Several years ago my grand daughter Allison sat on Santa’s knee at the mall and told him what she wanted for Christmas. Her parents were anxious to find out themselves since she hadn’t told them what is was she wanted. When they asked her what she told Santa she simply replied, “You’ll find out on Christmas morning.”

We all had a good laugh over it and the “secret” gift was eventually revealed in time for Christmas. But that moment has stuck with me over the years. When I’m fighting through the throngs of impatient people at the mall to pick out a gift for my wife. Or spending the better part of a weekend cursing while trying to get the Christmas lights untangled only to have them go out when I finally get them hung up. Thanks to Allison, I pause and realize what Christmas should really be about.

It’s more than buying presents and hanging lights. It’s about innocence and wonderment and anticipation. It’s jumping out of bed at the crack of dawn to discover presents under the tree and knowing Santa had been there because the cookies and milk you set out for him were gone. It’s a feeling that something special – something magical, had happened and we were a part of it.

And then one day we stop believing. It usually comes around the time when mom and dad aren’t as cool as our friends. When going to grandma’s house for Sunday supper and eating her freshly baked home made pie for dessert becomes more of an obligation than a treat. When telling little white lies and disobeying our parents every now and then suddenly becomes okay.

It’s when we start mistrusting others and look down at those who aren’t like us. It’s when we stop giving our parents a hug and telling them how much we love them. When we stop saying our prayers at bedtime and call our friends on the phone instead. When looking for hidden Easter eggs and carving pumpkins becomes dorky rather than fun.

In short, we grow up. But in doing so we lose a part of ourselves that we will never get back. Maybe believing in Santa is a good thing that we shouldn’t lose. He may not exist in the logical part of our brain but couldn’t he still live in our hearts? We could all certainly stand being a little more innocent and a little less cynical.

This Christmas, let’s bring Santa back into our lives, if only for a little while. Let’s keep the chimney flue open and allow ourselves to think that maybe – just maybe, that noise on the roof during the night is the sound of reindeer. And when we wake up in the morning and go downstairs with our kids let’s believe that it was Santa who put those presents under the tree. And that was him who ate the cookies and drank the milk.

Actually, why not take it one step further? Let’s believe that magic and miracles really can happen. Let’s buy one less present for our family and one more for someone who needs a miracle in their lives. Let’s tell each other how much we love them and how much they mean to us. Let’s say a prayer of thanks at the dinner table and mean it.

Let’s walk up to a total stranger and say “Merry Christmas.” Let’s walk down the block stopping at houses and sing Christmas carols after dinner and then shovel their walks for them as a gift. Who knows? It just might be the best Christmas ever. At least the best one in a long time.

By Patrick Triplett

With all of the warnings regarding nearly every product on the market today, it makes me wonder how we Baby Boomers are still alive. The only “warnings” I remember growing up were, don’t eat under-cooked pork, drink Drano, or stare directly into the sun for more than two minutes.

Somewhere along the way we were told that cigarettes were bad for us, and that wearing seat belts were good. But in general, we managed to survive without being told that 90 percent of everything we put in our mouths, applied to our skin, or came in contact with was potentially damaging to our health.

We live in the age of lawsuits, and it comes with the territory that we need to be warned of anything that could possibly go wrong in order to protect the consumer as well as the manufacturer.

Whether it’s food, over the counter medications, cleaning products, appliances or power tools, it will no doubt come with a label telling us of the potential hazards.

“Warning: eating peanut butter may produce symptoms that include dry mouth, excessive thirst, and a craving for jelly. If you experience any of these symptoms, take two pieces of bread, make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and drink a glass of milk. Before doing so, read the warning labels regarding bread, jelly, and milk and consult your doctor before eating.”

As outlandish as that seems, we are clearly headed down that path. The worst are the warning labels and possible side effects that come with prescription medications. Most of them read like a Stephen King novel.

“Warning: taking this product may cause dizziness, fatigue, blurred vision, headache, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, anxiety, irregular
heartbeat, loss of bodily functions, the ability to count to three, and developing a striking resemblance to Pee Wee Herman.

Suddenly that pesky indigestion doesn’t seem so bad when compared to the possible side effects.

Other warnings are just plain ridiculous and an insult to our intelligence. Some actual ones include:

“Toilet paper – unwrap roll before using.”
“Sleeping pills – may cause drowsiness.”
“Butane lighter – flame may cause fire.”
“Hair dryer – never use in the shower or while sleeping.”
And my personal favorite – “If parachute is defective, return to place of purchase.”

I saw an ad on TV recently for a product to help people quit
smoking. I could not believe the warnings associated with this product, and rewound the TV to make sure I heard it right. This is verbatim what it said:

“Important safety information: some people have experienced changes in behavior, hostility, agitation, depressed mood, and suicidal thoughts while taking or after taking this product. If you notice any of these changes, call your doctor.”

So in other words, taking this product may cause you to purchase an automatic weapon and open fire in a crowded restaurant, but at least you won’t feel the need to smoke a cigarette afterward.

Then there are the ads for E.D, you know, the ones where they show a man and a woman sitting outdoors in separate bathtubs. Does anyone actually do that? And if so, why? Among the many warnings regarding this product are:

“If you experience an erection lasting more than four hours, call your doctor immediately.”

I can just picture some guy who this actually happens to, nervously checking his watch after three and a half hours, and getting out the phone book to look up his doctor’s number. Twenty minutes later he picks up the phone, frantic, and gets ready to dial the number.

“Quick,” he says to himself. “You only have ten minutes left. Try to think of something that will help. The Cubs’ bullpen. The Bears’ offensive line. That Colonoscopy you keep putting off. Rosie O’Donnell. Something, anything.”

What I can’t figure out is what good it would do to call your doctor? What’s he going to do? Tell you to come in and see him? You wouldn’t be able to walk out in public in your current state.

The list of warnings keeps growing by the day. I heard a news report recently that a study has revealed cell phones can be hazardous to your health. Pretty soon we will come full circle to where seat belts will be considered potentially dangerous. They’ve done it with air bags. Why not seat belts? Surely they can think of something that might go wrong when wearing one. Strangulation, perhaps? Inability to release the fastener in case you need to jump out of the car for some reason?

So the next time you go to purchase an item, you can do one of two things. You can either read the warning label and be scared out of your wits, or ignore it all together. Our generation managed to survive without them – except maybe for the the guy who failed to return his parachute after discovering it was defective.

For comments regarding this story Patrick can be reached by e-mail at trippa1111@aol.com.

God love my mom. She means well. But try as she may, she just doesn’t quite get it when it comes to sports. Granted, she didn’t start getting involved until her grandson, Mike, became a sportswriter a few years ago. She began reading his articles and watching his interviews on TV with great interest, but with little knowledge of the subject.

My dad taught me to be a sports fan at an early age, and we watched games religiously together while my mom chose to do things far less important, such as buying the groceries, paying the bills and balancing the checkbook.

Now she is trying to play catch up in her later years, asking Mike and me more questions than Shaquille O’Neal has missed free throws.

There was a time when she couldn’t tell you the difference between a grand slam homer and a slam dunk. While she has learned quite a lot over the past few years, she still has a long way to go.

The one defining moment I will never forget was when she called and tried to impress me that while driving home she listened to the entire first quarter of an Iowa game on the radio. I was impressed until she said, “I didn’t know they were still playing football this late in the year.” They weren’t. She was listening to a basketball game.

Over the years she has referred to Joe Paterno as Joe Paternal, Michael Jordan as Michael Jackson and Joe Pepitone as Joe Pepperoni. Once during a family trip through Georgia, we went out of our way to check out Augusta National Golf Course, only to be denied access at the front gate. My mom, in a desperate attempt to persuade the security guard, boldly stated, “What if I told you I knew Jack Nicholson personally?”

Realizing of course she meant Jack Nicklaus, I couldn’t help but laugh while the stoned-faced guard just stood there shaking his head.

But clearly her biggest hurdle is trying to understand the rules of sports, particularly regarding football. She attempts to follow sports in general, but focuses mainly on football because of her grandson, who started out writing for the Iowa Hawkeyes, then the San Francisco 49ers, and currently the New Orleans Saints. She is gradually learning the basics, but sometimes will throw us off guard with a question like:

“I was watching the bowl selection show on TV and I saw where they picked Iowa to go to the Orange Bowl. But why didn’t they pick the Saints to go to the Super Bowl? Aren’t they one of the best teams?”

I will usually pause for a moment after these kinds of questions, allowing my brain to process the information. Then I will take a deep breath and try my best to answer a question that seems so basic to me yet something so foreign to her.

Me: Because Iowa is a college team and the Saints are a pro team. The Super Bowl is for pro teams.
Mom: But the IBS said they were announcing all the teams for the bowl games. Isn’t the Super Bowl one of them?
Me: IBS? You mean BCS?
Mom: Oh, yes, BCS.
Me: College teams are selected to play in the BCS bowls by a committee. The Super Bowl is played between the two NFL teams who win their conference playoff.
Mom: The NFL? Is that different than the BCS?
Me: Yes. The NFL is the name for the pro football league.
Mom: And they hold some sort of conference to vote on who gets to play in the Super Bowl?
Me: (Long pause).

I then spend the next 20 minutes explaining how the playoff system works in the NFL. Just when I thought she had finally grasped it she says, “OK, I think I got it. Just be sure and let me know when the Saints play in the Super Bowl so I can watch it.” Ironically, they did play in the Super Bowl and won. She probably figured it was meant to be all along. Come to think of it, maybe it was.

She reads the sports page and watches ESPN on a regular basis, two things she would never have done in the past. It is becoming obvious that her level of sports knowledge is growing. She will impress me by asking or telling me something that I was surprised she knew, only to follow it up with a question that she has asked many times before and obviously still cannot quite comprehend.

But despite the multitude of questions, I have to give my mom a lot of credit. She has come a long way in a short time. And she is living proof that it’s never too late to learn.

The story of the postman being bitten by a dog recently in Davenport brought to mind a similar experience I had not too long ago. I was going for my usual walk one evening when out of nowhere a fairly large sized dog came sprinting at me from across the street.

My first reaction was to yell at the dog in the hope of intimidating it and causing it to retreat. This tactic did not work, as the dog continued toward me and began attacking me. My only option at that point was to try and fend it off by kicking at it.

Meanwhile a woman, who I presumed to be the owner, stood in her front yard and called at the dog to come to her.

“Sam, get back here,” she kept repeating, while Sam paid no attention and continued to attempt to turn my left leg into its dinner.

I was finally able to convince the woman, in a rather loud voice, that instead of yelling at the dog to come to her, it might be better for her to come and get the dog. Eventually she did, pulling it off me and dragging it back to her yard.

“Sorry,” was her only response, as if that would make everything OK.

Not being too happy about what had just transpired, I told the woman that I walked the same route nearly every evening, and I didn’t appreciate the fact that it was interrupted by an attacking dog. I went on to say that if she didn’t keep her dog restrained from now on, I would have to carry something with me for protection, and would not hesitate to do whatever it took to defend myself.

This seemed to make her somewhat upset, and instead of apologizing and asking me if I was OK, she stared at me as if to imply that her dog was just doing its job.

I have nothing against dogs. I have owned four in my lifetime, and have loved every one of them. I believe in the adage that they are man’s best friend, and provide their owners with something only dogs can give – unconditional love.

But the incident from that night got me to thinking. What exactly do dogs think their job is, and what do owners think their dog’s job should be?

Obviously, there is an instinct in dogs where they feel it is their duty to protect their owners against harm. Most dogs will ward off a potential ‘threat’ by barking. Some will take it a step farther and growl and bare their teeth. And occasionally, as what happened in my case, they will attack.

I have had dogs run at me several times in my life. One I will never forget was when I was 11 or 12 and was walking down the street only to have a Boxer charge at me from its front yard. I stood there frozen as the dog drew closer.

“Don’t worry,” said a man calmly sitting in his lawn chair. “He won’t hurt you.” The dog proceeded to jump on me, knocking me down, and then hovering over me. The man actually found this to be humorous, and while chuckling, called his dog off me and back to his yard. After returning home, changing underwear, and waiting for my heart rate to return to normal, I decided to take a different route.

This seems to be the reaction of most dog owners. They think they know their dogs, but unless they have taken a course on How Dogs Think, they don’t have a clue.

One of the dogs we owned, Kirby, was a friendly, gentle animal who would greet most people by wagging its tail and wanting only to be petted. Once in a while it would bark at a stranger at the front door, but that was about as far as it ever got. Kirby never gave us any reason to think it would harm anyone.

But for some unknown reason, Kirby disliked one of our friends, Don. Each time Don would enter our house, even if he were among several other people, Kirby would single him out and growl at him, baring its teeth and acting as if it were going to attack him. Though Don was a nice guy, and swore he had never given Kirby any reason to dislike him, we had to restrain the dog each time Don was in the house. To this day we do not understand why Kirby felt the way it did toward Don.

I have often wondered why people choose to purchase dogs the size of Clydesdales, and then allow them to roam freely in their yards. Are they really buying these kinds of dogs for companionship, or to save a few hundred bucks on a home security system? (And don’t even get me started on Pit Bulls).

As I am walking and see a large dog running about freely in the yard, I tend to freeze in my tracks, only to have the owner come out of the house or from around back and say those words, “Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

Ah, another graduate from the school of How Dogs Think.