From The Desk Of The Commisioner, A Shocking Tale For Halloween.
I'm used to losing now. My draft was terrible and these are the consequences.
Consequences... Webster's dictionary describes consequences as:
1) The result of an over-thought, over-ambitious, over-sleeper filled draft.
2) John's Draft 2013.
Many parents like to shield there offspring from particularly harsh consequences of their actions when they are too young to fully understand the nature of things or if the consequences come at the expense of damaging, early trauma. My mother has the appearance of an angel, and for the most part she is, however once she completely lost it on me for having a disgusting nail biting habit. To be fair I can see her point, nail biting looks ridiculous and is quite obviously a physical reaction to an unresolved subconscious issue. Deal with the issue, train yourself not to bite your nails and you're cured. Well... not really... Anyhow, on this particular day my mom thought it was best to get a bit drastic with the curing side of the habit and decided to employ a little shock treatment. Well, maybe shock isn't the proper word... maybe embarrassment... yes, embarrassment involving a bizarre display for the outcome of acting my age. So, logically, there was only one thing for it. My mother bought a baby soother (as it was the most obvious physical way of inhibiting my nails from entering my mouth), made me put it in my mouth and asked me to walk around the mall with her while she did her errands. If it sometimes feels like I have no shame in adulthood, then I would assume that this day must have been a catalyst of sorts. Much to my mothers chagrin, I actually enjoyed the experience a little bit. I can't remember why, however it wouldn't shock me if it was because I had just walked on to the stage for the first act of my lifelong stand up comedy routine (working title: "I'm Hilarious- The Life of John Dirom") or maybe the soother did appeal to my baser oral fixations in a complete reversal of intent. As it must have looked particularly loopy for a six year old boy to walk around with a soother, and not wishing the lesson to be lost, my mother brought me inside a business to inflict maximum embarrassment. What business? A toy store? The candy corn place? No, it was the hair salon where you got to play Super Mario Bros 3 (NES) while you got your trim. My mom said "John, if you promise you won't bite your nails anymore then you can take out the soother and get your hair cut here." I'd be a moron not to take this deal. Despite contemplating one of my very first acts of point-proving masochism, I said to my mother, "Deal." I got a sweet sideways part, got to the world with the over sized goombas, pipes and well everything I guess and didn't bite my nails once... for the rest of the week. I caved and have been biting my nails ever since. I'll work on whatever childhood anxiety I have locked away that causes me to continue to do this one of these days, all I know is that it certainly wasn't from the soother fiasco. I got to play Nintendo while getting my haircut, I'm pretty sure that resolves any social awkwardness at age six.
Good Luck This Week Chumps,
-The Commish
Consequences... Webster's dictionary describes consequences as:
1) The result of an over-thought, over-ambitious, over-sleeper filled draft.
2) John's Draft 2013.
Many parents like to shield there offspring from particularly harsh consequences of their actions when they are too young to fully understand the nature of things or if the consequences come at the expense of damaging, early trauma. My mother has the appearance of an angel, and for the most part she is, however once she completely lost it on me for having a disgusting nail biting habit. To be fair I can see her point, nail biting looks ridiculous and is quite obviously a physical reaction to an unresolved subconscious issue. Deal with the issue, train yourself not to bite your nails and you're cured. Well... not really... Anyhow, on this particular day my mom thought it was best to get a bit drastic with the curing side of the habit and decided to employ a little shock treatment. Well, maybe shock isn't the proper word... maybe embarrassment... yes, embarrassment involving a bizarre display for the outcome of acting my age. So, logically, there was only one thing for it. My mother bought a baby soother (as it was the most obvious physical way of inhibiting my nails from entering my mouth), made me put it in my mouth and asked me to walk around the mall with her while she did her errands. If it sometimes feels like I have no shame in adulthood, then I would assume that this day must have been a catalyst of sorts. Much to my mothers chagrin, I actually enjoyed the experience a little bit. I can't remember why, however it wouldn't shock me if it was because I had just walked on to the stage for the first act of my lifelong stand up comedy routine (working title: "I'm Hilarious- The Life of John Dirom") or maybe the soother did appeal to my baser oral fixations in a complete reversal of intent. As it must have looked particularly loopy for a six year old boy to walk around with a soother, and not wishing the lesson to be lost, my mother brought me inside a business to inflict maximum embarrassment. What business? A toy store? The candy corn place? No, it was the hair salon where you got to play Super Mario Bros 3 (NES) while you got your trim. My mom said "John, if you promise you won't bite your nails anymore then you can take out the soother and get your hair cut here." I'd be a moron not to take this deal. Despite contemplating one of my very first acts of point-proving masochism, I said to my mother, "Deal." I got a sweet sideways part, got to the world with the over sized goombas, pipes and well everything I guess and didn't bite my nails once... for the rest of the week. I caved and have been biting my nails ever since. I'll work on whatever childhood anxiety I have locked away that causes me to continue to do this one of these days, all I know is that it certainly wasn't from the soother fiasco. I got to play Nintendo while getting my haircut, I'm pretty sure that resolves any social awkwardness at age six.
Good Luck This Week Chumps,
-The Commish
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