Cagle World

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Wow! Will this really be my 19th Father’s Day as a father?

My biggest regret is that I’ve had to learn so much the hard way. To make life easier for other fathers and prospective fathers, I’m sharing reader-submitted pearls of wisdom:

Resign yourself to the fact that the mother of your progeny will probably never admit that you deserved an epidural for the paper cut you suffered from the Lamaze brochure.

Remember that whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you available to encounter the next contender for Dirty Diaper from Hell.

The heck with stepping on Legos in the dark. Tell the kids you overheard their imaginary friend saying he/she prefers to play with imaginary toys.

Learn to deflect confrontations. (“Are you sure Justin said, ‘My dad can whip your dad’? Your mother says you never clean your ears, so isn’t it possible Justin instead declared, ‘My uncle can whip your uncle’?”)

Reward entrepreneurship. Fork over some cash for the mud pies. But don’t fall for the extended warranty.

Ward off the annoying “Are we there yet?” whine by waxing endlessly philosophical during car trips. (“Is anyone ever really there yet? And if they do arrive, and they celebrate their arrival by clapping with one hand, what is the sound of…?”)

Don’t skimp on corny dad jokes. Revenge is a dish best served while attending a doll tea party.

Understand that the American Medical Association has determined that the act of circling a “date night” on the calendar is the leading cause of tonsillitis, appendicitis, bubonic plague, unionization of babysitters, etc.

Beware the Three G’s when lecturing. Don’t try the old “When I was your age” gambit when the unholy alliance of Google, Grandma, and Grandpa is there to fact-check you. (“Yes, your dad dutifully mowed the lawn for hours and hours – if, by ‘hours and hours’ you mean ‘until he remembered where he hid his porn stash.’”)

Be a big shot by helping your offspring with their homework. (“The only thing faster than the speed of light is the speed at which families pass through the ‘Kids Eat Free’ sweet spot.”)

Do not cause a scene over disagreements with coaches and umpires. You may, however, play it by ear if someone uses a hideous color for the “participation” ribbons.

Plan ahead. Manufacture a five-year supply of slightly altered videos of Spot frolicking at a farm upstate, in case you ever hear a disturbing noise while backing out of the driveway.

The earlier your child performs in a piano recital or dance recital, the more forgivable it is to test the fire alarm. (Editor’s note: “Parents, don’t try this at the auditorium!”)

When those teenage attitudes bubble up, keep telling yourself, “This is just a phase, this is just a phase…” — pausing only long enough to tell the nice clerk, “Yes, I know I’m past due to sign up for Medicare, but…”

Let your daughter’s suitor know that you remember what it’s like to be a 16-year-old boy. And what it’s like to be an expert on unsolved disappearances.

Beam with pride when your child decides to attend your alma mater. Beam a little less when they ask, “Which dorm has monsters under the bed?”

Retreat to the early “Goodnight Moon” days of fatherhood if your descendants wind up moving back home.

“Goodnight, man cave. Goodnight, speedboat. Goodnight, date night…”

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Did you get your copy of “Queen Elizabeth II: Reign in Pictures” in time for Her Majesty’s Platinum Jubilee ceremonies?

As a bookazine fanatic, I certainly did.

Beg pardon? What’s a bookazine, you ask? (I promise I am merely making educated guesses about your inquiries. I do not have the ability to read your mind. And neither does that new co-worker you’ve been undressing with your eyes. But I digress.)

Bookazines combine the permanence of a book with the vivid images, pithy text and exciting layouts of a magazine. (If you grew up reading “Classics Illustrated” comics, you can probably appreciate the blend of formats. You may also appreciate how paper cuts from bookazines distract you from the trauma of your parents having THROWN OUT your comic books.)

The glossy paper and factoid-infused sidebars of bookazines make for compelling reading. (I’d still love to see the historical sidebar “10 People Who Were Hideously Inbred, Yet Aren’t in Line for the Throne Anywhere. Go Figure.”)

Perhaps you’ve seen bookazines in a bookstore magazine rack or on a website offering digital downloads. Surely, you’ve encountered them vying for your attention in grocery checkout lines. (“Hmmm…’Shakespeare: His Chaotic Career’ OR three extra Slim Jims. Whether ‘tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous indigestion or…”)

Periodicals such as “Time,” “Life,” “All About History” and “All About Space” have created a cottage industry for these collectible one-shot special editions. Sometimes quite literally a cottage industry. (“Elvis Has Left the Cottage: Candid Photos of Smaller Venues the King Got Hornswoggled into Playing.”)

Some bookazines spotlight iconic perennial celebrities such as John Wayne, Marilyn Monroe or The Beatles. Others rush to capitalize on trendy celebrities of less lasting impact. These are the “notables” who will someday wind up in the “Where are they now – and by all that’s holy, how can we keep them confined there?” section of the newspaper.

I know that snootier bibliophiles look down on bookazine aficionados, but they should be tickled that people are reading at all. Readers shouldn’t have to prove themselves by making a lifetime commitment to a single long-winded paragraph that (unlike the Great Wall of China) CAN be seen from outer space.

Reading doesn’t have to be drudgery. Curling up with a good book should be enjoyable, not the equivalent of eating your veggies while climbing the gym rope.

I admit it. Life coming at me fast has given me an abbreviated attention span. So sue me! (Brought to you by the publishers of “All About Ambulance Chasing.”) Longer attention spans aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, anyway. They just give you more time to savor the atomic wedgie you received for being a judgmental bookworm.

There is still much room for growth in the bookazine field, but it’s getting harder and harder to find new angles on well-covered topics such as Waterloo, the Titanic or black holes. (“Did Napoleon escape Elba via a rip in the time-space continuum? Nah, probably not. Ooookay…. just 95 more pages to fill…”)

Right now, I’m accumulating bookazines more than actually reading them; but someday I’ll play catch-up and be the life of the party, sharing scintillating tidbits.

Unless someone steals the show by inventing “podillies” – the cross between a podcast and a wet willie.

Stop undressing that co-worker with your ears! The law should throw the bookazine at you!

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Hollywood makes iconic catch phrases seem easy.

Whether it’s McGarrett’s “Book ‘em, Danno” or Vizzini’s “Inconceivable!” in “The Princess Bride,” we take them for granted.

But there is a dismaying amount of trial and error behind the relative handful of utterances that fully capture the public consciousness.

For example, the magisterial “Make it so” of Captain Jean-Luc Picard in the “Star Trek” universe.

Early versions of Picard’s command included “That’s what SHE said,” “Pretty please with a Romulan cherry on top” and first runner-up “That’s the way…uh huh uh huh…I like it…That’s the way…”

It’s not just fictional characters and celebrities (forgive the redundancy) who are known by their word choice.

What are the phrases that your friends, relatives and acquaintances know YOU by?

Don’t feign ignorance. Many catch phrases are quite deliberate. One of my co-workers customarily answers inquiries about his wellbeing with a cheerful “Hangin’ in there like a hair in a biscuit.” (Is it mere coincidence that the local unemployment rate for bald bakers has dropped to zero?)

He and I fondly remember a customer named Caneer, who drove a truck emblazoned with the encouraging motto “Never fear – Caneer is here.” (With today’s fuel prices, Mr. Caneer would undoubtedly have added, “You push, and I’ll steer.”)

A sincere “Lord willing” tacked on at the end of a declaration of one’s intentions is certainly commendable, although some people overdo it. After the umpteenth round of “I’m going to open my desk drawer, Lord willing, and get you a paper clip, Lord willing,” the Almighty is likely to dispatch an archangel to “give him a three-day-pass armband, for cryin’ out loud!”

Other speech patterns are unconscious. And self-contradictory. “Imagine that!” isn’t exactly the epitome of imagination. (“Let me get a pulley — so you can hold up your end of the conversation!”)

We pepper our dialogue with a lifetime accumulation of movie quotes, fourth-generation family sayings, stalling techniques (“Like, good, you know what I mean, morning –and stuff”) and similar verbiage. And sometimes we’re not the most scintillating folks to be around.

Admit it: you’ve found yourself dreading the tag team of “So I said to myself, ‘Self…’” Guy and “If I’m lyin’, I’m fryin’” Guy.” (“Self, see if you can ease out the back way. Oops. I didn’t mean to bump into you, ‘Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” Guy. Are you and ‘I’m not one to gossip, but…’ Lady still an item?”)

I remember one dearly departed codger who habitually interrupted speakers with nods and grunts of “I know it, I know it.” It took a little of the wind out of his sails when a speaker reached his breaking point and demanded to know, “If you already know it, why am I having to explain it to you???”

Don’t get me started on the expletives (mild and spicy) that flow freely based purely on muscle memory. (“Whoa! I didn’t realize how much my swear jar was starting to look like Fort Knox.”)

Honestly, as a wordsmith, I am self-conscious about my speech. I often bite my tongue, count to 10 and strive to scrub my greetings, prayers and responses clean of clichés and verbal crutches.

It’s not an easy path, but that’s the way uh huh uh huh I like it…

Wait! Are you reading hard or hardly reading?

Hello? Houston, we have a problem.

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

So I can spend more time with my family, I am turning this week’s column over to a bright fourth-grade student from an unnamed American small town.

–

Hi. My name is Liam. My history teacher, Mr. Burkhalter, assigned us to write a 500-word essay about lack of public appreciation for the significance of Memorial Day.

My grandpa suggested titling the essay “They’ve fallen, and our enthusiasm can’t get up.” Grandpa says a lot of things that make us check his pill box.

Mr. Burkhalter, whom you may recall I already mentioned two paragraphs ago, drives a long, long, long way to instruct us kids, including Jenny and Claire and Eliot and Noah (how am I doing with the word count?), so I paid close attention when he said that Memorial Day is a day to honor those Armed Forces members who made the ultimate sacrifice.

After he explained that these brave men and women died so the rest of us could enjoy our freedoms, I decided that “ultimate sacrifice” is indeed an appropriate term. But I just want to state for the record that sharing a room with my little brother must rank as the next to ultimate sacrifice. Sure, the Kaiser used chemical warfare, but he never tossed Petey’s dirty socks into the trenches. Google it.

It’s hard to imagine the hardships our heroes endured, often short of food, short of medical supplies, short of pronouns…

The beginning of the observance that evolved into Memorial Day took place way back in 1868. Gen. John A. Logan probably had lots of time to organize such solemn ceremonies because I understand that the video games back then were totally lame. Don’t get me started on the Pony Amazon riders.

Even though many people treat Memorial Day as just another three-day weekend (Indy 500! Action movies! Trip to the beach!), it has become part of the American fabric. (Speaking of fabric, they are having a big Memorial Day sale at Clem’s Clothing Castle. Sing a verse of “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree” – whatever that is — and get 10 percent off your order.)

Grown-ups often refer to Memorial Day as “the unofficial start of summer.” You would think that summer would be grateful that humans granted it an unofficial start, but it is usually a case of “I got your mosquitoes and heat right here, pal.”

Memorial Day has become a lot like fun-focused Independence Day, except without the fireworks (unless Mom catches Dad showing off his “Kiss the Cook” apron a little too suggestively with Ms. Houlihan down the street).

Do you know what would be a neat way to celebrate Memorial Day? You know all those books about the cities you must visit before you die and the foods you must eat before you die and the movies you must watch before you die? Maybe one of my classmates will write “The 100 Warmongering Politicians You Must Get Rid of Before You Die.”

I appreciate our hard-won opportunities. If not for fallen patriots, I might be speaking a foreign language, with phrases like “three channels” and “play outdoors” and “here’s the change from your fill-up.”

–

Thanks, Liam. I hope you’ve inspired everyone to observe a moment of silence at 3:00 p.m. on May 30.

I can almost smell the bombs bursting in air…No! Wait! It’s Petey’s socks!!!

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

“I can’t HEEAARR you!” – Sgt. Vincent Carter on “Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.”

You may recall that – in October of 2019 – I wrote a column denouncing the proliferation of confusing, dimly lit scenes in movies and TV shows.

Now it’s time to unload on the audio aspect of the media.

Remember when Hollywood gave us effervescent heroes and scenery-chewing villains with crisp diction? Now many actors/characters are so low-pitched, understated and listless that their threats devolve into, “You’ll get to watch your children die in front of you, but only if you don’t drown in your Cap’n Crunch first. Please stop falling asleep in your cereal. I’m almost finished whispering my master pl–ZZZZZ.”

I know these guttural thespians think smoking 20 cartons of Luckies a day was worth it because their voice is sexy enough to make great-grandmother start ovulating, but it’s distracting for the rest of us.

Lack of energy isn’t always the main factor in hard-to-understand dialogue. Some actors certainly have the pep to cram their mouths full of marbles before mumbling a soliloquy.

Admit it. Even if you and your significant other possess perfect hearing, you have doubtless squandered many an evening endlessly replaying the same 30-second clip and asking, “WHAT did he say???” These are the times that make “TV Guide” look less enticing that that hardcover copy of “The 1931 Statistical Analysis of Boll Weevils” propping up the wobbly table.

Do you ever wonder what sort of childhood these slovenly, low-volume characters endured? (“Son, always wear clean underwear, and always use your indoor voice when you’re in a hailstorm at the Indianapolis 500.”)

Let’s not forget subtitles. I make no apologies for being a multitasker. While “watching” a TV show, I can usually imagine the action on the screen while devoting part of my attention to the newspaper, my notebook or the family cats. And then – out of the blue – the writer has a gaggle of characters switch to conversing in their native tongue, with the benefit of subtitles that I must play “catch-up” with.

Producers insist that these jarring rounds of subtitles are necessary for the “realism” of the show. Hey, if I’m watching a miniseries about an elf traveling to the dawn of time with an honest politician, the realism train has probably already left the station.

Even worse, some artsy directors insist on long stretches of non-English dialogue with nothing except facial expressions and gestures to give you the gist of what’s going on. Scan your own groceries. Translate your own dialogue. Truly, we live in a wonderful age. Next, we’ll perform our own autopsies.

Unfortunately, foreign actors speaking exclusively in English is not a cure-all. Casting directors love actors who have an accent so overpowering you can hear the sound of your ears bleeding. It’s like Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” processed through Ye Olde Drive-Thru Speaker.

From Eddie Haskell to J.R. Ewing to today’s scoundrels, I have always thought there were some characters who needed a “come to Jesus moment.” Now I think there are characters who desperately need a “come to Henry Higgins” moment.

Let’s do something about this situation.

I want you to get up right now and go to the window. Open it, and stick your head out, and yell: “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not gonna…be able to be heard over the commercials!”

*Sigh*

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Honest, I’m going to write a book chockful of random thoughts someday (my more serious book about religion is already available on Amazon), but deadline pressures keep forcing me to cannibalize my ideas for this column instead.

For instance, do you get confused by the (microscopic and/or smeared) “sell by” and “best if used by” labels on products? “Best if used by November 2022.” “Best if used by July 2023.” Considering the sodium and sugar content in most of the products, maybe the labels should announce, “Best if used by the jerk whose widow you would like to marry in about five years.”

Why do we waste our time soliciting highly subjective information from the people in our lives? A business owner can ask how things went in his absence. One employee will start flailing his arms and announce his honest perception, “All hell broke loose!” Another will adopt the British “stiff upper lip” and sincerely assure the boss, “We had a trifle of increased activity.” A good surveillance camera system would solve the discrepancies. Of course, there might be some conflicting cost estimates. (“It’ll cost an arm and a leg!” “It already paid for itself when you were a gleam in your father’s eye!”)

Can movies and TV shows drop the term “safehouse” when the police or CIA are talking about a location to stash a witness? As soon as the authorities utter the word “safehouse,” it’s a “double dog dare you” for terrorists and mobsters. The situation could get worse only if the feds promised witnesses, “You’ll be snug here, but you’ll have to share a room with a gaggle of red-shirted Enterprise crew members.”

I understand that doctors glean a modicum of useful information from the standard “How would you rate your pain – on a scale from 1 to 10?” question, but surely, we could start lopping off numbers from each end of the spectrum. I mean, “1” sounds like you’re bragging or in denial. And “10” carries the connotation of “As soon as you turn your back, I’m stealing your prescription pad and getting sweet relief! And why didn’t you ask me about the pain before the waiting-room chairs and the weigh-in???”

Are anthropologists for real? They can find a single tooth in an excavation and breathlessly declare, “This belonged to a redheaded Neanderthal named Gronk, but his friends all called him ‘Buddy.’ He slept on his left side, thought cirrocumulus clouds looked like mastodon flatulence and always flipped his lucky pebble to decide whether it was a hunting day or a gathering day.” But let the anthropologist’s spouse ask something like, “Did you see that tramp Staci spilling out of her tight blouse?” and it’s “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

I hate people who try to talk you into things you immediately recognize as bad ideas. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” But if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. I’ll get my revenge as soon as my furniture arrives from the state pen. (“Welcome. I’ve saved you a spot of honor in my new easy chair. Go ahead, give Old Smokey a try. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”)

Thanks for letting me rob Tyree to pay Tyree. Darn. I should’ve used that one in my religion book. (Best if used before the Four Horsemen arrive.)

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

Millions of young women dream of being honored on Mother’s Day.

Millions of others know in their hearts that they don’t want to have children, or at least not on someone else’s timetable.

Many in both groups run the risk of someday facing an unplanned, unwanted pregnancy.

Society assures us these women always had only three choices: get an abortion, endure 18 years of servitude or go through an emotionally wrenching adoption.

There is another option for these women (and their “lovers”): be proactive and consider displaying a little common sense upfront.

Rape, incest and those doggone substandard condoms are the usual scapegoats when an unintentional pregnancy develops, but those statistics are vastly overrated.

Let’s be honest: we see hundreds of thousands of “surprise” pregnancies year after year after year because (a) people are “dating” under the influence of alcohol, drugs or intense peer pressure, (b) women shack up with lowlife bums who molest their daughters and (c) couples take stupid, stupid shortcuts.

There. I said it.

Singers, movies, television, Madison Avenue, social media, teen magazines, college “sex weeks” and politicians are constantly telling impressionable, procreation-capable individuals that impetuous choices have no real consequences. (“Hey, let’s cross ‘Boys will be boys’ with ‘Girls just wanna have fun.’ What could possibly go wrong?”)

We recognize “buzzed driving” as drunk driving; but bedhopping while bombed? “Go ahead, You Only Live Once. But be responsible. (Wink wink)”

Some feminist leaders treat self-control and delayed gratification like The Solution That Must Not Be Named. They want women to be empowered, but how much power do you wield when José Cuervo is calling the shots?

There is great power in providing the egg or sperm that could become a human being. But with great power comes great responsibility.

If Hollywood, hormones and fair-weather friends are all urging you to do the same thing, there’s a 99 percent probability that it’s a bad idea.

I can’t think of a single civilization that wound up on “the right side of history” by promoting unbridled hedonism. Can you? The Sexual Revolution has produced immeasurably more bitter regrets, bad karma and carnage than the French Revolution.

No one has ever died of spontaneous combustion simply because they decided not to be alone with a member of the opposite sex while stoned, depressed or on the rebound.

This column is not an attempt to shame anyone for misjudgments they have already made. It is not a critique of the pros and cons of recent abortion laws. It is not a declaration that we can/should become a nation of celibate monks and teetotalers.

It IS a fervent prayer that at least one person will have the guts to block impaired judgment and sex from being allowed in the same ZIP Code.

Whether you are an influencer only under your own roof or your reach extends to the media, public office or service organizations, please think about what I’ve written.

Every child deserves to be loved and wanted, but we’ll never achieve that if parents and civic leaders continue living vicariously through intoxicated daredevils in heat.

We can’t keep treating the symptoms of risky behavior without addressing the causes.

We all want our children to grow up and get good jobs, but we need to put less emphasis on the vocation and more on the growing up part.

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Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

The concept of “parking” loses most of its mystique as you get past the giddy days of a freshly minted driver’s license and shoulder the responsibilities of adulthood.

Where “parking” once meant steamy windows at Inspiration Point, it comes to mean drudgery, unpleasant surprises and keeping your “Spidey sense” in overdrive while navigating.

When I googled “I hate parking lots,” a high percentage of the conversational threads focused primarily on drivers’ concerns for their pristine vehicles – and the “dings” and arrows of outrageous fortune.

One of the dangers indirectly involves butterflies. A butterfly can flap its wings on the other side of the world and cause dozens of abandoned shopping carts to stalk your unsuspecting vehicle. The danger is magnified if the cart has ever held a paperback or DVD of Stephen King’s “Christine” – it gets delusions of grandeur.

Don’t get me started on the inconsiderate sluggards who abandoned the carts in the first place. What good does it do them to shop at the health food store (for example) if it’s such an ordeal to follow a task through to completion? (“You mean I have to get the capsules all the way onto my tongue??? And then swallow??? Don’t they have people hired to do that for me???”)

Car-to-car damage is another area of concern. My 2010 Altima is showing its age, so I am not so much concerned about being on the receiving end of scuffs and scratches. But my nerves stay on red alert from the prospects of damaging someone else’s conveyance and dealing with all the hassle of police reports, insurance and moral dilemmas. (Should I skedaddle without leaving a note, or listen to a meltdown such as “That sweet, innocent bumper was the only thing I had to remind me of my fifth husband”?)

Aren’t you sick of tight squeezes? If I’m paying attention, suck in my gut and go limp, I can usually get in or out of my car without banging into anything. But what about families with a backseat full of impetuous children? If the parents don’t sedate the kids before they arrive, it’s a door-swinging episode of “Wham! Bam!” without a hint of “Thank you, ma’am.”

I could certainly unleash a few uncivil words on the civil engineers who read the entrails of salamanders and divine the “optimal” width for parking spaces. Or maybe it’s more a mixture of mathematics and philosophy, as in crossing calculus with “How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?”

Apparently, these designers think you’re supposed to exit your vehicle via an ejector seat. But most people who could afford an ejector seat are going to be hanging out at Casino Royale, not Bubba’s Bait Basement.

Let’s not forget the scourge known as pedestrians. Even without the distraction of cellphones, they are oblivious to traffic as they come meandering, skipping, stumbling, cartwheeling out of the stores and offices. They’re certainly clueless about the presence of their impulsive young children. (“Oh, did I bring you?”) Yeah, I’m talking to you, lady. The dangling umbilical cord should’ve been your first clue.

Ah, maybe I’m being too judgmental. Perhaps I should walk a mile in the shoes of those who have roused my ire.

That’s half the distance I must walk to the front door after securing a “safe” parking spot far from the demolition derby.

*Sigh*

–

Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

“But I’ll keep workin’/As long as my two hands are fit to use…” – Merle Haggard

I haven’t run away and joined the circus, but I am nearing the age when a financial safety net admittedly has the allure of the Sirens of Greek mythology.

Yes, before long, yours truly could conceivably abandon the rat race and apply for early Social Security benefits.

I would have to adjust to the reduced income very delicately. If I restricted my “riotous” lifestyle any further, it would be six feet under

But who am I kidding? I am reasonably healthy and hope to stick with my day job for another five to seven years. Why jettison a job you lo…a job you lo…let’s be friends, job!

I’m no quitter. Other than part-time positions, I have never voluntarily left a place of employment. (Or have I? Things are still murky about that stint at Concussions R Us.)

It’s not for me to question the judgment of those who do retire at the earliest opportunity. Many make an honest assessment of their genetic predisposition before they accept reduced benefits. (“Gimme the money! Considering Mom’s side of the family, there’s a 98 percent probability that I will hock up a lung and die at age 64.”) Oh, the hijinks that must ensue when you get half a dozen of these sunshine boys meeting for coffee at McDonald’s every morning!

Honestly, I do not begrudge my peers the chance to travel, spoil grandchildren or take up low-impact puttering. More power to them if they have worked hard for decades and choose to “take the money and…hobble.”

I simply realize that there’s more to retirement than fishing trips and sleeping until noon. Remaining gainfully employed gives you the perfect excuse for dodging endless requests. (“I’d love to straighten that picture frame for you, Ma; but, hey, those pencils aren’t going to sharpen themselves!”)

When I teased about early retirement, my wife lovingly presented me with a stack of books. Great! A nostalgic feast of lazily re-reading the complete World Book Encyclopedia! No, wait – it’s a bound collection of “honey do” lists! (“Hey, boss – any prospects for 25-hour workdays this week?”)

Speaking of my wife, I think couples appreciate their “together time” more when most of the week means commuting and laboring. Quality over quantity. Familiarity breeds contempt. There’s a fine line between “Precious and few are the moments we two can share” and “Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back no more no more no more…”

I realize I am just kicking the can down the road, but I am not in a hurry to join the “fixed-income rant” brigade. I don’t want to be known for muttering things such as “Back in my day, Fonzie had to ski through five miles of snow before he could jump the shark.” No, sirree, Bob! (Oops. Not okay, Boomer.)

Yes, I’ll keep on keeping my nose to the grindstone. (Hey, free exfoliation!) I have my inspirations. After thousands of years, the Sirens haven’t given up. I just saw one in front of an auto parts store beating up an inflatable dancing tube man for his job.

Ooo! That had to hurt! Hey, I’m suddenly having a flashback to when I got caught raiding the office refrigerator at Concussions R Us. Never saw the fruitcake coming until it was too late!

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Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”

Tyrades! by Danny Tyree

If you could be the proverbial “fly on the wall,” what Biblical event would you most like to witness?

I realize some of you don’t accept the Bible in the first place. But if you do believe it, what scene would you love to see unfold before your eyes?

I imagine most people would go the Cecil B. DeMille route. They would choose something spectacular, such as the Israelites passing through the Red Sea, Noah’s ark riding out the Flood or Daniel remaining faithful in the lions’ den.

Me? I would love to see the early-morning encounter between Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene on Resurrection Sunday.

I can think of lots of words to describe the mood of Mary Magdalene and the other friends/followers of Jesus immediately following his arrest, mock trial and crucifixion: blindsided, dejected, disillusioned, heartbroken, anxious, fearful, rudderless…

Two days after the crucifixion, when Mary Magdalene discovered the empty tomb, it was not yet the symbol of hope that has inspired millions of Easter sermons throughout the centuries. The rock rolled away from the tomb left her confused and distraught. She implored the man whom she mistook for the gardener to tell her where her beloved teacher’s body had been relocated.

The “gardener” – in an action reminiscent of the Almighty God speaking to the prophet Elijah in a “still small voice” – needed to utter only one word: “Mary.”

Lost pets may wander home after 10 years. Loved ones feared drowned at sea may find refuge on a remote island before achieving contact with civilization. But has there ever been such a transcendent moment in human history as the “late” Jesus of Nazareth revealing himself to one of his inner circle?

Suddenly, Mary Magdalene’s earlier negative emotions gave way to relief, elation, comfort, joy and unprecedented zeal.

Is there a Mary Magdalene in your life—someone who needs a little unexpected reassurance and inspiration?

Perhaps there is a friend, relative or business partner whom you haven’t spoken to in years because of some long-forgotten disagreement. True, some relationships are beyond repair; but you never know the emotional impact of an olive branch until you try. You may find yourself lifting a dark cloud and making up for lost time.

Are your children or grandchildren enablers of bullies? Instead of letting them cheer the bullies or give tacit approval of the bullies, nudge them to show support for the underdog. Encourage them to defend the new kid in town, the weird kid, the sissy kid. It could be life-changing for an entire classroom.

Are there shut-ins on your street (or in the local nursing home) who face long, dreary days because of physical impairment and the fact that their children live thousands of miles away? Drop in for a chat. Offer to do some chores. Let them know they matter.

Human beings do not have to be rudderless, purposeless and hopeless. They do not have to live lives of quiet desperation – if someone cares enough to give them a sense of self-worth and brighter tomorrows.

Whether you embrace the Gospel or consider it a fairy tale, the possibilities for uplifting, “out of the blue” attitude adjustments are endless.

Whether you cherish the cross of Calvary or not, you can still be the cavalry riding to the rescue of fellow humans who have given up hope.

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Copyright 2022 Danny Tyree, distributed by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Danny Tyree welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.”