Bitch on the Blog

March 8, 2014

Open Letter

Filed under: Human condition — bitchontheblog @ 13:14
Tags: , ,

I have little opinion on anything. Give me a cause and I’ll play devil’s advocate if in the mood. Otherwise I’ll just knock you out by conventional means.

Yes, boxing. ‘Schuesseleffekt’. It’s when your brain wooshes around its bowl, a bit like jelly warming up. How anyone can encourage their son to take up boxing is beyond me. No offence to you, Chuck, should you read this. Your brain seems to have survived remarkably well.

My father who was always good at being blunt about how the real world works explained “Schuesseleffekt” to me. Can’t remember why. I wasn’t in the market for boxing.

Yes, boxing. Insert pregnant pause. Of course, at times we all pummel a cushion. Better than kicking the cat. Or shouting at the dog you don’t have. But boxing? At age five? Yes, Sweetheart, you know who I am addressing. Guns? Driving? Under age? Sexist remarks you make all the the time. Disparaging. Taking suggestive photos of your teenage nieces. Publishing them on the internet? Mother of your son going ballistic when your joint five year old drops his trousers? Only re-enacting what he does experience?  Give me a break. Go back to the drawing board.

You can’t have it both ways: Either you enhance testosterone at – possibly too early an age – or you let it rest.

One piece of advice: I know you and your mother don’t see eye to eye. No doubt, in MY eye, HER fault. But do not, and I mean it – and obviously can only go by your blog’s narrative – make both your sons’ mothers into the bogey women. Your sons won’t thank you for it. As good a father as you may be: Little gets between a son and his mother.

U

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5 Comments »

  1. Nice post Ursula…
    Have a wonderful weekend my dear friend.

    Andro xxxx

    Comment by Gray Dawster — March 8, 2014 @ 13:48 | Reply

  2. Boxing? Barbaric. And yet the most beautiful of male athletes was Cassius Clay.

    In my first class was a little kid who was bullied by an older one. I spoke to Mr Jones, the class teacher of the older boy, about this. “I’ll deal with it,”he offered. Two days later he sent for me to bring my class to the school hall where he arranged the two classes into an inward facing square. “Come here you two.” and intot he centre of the square came my little titch and the bully, both striped to the waste and sporting boxing gloves.
    The went to the centre of the square and touched gloves. “Box” commanded Mr Jones and my little’un let fly a flurry of blows and big bully cowered and tried to get away.
    “Stop.” said Mr Jones, and they did, “Now all of you I want you to stand up to bullies.”
    No more bullying there…..

    I still have mixed feelings about the incident but it was effective. It was also noticeable that littl’un’s school work improved. Something about self esteem?

    No chance any teacher could get away with that these days. Mr. Jone’s? Short, rotund Welshman who I once saw pour two buckets of cold water oveer apair of scrapping secondary school girls outside the school gates. needless he had been teaching in that school since before the flood and ahad taught generations of the population of West Bromwich and had their respect.

    Now, how about fencing?

    Comment by magpie11 — March 8, 2014 @ 17:10 | Reply

    • Fencing, Magpie? Love it. Like so many things I wanted to do FOS opposed it. Can’t remember his reasoning now. I am sure it was eloquent. Even convincing. Or I was just a weak fool. Still, as they say: It’s never too late.

      As to your example: The Angel is – yes, I know you all know by now – laid back. No boxing for him.

      Yet, beware: Quiet waters run deep. When word seeped out (he had just started secondary school, must have been about ten/eleven or so) that he was half of his mother’s nationality some joker (knowing nothing whatsoever about history – no Basil Fawlty either) goose stepped him. Repeatedly. Fine. Keep going. My son is not unsettled by others’ stupidity. He bides his time. And then, one day, he turned round with a well located fist. That was the end of it. Naturally, and this is what a fist timely placed can do, he went up in everyone’s esteem on the playground and no one ever touched him again.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — March 8, 2014 @ 20:46 | Reply

    • Magpie, forgot to add: Fencing is – to me – dancing with a sword.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — March 9, 2014 @ 10:12 | Reply

      • My oldest freind fenced….. he took up the Morris to remain nimble for his fencing and ended up fencing to remain nimble for the Morris.
        One of Youngest’s Violin teachersfenced among other skills. First Lesson I took said teacher a cup of tea and there were the pair of them en garde, or whatever it’s called, with their violin bows. Absolutely the right teacher for Youngest…

        Comment by magpie11 — March 10, 2014 @ 18:24 | Reply


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