Preschool Commencement Address

         “Who’s the commencement speaker?” I asked my wife on the way to my granddaughter’s preschool graduation. She smiled and rolled her eyes. It made me think that if I get asked when Talia graduates from kindergarten, I had better be ready.
           I imagined myself taking the podium, looking over the crowd, and seeing the happy family members half smiling back. In my mind I place my papers down, look up, and begin in an uplifting manner.
          
            Good evening parents… grandparents… family and friends… and especially you, our graduates. Congratulations, you have reached this joyous occasion through long grueling days of Play-Doh, paste, and Playground. You have every right to be proud of yourself.

            Months ago you timidly climbed the steps to the slide, nervously moved on to the greater heights of the monkey bars, then proudly reached, ever so higher to the tippy top of the castle, taking your blankey to places that were literally, and I mean literally, out of reach just years before.  

            As you looked out over the school yard you thought, shucks, I’d rather be home playing X-Box, but through your perseverance you unwittingly formed a foundation, a foundation for a new you and new way of thinking. You now know, everything is not yours, the tags on your clothes go to the back, and crying only sometimes helps because adults can still use force when no one’s looking.

            You see, Graduates, your parents are thinkers, go getters. With their sense of responsibility they smartly opened up their wallets so you can get a head start on learning life’s rules. The rules that your teachers, through clinched teeth taught, “Keep your hands to yourself,” “Play fair,” and “Don’t run with that stick.” And now, the rule you’re just about to figure out on your own, “Having a little bit of money can’t hurt.”

            Now, Graduates, I’d like to speak to your parents for a moment for they are about to live for the first time, or possibly relive an excursion into mandatory school life.

            Parents… look at your little darlings up here in their cute little caps and gowns, smiling back, some with their hats too low to their eyes, waving at you with complete abandon because they don’t care where they are. They’re perfect little angels aren’t they? It’s the same way they act with you at home isn’t it?

            They notice you and the love they have for you makes them react, to tell you they love you. They say it by waving proudly, calling, “Hey Mom!”, or “Hey Dad!” They want you to see them. They feel safe when they know you’re watching. Take a look…Now, look around you…Now, feel this building and the presence of others who have children here. Older brothers and sisters, grandparents, aunts and uncles, remember that you are here, too. Thank you for taking part in your family’s history and when these new personalities started to form. You are here for them, as fate gently pushes them into the game of life.

            Soon, they will be asked to play.
           
            Some will play first string. Others will have to work harder and develop skills that are unique to the team. But all will participate.
            Although, he or she won’t always know exactly what position is best for them, you should use your expertise to nudge them into the direction you want. And, there will come a time when they have to decide on their own. Support that decision.

            Of course you have some time. Right now all they want to be is Princesses, Ninja Turtles, and Santa. I heard the other day about a little girl who said when she grows up; she wants to be a twin.

            They will grow up and as they do, love them with all your heart.

            Sadly, my mother wasn’t lucky. She had a son who wouldn’t shut up.
           “Yes, Larry,” she would tiredly say. “What is it now, Larry,” she moaned. “We don’t have a Teddy Bear, Larry”… “Larry, here, sleep with this rubber chicken.”

            But she took me to shows and voice lessons, piano lessons and guitar lessons until I figured out my path. She was right. It was in the arts.

            In a book I wrote I delve into how people take different paths for success, the twists and turns and the forks in the road one navigates to move forward, to mature, and to prosper. I’ve found I’m at my weakest when I leave the arts to find my fortune. I write “The only luxury I’ve never been afforded was the luxury of having luxury.” Money isn’t everything. Happiness in your heart is success.

             These kids in the next few years will be finding out things about their young selves that will direct them toward being a happier child and to things that are challenging that will test their inner strength. Let them know once again that the game of life doesn’t always play by the rules. Once again, love them with all your heart and they will learn through your example.

            I beg you to take your child places and when there, explain what’s all around them. If all you have time and money for is to take them for a simple walk downtown. There is a whole lot of history you can tell them about. Take them to see the ducks, festivals, or fishing on the side the road. Just take them. Time waits for no one.

            In closing, I’d like to do the parents a favor and give the graduates some tips to take through the next year. It might stick. I figured I’d try.

            Kids… when you’re at the LSU Football game and everyone is yelling, Charge! Charge! Charge! Do not look up at daddy and say, “You know that’s how mommy got the new furniture after I heard you say not to.”

            Kids, when the family is over at Christmas and your grandfather smiles for the pictures, do not yell out, “Gee, Paw Paw the tooth fairly must have given you a lot of money. You don’t have any teeth.”

            Kids, when in the store at the checkout counter, do not tell the clerk, “I’m only getting this present because daddy says it will shut me up.”

            And, kids, when your family has guests over and one mentions you have a lovely couch, do not ever say, "We know, that’s because daddy ends up sleeping there a lot.”

           Thank you and remember, life for you and your family starts right here, in your heart.

 

Driving it Home

My wife and I, with Talia, were on the way home from New Orleans when a pick up truck in front of us started to swerve to the shoulder of the road.

Me: Look, that car in front of us swerved off the road... Must be textin'.
Wife: What makes you think that? The license plate says Louisiana.

My eyes turned to her but my head stayed straight.

Mother's Day 2015

By: Larry Hyatt

Sung to tune “Bohemian Rhapsody” By Queen.


Momma…Don’t kick the can....
Forever we’ll be friends
Now I’m changing your Depends.
Momma…That’s quite OK
Cause without
I would be in disarray.

Momma…ooo
Didn’t mean to make you cry,
I didn’t know I would
Take the path I walked on
But your love never trailed
You believed, though, I would fail.

Dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink.

I was a little bitty brat that was bad.
Whip his butt, whip his butt then we’ll make him do the right thing.
He won’t do his school work and he has a silly smirk.
Mrs. Hyatt, NO! We cannot whip butt!
(Whip his butt!)
Mrs. Hyatt, NO! We cannot whip his butt!
(Whip his butt!)
Mrs. Hyatt, NO!
(Whip his butt! Whip his butt! Whip his little redhead butt!)

No! No! No! No! No! No! No!

"Oh momma mia, momma mia,
Momma mia, whip his butt.”
He is the devil spawn and
He will be the death of me.
Of me… of meeeeeeee.

(Big Music)

Mom, you’re the one who still loves me with all of my flaws,
Unconditionally, that is what gives them some pause.
Oh…. baby, you are the one who has saved me.
You won’t concede that I won’t succeed in this world.
(More big music)

Nothing really matters
Except your love for me.
I love you oh so much.
I thank you oh so much.
For… accepting me….
As me………
(Any way the wind blows.)

Happy Mother’s Day

What's going on with the drug screens?

I’ve been hearing some very interesting stories from friends getting random drug tests. It’s a given being in the oil patch, and I understand how oil related companies can be sued for millions. If an accident happens while someone is high on drugs, it could devastate a company. But, the stories I’m hearing about having to get visual drug screens are starting to get weird.
A “visual” is where an observer watches you “go” in the cup. That person is there to make sure they’re not cheating, but we all know what’s happening. Two men, who are complete strangers, have their heads pointed in one direction, well, in most cases, watching urination hit plastic.
From what I hear, the rooms can be very small. In some cases four feet by four feet. That’s the size of a stall.  Look, if you can put a hand on the observer’s shoulder and pee in the cup, that’s too close for most men, especially men in the oilfield. 
I’m now hearing they’re making men drop their underwear below their knees, lift their shirt, and spin around.
Spin around? They want a full moon, from guys in the oilfield? Are they out of their mind? When I heard this, I thought, maybe it could be the observer having some fun.
“You’re not going to believe what I got this guy from BP to do. I had him drop his pants, lift up his shirt, spin around, and stand on one foot. I told him to sing Happy Birthday while he was peeing.”
“The guy did it?”
“Freakin’ right. He makes 200k a year and they’re laying people off. Another five-thousand workers and I’ll get them to quack like a duck.”
Is this procedure?
Is not watching the stream go directly into the cup enough?
Is there one guy doing this to everybody?     
What the hell is going on here?
I have to say, my friends in the industry are starting to feel violated, some in their sixties are confused. I heard one, almost seventy, had stripped off his clothes in front of the observer and said, “Now, is this bare-assed enough to let you know I haven’t smoked marijuana since Vietnam?”
Here’s a thought. Possibly, the powers that be could make the “Testies”  (No pun intended) take off all their clothes, put on a robe, and go in another room. I think that would take a lot less time. I’m hearing even hard core men have bashful bladder in circumstances like these.
The oilfield industry is one of the most dangerous professions to be a part of. You are constantly dealing with things that can hurt you, but, when trying to stay in a profession becomes whipping it out, and borderline humiliating yourself, I have to ask, who should get hazardous pay, the guy taking the test, or the guy having to watch a parade of guys taking the test?         
I guess both are hard core.

Who Owns Mardi Gras?

The powers that be of Mardi Gras in Terrebonne Parish,  the largest Mardi Gras celebration outside the city of New Orleans, has decided, in an unprecedented move, to move the parades of Lundi Gras and Fat Tuesday to the Sunday before, four parades in one day. There will be no parades Monday or Tuesday. The weather is “supposed/will be bad.” They can and they did. But, do they own Mardi Gras or does the public?

To the riders who say, I spent “all that money,” only to be greeted by the few stray diehards, ask yourself, when you spend all that money on deer season and don’t kill a deer, is it the same?

Tourist, who were invited to our city, by our city, next time check our weather before you book the flight. It didn’t mean to tick you off by coming here for nothing. I guess it figured it has the oilfield money to back it up. Oh, wait. Never mind.

And, that religious thing, it was forty days and forty nights, not forty two. But, hey, things have moved up. Let’s have that crawfish boil on Wednesday instead of Good Friday and be done with it. Of course, that’s “if” the weather is supposed/will be bad.

For those who say Mardi Gras is not cancelled but only the parades have been moved, why not get the Easter Bunny to deliver his eggs on the Saturday before Easter. I mean if the weather is going to be a problem in South Louisiana let’s just scrap it all, call it “Mardi Houma”, and move everything to a sunny day picked in between February 12^th and  March 15^th.  I do advise you not to screw with the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, but then again, we can have that any time the Irish get drunk. Rain or shine.

What about the businesses? “Well, at least now the distributors can buy back all the extra stock I bought in preparation for the festivities,” that’s a quote I heard, by NO business owner in Terrebonne Parish.

Now, I do want to wish good luck to the last krewe to roll on Sunday. Hunker down at Southland Mall. You will be there waiting for three parades to move before you. It’s not your fault. I honestly hope you enjoy your day. I’m a purest when it comes to Mardi Gras. Look at my previous post.

I would have loved to been at the meeting as the powers voiced their opinions. Was the move because of the bad weather, the chance to get Mardi Gras over with, or was the money spent by krewe members far too much for them to be cheated from a miraculous ride, disrupting tradition?

Whatever it was, it has now been set, a weather related precedent for any festival, 5K run, or non-profit function. Get the city to move them for you, free of charge. Postpone them, wait fifteen minutes, or, if you’re worthy, the actual day of the event could change and accommodate not only you, but all those involved, because now we know, it can happen. It was done for Mardi Gras.

Here’s some good thoughts though, we give up drinking two days early for lent and at Rouse's and Cannata’s, the price of king cakes should plummet Monday morning.

 

           

Pomp and Mardi Gras

It’s another Mardi Gras without our matriarch, the woman who filled our lives with purple, green, and gold, sequins iridescent, and soft velvets of the rainbow. She made costumes, exquisitely, to bring joy, laughter, and of course, the pageantry of that once a year pomp and circumstance.
I’ve always liked that part. (She made me weird.)
I like to attend a parade on a crisp sunny afternoon, look up to a reviewing stand and see the maids dressed to the tee, debutantes for a day in an array of colors, their hats dipped just so completing their individual look. They always seem to hang along the rail, bright smiles and loving the crowd, chalice in hand, waving and enjoying what it means to be that part of Fat Tuesday. I’ve never seen a maid who wasn’t having fun.
Also on the reviewing stand are the dukes, past or present, handsome in their black ties and tails, tuxedos that have changed through the years, but still, dashing as they seem to feel, as they should, they are royalty for a day, and today there is an air about them, not the wild reveler when riding in their mystic krewe.
In the middle, always the Queen, stunning as she presides over her court, always outshining the others, if for no reason other than knowing she is for today the upper echelon. Queens, on a reviewing stand remind me of brides.
“All queens of Mardi Gras look beautiful and don’t you ever forget it.” I heard that as a young boy from the person who dealt with them. She knew they were our livelihood.     
And, yes, I enjoy the toast to the King and Queen. I know it stalls the parade but those who don’t understand are there for some other reason.
You see, the toast is when champagne glasses are raised, praises are made, and flowers are given to wives, daughters, friends, and dignitaries. A key to the city could be presented from a mayor or parish president, and all this pageantry, done high above revelers, I find freaking cool. And, when the toast is finished you can hear it, as they actually throw the glass down to the pavement to break it.
When I see the parade coming, I patiently wait through the motorcycles, dune buggies and clowns, and I smile when royalty stops at the reviewing stand and remember my childhood. It’s a part of my being; engraved from the earliest days. You could say it’s in my veins, not red, but the pomp and circumstance of purple, green, and gold.

 

Super Bowl 2015

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. Here are some rules if you’re throwing a Super Bowl party. If you’re inviting someone to your house, don’t screw it up.

1.     Play a drinking game. When the announcer mentions the words “deflated”, those who drink should take a sip. It must only be used when referring to the football, not when referencing the cheerleaders.

2.     It’s a given. One of the teams will score right before the end of the quarter, half, or end of the game, pissing off a person at the party who had those numbers in a pool. If someone else has the new numbers, they should pretend to sympathize till one of them leave the room.

3.  The referees will completely screw up a call. When instant replay overturns it, “try” to get your guests to get over it and move on. It’s a game. I did say, “try.”

4.     If everyone brings a dish to your party make sure everyone brings something expensive or something that took a long time to make. I’m having a party and thought I should throw that out there.

5.     If women are at your party, Tom Brady’s looks and his supermodel wife will come into play. Men, please, get ahead of this. Explain that the cute quarterback, if he loses, is going home to a freaking supermodel.

6.  If the game is a blow out, everyone except Colorado is screwed.  

7.  Don’t be perplexed when at least one announcer during the game says that every player on the field is the “Best player in the league” ignoring the fact he can’t explain why a team can lose at all.

8.  If anyone is watching only for the commercials, tell them, shame, shame, shame. You could have seen those on the internet.

9.   Belichick will cheat. You just won’t know how.

And finally,

10.  A wardrobe malfunction is something you can wish for. Hell, it's Katy Perry.