First Time Fishermen

I don't remember the first time I went fishing or my first fish. As far as I know, there are no pictures to mark the occasion.

I've been hesitant to take my boys, ages 3 and 5, fishing, not knowing whether they were ready for it. Fishing requires patience, a virtue not exactly common among pre-schoolers and their waterbug attention spans.

Nevertheless, something inside me last week told me it was time. I made a big deal out of it in advance. I took them to a sporting goods store, where we bought new poles for them and bait.

The next morning, I had them out the door by 6:45 a.m. and on a Pleasure Island pier down on Sabine Lake by 7:30 a.m. By the looks on the faces of the anglers already there, fishing was not going so well.

I had yet to rig up the new poles but wanted to get going fast with the fishing, so I got one line from an old pole in the water.

Not 5 seconds later, the bobber went nuts, so I called over my firstborn, Curt, and had him reel in the fish, which turned out to be a small croaker.

The boys jumped for joy, and the fellow anglers' scowls deepened. Here they were, empty-netted, and along comes a dad with a bunch of noisy kids, and they catch a fish in seconds.

What I'd forgotten to lug down from the car was my cell phone, which has a camera. So with the fish pitifully croaking in my hand, we trudged back to the car and then returned to the pier, where I re-hooked the fish to ensure a better photo, which you can find below. I'm not a big fan of staged photos, but I had no choice.

We caught one more croaker, but then things got dull, and the boys got bored.

"I'm hungry."

"I'm thirsty."

"I need go potty."

"I need go poop."

"Daddy, can we go crabbing now?"

After 30 minutes of that, we bailed on the fishing and went to the north end of Pleasure Island for some crabbing, for which I'd brought some kite string, a net and some turkey necks.

It wasn't long before the crabs came scuttling around. However, they seemed to be rather wise, and the bigger ones fled before I could get them within netting distance.

Nevertheless, we did score two tiny crabs, which so terrified the boys that I decided to cut short the crabbing phase of the day's adventure.

We retreated to a playground, where we had a picnic lunch, and we all came home tired, dirty and smelly.

Not a bad way to make that first fishing adventure memorable.

Timewaster Of The Day-April 23

The Internet has infinite means of wasting time, but it also is an incredibly useful journalism tool.
From news sites, such as http://www.beaumontenterprise.com/, to YouTube, message boards and online games, the Internet is a black hole of work productivity as well as a critical information resource. Here, at The Enterprise, we're working like fire ants to beef up our online newspaper. The possibilities seem limitless.
Anyway, I get a ton of story ideas off the Internet, primarily by checking out online newspapers. But I also check out lots of message boards. There are Internet forums for fishermen, sports enthusiasts, rock 'n' roll bands and even one dedicated to women with curly hair.
Checking out these places not only yields story ideas but gives a glimpse of what people out there are talking about. In addition, I often see news break on a message board long before it goes up on CNN or the Associated Press wire. This happens because people nationwide are plugged into their local news sources, where stories often break first.
Of course, in addition to posted news, I also see a lot of links to online games, commonly known as "timewasters" in Internet circles. They're usually stupid and worthy of only a little time for the wasting, but they're fun for killing a few minutes late in the afternoon while I wait for the reporters to file their stories.
So, without further ado, I give you today's timewaster: Monkey Kick Off.

http://totebo.com/mko.php?c=qBorsBosBourrorFBoUBopBFossqsoV6Z3NouBrt

What the heck is THAT?

Living in Pinewood out in Hardin County means coexisting with snakes of all sizes and varieties.

Pinewood has every kind of venomous snake in North America, meaning water moccasins, copperheads, rattlesnakes and even the nasty coral snake.

Last summer, I often saw as many as three venomous snakes on a single five-mile run. One morning when it was barely light enough to see, I spotted a telltale dark shape on the road and barely had time to hurdle it. I stopped to give it a closer look, and sure enough, it was a fat cottonmouth slithering across the road. The snake was so confident of his abilities to take care of himself that he didn't even bother to coil when I approached. He just kind of turned his and looked at me as if to say, "YOU WANT SOME OF THIS?"

I didn't, so I trotted on. I've been wearing a headlamp on morning runs ever since.

This spring, I got my boys, ages 3 and 5, a big picture book about snakes, and I've made it a point to drill into them that every snake will bite, so run away from snakes.

Yesterday, the wife called to report that our new puppy, Jack, a sort of cur dog-border collie-beagle mix, had delivered a present to a back door step, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. She said it was slinky and snake-looking.

"Does it have legs?" I asked.

"Yeah, it does," she said.

"Then it's a skink. They're harmless," I said.

However, when I got home from work and went to the back yard to check it out, I discovered that, yes, it was a skink, but not entirely.

Jack had accosted a king snake that had eaten a skink. By some freak sequence of chewing, the snake's tail had been chewed off, and half a skink was hanging out of the hole.

I've seen some of those bizarre pictures of snakes that have eaten, or tried to eat, creatures such as crocodiles, humans and whatnot, but I've never seen anything like this.

Unfortunately, two of the good guys, one that eats bugs and one that eats dangerous snakes, fell victim to Jack's emerging snake-hunting prowess.

I can only imagine how interesting the summer months will get, as more snakes come out and Jack continues to get bigger.

Driving, Cell Phones Don't Mix

The driver straddled two freeway lanes, doing about 45 mph and creating a vehicular log jam in his wake. Sure, the minimum speed limit was 45, but the maximum was 65, and this guy surely didn't have the right to mindlessly hog two lanes.
The slow-moving procession continued for about a half mile before the driver slowly, seemingly unintentionally, drifted back into the outside slow lane where he belonged.
Seizing the moment, I moved to the inside, hit the gas and got around the guy.
We've all seen this before, and often it's an elderly driver, one who knows their reaction time and alertness isn't what it used to be. So they drive slow and cautious, usually staying in that outside lane.
But more and more, I'm noticing the wandering turtles of the road are drivers using cell phones.
In the aforementioned case, it was a young guy, maybe in his 30s, cluelessly blabbering away on his phone while creating a potentially dangerous traffic situation behind him last week on U.S. 69 in Beaumont.
This kind of thing makes me furious, and I usually lay on the horn to let the driver know he's causing a big problem out there. I've even written a song about it, entitled "GET OFF THE PHONE!!!!" I'm still waiting for the record deals to pour in before I release it to the general public.
Anyway, defensive driving instructors will tell you that slow-moving drivers are the most dangerous thing on the road, and a slow-moving, cell-phone-using distracted driver poses an even bigger threat.
I'll admit that I've talked on the cell phone while driving, but I hate doing it and usually keep the calls down to a few seconds rather than minutes or even hours, as I'm sure some of my fellow motorists enjoy doing.
A few days ago, some loved ones on my wife's side of the family up in Virginia got into a nasty car accident, thanks to a guy who was reaching around for his cell phone, didn't pay attention to his driving and crashed into them.
Thankfully, no one was seriously injured, but the victimized vehicle's occupants included a 1-year-old child and a pregnant woman. I hope the offending driver got ticketed to the moon, and he'll be lucky to not face a lawsuit.
Cases such as this underscore why states, particularly Texas, which has the highest rate of roadway carnage in the land, need to put the smack down on those who use their cell phones while driving.
Sure, most people can use their cell phones and drive without incident. But the same thing can be said for those who drink and drive. The percentage of drunken drivers on the road who get away with it is likely much, much higher than the number of drunken drivers who don't. One aspect to my own defensive-driving technique is assuming every other driver out there is drunk, much in the way that every gun is loaded.
Because of some drivers' inability to call and drive, their cell phone usage in a moving vehicle should be every bit as illegal as drunken driving, not using proper restraints and leaving kids in a locked car in a parking lot. If nothing else, there should be enormous penalties for those who cause an accident while being distracted with a cell-phone call.
Driving is the most dangerous thing we do on a routine basis. One small error can result in horrific tragedy in a blink.
In 2000 alone, 41,821 people were killed nationwide in traffic accidents, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Texas, where a nation-high 3,769 died that year, accounted for about 9 percent of the U.S. total.
The Iowa Civic Analysis Network, using NHTSA data, estimated in a November 2006 report that distracted driving - which includes cell phone usage - accounts for 25 percent of the nation's traffic accidents. Since 1995, cell phone use has jumped more than 600 percent nationwide, with more than 10 million cell phone subscribers in 2005, the study says. The NHTSA estimated that up to 70 percent of these subscribers used cell phones while driving.
However, what's missing from the national cell phone picture, as far as I can tell, is recent data on traffic fatalities.
Shockingly, the Texas Department of Public Safety's most recent figures come from 2001, according to an Austin-based DPS spokeswoman I contacted Tuesday. The number of cell phone accidents increased an eye-popping 44.1 percent from 2000 to 2001. There were 1,032 such accidents in 2001 and 716 the previous year. The phone-related fatalities were seven in 2000 and eight in 2001.
That's just a fraction when compared to the alcohol-related traffic deaths: 1,005 in 2001 and 1,047 the previous year in Texas.
However, there hasn't been any cell-phone studies since then. They should do one of those tests similar to the ones they do for drinking, where the drivers get liquored up and try to navigate an obstacle course. Instead of alcohol, the test would involve drivers using a cell phone while maneuvering through the course.
As of November 2006, 18 states, including Texas, and Washington, D.C., had laws regulating driver cell phone use. The most common legislation limited use of cell phones by teens and school bus drivers. Lawmakers in California, Connecticut, D.C., New Jersey and New York have passed laws banning driver cell phone use. In Texas, the cell phone law applies only to teens and school bus drivers.
However, it is probably time for the state that has the nation's highest rate of road deaths to ban cell phone usage for drivers or at least come up with stiff penalties for those who create hazards, accidents and death for their fellow motorists.

My Kids Got More Eggs Than Yours

I don't remember how old I was. Perhaps I was around 5 or 6, or about the same age as my older son.

Mom took me to some Houston country club for an Easter egg hunt, and I had confidence that I would come away with a basket of eggs too heavy to carry. However, it was my first mass egg hunt out of the comforts of our family back yard, where my little sister was my only competition.

Alas, when the starting gun went off at the country club, I proved to be slower and less experienced than the other kids. There were three special eggs: gold, silver and bronze. The lucky kids who scored those eggs got some superduper prize.

I got the proverbial rock, as Charlie Brown might say.

I didn't get the gold, silver or bronze. In fact, I hardly got any eggs at all. I got smoked by kids far more experienced on the egg battlefield. They had the speed and eye-hand coordination to ensure that the rookies came up with little more than goose eggs.

So, with bitter memories of that day still vivid in my mind almost four decades later, I have taken it upon myself to become a coach, mentor and drill sergeant when it comes to my sons' Easter hunt battlefield bravery.

Both my boys had some tune-up matches prior to the Mother of All Egg Battles up at the church Saturday morning.

My little guy, Luke, got to go first versus the 0- to 3-year-olds. Sure, he got a lot of eggs, but he got too particular, often picking up and eyeballing an egg, often setting it down. Nevertheless, he managed to emerge from the playground with a basket overflowing with Easter booty.

The main event, for my eldest, Curt, lay ahead. At 5, he had to square off with what looked like hundreds of other kids in the 4- to 7-year-old age group.

This was going to be a chaotic, potentially bloody, engagement, and I gave Curt a critical pre-hunt pep talk:

Dad: "Son, it's going to be tough out there! There are going to be 6- and 7-year-olds out there! You have to be fast! You have to be strong!"

Curt: "Yes, daddy!"

Dad: "ARE YOU READY FOR THIS? ARE YOU?"

Curt: "Yes, daddy!"

Dad: "LET ME SEE YOUR WAR FACE!"

Curt: < : - )

Dad: "THAT'S THE SPIRIT!"

The battlefield was strewn with what looked like thousands of colorful plastic eggs, hundreds of which I'd volunteered to help throw out.

Looking like a pre-battle scene out of "Braveheart," children and parents lined up as the pastor began the countdown to the frenzy.

Curt was like a caged tiger, so much so that when the go-ahead was given, he took off running with so much enthusiasm that he went about 100 yards and passed up hundreds of eggs before he stopped to pick one up.

He quickly got into the groove, though, and managed to pile up a respectable basket full of eggs.

My boys might not yet be the egg hunters I never was, but with a year of hard drills, practice and conditioning, I'm confident I can get them there.

Train Spotting

So much about trains stirs the soul.
For a boy, they are loud, big, fast and scary. Boys need loud, big fast and scary every bit as much as they do vegetables, vitamins, puppies that nip their heels, fascinating bugs, Saturday morning cartoons and, of course, their momma, particularly when things get too intense.
But to really experience a passing train, one needs to go to a small country town, where crossing guards hold back farmers and ranchers in their pickup trucks, where the urban distractions can't detract from visceral punch.
When I was a kid growing up in Houston, long before beltways and gargantuan interstates, I could lie in bed at night and hear them about two miles away as they moved alongside the Katy Freeway. I rarely got to experience them up close, and when I did, it was usually in a long line of cars full of hurried, impatient people who preferred to not have to wait for a train.
Today, those tracks are long gone, replaced by an ever-expanding freeway project, one that didn't need to happen had Houston voters and city leaders had the vision to prevent their horrific traffic problems through one simple solution: trains. The ever-busy Beltway 8 and Katy Freeway have ensured that even if the old trains were still there, their lonely whistles wouldn't stand a chance against vehicular traffic's constant hiss.
As a nation, we've neglected the train and all that it can do for us. We fell in love with the automobile, and it becomes a bigger, more expensive mess every passing year. Imagine if we were like Europe and could use an all-inclusive pass to take advantage of an extensive, high-speed rail system that could whisk us all over the nation without the ridiculous air-travel costs and hassles or the time, dangers, expense and inconvenience of driving a car.
Alas, commercial trains dominate the U.S. railroad system, and passenger service has become a sad, tired, underutilized shell of its former self.
But that doesn't mean trains still can't be romantic and awe-inspiring, particularly for a young boy.
Every school day morning, I drive my son, Curt, from Pinewood all the way to the small town of China. It's about a 25-minute drive, no matter which route you take. There are lots of routes to take, but I'll save that story for another day.
These days, the primary drive-time topic is whether there will be a train. The trains along U.S. Highway 90 don't seem to be on a regular schedule, so we never know whether we'll see one.
Several times, while crossing the tracks near China, we've spotted a train way off in the distance. So we'll pull up next to a crossing and wait, taking in the experience, which goes in the following 10 steps:

1.) anticipation.
2.) first glimpse.
3.) hear the first horn blast from a little ways off.
4.) crossing guard goes ding-ding-ding as it goes down.
5.) ear-splitting horn blast.
6.) frantic waving at the conductor, who usually waves back.
7.) train loudly rumbles by.
8.) last train car passes.
9.) crossing guard goes ding-ding-ding as it goes up.
10.) we roll up the windows and head off for school, talking about train speed, loudness, size, etc.

This morning, we enhanced the experience by getting out of the car. The train became louder, bigger, faster and scarier than ever before. The conductor waved like crazy at us. I even found a couple of rusty, discarded railroad nails to keep as souvenirs.
Following a round of high-fives, Curt and I hurried off to school, excitedly talking about the train the rest of the way.
The experience underscores myriad reasons why we moved to the country. Here, folks take simple pleasures in what city folks too often take for granted as they rush from Point A to Point B, selfishly blabbering on their cell phones as their kids sit in the back seat and mindlessly stare at video screens or lose themselves in addicting video games.
That's why we don't have - and never will have - a DVD player in the car. If the kids need something to keep themselves occupied, they can look out the window, engage in conversation, play made-up games or bug each other.
That way, when a train, a hawk sitting on a powerline, an interesting patch of flowers, a bloody pile of road kill or some highway oddity comes along, they will neither miss it nor take it for granted.