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Anyone that knows me for any length of time eventually are puzzled by my methods of dealing with bad news. As a rule of thumb I deal with serious stuff quite well I believe (except in the area of overly zealous tax collectors) but small stuff drives me crazy.

The guttersnipes could never be sure what would set me off. Being a Christian made it even worse. Was I going to be a fiery prophet of doom ala Elijah or a weeping prophet of mercy like Jeremiah? Would it be the letter of the law per Moses or the spirit of the law per Paul? Many missteps, many blunders and the occasional act of redemption--such is family and life and strife in Casa Mtpspur.

No real surprise that the munchkins wanted to escape and go live large and free. Part of my desire for them was their well grounded sense of personal identity and independence but in the heart of heart I always hoped some principles of mine would be strong in them also.

In the area of alcohol consumption and its varied usage all three have successfully and completely disappointed me. In all respect and honesty for what I perceive in the Bible I CANNOT affirm that TOTAL abstinence is taught therein but I do believe moderation is and severe warnings against drunkeness is abundantly contained in Holy writ.

The kids growing up were certainly witness to many a war story on the evils and consequences and life changes to people I personally knew as a result of alcohol abuse and you would think that respect and reverement for the experienced and all wise father would garner a life lesson learned well.

If I would quit reading historical adventure fiction with the tales of many many dutiful sons and daughters therein that go on rapturously about their esteemed parent and the role model they live their lives on I would probably have less of a blood pressure problem.

Example one from a few years back.

In our rather small rented domicile I occasionally get in a take the trash out mode and was checking my son Dan's room where to my delight I found a trash bag all ready to be taken to the curb. Ignoring the fact that the kid was too lazy to take it with him when he departed to meet up with his companions in mayhem and mischief I pick the bag up and hear a rattle that would explain where all my Mountain Dews had gone.

Except they were beer cans.

A lot. Homer Simpson would feel he'ld died and gone to Heaven.

Hmmmmm. Daughter Sandy is home and the witness to my tirade on how DARE he sneak this stuff in the house and wait til he gets home, etc. etc.

Like the sympathetic and oh so shy sweet daughter she is Sandra bows her head in what I am sure is sympathy for my trials and tribulations as a Drama Queen with father/son issues.

Channeling the Drama Queen I have time to think how to handle this wayward son of mine. I begin to line up the cans in neat little rows on the living room floor while awaiting my soon to be grounded waif. Looking forward to seeing his crestfallen features as he sees how easily caught and his crimes exposed so pathetically easy. Ah yes your sins will find you out.

The door handle rattles and I rise to my full but short height and assume my most self righteous stare of disdain and judgement.

Dan opens the door and as anticipated his jaw drops and he stares at me.

In my best overbearing manner I state--"Well what do you have to say for yourself?"

The answer will and has lived in the brain cells ever since.

"I told Sandy not to bring beer into the house."

I leave it to the reader to imagine the next 10 minutes with Sandy and I getting to know each other a little better.

NEXT: Where this is all leading to//Note--this story MAY have been related in the past but in the main it still remains true as to essence.