Archive for the 'Laugh' Category



Columnist’s Headshot Gets Refresh

For the past 8 years, a headshot photograph taken in my twenties has graced the pages of my local newspaper. I am now in my thirties, late-thirties. It’s time to update my profile.

To spin two phrases from FBI Director James Comey regarding Hillary Clinton’s email habits, the old headshot is not “grossly negligent,” but it is “extremely careless” in its handling of reality.

This is not the only time I have been misrepresented in a widely-consumed publication. An August 2015 edition of Bankers Digest showed my face next to an article about a Kevin Thompson of the Centennial Bank headquartered in Jonesboro, Arkansas.

The Arkansan Thompson had been named an emerging leader of the Arkansas Bankers Association. He sounds like an impressive young man.

My “friends” back here in Texas ridiculed me incessantly for an honest editor’s honest mistake. They obviously don’t understand the frantic nature of the 24-hour community banking news cycle. They accused me of moonlighting and wondered if everything were okay at home.

I assured them I was fine, except for the emotional pain and suffering one endures from being taken advantage of because of his good looks. I’m still considering a lawsuit.

Back to Boerne and the great headshot update of 2016. A variety of factors has compelled this pictorial refresh. For one, autograph requests at the grocery have dipped.

In fact, the only time in the last year I have been recognized in public was at my kids’ school. According to one of their friends, I showed up in art class under a paper mache project.

That was almost as embarrassing as the time a local pharmacy tech flattered me about a recent article while handing me a less-than-flattering prescription. Small-town pharmacy tech would be a fascinating job.

I have also decided to update my headshot because of my fundamental commitment to under-promise and over-deliver. There’s enough baiting and switching going on out there.

Growing up in Nashville, I once barely recognized Tim McGraw and Faith Hill at a local meat-and-three. Things just aren’t the same without the makeup and styling. It’s worse when your headshot is almost ten years old. Perception-as-reality has its limits.

I understand the tension, though. As much as stars don’t want to get old, fans don’t want their stars to fade. It’s sad enough hearing about the Oak Ridge Boys playing second-tier casinos. I don’t want to see what forty years of tryin’ to love two women will do to you.

Hence, most celebrities believe an older photo of a newer subject trumps a newer photo of an older subject.

Not this celebrity. I’m all about authenticity. Therefore, I submit to you today a new headshot…that is almost four years old.

 

Kevin Thompson writes weekly for The Boerne Star in the Texas Hill Country. Follow him at http://www.kwt.info.

 

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Rules of the Roost

The better half and I had discussed getting chickens at some point in the hypothetical future. Such as when the kids were older, and the house was restored to order.

So, I was slightly surprised when a box of chicks showed up the week before Easter. Slightly more surprising: two ducklings appeared in the box of fowl.

Boerne, Texas, is actually a hotbed for the “chicken-as-pet” movement. Randall Burkey Company on Industrial Drive produces the Happy Hen Chicken Treats sold in Tractor Supply across the country.

Several friends of ours have entered the backyard chicken craze with varying results. The more rural their properties, the less success they seem to have. Evidently, it’s still the Wild West for white meat out there.

I was unaware. Unlike most men in the hill country, I have no motion-activated, Internet-accessed hunting camera in the woods.

So, hearing of hawks, foxes and coons, I planned for the worst as I planned my coop. Its walls would extend twelve inches into the earth. Its frame would consist of commercial grade pressure-treated two by fours.

And despite its name, chicken wire simply wouldn’t do. We would use half-inch steel-welded wire. I stopped just short of a reinforced concrete safe room.

As coop construction commenced, the chicks and ducklings roamed half a refrigerator box in our garage. We quickly realized ducks grow faster than chickens and that ducks have only one kind of stool: loose.

If anyone knows of a company that removes duck movement stains from a garage floor, I could use a recommendation.

After the first week or so, we began to let the youngsters get some fresh air around the yard. Of all the predators I had contemplated, “family dog” was not one of them.

But to a half-Labrador retriever, a chick is basically a ball that throws itself.

For a time, we fended off friendly fire from Hank, as well as from his partner in crime, the family cat, who seemed quite intrigued by the yellow mice that had taken up residence in the garage.

Then, having momentarily let down both our guard and the walls of the barricade the birds occupied, disaster struck.

In three days, Hank eliminated four chickens. The attacks weren’t mutilating bloodbaths. He’s too friendly for that. He basically just played them to death. He literally wrung their necks.

We buried the fallen chickens just days before they were to move into their poultry palace.

About this time, the ducks began sleeping in the yard. After a couple of weeks of safety, one fell prey to a more traditional predator. We’re not sure what it was, but it was at least kind enough to cover funeral expenses.

So, a quick recap of the fowl count: Seven chicks are now 3 chickens, including a rooster; two ducklings are now 1 duck.

Rather than the remaining duck soiling my pristine poultry palace, we released it into the wild at Cibolo Creek. There, we watched her face a predator of another type: a male eager to start a family.

Back at the coop, the young rooster has started to crow. It sounds more like a fog horn than the perky “cock-a-doodle-doo” I remember as a child. Accordingly, I have added an entry to the potential predator list: neighbor with gun.

 

Kevin Thompson can be reached at kevin@kwt.info.

 

Fathers according to kids

Question: Why is Father’s Day six weeks after Mother’s Day?

Answer: Some guys were shooting the bull about a month after the first Mother’s Day when one of them said, “Hey! Wait a minute!”

Father’s Day is a convenient time to poke some fun at the men who brought us into the world and, according to Bill Cosby, could have taken us out of it.

“Dad,” read the card from my kids last year, “When God made you, he made the world a much better place…a little weirder, maybe, but much better.”

If you want the truth, you ask kids. Their frontal lobes and filters simply aren’t fully developed. Even one’s physical appearance is not off limits.

After looking at the back of my head recently, my five-year-old son said, “Dad, you have a Bob spot.” His twin sister was no less observant a few days later. “Daddy, did you know you can cut your eyebrows? They’re so big! They’re like a monster!”

Fortunately, their nine-year-old brother has more accurate awareness. When asked on a Father’s Day questionnaire why he is proud of his dad, he responded, “He has a six pack.” His share of the estate went up that day.

He was also asked, “What was your dad like as a child?” “Handsome,” he wrote. Evidently, he sees himself in me.

The Father’s Day questionnaires are particularly revealing. All my kids filled one out at church last year.

There seems to be some confusion among my children about their dad’s favorite food. The younger kids said broccoli, while the older ones said pizza.

The discrepancy may or may not highlight the difficulty I may or may not have with aligning words and actions. Do as I say, kids, not as I do!

According to the surveys, I am as big as a soldier and thirty years old. My kids love me because I make cupcakes and because I am so pleasant. In my free time, I like to go to a hotel. And if I were a cartoon character, I would be Bugs Bunny.

When asked, “What is something your Dad always says to you?” one of them responded with “This is unacceptable.”

Well, of course! My kids are never going to be a pleasant and ripped, formerly handsome soldier of a man if they eat pizza all the time! What’s up, Doc!?!

On second thought, it would have been nice if the first thing he thought of was more like, “I love you, son. I am really happy with you.” Something a little more consistent with what our Heavenly Father thinks about us.

There are certainly times to pronounce an act unacceptable. But the person of the child is and will always be profoundly acceptable. To convince children of their innate value and uniqueness, this is the great point of parenting.

A silver lining: kids live neither in the future nor in the past. Everything is present tense. Therefore, the past is not indelible. Kindness and care today can cover yesterday’s frustration and negativity.

Kevin Thompson writes weekly for The Boerne Star in the Texas hill country. He can be reached at kevin@kwt.info.

Update on a fine(d) canine

A few months back, I wrote of an outlaw canine who retrieved an unlicensed dog notice for his owner. It was news to me. I couldn’t believe anyone would effectively tax a man’s best friend. “Un-Texan! Un-American!” I called it.

As I began planning civil disobedience against the city’s $4.00 annual pet licensing “fee,” a hand-addressed envelope arrived.

Inside: a green carbon copy of a City of Boerne Code Enforcement citation. “Code Enforcement” was scribbled out. “Animal Control” was written in. It read like a traffic ticket:

Violator: Thompson
Color: Tan
Year Model: “Hank”
Make: Lab/X
Violation(s): 6605 Unlicensed Dog

The summons ordered me to appear at Boerne Municipal Court on or before May 4, 2016. I chuckled and put it in my stack of stuff, wondering how it would fit into my civil disobedience plan.

As May 4 approached, I modified my plan to include a stop at animal control. Hank would sniff, chew and mark territory above reproach, I decided.

KT: “Hi. I need to get a dog license, please.”
Animal Control Officer: “Come around to the building in the back.”

As I entered the back building, an orange feline with fur shaved like a lion greeted me.

“Are cats licensed, too?” I inquired. Several acquaintances had asked me this question since Hank’s story broke earlier this year.

“Yes, sir. And if you have more than four cats or dogs, you’ll need a permit. They are $100 a year.”

The officer briefed me on the specifics of a dog license, and I wrote a $4.00 check to legalize Hank. The officer kindly matched his license expiration with his next rabies shot. No reason to space out pet expenses.

As I stepped toward the door, I could tell the officer’s wheels were turning.

“So, do you have a cat?”

After quickly consulting my civil disobedience plan, I prepared to say no. Besides, he’s not mine. He’s the person’s who left him at the Alamo Springs Café in far north Kendall County where he rubbed his soft kitten fur against the left leg of a 5 year old.

“Yes.” I told truthfully remembering Mother’s Day was Sunday.

Another four dollars later, I headed to municipal court ready to waive all my new pet licenses and have all charges dropped.

Not so fast. According to the city attorney, the canine’s file had already wandered too far. I would be assessed both a fine and court costs. There is upside, she told me cheerfully: Deferment.

If Hank stays on good behavior for ninety days, the citation would stay off my record. My record?!? What about his!?!

Dumbfounded, I asked the judge if community service were an option. Hank would do well at a nursing home or a pre-school, I told him. He wouldn’t hurt a flea, unless it’s on his belly.

Unconvinced, the judge passed me to the clerk who passed me to the cashier. She passed me back my debit card back after running it for more than I ever thought I’d spend on that sorry dog.

Kevin Thompson can be reached at kevin@kwt.info.

Fresh-squeezed entrepreneurs fill up Boerne

“Entrepreneurship is a very American idea,” asserted Bear Moon Bakery owner Paula Hayward as lemonade stands lined Main Street Sunday.
 
“My mother owned a store on Main Street for nineteen years,” Hayward remembered. “She taught me to keep my windows clean. No matter how tight times get, I’ll always pay for a window washer. These kids are learning the cost and pride of ownership.”
 
My first and fourth graders relocated “Homerun Lemonade” to the sidewalk in front of Bear Moon after a rain-out at Northrup Park.
 
Dozens of elementary kids “owned” stands across town Sunday as part of Lemonade Day, a Houston-based initiative that trains kids on the basics of entrepreneurship. Boerne City Attorney Kirsten Cohoon brought the program to Boerne last year.
 
“It teaches things that get easily missed in our school curriculums,” Cohoon said. “How to think outside the box, how to set yourself apart from 60 other stands, how to think through marketing and product development.”
 
As I sampled the stands, I asked what kids were learning. “People like pink more than regular.” “It’s hard to keep track of things when there’s a long line.”
 
“It’s hard to make money,” observed Curington Elementary fourth grader Reed Neal, who hopes to one day invent the “Tri-TCR,” a three-armed tissue cancer remover.
 
Neal used $53 from his savings to finance “Freetail Lemonade.” Costs included renting a table from his parents.
 
“The rental fee is ten dollars,” his mother told me. Reed interjected, “I thought it was three dollars!” He’ll likely get it in writing next year.
 
A chance to win a Yeti drink tumbler justified his above-market price. Freshly-picked mint leaves from his grandma’s garden also differentiated his offering.
 
Competition was fierce along Main Street. Most shoppers had cups running over. 
 
“How’s that lemonade?” a self-assured proprietor asked. “I bet I can top it!”
 
Cactus, condensed milk, ginger and honey from on-site bees rounded out the list of creative ingredients. Stand names included Lemon Large, The Lucky Lemon and Spike-It Lemonade, the latter owned by a volleyballer whose mother looked like she could use a cold one.
 
“I’m tired,” she said scanning the extensive late-night carpentry that produced her child’s storefront.
 
Organizer Ms. Cohoon applauded the community’s response to the aspiring entrepreneurs. 
 
“Boerne has been very supportive. We hope this keeps growing and growing, that it’s just what we do on the first Sunday in May.”
 
San Antonio residents James and Heather Outlaw stayed in Boerne after church to sip on samples.
 
“Growing up in rural east Texas, I would put out a lemonade stand but no one ever came except my grandmother,” Mrs. Outlaw said. “It brought a tear to my eye earlier when I saw people actually visiting the stands. I doubt this is happening where I’m from.”
 
Sellers were certainly conditioned by buyers’ generosity. For example, my fourth grader after a customer handed him a twenty dollar bill for a $1 order: “Will you need any change?”
 
 
Kevin Thompson writes weekly for The Boerne Star in the Texas hill country. Follow him at www.kwt.info.
 

If it barks, tax it

Our dog, Hank, got loose the other day. It’s not what you think.

Most dogs bolt out the front door as soon as it’s cracked. Not Hank. He’s a homebody, proven by the claw scratches on the outside of every exterior door.

Hank loves to be with us, so when he took a stroll down the street with the kids recently, it was unusual. Hank is not the rabble-rousing type. He’s certainly not a public enemy.

Nevertheless, the pound came calling.

Animal Control Officer (ACO): “Mr. Thompson?”

Me: “Yes?”

ACO: “This is the Boerne animal control department. Do you own a dog named Hank?”

Me: “Yes.”

ACO: “Could you have recently failed to keep him under proper restraint and permitted him to be at large off your premises?”

Me: “Possibly.”

ACO: “Do you know if Hank has a license?”

Me (laughing): “A license?”

ACO: “Yes, a license. I don’t see one here in our records.”

The officer, who was very courteous by the way, proceeded to tell me that every dog (and cat, for that matter) that resides in the city needs a license. I had no idea. Hank either: “Ruff! There was no sign!”

It turns out pet licenses can be purchased at the city animal control facility on Esser Road. Twelve dollars gets your pup three years of free roam (assuming he stays on your property).

I really couldn’t believe my ears. The ordeal reminded me of a Ronald Reagan quote:

“Government’s view of the economy could be summed up in a few short phrases: If it moves, tax it. If it keeps moving, regulate it. And if it stops moving, subsidize it.”

I’m sure there are many sound public health and public safety reasons for authorities to know what pets occupy our neighborhoods.

Still, the thought that a man needs a license to have a best friend dumbfounded me.

After I expressed my disbelief to the ACO, he kindly offered to call Hank’s veterinarian to see if they might have record of an active pet license for Hank. A day later he called back. They didn’t.

So, in addition to the hundreds of dollars I’ve spent on vaccinations and the fees I paid the county pound for the right to rescue Hank four years ago, it seems I also need to fork over twelve bones for a pet existence license.

No wonder the sorry dog thinks he deserves table scraps. No…table food!

Fees have long been a way for governmental bodies to increase revenues without technically raising taxes. It’s a way to skirt political pushback and still fill coffers.

Philosophically, I don’t often have a problem with charging users in accordance with the public services they consume. For example, the city adult basketball league should and does charge entry fees to defray the cost of courts and refs.

But taxing a man’s dog seems un-American, definitely un-Texan.

Cats on the other hand?… (Sorry, Pumpkin. You were low-hanging fruit.)

 

Kevin Thompson writes weekly for The Boerne Star. Follow him at www.kwt.info.

 

 

Kids said the darndest things in 2015

It’s time for my annual rewind of our kids’ memorable lines from the last year. I hope you can decipher some humor – and maybe a dash of truth – in the mini people’s musings. RIP, Art Linkletter.

As our 7-year-old gazed at a full moon behind some fast-moving clouds, he yelled to his 9-year-old brother, “Hey! Come look at how fast the moon is moving!”

Like a seasoned scientist, the elder brother strutted over to clarify the phenomenon, “The moon’s not moving,” he said with nonchalance. “We are.”

We have other naturalists in the bunch. One can diagnose pathologies in animals from a distance.

“Look! That squirrel is acting crazy. It probably has diabetes.”

Another brother is mastering life cycles.

“At first it’s a raccoon. Then it becomes a butterfly.”

His sister has mastered bedtime delay tactics. After I explained that all of her brothers were asleep, she said, “You need to stay with me. I feel a bad dream coming on.”

After some paternal soothing and insistence that she go to sleep, she bargained, “First, let me see your muscles.”

She clearly knows how to push my buttons.

At Cracker Barrel, I beat her in a game of checkers. She didn’t get mad, just even. “Daddy, give me your armpits. You get a tickle.”

While I was improving my self-esteem at the checkers table, the other kids were exploring toys and trinkets in the country store.

“I wish I could live here!” announced the 7-year-old. It does seem like a perfect fit: Santa’s workshop crossed with Grandma’s kitchen.

Candy brings out the worst in us. One of the twins had some; the other didn’t. In tears, the have-not pleaded, “But you’re supposed to share with me! We’re twins, remember?”

Once, when said twin was sick, she requested red Jell-O. When I said we didn’t have red Jell-O but that I could make her green Jell-O, she asked, “Does it taste the same as red Jell-O?”

During a devotional, I invited all the kids to think about a time they only thought about themselves.

When the 7-year-old struggled to grasp the concept, I suggested the episode where he stole a classmate’s ice cream ticket.

He clarified the situation, “I wasn’t thinking about myself. I was thinking about ice cream.”

Some things you only hear and see in a house full of boys. “Dad, look at this booger!”

“Dad, we found a frog and two garter snakes under the dog house!”

This excuse for not being able to help clean the kitchen: “I’m sick. I don’t want to spread my germs around.”

This explanation of the ants swarming food on the kitchen floor: “Those are our pet ants.”

And this admonition on the way into Home Depot: “Dad, don’t stare at all the stuff you don’t need.”

Sibling rivalry raises its head periodically. When the 11-year-old received a football MVP award at sports camp after throwing a touchdown pass to his younger brother, the 9-year-old said with a smile, “I should have dropped that pass.”

As all parents know, these years and these sayings go by fast. A 5-year-old captured how it feels: “Mom, what was today? Yesterday?”

Follow Kevin Thompson online at http://www.kwt.info.


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