There are a lot of terms that get tossed around descibing someone who does not spend money. Cheap. Miserly. Stingy. I “work out regularly” at my local fitness center with Tom. Now I don’t want to say Tom is cheap, but when I look up the definition of “cheap” in the dictionary, Tom’s picture is there. Tom is not broke, he is cheap. He has central air conditioning in his house but he doesn’t run it on because “it costs money”. I told him if he goes the whole summer without running his “central air”, I would feature him in a blog. Guess what? Mr. Cheapskate couldn’t hold out and he turned on his air conditioner yesterday. Not to full cooling effectiveness, but the conditioner was on. Even he couldn’t stand the sweltering heat. Because he relented and turned on the air conditioner, my offer is off. I will not mention him in a blog.
Grandson Tommy played baseball game in Sheboygan last evening. His team won 8-1 and is on a two game winning streak. Tom walked, got a couple of base hits, stole a couple of bases and scored twice. Way to go Thomas. As we left the baseball park, Tommy’s coach was demonstrating how he should make a bigger turn on the ball, get his a– into the swing and drive the ball further and harder. Listen to your Coach Tommy! Use your a–.
Growing up as a kid, you know I played a lot of “youth” baseball. A lot of “youth parks” had short fence distances so that a well struck pitch ball could be driven over the wall. It was a rare occurance but every young kid dreamed of “hitting the big home run” over the fence, trotting around the bases and being mobbed by his team-mates. No, I don’t remember a drive over the wall. Last night, a player on Tommy’s team (Nate) drove the ball over the wall. Everybody was stunned! I do know this, Nate will always remember his home run from last night. He for one short moment, lived the dream. It indeed was memorable.
Don’t be stubborn like my cheap exercise partner Tom, turn on your air conditioner. Staying cool is pricelss. The dog days of summer are just beginning.
Love,
Dad