Peanut butter & jelly go together.
Unless you’re in Australia. They think that’s a disgusting combination. They also believe that Vegemite tastes good. I’m uncertain how they feel about Reese’s Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups, but to them PB&J is about as palatable as broccoli and beet root ice cream. Disgustingly, somebody, somewhere just thought, yum.
It comes down to personal preference. I put things together that occasionally draw weird looks. This usually involves stares from my wife after getting dressed. Don’t all colors go together? Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what she says, too.
We recently saw an incompatible combo in our neighborhood while out walking our dog. A couple passed us donning clothing with personal statements printed over their chests. The man sported a t-shirt that read “Oregon”. The women wore a t-shirt that said “Peace”. As we passed by each other, my wife commented to them that their shirts didn’t go well together.
I’ve never been to Oregon, but the brochures look nice.
However, I’ve travelled to Washington state and enjoyed the scenery immensely. Nature’s scenery that is. The vagrant encampments that besiege almost every square mile of Seattle were disturbing. That and the volatility associated with so many of their protests. Flipping over cop cars, setting them ablaze, and parading about downtown with stolen police gear is not a peaceful protest.
Other Oregon cities suffered through similar urban discord. I witnessed a whole lot of civil unrest in Portland, thanks to 24/7 news media coverage. I knew a lot of law enforcement officers that responded to Portland to help maintain social order, too.
And from these two sources I know that few Portland and Seattle protests utilized “peace” as a mechanism for social change.
Too bad. Forcing systemic reinvention through random acts of violence will never effectuate positive, lasting reformation. In a nutshell, it just pisses everybody off. The instigator’s rage only increases, along with those targeted. Events spiral downward until the whole crap is flushed into a fetid sewer of brokenness and despair. It’s true. Launching homemade incendiary devices at public infrastructure and those protecting it is never a solution.
Anger begets more anger. Once you’re in the red, it’s tough to hit the brakes, whether you’re the instigator or the targeted. It evolves into a perpetuating circle of foolish, flawed behavior. I understand. I’ve started the fire and I’ve been burned by it, too. Stirring the pot and harmonious accord are at opposite ends of the spectrum. They don’t mix well.
But parents and children do go together.
It doesn’t matter if your kids are toddlers or have toddlers of their own. It doesn’t matter if your parents are active and vibrant, or declining and decrepit. There’s always a bond. Sometimes strained, but a connection still exists. Even if it’s on life support. This belief made a hospital’s recent decision all the more baffling to me.
Our 20 year old daughter underwent surgery. As parents, we both wanted to be there with her. After all, parents and children go together. The hospital only allowed one parent inside with her because she was over 18. If she was under 18, we could have both entered the facility.
Why?
Covid, of course. Due to preposterous pandemic protocols both parents are allowed entry into the hospital if the child is still a minor. If the child is a legal adult, only one parent can be admitted inside the hospital. I considered arguing that she’s still a minor when it comes to alcohol possession and consumption.
Logically, we could both be admitted inside the hospital under this specific legal definition of a minor. Unfortunately, logic had absolutely nothing to do with it. If I’d presented my case, I’m sure hospital staff may have droned on about policy and missed the whole irony of the situation. Apparently my wife and I are far more likely to carry and/or transmit Covid-19 based upon the age of our children as opposed to vaccination status, health condition, or social precautions. Who knew?
Legal professionals, probably.
The doctors and nurses do not make up these ridiculous rules. Medicine is no longer dictated by people who actually attended medical school and blossomed as medical professionals. These things, among many others, are decided by medical corporation compliance & review personnel.
That sounds reasonable. Compliance & review. We need to make sure we’re all following the rules all of the time, right? This is not taught in medical school, though. Fortunately, it is taught in law school. Thank God we involved lawyers in the process.
Nothing against lawyers. My father went to law school. He spent the majority of his adult life working within the legal field in one capacity or another. He also spent the majority of his retired life reminiscing on his professional titles. The job defined him. It was the most treasured part of his life.
My family is the most treasured part of my life.
My wife and I just wanted to be there for our daughter. Together. Initially, we planned for me to wait inside the hospital. A good plan until momma bear had to leave her baby cub. Even if your kid is an “adult”, you want to be there. At least we did. Fortunately, the hospital allowed us to tag team. I did pre-op and my wife did post-op.
When you wake up and feel like dog excrement, mom is likely a more welcome sight than dad. I might have used some cliche youth sports adages and said something supportive like, “suck it up buttercup” or “pain is just weakness leaving your body”. I would not have scored high on the nurture scale.
Most importantly, though, we kept together what was meant to be together.
Both parents were part of the surgical process, despite the perpetuators of pandemic perpetuity. And I found a way to be more nurturing. Our daughter’s medical team directed her to fast 8 hours before surgery. I fasted as well. Solidarity, baby.
In so doing, I’ve built up a healthy appetite for dinner tonight. Luckily, my wife is an excellent cook. But maybe we’ll just whip up some peanut butter & jelly sandwiches.