Cagle World

With the stroke of several souvenir pens that will likely end up on eBay, President Joe Biden recently enacted sweeping executive orders related to climate change – specifically aimed at saving the arctic tufted titmouse and encouraging the transition of all fuel-burning vehicles to Flintstones cars.

Seriously, though, these actions mark an important shift in favor of clean energy, which is like regular energy, but with less B.O.

While these efforts to slow climate change may seem admirable to some, radical temperature changes are (and have always been) an inevitable and disconcerting way of life for those of us living in the weather-fluid South, especially in East Texas, where the dead of winter often chooses to identify as late spring or early summer.

It’s like the atmosphere is suffering from a continual state of low T – including hot flashes, night sweats, and general irritability – as it coaxes us into donning our favorite and rarely used woolen sweater on a frigid February morning, only to incite our sweat glands to insurrection against our underwear in the afternoon. Just the other night, a meteorologist on the local television news referred to our extended forecast as a “roller coaster.” (I’m thinking about calling for his impeachment.)

Take our recent snow day, for instance, when East Texans stormed the local Walmart for staples like bread, milk, and Wolf Brand Chili. Even before the snow had accumulated, my wife and I started rounding up the proper winter-frolicking attire, which included enough layers for an extended arctic research expedition. Sure, we looked like freshly-baked pigs in blankets modeling for Lands’ End, but at least we would stay warm and appetizing. My three teenage daughters, on the other hand, dressed with Instagram selfies in mind, trying to ignore the fact that their toes were turning into freezer-burnt tater tots.

Our winter-ish wonderland lasted for approximately twelve hours, and a few days later, we were back to sporting our beachwear and blinding one another with the glare from our arms and legs.

One of my primary concerns is how these wild weather fluctuations are affecting our children. For instance, during winter months my youngest daughter dresses in a perpetual state of fashion emergency, usually consisting of a thick jersey hoodie, a pair of Nike running shorts, and flip flops. (As a caring father with a keen sense of style, I’ve tried to convince her that sandals are only appropriate this time of year when combined with a pair of black dress socks.)

My eldest daughter has given up trying to adjust the temperature in her bedroom according to the weather. Instead, she constantly runs her ceiling fan on turbo, keeping the climate at a crisp permafrost and sleeping under enough blankets to finish melting the polar ice cap.

And speaking of melting, my middle daughter just incessantly complains about how hot she is. I usually respond by asking her whether I need to turn on the A/C or if she’s repeating something her current boyfriend told her. (Cue the almighty teenage eye-roll.)

Although I care deeply about the earth and God’s creatures that share it with us (especially the ones I can eat), I’m not sure any action taken by politicians will have much effect on the stubbornly unpredictable East Texas weather. After living here for half a century, I’ve found that it’s just best to adapt by maintaining a schizophrenic wardrobe, a healthy supply of deodorant, and a trusty stash of Wolf Brand Chili.

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Copyright 2021 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

As some people age, they begin to lose a certain degree of excitement about simple life experiences like snow days, finding a penny in a parking lot or putting on a pair of fresh underwear still warm from the dryer.

Not me! I revel in these moments, probably because I still feel like a kid a heart – at least until my hair stylist breaks out her lawn equipment to trim my eyebrows.

In these trying times when the American political system resembles a disturbing bonus episode of “Tiger King,” it’s important to seek solace in the basic pleasures of life. What follows are a few intentional strategies I use to get my mind on something other than the unattended daycare center that is the current U.S. government.

Spending quality time with family is a great way to focus one’s attention on more wholesome matters. For me, this means hanging out with my wife and three teen daughters – when they can fit me in. These days, time with my daughters is often encroached upon by boyfriends, iPhones, and other household pests. In fact, one of my daughters just recently had a visit from a young man who parked his Porsche in front of our house. I immediately felt like the dad in every 1980’S teen movie I’ve ever seen. (Ah, the 1980’s, when politics were simpler, the economy was booming, and all we had to worry about was the constant threat of nuclear holocaust.)

We also go on occasional family outings, where I almost always find myself loitering around the entrances to numerous women’s clothing boutiques like some creepy, masked goober, and then waiting in line for expensive coffee beverages that I don’t want. But, hey, at least we’re together – sort of.

Another effective diversion from the antics of American government officials is enjoying our household pets, who – unlike most politicians – are generally housebroken. We had some extra-special doggie fun a couple of weeks ago when several inches of snow fell in East Texas, which is about as common in these parts as an untouched serving of tortilla chips and queso.

When we first ventured out into the weather, our two little doglets stood paralyzed with humiliation in their brand new plush hoodies, designed to keep them warm­ – but with strategically-placed openings to allow them the freedom to kill the grass and soil my footwear. Once we relieved them of their embarrassing threads, though, they contracted a raging case of the “zoomies,” eagerly raced around the snow-blanketed yard and promptly sabotaged my snow boots.

Finally, and most importantly, I avoid political migraines by nurturing my spiritual life. After all, the Lord has seen me through much more traumatic situations – like junior high. And speaking of junior high, I am currently teaching a seventh-grade boys Sunday school class. If you think the American government is a worrisome embarrassment, try discussing the biblical miracle of Balaam’s talking “ass” with a group of prepubescent boys. (Some kid always shows up with the King James Version).

Regardless of your political persuasion, I think we can all agree that there are more important things in life than whatever happens to be grating Don Lemon’s or Sean Hannity’s cheese at any given moment. The world of American politics is a toxic-waste dumpster fire right now, but we’ll survive it. That’s what Americans do.

In the meantime, let’s all say a prayer, love on our families, play with our pets, and grab a fresh pair of warm undies from the dryer.

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Copyright 2021 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Unlike most years, I decided to start 2021 with a few resolutions that I hope will make me a better husband, father and member of the dude denomination. I also realize that I’m likely to break these resolutions within the next few minutes. But at least I can say I’m flexible and open to change.

First, with the COVID-19 pandemic still raging, I resolve to refrain from yelling, ”Whoomp! (There It Is)” and doing my best “U Can’t Touch This” shuffle in Walmart when I happen upon a fully-stocked shelf of Lysol disinfectant spray. (I’m afraid I can’t promise the same when I reach the Velveeta aisle.)

I also resolve to stop wasting valuable mask-filtered oxygen to ask, “How much?” when my eldest and most expensive daughter wants to use my credit card for life necessities like iPhone accessories, designer mom jeans and specialty coffee beverages. I’ve found it’s just easier to nod my head and continue to push back my retirement date.

Speaking of pointless speaking, I resolve to cut down on the verbal sarcasm and critical comments at home when I step in a fresh pet accident, notice what one of my three teen daughters is planning to wear in public or watch more than ten minutes of CNN. It’s just not productive to impose all of that vocal negativity on my family, so I plan to redirect my frustrations into learning something new, like advanced miming or interpretive charades.

For the sake of better mental health, I resolve to stop worrying so much when my middle daughter is on a date with her current boyfriend. I’ll just reflect back to when I was a sixteen-year-old boy and . . . oh, dear Lord!

One of my most important resolutions is to finish reading the Bible all the way through. (Hey, that wasn’t supposed to be funny.) This is actually a project I started in 2020 by reading one chapter each evening before bed, except for a few nights when I had a large Mexican dinner or took a king-sized dose of NyQuil. I’ve discovered quite a lot through this process, but I had hoped by now to have figured out whether or not Adam and Eve had bellybuttons, and how Jesus and his twelve disciples ever came to an agreement about where to go eat.

Like many Americans, I’ve resolved to make a few dietary changes in 2021 – namely to avoid binge-snacking before supper. In the past, I’ve been known to come home from work and plow through an entire sleeve of Girl Scout cookies as an appetizer for half a can of Pringles – ok, the whole can. This year, I plan to pace myself by snacking throughout the entire day. I call it “The Hobbit Diet.” Second breakfast, anyone?

Finally, I resolve to be more positive about wearing those uncomfortable, unattractive and inconvenient face coverings. I realize we likely have several more months of public mask wearing, so I’ve decided to pretend to be a Mandalorian and consider my mask a sacred symbol of honor among my people – even if inhaling my own Taco Bell breath is enough to make Baby Yoda gag.

Well, there you have it! Even though 2021 has started out acting like 2020’s annoying little brother, I’m confident that with enough willpower, prayer and NyQuil, I can keep a significant number of these resolutions – at least until my next trip to Walmart.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Ok, let’s get the obvious out of the way. 2020 was the year of COVID-19, also known as corona (minus the lime), the plague, the super crud, or, as my dad calls it (and most other contagious illnesses), “the rooty-gootus.” But what else happened in 2020?

Well, in addition to the global pandemic, China became the international Amazon.com of unwanted express deliveries. Remember the Asian murder hornets? I’m still plugging up my nostrils and ear canals when I sleep. And what about the Chinese mystery seeds? The harvest from those should be reaching your local farmers market and Walmart produce aisle soon. And then there were the double hurricanes, Laura and Marco, like some kind of WWE wrestling co-ed tag team from Hell. (I’m not sure we can blame China for that one, but there will undoubtedly be an expensive and time-consuming congressional investigation to find out for sure.)

And speaking of the government and professional wrestling, the nation witnessed a presidential steel-cage death match featuring two elderly politicians who tried to outdo one another with their criminally awkward dancing, cringey verbal gaffes and toddleresque insults. At least we were assured that no matter who won, the vast majority of Americans could claim to be “cooler” than the President.

But enough of petty concerns like presidential elections and deadly invasive insects. Let’s get to the good stuff, and I don’t mean “Tiger King.”

My eldest and most expensive daughter became a high school senior in 2020, which, despite the limitations imposed by COVID-19 protocol, has required the purchase of enough formal gowns and party dresses (sometimes for a single photo) to supply an entire season of Dancing with the Stars. At least next year should be less expensive when she goes to college. Oh, wait…

My middle daughter has maintained her yearly tradition of elevating my stress level to DEFCON 1 by spending most of 2020 with her current boyfriend. He’s a nice kid, and I know it’s a natural process for young people her age to date, but I can’t help sometimes wishing that she would decide to enter a convent – at least temporarily – even though we aren’t Catholic.

My youngest daughter started junior high this year. Junior high can be tough on kids, especially late developers like me who still played with action figures and took a while to learn exactly where to spray the deodorant. I’m happy to say that my daughter didn’t inherit the nerd gene, and has done well socially and academically. And although she’s convinced that math was invented by radical academic terrorists, she still thinks boys are stupid. I call that a win!

I guess my most memorable accomplishment in 2020, other than not driving my saintly wife of thirty years to the point of poisoning my tea with hand sanitizer or smothering me with a 10-pack of hygienic face masks, was learning to cook homemade shrimp fettuccine Alfredo during quarantine. Now, I realize that this is no big deal to some folks, but to a dude who sometimes has trouble with microwave popcorn, it’s huge. In fact, if I could meet the original Alfredo, I’d thank him, give him a hearty fist bump, and suggest that he talk to his doctor about LIPITOR.

Regardless of how your year has been, we can all anticipate a 2021 with hope for effective vaccines, a recovering economy, and enough peace of mind to finally use our massive stockpiles of toilet paper. Most of all, we can be happy that we’re now looking at 2020 in the rearview mirror – even though it’s probably tailgating us, dressed like Joe Exotic and considering an act of road rage involving murder hornets.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Now that we are well into the month of December, my three teenage daughters have provided me with their extensive Christmas lists – both electronic and hard copies – in triplicate. Full of the typical objects of adolescent desires like designer clothing, electronics, jewelry, and luxury vehicles, their lists read like the inventory of Elon Musk’s next yard sale.

My list, on the other hand, is simple. All I want for Christmas is for life to return to the way it was in the good old days of 2019 – and not just because I had less ear hair then.

Like virtually every other human on earth, other than toilet paper manufacturers, I want the COVID-19 crisis to end. And God willing, the end is on the horizon with the emergence of several vaccines.

Now, I realize that there is great debate about the safety of the vaccines and whether Americans should roll up the sleeves of their hazmat suits and take them.

I, for one, would be excited to accept these injections even if they had to be administered into my eyeballs or under my fingernails. Sure, the vaccines might cause me to grow an extra head or two, but at least my heads could be mask-free. Of course, I’m kidding. I know masks will still be required on all of my heads for the near future.

Seriously, though, I can scarcely bear the thought of more than one Christmas being marred by the necessary inconveniences of face coverings, social distancing and – worst of all – hand washing. I mean, really!

One change my family will face at this year’s Christmas celebration is that our church will hold its yearly candlelight Christmas Eve service virtually, meaning that we’ll have to watch the event online, and break out a BIC lighter and some leftover birthday candles like we did several years ago when our youngest daughter had pneumonia. That year, we almost turned our home into a giant yule log. Maybe this year I can avoid burning off my eyebrows during “Silent Night.”

Another change is that our time with grandparents (and their food) will be limited at best. One of the most meaningful Christmas traditions for me is to loiter around my mom and dad’s dining table – laden with every high-carb Christmas treat imaginable – and graze like a famished Angus bull. I’ve been known to consume my own weight in Dad’s homemade Chex mix, but this year – if I’m lucky – I’ll only get as much as he can send home with me. (Fortunately, the back seats fold down in my SUV.)

Probably the most painful change for my three daughters is that they will be forced to spend the bulk of the Christmas celebration at home with their parents. Even an escape to go visit their cousins, grandparents, and ancillary relatives will likely be off the agenda this year, meaning they’ll be faced with the terrifying prospect of being cooped up in the house with us for family board games, sing-alongs, and – heaven forbid – old home movies featuring moments from their early childhood when they (sometimes pantless) actually acknowledged our existence.

Christmas of 2020 will definitely create unique memories (until we find a way to repress them). Hopefully we can all follow the example of Linus in “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and remember what Christmas is all about.

And although the only thing I really want for Christmas is an end to the COVID-19 pandemic, I am hoping that someone gets me a new ear hair trimmer.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

I’ve always taken great pride in the tender care I give to my cell phone. Until recently, I could boast that with all of the various cellular devices I’ve possessed through the years (dating back to the first Motorola bag phone my dad gave me during the Early Iron Age), I’d never once had so much as a bent antenna.

While my three teen daughters seem to enjoy competing to see how high they can bounce their iPhones off of parking lot pavement, my trusty phone case keeps my device safe and secure on the rare occasions when I drop it while fumbling with my wallet to pay for their multiple repairs. Ironically, my sturdy and practical phone case is an object of derision from my daughters, who insist on enveloping their phones in flimsy, fashionable covers whose main protective feature is an over-abundance of glitter.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I spent my Friday evening trying to decide whether to place my middle daughter on emergency life support due to acute Snapchat-deficient syndrome, or race around town trying to find a cell phone repair shop that was still open and could (for the second time) replace her entire screen, which had become dislodged in an incident involving the school cafeteria’s tile floor and a corn dog.

While my credit card was still in shock over this costly repair, I suddenly found myself the victim of cruel irony.

Shortly before the Thanksgiving holiday, I spent a solid weekend assembling a Christmas lighting display to rival that of Clark W. Griswold. My neighbors could only gaze on with incredulous envy as I festooned my roofline and front lawn with multiple strings of C9 bulbs (some of them actually working).

Unfortunately, my triumph was short-lived. When I reached for my phone to commemorate this achievement with a photo, I realized that it had become wedged in my pocket against a pair of rarely-used needle-nose pliers, and the unresponsive screen was now streaked with random bars of light. Even my fail-safe troubleshooting technique of turning off the phone and turning it back on again was ineffective.

Suddenly, I panicked! How could I check Facebook every five minutes, or play that game with the little jetpack man? What if one of my daughters tried to text me requesting more cash? As I began to hyperventilate, I remembered the phone repair shop. I could simply take it there the next day and return to happily allowing this wireless device to control my very existence.

After a fitful night’s sleep, I arrived at the shop early the next morning, only to sit in the car a full fifteen minutes past the posted opening time. Apparently, the teenager in charge of the place was still in a drive-thru somewhere waiting for his breakfast burrito.

Unable to tolerate further delay, I drove across the road to another repair shop/tobacco emporium where the technician invited me to peruse his selection of hookah pipes and flavored rolling papers while he dissected my iPhone. After twenty minutes of waiting (and learning all I ever wanted to know about herb grinders) I was informed that the screen I needed was out of stock.

In full freak-out mode, I drove back to the first shop I had visited and found it open – finally! The young technician, having just finished his burrito – no doubt – was able to replace my screen, subtly scoff at my bulky phone case, and send me on my way in about ten minutes.

I’m still a bit embarrassed about the relief I felt having my iPhone working again. As I often tell my eye-rolling daughters, I managed to survive for over twenty years without the luxury of a cell phone – and now I depend on it like a vital appendage. I guess I’m not that different from my girls, after all.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Recently, the nation’s leading infectious disease expert and Bummercloud in Chief, Dr. Anthony Fauci, expressed concerns over families gathering together for a traditional Thanksgiving celebration this year due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

Despite playfully assigning nicknames to this fine physician (also, Dr. Doomopotamus), I think we should take these warnings seriously and do all we can to protect our family members from possible viral droplets spewing from our pumpkin pie holes when we gnaw on our Butterballs.

After much contemplation (heavily under the influence of my three daughters’ leftover Halloween candy), I’ve come up with a few options for making Thanksgiving dinner not only safer, but also fun.

First, we all know that the U.S. Postal Service has had its struggles recently. Family members can stay safe and do their part to support this national institution by selecting a traditional, fully-cooked Thanksgiving dish to mail to one another – just to see what happens. Have you ever received an envelope full of giblets? What about a cardboard packing tube stuffed with sweet potato casserole? Just tip up and enjoy! And think of the shock your local porch pirates will experience when they rip open a stolen bubble-padded mailer bursting with Grampa’s special deviled eggs.

If mailing your munchies doesn’t sound appealing, how about a delicious game of catch in the back yard? Socially distanced relatives can put on ponchos and turn menu items into mouthwatering projectiles while burning off a few calories as they try to snag some sustenance in midair. Once Dad says grace over a bullhorn, let the games begin! With unruly kids occupied by shooting stuffing from slingshots, the nerdy uncle with the engineering degree catapulting the creamed corn, and Grandma serving gravy from a squirt gun, the entire family can safely get in on the action. And don’t worry about the potential mess. The household pets will be eager to take care of the clean-up. (Just be sure to avoid any of Aunt Betty’s brownie bites you may find in the grass later.)

Ok, so, yes, I’m being facetious about these suggestions for a socially-distanced Thanksgiving – maybe. I guess I’m just grasping at drumsticks over my fear of having to prepare my own Thanksgiving dinner this year. For our entire lives, my wife, three daughters and I have been hosted by our parents for Thanksgiving dinner. We’ve always happily sung “Over the Highway and Through the Speed Traps to Grandmother’s House We Go” as we anticipated a good, old fashioned feast not prepared in a microwave or ordered on my cell phone. About all I know how to do for a homemade Thanksgiving is to open the store-bought cranberry sauce that retains the shape of the can.

Sure, we could go to Cracker Barrel and have our Thanksgiving meal served to us by a teenager who would rather be Snapchatting or listening to Billie Eilish on Spotify sing like she stayed up all night Snapchatting. But this traditional celebration of family, freedom and prosperity just isn’t the same when you have to leave a tip.

However you decide to celebrate Thanksgiving this year, I want to encourage you to follow the advice of Dr. (Fun-sponge) Fauci, and employ all recommended safety measures to protect your loved ones. And if you’re feeling a little depressed about all of the changes, there is one element of Thanksgiving that is sure to lift you up with positive feelings of gratitude, patriotism, and love.

Pie – lots of pie.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

I usually avoid discussing politics in my columns, mainly because I would rather not be disowned by family members, unfriended by friends, or doused with milkshakes and other beverages by complete strangers at the local Whataburger.

This time, though, I just can’t help getting out my big ol’ stir-up-sumpin’ stick.

I’ll begin by announcing that I recently cast (as in chucked, lobbed or hurled) my vote for President of the United States of ‘Merica. I decided to vote early so I could avoid the airborne particles of other humans on Election Day­ – I thought. To my dismay, when I arrived at my early-voting location, a shabby community center built during the make-every-structure-look-like-a-doctor’s-office period of architecture, the line of voters wound around the inside of the building as if I was awaiting my turn to discombobulate my innards on the Space Mountain ride at Disney World.

Unfortunately, my innards still felt discombobulated, but not because of a thrilling roller coaster ride. Instead, the building had no air conditioning and smelled like a massive, well-used cat litter box. (And since my three teen daughters are philosophically opposed to caring for their own pets, I would know.)

Rather than filter out the odor, my COVID-19 face mask trapped it in my defenseless nostrils. By the time I reached the voting kiosk, I was so overcome by the heat and stench that I feared I might face-plant on the touch screen and accidentally place a write-in vote for the late Wilford Brimley – which might not be such a bad option.

Speaking of my three daughters, even though none of them are old enough to vote, I felt like it was important to engage them in the vital subject of national politics during an election year so that they, too, could make an informed argument about which presidential candidate has the most humiliating dance moves.

On a recent evening while we were digesting our tacos around the dinner table, I asked each of my daughters to offer their opinions about President Trump and Joe Biden.

My eldest and most expensive daughter replied that both of the candidates are too “creepy” for her. She longs for a viable third-party candidate who would pledge to place a cap on the price of a Venti Double-Shot Espresso on ice with two pumps of caramel-classic syrup and almond milk at Starbucks.

My middle daughter had to admit that she knows very little about the candidates, and she doesn’t care much about politics. She did declare that both leading candidates seem “old and crusty,” and she wishes she could find a way to get her current boyfriend on the ballot.

My youngest daughter didn’t hear the question because she was too engrossed in her iPhone­ – watching a YouTube star explain how to dress up your pet as a Russian babushka . (You think I’m kidding.)

After this initial round of discussion, we proceeded to take an online political survey designed to determine which presidential candidate would most closely match our values and beliefs as a family. We chose answers to questions ranging from our views on immigration to our feelings about eating our Thanksgiving dinner via slingshot due to the COVID-19 pandemic. We were only slightly disappointed to discover that we would be most satisfied with Baby Yoda as President.

On another evening, we all gathered in the living room to watch the musical “Hamilton” on Disney+. In today’s divisive political atmosphere, it was refreshing to revisit the time of our Founding Fathers – when politics were more harmonious, everyone knew how to rap, and political disagreements could be settled with an old-fashioned shooting.

Whatever the outcome of this year’s election, it’s important to remember that we are all Americans, and our devotion to our country should overcome our political differences. Most of all, when disagreements do arise, we should resist the temptation to douse one another with our favorite fast-food beverages.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

Parenting teen daughters is an experience chock-full of firsts, especially for dads.

There’s the first time you have to go down the “ladies’ personal products” aisle at Walmart praying to the merciful Lord that you won’t see any other members of the dude species, the first time you make her scream because you’re wearing one of her bras like a pair of swim goggles, and the first time she goes out with a boy whom you’ve threatened to dismember if he doesn’t keep his cooties to himself.

My wife and I recently experienced another one of these firsts when our eldest and most expensive daughter signed up to compete in a community beauty pageant. Throughout our girls’ upbringing, we had avoided child beauty pageants out of fear that we might end up starring in our own exploitive reality show on which I might have to adopt a nickname like “Sugar Bear.”

This situation was completely my daughter’s idea, and we were actually proud of her willingness to step out of her comfort-zone and try something new. Besides, we’ll only have to sell our plasma for the next couple of centuries to pay for the numerous outfits, cosmetics, and other accoutrements she required for the competition.

The event began with a small-town festival parade featuring fire trucks, community luminaries, and the pageant contestants waving to the crowd while violating seatbelt laws atop vehicles I can’t afford. It was a particularly cool and breezy day for East Texas in early autumn, and although I had goosebumps in my navel, I was distracted from the chill by my youngest daughter incessantly fretting about the fact the she had somehow managed to soil her cell phone with a layer of donut frosting.

When I saw my eldest daughter approaching our vantage point in a gleaming, black Jeep Wrangler Sahara, I couldn’t help honoring her appearance by doing my best “Whoop, there she is!” chant, which she later affectionately described as “completely mortifying.” Her two sisters tried their best to seem enthusiastic, but I could tell that they were more impressed by the sight of several spectators on horseback ordering Dilly Bars in the drive-thru at the town Dairy Queen. Ah, life in the big city!

The actual pageant took place later that evening in the school auditorium that had been doubling as an overflow junior high cafeteria due to COVID-19 protocol. As a result, the pageant announcer warned us to avoid partaking of any snacks we might discover stuck to the underside of our seats.

My wife and I beamed with pride when our daughter took the stage as the announcer detailed her accomplishments and her plans to attend a prestigious university. In turn, I began praying fervently that she wouldn’t be too disappointed that we had spent her entire college savings on the dress she was currently wearing.

Although our daughter didn’t win the pageant, I couldn’t have been more proud of her poise, elegance and skill in not face-planting on stage in those ridiculous heels.

Believe it or not, I know how difficult it is to sashay in front of a crowd wearing a close fitting gown and pumps. Several years ago, I walked on that same stage for charity in a woman-less beauty pageant. And while I wasn’t crowned that night, I did take the prize for most likely to be mistaken for Cruella de Vil. (I‘ll also never forget the exhilarating sensation provided by a high-quality pair of support pantyhose.)

The highlight of the pageant experience with my daughter occurred at its conclusion when her mother and I met her on stage, caught her in our arms, and presented her with a bouquet of flowers. Shortly thereafter, a young man her age also gave her some flowers, and she joined him for pictures with friends. I guess that’s just part of the bittersweet process of children separating from parents and growing into adulthood.

Speaking of separation, I need to have a serious discussion with that young man about keeping his cooties to himself.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].

In our family, it’s usually one of my two driving teen daughters who violates social distancing guidelines with her bumper. Recently, though, I experienced my own embarrassing accident on my morning commute to work when my SUV skidded on the wet roadway and struck a curb dangerously close to a Sonic Drive-In. (At the time, I may or may not have been daydreaming about the SuperSonic Breakfast Burrito – literally bursting with golden tots.)

Immediately after the impact, I could tell that something was terribly wrong as the vehicle began listing to one side – like my head does toward the sound of someone opening a bag of Dots Homestyle Pretzel Twists. I managed to coax the hobbled SUV past the Sonic and into the parking lot of a nearby bingo parlor. (Yes, I was in a really fashionable part of town.)

Once I regained my composure and realized that neither a massive breakfast burrito nor a thrilling round of bingo would be helpful at that exact moment, I stepped out of the vehicle to assess the damage. The good news was that there was no apparent injury to the body of the vehicle – and I wouldn’t have to make another humiliating trip to the paint and body shop where the staff gleefully shout my name and ask, “Which daughter was it this time?” when I walk in. The bad news was that I had blown both passenger-side tires.

Because I have the automotive acumen of a sea cucumber, two flat tires were well beyond my rudimentary abilities with any tool other than a cell phone. As I sat askew in the tilting vehicle awaiting the tow truck, I imagined that this sensation must have been similar to what the passengers of the sinking Titanic experienced – minus the certain death and all.

The tow truck driver was compassionate enough not to ask me what happened as he invited me to wait in his vehicle while he loaded up the SUV. (I’m pretty sure one look at me in my Texas Aggie polo and polished dress boots was all he needed.) I directed him to take me to the finest tire shop in town. Since I was starving, this meant the one within walking-distance of Wingstop.

After a thorough examination of the vehicle, the mechanics at the tire shop informed me that not only would I need two new tires, but I also required new struts, ball joints, and a series of other parts and pieces that sort of blurred together in my non-mechanical mind. (I could have sworn they said I needed a new flux capacitor.)

I was so desperate to get through this ordeal that I didn’t even ask how much it would cost – or call my wife for permission. I just told them to do whatever was needed. And after a short five hours in the waiting room watching the Golf Channel and reading magazines from the late 1990’s, I was on my way.

For about the cost of a liver transplant, I pulled away from the tire shop feeling more aligned and balanced than I have in years. I was a little disappointed, though, that the repair came with a generous amount of complimentary grease, grime, and other shop dandruff spread throughout my interior. Then again, I’m sure the mechanics just felt sorry for me and left it there to make me feel manlier after they spotted the Marshmallow Pumpkin Latte hand sanitizer from Bath & Body Works in my console.

If nothing else, this experience taught me some humility – and to be more understanding when one of my daughters has a minor fender bender. After all, personal safety is what really matters, and there are very few car repair situations that can’t be improved with a large 10-piece combo from Wingstop.

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Copyright 2020 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at [email protected].