Cagle World

Sure, when my family goes on vacation, the predictable frustrations include getting the SUV tuned up, packing clothes and toiletries, fighting traffic and encountering outrageous souvenir/restaurant/theme park prices.

But inevitably, my biggest anxiety is worrying the whole time that at least one of our four indoor-outdoor cats (Cami, Porky, Cindy and Moggie) will give up on us, wander off, get killed and register to vote (in that order).

I’m sure I’m not alone in such sentimentality. But there’s new hope for cat lovers. According to the travel section of the Wall Street Journal, more and more hotels are catering to guests who bring their cats along.

(No, I haven’t heard Tom Bodett telling prospective Motel 6 customers, “We’ll leave a laser pointer on for you” yet, but stranger things have happened. All over my rug at home. Cami, what extinct species have you been EATING???)

Whatever you plan to do to entertain Fluffy when you arrive, you still have the long drive itself to endure. Pray that the cat sleeps most of the way. Traditional pastimes such as singing “99 Bottles of Beer” or counting out-of-state license plates just won’t cut it for fur babies. (“The Cornhusker State? How about the Can Opener State? Now, that would be worth skipping a few ZZZZZs.”)

A lot of establishments provide basic feline needs (food and water dishes, litter box, toys), but you can get just as extravagant as you desire, with chef-prepared gourmet food and other amenities. (“Crazy cat lady, huh? I’d like to Skype and show those losers back home how much fun I’m having, but I traded the free wi-fi for The Concierge Who Bleeds Freely and Asks for More.”)

Make sure that your cat understands the meaning of “continental breakfast.” Otherwise, he’ll get his expectations dashed. (“Do we get to pick the continent? Antarctica for me! I hear those penguin birds are good eating!”)

Many hotels provide an in-room scratching post for working out aggressions. Supposedly, this came about after one feline guest left a comment card saying, “You advertised 800-thread-count sheets, and, by Garfield, you delivered exactly that. Never mind how I know.”

Be careful about leaving your credit card in the room with the cat or there may be some unexpected charges. Someday the new compliment could be “You look like something the CAT ordered in.”

Hoteliers may start asking the Gideons to provide more cat-friendly Bibles for the rooms. You know, with verses such as “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will not turn a backflip, land with my back arched and hiss like an idiot.”

Tipping will no longer be just the concern of the humans. (“Did you see? I tipped, too. I tipped the lamp. I tipped the coffee pot. I tipped the aquarium. I tipped the …”)

Cat-friendly hotels are a blessing to many. (“Now I can feel at home WITHOUT having to rub my skin with sandpaper and shove a dirty diaper in my face while I’m trying to watch TV.”)

Yes, cat-friendly hotels could be the Next Big Thing. But hotel owners must ensure that all staff members are on board with customer satisfaction. Otherwise, Tiger’s request for a wake-up call may elicit a surly 5 a.m. phone message of “The whole nine lives thing is made up!!! There’s your wake-up call, lizard breath!”

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

No single theme grabbed my attention this week, so we’re back to a potpourri of random thoughts.

For instance, I often encounter news reports about some inmate serving a life sentence and going before the parole board for the umpteenth time. Not only is the convict a model prisoner (operating a prison ministry, donating both his kidneys to a stranger, etc.), but someone else has confessed to the crime, the crime took place 18 months before the convict was born and oh, yeah, the alleged murder victim has been running a food truck outside the courthouse for the past five years!!!

For some baffling reason not revealed by the media, the parole board (made up of a cross-section of conscientious citizens) usually tells the prisoner to try again next year! Say what??? Hey, parole board, pardon me for being nosey. No, wait – if I ask you to pardon me, you’ll probably strap me into Old Sparky. Never mind.

What sort of idiot is observant enough to start clothing-based superstitions? I’m lucky if I remember to wear pants (the WORLD is lucky if I remember to wear pants); but some sports enthusiast is always observing, “Say, I was wearing this very jacket – given to me by What’s-His-Name -the last three times our team won by more than 3 points but fewer than 7 points in a city with a name in the first quarter of the alphabet. Just so I don’t jinx us, I’m not washing it until the season is over.” Why do we waste money on coaches and millionaire players when all we really need is to mesmerize the luck gods with funky smelling apparel?

Speaking of sartorial splendor, what goober first planted the notion in our ancestors’ heads that wrinkles in fabric look icky? Think of millions of man-hours wasted. (“Look, I can discover a cure for cancer, or I can make these slacks look spiffy. You can’t have it all.”)

Don’t you love it when rock stars throw a hissy-fit because some despised politician paid a licensing fee and used one of their classic songs at a rally? (“This is a total desecration of the original intentions of this beautiful song. It was meant to promote peace and harmony and seduce the drummer’s underage girlfriend so I could have my way with her. Now the purity is a distant memory.”)

We’re always reading the inspirational story of some wealthy, award-winning author whose first book got rejected by 40 different publishers. How come we never hear it from the perspective of undiscerning editors and publishers? (“I’m glad Random House succeeded with Stephanie’s manuscript. It just wasn’t a GOOD FIT for Calcified Press. Unlike my boss’s boot, which is a good fit for my rear end. OUCH!”)

Trying to preempt questions is like trying to herd cats. You can rush into a room and announce, “This is absolutely everything I know on the subject: I was driving by Whole Foods and saw an ambulance speed away with its siren blaring.” Invariably, you’ll get a barrage of questions. “How high is the patient’s deductible?” “Is the patient ready to meet Jesus?”Do you think the ambulance driver is my newly single cousin’s type?”

Proudly answer their questions WITH a question: “If I strap myself into Old Sparky, will you morons honor my Do Not Resuscitate wishes???”

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

“You think there’s not a lot goin’ on/But look closer, baby, you’re so wrong…” – from the theme to Canada’s brilliant “Corner Gas” TV show.

USA TODAY recently reported personal finance website WalletHub’s annual ranking of the most fun states in America.

Using 26 weighted metrics related to entertainment, recreation, nightlife (and those raunchy tattoos that the researchers can’t remember getting), WalletHub compiled its admittedly subjective list.

I don’t mind acknowledging that California and Florida came out on top in the fun competition; but, unlike WalletHub, I will not be so crass as to shame any of the bottom 10. I have readers in many of those fine states, and I know which side my bread is buttered on. (Personal aside to the readers in those states: Guys, if you’d drop the plans for the Which Side Your Bread Is Buttered On Museum, your ranking would probably rise next year. Just saying.)

Despite the presence of Nashville, Memphis and the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, my own state of Tennessee ranks a lackluster 23rd. It’s as if the gravitas of “the Volunteer State” has to give way to the clingier “Me! Me! Over here! Pick me!” state.

Along with assessments of average weather and entertainment affordability, WalletHub’s criteria include the number of restaurants, casinos, golf courses, country clubs, gyms, skiing facilities and marinas per capita.

(I’ve always been skeptical of folks who put too much emphasis on “per capita” statistics. Perhaps it matters with the number of emergency rooms or bilingual court officers, but how many people say things like “Darn it! I’m jealous! Residents of my cousin’s state have TWICE as many performance artists per 1,000 harassing them”?)

Some of the “have not” states are cursed by Mother Nature with dreary weather or a scarcity of beaches, but others have only themselves to blame for their unappealing image. Believe it or not, taking whiskey shots only when someone says “antidisestablishmentarianism” is not the stuff of glossy tourism brochures.

It’s more than a little sad that the survey leans toward cosmopolitan amusements while neglecting “Friday night lights” high school football games, church carwashes, impromptu tall-tale-swapping matches and other examples of life’s simple pleasures.

Yes, some residents of “boring” states heed the siren call of flashier states; but others are happy with the simple way of life. I guarantee no one has ever said, “Let’s meet under the bleachers, Janie Belle and – aw, shucks! There’s no ski lift! Just forget it.”

People looking to pick a vacation spot or a state for relocation certainly pay attention to the WalletHub rankings, but the popular states must be very subtle about exploiting the data.

There could be a lot of blowback from an advertising campaign such as “You’ll be swept up by the theme parks, swept up by the dance spots, swept up by the hurricanes” or”Can’t you just see yourself chilling out in a state where all the bored people from dozens of OTHER states are congregating? You’ll want to put your eyes out – and the used hypodermic needles are super available!”

States, you’re all fun in your own way. Don’t overthink it. Although, I am intrigued by the promotional stunt percolating in one of the lower-ranking states.(“We’re initiating an annual ranking of PERSONAL FINANCE WEBSITES! With the loser to be rolled up in the sidewalks at sundown!”)

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©2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

“This is the time to remember, ’cause it will not last forever.” – Billy Joel

According to the National Retail Federation, Americans will spend a record $16 billion on Father’s Day this year.

But how many more decades can the necktie-and-hammer gravy train possibly last? My father was almost 35 when he became a father. I was almost 44 when I became a father. Considering recent trends in society, if my son Gideon keeps up the family tradition, will there still even be a Father’s Day when he’s old enough to bask in its glories?

Could he someday face … The Year Without A Father’s Day? (Please, fellow Baby Boomers, don’t start singing, “I’m Mr. Barcalounger Miser…”)

Think I’m being overly pessimistic? It’s not just later marriages, infertility problems and intentionally childless couples. Let’s examine some of the other things that could affect the relevance of and respect for fathers in the future.

The time-honored tradition of dispensing World’s Greatest Dad coffee mugs will disintegrate once children figure in the cost of providing “participation” ribbons for the other 72 million dads.

Lucrative sports deals will rob fathers and their kids of priceless backyard bonding moments. (“I’d love to toss around the ol’ pigskin with you for the first time, Daddy – but I’ve already signed with the pros.”)

The tiny house movement will make fathers’ construction of treehouses a lost art. How much courage does it take to hammer together an even tinier house atop a bed of dandelions?

We used to trust our fathers to protect us from harm. As social justice warriors proliferate, there will be no one to chase monsters out from under the bed and send them packing. (“Let’s see about giving them a nice sanctuary closet. Oh, and watch out for monster poop on the sidewalk.”)

Yes, we once trusted that virile dad would willingly throw himself on a grenade to protect us. In coming years, we’ll be more likely to hear a commitment like, “Um, I would be willing to throw myself on a PLASTIC STRAW for you kids and Mom.”

How can you take dad seriously when he growls things like, “Do you kids think I’m made of cryptocurrency?”

I’d like to think there will always be sweet gestures between fathers and their offspring, but it’s more likely there will be disappointing news such as “Sorry. No butterfly kisses. Herbicides got ’em all. So, instead of joining the Brownie troop, you’ll be joining a class-action lawsuit.”

Father’s Day will lose much of its allure when dad can no longer bail kids out of their childhood financial misfortunes. (“Sure, sport, I’ll buy out your leftover inventory of mud pies and…Holy trade deficit, Batman! Look at the size of those TARIFFS!”)

Baiting a hook with a plant-based “worm” to catch a plant-based “fish”? Time to put a fork in Father’s Day so its plant-based juices can run out! (“Thinking seriously about putting more money into Millard Fillmore’s Birthday gifts.”)

Maybe, just maybe, Father’s Day will still be a viable holiday when Gideon has children of his own. But all bets are off once we slip the surly bonds of earth and head into space.

As we begin colonizing Mars, traditional dad clothing choices could seriously deplete the dad population. (“Who needs a space suit? My old Def Leppard T-shirt from college has served me well up until…AIEEEEEE!”)

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

According to NBC News, a growing number of school districts (especially in rural areas) are experimenting with a four-day week.

In many cases, school boards can’t raise the funds for competitive salaries and improvise by using the nontraditional schedule as a perk to attract and retain high-quality teachers. Applicants who would otherwise go for the biggest bucks appreciate having an extra day each week for preparing lesson plans, grading tests, taking “Meth-Head Parent As A Second Language” courses, etc.

(Other perks that were considered but ultimately put on the back burner included “Flunk a jock: we’ll get you off with temporary insanity,” “No more paying for school supplies out of your own pocket; our band geeks make a great distraction for snatch-and-run operations at Costco,” “Whatever extracurricular club you’re stuck with sponsoring, feel free to improvise! Did somebody say, ‘mixed martial arts chess’?” and “Background check? Do you IDENTIFY as needing a background check?”)

Students and teachers seem to respond enthusiastically to the new schedules, but parents who work Monday-Friday lose sleep worrying over (a) affordable daycare for their younger children and (b) unsupervised mischief by their older offspring. (“This is Mrs. Brown on Second Avenue. I’d like to report a kitten in the top of the big oak tree. But it IS a matter for 9-1-1! The kitten is on the hood of a police car!”)

Of course, states still require a certain number of classroom hours per school year, so the remaining four days must be lengthened. With students already running a sleep deficit, this could really change the nature of the forbidden public displays of affection. (“Awww…she’s tucking him into his locker for a nap. Aren’t they the cutest couple?”)

Yes, longer days and final period can be a real recipe for disaster. (“No, that’s not an example of a dangling participle. Looks more like a dangling thumb! Did you just come from dissecting frogs, Ethan?”)

At least the real estate market will benefit from a four-day schedule. (“You say your 16-year-old will be spending the extra day off studying hard and feeding the homeless? I’ve got a real deal on oceanfront property in Arizona…”)

And our carbon footprint will decrease as more homeowners turn out the lights and hide from students who have an extra day for selling fundraiser magazines, cookie dough, detergent…

NBC didn’t say anything about how chopping off one day of work a week will affect cafeteria staff, custodians, student resource officers and bus drivers. (“We board members need to reach out to these valued employees. I wonder at which marina they dock their yachts?”)

The network was also silent about school bullies. Can you imagine the stress level of trying to squeeze five days’ worth of lunch money out of four measly days?

Studies on the overall effects of a four-day school week are still inconclusive. But it may be a moot point, anyway. If a four-day week gets taken for granted as the new normal, school districts will have to compete even more ferociously.

(“School week? Who, us? We like to think of the academic year as a series of ‘teachable moments’. Pass out the fortune cookies, require two chin-ups, let the traffic cameras snap the class photos and reserve singing the ‘Alma Mater’ for the shower. Someday, your students will tell their Japanese bosses all about it.”)

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Twenty years ago this June, when my father’s youngest sister Gwendol passed away, I glanced over at Dad during the funeral and thought, “He looks as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

If my late father bore such a metaphorical burden from one loss, just think how much more pressure was on Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower 75 years ago. As supreme commander of Allied forces in Western Europe, he alone had the authority for launching or scrapping the invasion of Nazi-occupied territory on June 6, 1944.

“Ike” (who was chain-smoking 60 filterless cigarettes a day by this time) knew that the Allied hush-hush Operation Overlord would veer toward one of two extremes: either it would be the beginning of the end of Adolf Hitler’s stranglehold on Western Europe, or it would be a catastrophe forever eclipsing the infamy of Custer’s Last Stand.Eisenhower had already committed himself to doling out credit for success or accepting responsibility for failure.

Although many younger Americans may possess only the vaguest understanding of the Normandy invasion (“Was that when French rock-and-rollers debuted in the U.S.?”), a combination of valor, strategy, ingenuity, “melting pot” cooperation, home front sacrifice and prayer helped free the world from the self-styled Master Race.

Historical and cultural milestones are flying past us almost as fast as machine-gun bullets, but I hope we can slow down long enough to savor the significance of the 75th anniversary of D-Day.

How do you plan to mark the event?

If you’re a reader, I highly recommend Alex Kershaw’s brand-new book, “The First Wave: The D-Day Warriors Who Led the Way to Victory in World War II.”It’s a genuine page-turner, with vivid details of the obstacles and inspirations surrounding the heroes who risked their lives in a military campaign of unprecedented scale.

Do you enjoy listening more than reading? If you Google “Complete broadcast day D-Day,” you’ll be led to the Internet Archive’s free recordings of the CBS and NBC coverage of the invasion. You may have assumed that such broadcasts were lost in the ether; but, yes, you can actually stream or download the tentative network news reports (designated in “Eastern War Time”), analyses and speeches that anxious Americans listened to between their soap operas and swing music.

Do you prefer a more interactive role? If you were alive during World War II (whether toting a rifle through the jungle or collecting tin cans for a scrap drive), break out your scrapbooks and share stories with your family. Again. Even if they have other things to do. Someday they’ll appreciate your insights.

Spend some time talking to a veteran (whether of World War II or another conflict). I’m sorry I never knew my wife’s great-uncle, George Eayre. He lived until 1968 but could have died decades earlier; on D-Day, after the smoke cleared, there wasn’t another American left standing on his section of the beach.

Hug some active military personnel. They’re VOLUNTARILY putting themselves in danger for goals often a lot less clear than Ike’s.

If nothing else, do some contemplation on June 6.

If our 24-hour news cycle and steady stream of self-serving leaks had existed in 1944, Hitler’s Third Reich would probably now rule every continent. Let that sink in.

Political and media leaders, the weight of the world is now on YOUR shoulders.

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

“A woman draws her life from man and gives it back again/And there is love, there is love.” – Noel Paul Stookey (Peter, Paul and Mary).

Could that timeless lyric be devolving into “A woman lets arm pit hairs grow and lets them grow some more/And there are selfies, there are selfies”?

Just weeks before my own 28th wedding anniversary, I learn through Great Britain’s Telegraph newspaper that women giving up the search for Mr. Right (or Ms. Right) and getting married to themselves is a real “thing.”

(Yes, a few men have hopped aboard this trend as well; but the “Telegraph” notes that sologamy is a much harder sell among males. That’s understandable. Where’s the fun in leaving the toilet seat up when you live alone? Who wants to forget his own birthday? What kind of “war stories” can you muster out of being the “old ball and chain” and sending yourself to buy MALE hygiene products?)

Most of us still see the benefit of having a sounding board, a soulmate, a yin to our yang; but other individuals have grown tired of bad relationships (or no relationships), so they take a quantum leap and make their solitary, self-focused existence OFFICIAL (albeit not legally binding).

Companies are springing up to offer package deals that are almost exactly like traditional two-person weddings. You can have invitations, guests, gifts, music, the walk down the aisle, the preacher, the ring, the vows, the cake (adorned by a single figurine), even the honeymoon. The packages have everything except the …er, package.

By all accounts, the family and friends of women who marry themselves are exuberantly supportive of such narcissistic nuptials. Life has gotten so complicated. Used to be an ENABLER just needed a pack of Marlboros or a valid i.d. card. Now it takes a tuxedo or a bridesmaid dress.

Will the new style of brides try subtly influencing their friends via the ceremony? Maybe instead of merely throwing the bridal bouquet to predict the next bride, they’ll tie a MIRROR to the bouquet first.

Don’t be fooled. Many of the trendsetters who promise to cherish themselves until they day they die are still dating other people on the side!It’s not enough to monitor yourself with a Fitbit. Now you have to hire a private eye to keep track of yourself! (“I saw her/you coming out of a seedy motel with her/your old imaginary friend and her/your old Ken doll.”)

I agree that society unfairly stigmatizes people who either don’t want or can’t get a partner, and I suppose self-marriage is harmless enough; but why make a big spectacle out of that one tradition-flouting rite while not celebrating other eccentricities?We need quirky newspaper society page notices such as “I chew all my vegetables starting with the letter ‘B’ precisely 100 times. If you wish to send linens, dishware or toaster ovens, I am registered at…”

Wait…I forgot one problem. If self-marriage does catch on, the biggest consequence will be the lack of opportunities for IN-LAWS. In-law wannabes will roam the streets accosting total strangers with unsolicited advice or offers to get in on the ground floor of a get-rich-quick scheme.

Luckily, here’s Paul Stookey’s pal Peter Yarrow to drive the point home.

“Mike the would-be in-law lives in a van/And frolics in your swimming pool/He’ll repay you when he can …”

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

After I started working at a convenience market during high school, it irked me when the boss stood at the back of the store and presumed to judge my productivity solely by the rhythm of the cash register.

When I worked in a factory, my hourly production quota was at the mercy of misshapen materials and vintage machinery designed to be powered by Benjamin Franklin’s kite.

So, I can understand the brouhaha that erupted when the media started circulating sensationalized stories about how Amazon and other hyper-efficient companies are using computers/robots/algorithms to monitor and “fire” employees.

To be fair to corporations, no one is being fired directly by a machine. It’s just that more and more companies are keeping high-tech tabs on employees, measuring the speed and accuracy of their job performance (as well as the frequency and duration of bathroom breaks and laid-back banter) on a second-by-second basis.

The computer programs notify the supervisor and Human Resources department about the worst-performing employees’ deficiencies, so living, breathing, compassionate human beings can schedule a last-ditch meeting to resolve the issues. Of course, the meeting is skewed by the fact that those living, breathing, compassionate human beings know that a higher-level computer is salivating over the chance to kick THEIR fleshy buttocks out on the pavement, so…

Ironically, the more reams of data we have available to us, the more a mutually agreeable definition of “An honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay” eludes us.

Corporations are looking for more of the Puritan Work Ethic from their workers. This fits well with the Puritan Management Ethic of the stockholders. (“She made a second trip to the water fountain! She’s a witch! A witch! Burn her at the stake – if it can be accomplished with no more than three motions.”)

We’ve trapped ourselves. Consumers demand same-day delivery of ridiculously inexpensive products and workers demand ever-higher wages, but no one wants to acknowledge the need to trim lazy or incompetent workers.

Management and labor continue to live in separate worlds. When the boss says, “Please place those fun-size bags of Styrofoam peanuts on the conveyor belt for $15 an hour,” the worker naturally hears, “Lift that barge, tote that bale.If you get a little drunk and land in jail, I’ll know all about it from an urgent email.”

Conversely, when a manager looks out over a group of workers striving for a better life, he is astounded by the number of lollygaggers, layabouts, rumor mongers, goof-offs, daydreamers, pilferers and flirtatious scalawags. (“Release the hounds! No, wait – those mongrels will demand time and a half. Must I do everything myself? GRRRR…CHOMP…”)

Let’s try to narrow the divide between labor and capital.

Management, it’s not enough that the workplace makes employees THINK of Lucy and Ethel and the chocolate conveyor belt; give them half a second to exchange knowing SMILES.

Employees, consider that maybe “can recreate last night’s Kimmel monologue word for word” and “has a bladder the size of an electron” are down the page a wee bit on the list of Qualities the Boss Thinks Will Contribute to The Bottom Line.

Let’s come to a compromise before the micromanagement monitoring becomes so pervasive that it follows us into retirement.

“You missed the Early Bird Special and paid full price? Alexa thinks maybe we should claw back part of your pension funds…”

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

So, thanks to the recent arrival of baby Carter, our niece Emma will be celebrating Mother’s Day as a mother for the first time.

(Ah, new mothers: the low-hanging fruit for new HYPNOTISTS. “You are getting sleepy…you are getting very sleepy…”)

And as luck would have it, the day before my Mother’s Day column deadline, the Wall Street Journal reviewed Michael C. Reichert’s book “How to Raise a Boy: The Power of Connection to Build Good Men.”

The book seems benign enough, with its roadmap for the parents of boys; but the world is also full of extremists who see “toxic masculinity” behind every door. (“Oooo, toxic masculinity just beat the snot out of that communist behind the door!”)

Emma, I’ve seen the deer-hunting photos of you and husband Adam, so I know Carter has good odds of a red-blooded upbringing, but only if you take life one day at a time and resist the siren song of the doomsaying busybodies.

I know you are a resourceful young woman and will persevere even without the most important of the “What To Expect When…” books, namely “What To Expect When You’re Not Living Up To The Expectations of Some Childless Women’s Studies Major Who Lamented The Holocaust Of Course But Got REALLY Riled Up When She Learned About the Time Hitler Held A Door Open For A Woman.”

As Reichert pointed out, this is a challenging time to raise a boy. Of course, I am hard pressed to think of a time when it WASN’T challenging to raise a boy. (“Son, before you and the other draftees go off to fight the Vietcong, let me share the amusing anecdote of how your great-great-grandfather almost got his first haircut from a Sioux raiding party…”)

Don’t worry. It’s okay if Carter’s first words are something traditional like “Mama” or “Dada.” They don’t have to be “I’ve been meaning to apologize for this whole breastfeeding thing. I’ve brought along my lawyer to get your retroactive consent in triplicate.”

Emma, find teachable moments about shared household chores, unrealistic body images, bullying and respect for other people; but don’t miss out on those first steps, crayon scribblings and cute sayings while calculating the carbon footprint of the Monsters Under the Bed.

Sure, watch for warning signs of troublesome behavior (“Here, imaginary friend, hold my formula bottle and watch THIS!”), but I think y’all know that “Watch out! He’s got a blue toy truck and knows how to use it!” is not a helpful reaction.

The nervous Nellies of the world are hyperventilating because boys display a tendency to become addicted to technology. But they don’t want boys being cavemen, either. I guess parents of boys are supposed to meet somewhere in the middle. (“I am Robin of Locksley, and with my blunt-tipped arrows, I shall poach the kale of the Sheriff of Nottingham.”)

Don’t encourage Carter to bottle up his feelings but do teach the importance of context. The soul-cleansing catharsis achieved by unloading all his hopes and fears isn’t worth offending someone who merely requested, “I’ll need to see your license and registration, sir.”

I trust that with love, patience, common sense and the help of extended family, little Carter will turn out just fine.

Even if an EXPERT hypnotist cajoles him, “You are feeling patriarchal…you are feeling very patriarchal…”

Love, Uncle Danny.

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.

Cash is king – but here comes the guillotine!

I’ve heard numerous stories about pennies and nickels costing more to mint than they’re worth. But I didn’t realize the extent to which debit cards, apps and other technological innovations have made paper money an endangered commodity.

It’s so bad that the city of Philadelphia recently passed a law forcing stores (with a few arbitrary exceptions) to accept cash. A similar bill in New Jersey is awaiting the governor’s signature.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that cash is fighting for its life. Now that I think about it, a couple of years ago, I did hear some social justice warrior on TV bellowing, “Hey, didn’t the Confederates have paper money? Let’s pour mint juleps on all the presses at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing and set them on fire!”

Ironically, merchant disdain for paper currency accelerates just as we’re on the verge of having Harriet Tubman on the front of the $20 bill. Someone will have to scramble to get around this subtle racism. (“Insert card, tap, sign…then sing three spirituals…”)

I find myself straddling the fence on this issue, which is complicated by Visa’s rewards program. (“You have 365,843,229 bonus points! That means you can hang one leg over the fence long enough to recite, ‘One Mississippi, two Mississippi…'”)

True, I pay an awful lot of bills via credit card or direct withdrawal; but I still want someone to take up for low-income Americans, seniors and the charmingly crotchety “old school” technophobes who just don’t want to change.

Ideally, I’d like to see competition come to the rescue. Like businesses that deliver your groceries or pump your gasoline, entrepreneurs could carve out quite a niche for themselves by pledging they’ll always honor folding green.

I’m sorry that greedy retailers and credit card companies have let it get to the point of government feeling the need to apply its heavy hand. Some city or state might go even more retro as they let the regulations spill over into the healthcare industry. (“Doctor, you’ll need to fill out these forms in triplicate, verifying that you are taking good care of the chickens and butter you had to accept in payment for house calls.”)

The inexorable march to all-electronic commerce supposedly saves companies money on cashiers and security; but it is also touted as blessing shoppers with faster checkout lines. No wonder – half the shoppers will be in debtors’ prison after maxing out their third card!

Technology-worshipping hipsters can be embarrassingly inconsistent. (“You can’t dwell on the past. See how easy it is for me to use an app to purchase the latest VINYL RECORD? D’oh!”)

A spokesman for the cashless movement lectured me on how the lollygaggers need to buckle down, get with the program and use a smartphone to handle all their transactions. He was going to text me with some more choice arguments, but then Verizon had a big outage!!!!

Let’s not put all our eggs in one basket. (Especially if both the doctor and the preacher need paying.) I am no stranger to losing paper money; but at least I’ve never had anyone tell me, “Hey, you know that fiver you accidentally left on the counter? Some dude used it to clean out your mattress, your cookie jar and that tin can buried in the back yard!”

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Copyright 2019 Danny Tyree. Danny welcomes email responses at [email protected] and visits to his Facebook fan page “Tyree’s Tyrades.” Danny’s weekly column is distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons Inc. newspaper syndicate.