of the victorious could barely be heard over the painful shrieks of the vanquished!

Hey... War is Hell!

The plan on Day 3 was to shower, change, and clean up so we could restore the house to its natural state before my wife returned.

We lost track of time. 

The war came to a sudden and abrupt end when she came home unexpectedly - and we were ALL in BIG trouble. I was in the doghouse for months.

However, that’s not where the story ends. What we didn’t realize was that those little disks had gone EVERYWHERE and although we had done our best to collect them all we'd missed a few. For years afterward my wife would stumble upon one of those disks and be instantly reminded of the mess she came home to. If I were away or at work she would tack it to the front door or tape it to the refrigerator. If I was unlucky enough to be home she'd hold up the disk and shoot me that angry disapproving look only wives can give (there must be a special school were they learn stuff like that because I’ve seen my mom give it to my dad many times).

My sons and I always had the same reaction: we’d look remorseful and repentant as long as her eyes were on us but as soon as she turned her back we’d make eye contact and smile. Because in that instant we were remembering the greatest war... the war we waged over three days of complete freedom.

It was the kind of war legends are made of. It was “The War to End All Wars!”

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Live Your Life with the End in Mind (Part Two)

by Hero Jenkins

Here’s a third rule (and the last rule I will give you): Live your life with the end in mind.

I used to teach a parenting class. The courts mandated it for kids and parents who had somehow found themselves in trouble. We separated the kids from the parents in the first part of the class and had each group complete an exercise. We asked the kids to imagine that their parents had died today and it was up to them to deliver the eulogy.

And then, you guessed it, we had the parents write their OWN eulogy. We collected the papers and put them away until the end of the eight-hour class. There were lectures and films and other exercises but we reserved some time for the conclusion where we would bring them together and go over the eulogies.

When they returned to the room they noticed boxes of Kleenexes on every other desk. They weren’t exactly sure what they were for but we knew. Soon there wouldn't be a dry eye in the room. It was always a powerful moment when each one got up and read their eulogies because until that point neither side had ever expressed these things before.

A typical mother’s eulogy for herself went something like this:

Here lies __________. She always did what she thought was best for her family because she loved them so much and all she ever wanted was for them to have the best and grow up to be happy and good people.

A typical father’s eulogy would be:

Here lies ______. He worked hard, maybe sometimes too much, but all he ever wanted was to provide for his family and make sure they had all that they ever needed to survive.

The kids would almost always touch on how they wished their parents had listened more or hadn't worked as much.

You see, each side had different priorities and what one side thought was important was not quite as high on the other’s list.

I used this exercise many times with friends or family who found themselves doubting what they were doing with their lives. I told them to sit down and write their own eulogy. Try it. And if you are really bold get one of your parents or your best friend to write it for you. I know it sounds morbid and perhaps it is, but it works. And if you are honest and look at that eulogy and don’t like what you see then make some changes . . . now!

We all get a kick out of watching Ebenezer Scrooge look back on his unfulfilling life of greed during Christmas, but what if the tables were turned? What if your funeral was today? What would it look like?

How many people do you think would attend? Who will get up and speak about your time on this earth? What will they say?

"Here lies . . .

He was my dad, she was my mom. He was my husband, brother, grandpa. She was my wife, my cousin, my friend."

Now it’s time to write the rest - not with your pen, but with your actions and your deeds... for the rest of your life!

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Live Your Life with the End in Mind (Part One)

by Hero Jenkins

Are you doing enough for your kids to make sure they grow up to be happy and healthy? Are you a good husband or wife? Do you call your mom, brother, or best friend as often as you should? I have three simple rules that should banish these thoughts forever.

Rule Number One (It’s a simple rule in concept, but admittedly more difficult to put in practice): Do as much as you can - while you can. Bear in mind that even then you won’t be completely satisfied you've done enough.

I know I may be comparing apples and oranges here but I want to make a point. One of the most memorable scenes in any movie I have ever seen comes at the end of Schindler’s List. Oskar Schindler (played by Liam Neeson), a man who saved more than eleven hundred Jews from the concentration camps, realizes that although he had done a lot... he could have done more. Through his tears he rips off his gold lapel pin and says, "...two people..." if only he'd sold it to save two more people.

I know a few parents who are like that. It doesn’t matter how much they did for their kids, they always feel that they could have done more and they're probably right. There is always more. Perhaps you could have gone without sleep and devoted every waking moment to them or never left them with a sitter while you had some alone-time with your spouse.

It’s called regret (or guilt) over having a life while at the same time having kids. Get over it. It’s a trap; everything always looks easier in hindsight. Don’t get me wrong; there is a balance to be struck. It might be more helpful to think about what would have happened if you HADN'T taken just a little time for yourself and then lost your mind. Where would you and the kids be then?

Rule Number Two: Don’t expect your kids or your loved one to acknowledge how much you've sacrificed for them. At least not right away. If you do something for someone you love do it because they are someone you love and do it without the expectation that they will ever say thank you. (You’ll live longer . . . trust me.)

There was a period of time when both of my parents worked and my older sister was responsible for keeping an eye on us. My brother and I are only a couple years apart and we were terrors. We weren’t bad, just active and quite a handful. My older sister kept us safe, kept us fed, and even took us to the library, which is where I assume I developed my love for books. But we were young and didn’t even notice her sacrifices till much later in life.

So it has taken 50 years . . . Thank you, sis! (better late than never... Right?)

Our kids had a list of gripes about the way they were being raised, while they were being raised. They couldn’t understand why they had to do homework and get jobs when they were old enough. My wife had a strict rule: If you signed up for something be it soccer or glee club, you had to finish. They couldn’t stay all night at a friend’s house unless we met the parents (here’s a clue, when that’s a deal breaker, you know something was up.) Like I said, they had gripes . . . until, that is, they went away to college and found out how some of their peers were raised. Suddenly we didn’t look so bad.

Alas someone much wiser than I told me that my posts are too long and I should limit them to between 500 and 800. So you will have to hear the rest of the story tomorrow.

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