New Poll

A new poll has been added! By mom's request the question is, "Which Rohde Brother loves mom the most?"

Obviously, this poll won't reveal anything new. I mean, everyone knows that I love mom the most, but I will probably not win the poll.

You have almost three weeks to vote.

Punishment

This post is, in part, about spankings. Please know that all four of us Rohde Boys firmly believe we have the greatest parents ever and just about the healthiest possible upbringing. I am not trying to give the impression that my folks were vicious or violent or even that they enjoyed punishing us. Only that they did punish us (almost always deservedly so), and there are some humorous memories that came from it.

When we were little, I think that one of the many good nicknames for mom would have been "The Punisher." Some people say you should never spank your children because you'll squelch their personality. Well, as Mark Lowry once said, "I'm here to tell you Momma squelched my personality all over the house!" When mom was the one doing the spanking, she came at us with a belt. And she made it clear that she'd aim for our butts, but anything we put in the way was going to get it. If we wouldn't turn around, or if we put our hands back there as protection they would get hit (and getting smacked with a belt in the hands hurts a HECKUVALOT worse than getting hit with one in the butt). It was painful. It was punishment. And it made us sorry for what we'd done and try not to ever do it again.

A good nickname for dad probably would have been "Good Try Guy." He was kind of a softie. He spanked with his hand (which doesn't hurt nearly as much as a belt). He was trying to punish us, but he was probably afraid that with his size and his strength, if he really unloaded on us we'd fly through a wall (which may have been true). So he held up a little on his spankings. I remember one time trying not to laugh through one of dad's spankings.

Of course, much of this didn't end up mattering for me very much. I didn't get in trouble that often (not to toot my own horn *toot toot*). I learned from watching my older, wiser, more mischievous brother who would get into trouble and in the process illustrate quite clearly the location of the "line" that wasn't to be crossed. Joel had to eat soap a lot growing up as punishment for talking back to mom and dad. I think he actually acquired a taste for it.


Another punishment that was "inflicted" on more than one occasion came when Joel and I got into a fight. Mom would make us stand in the middle of the living room and hug. We were required to stand there and hug for 10 minutes. For me, this was torture. Probably a worse punishment than spankings or dish soap-eating. For Joel, however, it was (or at least it appeared to be) some kind of reward. I think he enjoyed it. Before long he'd be making jokes and singing and a whole bunch of other things that were incredibly annoying for someone who was fuming mad at him.


Brothers, any other punishment stories/methods come to mind? Readers, what about you? How did/do your parents punish you?

Poll results: Mom's favorite

The poll to the right has been closed for awhile now, but I've failed to give you a "and the winner is..." post until now. Sorry!

The question: Which Rohde Brother is Mom's Favorite?

In fourth place was Jaron with 2 votes (11%).
Tied for second place were Joel and Jake, each receiving 4 votes (23%).
And the big winner was Jase, who pulled in a whopping 7 votes (41%).
(If anyone's wondering where the other 2% of votes went, so am I.)

We all know that these poll results don't mean anything, but I would especially like to point out the drastic misunderstanding that you all seem to have. When the Rohde family gets together it is quite clear that Jaron is mom's favorite (I'm saying this mostly because I know it'll get a rise out of you, mom). Yet only 2 of you voted for him.

Anyway, there is no new poll posted at this point, because I couldn't come up with anything good to ask you all. If you comment on this post with suggestions for poll ideas, maybe I'll put a new one up there!

Remember widgets...good times I tell ya good times

Lyrics

When we were young mom was never at a loss for a song to sing. Often these songs were packed with silly and fun lyrics. I can't remember most of the lyrics to these songs and I would like have them so I can teach Gabriel. Can you all help me out on the lyrics to songs like Mr. and Mrs. Johnny Quebec and the donuts store one and others like it.

Washing dishes

Our family never owned a dishwasher. Unless you count my brothers and I.

We hated doing dishes. It's not like we had a lot of chores to do, but washing the dishes was one of them, and we hated it. Since there were four of us and we wanted to be fair, the rule was that everyone would wash 5 dishes and then call in the next brother for his turn. Four pieces of silverware were equal to one regular dish. If there were big pots and pans, those often counted as two dishes.

Nobody wanted to get stuck with the big pots and pans. They were a huge pain. We'd all rather wash twenty bowls, cups and plates than get stuck washing a single dirty pot. And so, if you were first or second in "line" to do dishes, you could control your own destiny. You would wash all of the bowls and plates and cups, and make sure that there were fewer than 15 dishes left in the sink when you were finished, so that there would be no way that your turn could come around again before all the dishes were done.

Jaron was the pickiest of us all. If his turn came around and there were only 1 or 2 plates and cups, and the rest of the dishes were big pots, he'd be furious. And so, he'd scour the house looking for more dishes he could wash so that his turn would be over. He would often come into the living room and find someone who still had a glass of juice, or some leftover dish from dinner, and ask if that person was finished with their dish. If they weren't, he would wait 'em out. I wouldn't be surprised if Jaron stashed extra bowls in his bedroom for occasions such as these. I'm not sure that kid ever washed a big pot. Stubborn and lazy? or creative genius? You tell me.

A Poem

For my poetry class, we are supposed to write a poem about a place we knew when we were growing up.  After writing the poem, I felt that it would fit nicely into this blog as well.  So here it is!
The World Behind 916 West Third Street

From the back door to the train tracks
And fence to fence the other way
That patch of land was whatever we wanted it to be
Whatever would let us play whatever we wanted
Whenever we wanted to play

Sometimes it was a driving range
Hitting the dirty golf balls we could steal from Dad's bag
With the club we stole from Dad's bag
Hoping the farmer who owned the field
Didn't mind the balls too much.

Sometimes it was the perfect space we needed
To let out all the string on our 99 cent kite
Then to tie on the extra string and let it out too
Until the kite was like an inverse star
Black against the white sky

Sometimes it was Candlestick Park
The perfect backdrop for our baseball games
Where we could count hitting it to the field as a homerun
Or where our only bases were the tree and the shed
So we would run back and forth until the ball was retrieved

When there was corn in the field it had different uses
We could pee wherever we wanted without anyone seeing
My brothers could scare me with tales of murderers in the corn
We could test the knowledge that it's easy to get lost out there
Or we could jump on the trampoline to try and see the train

When there were beans in the field you couldn't do that
Every other year would disappoint with the beans
The beans that only changed the field enough
So that we could no longer find the white balls we hit
And baseballs were basically done for if they went in

From the back door to the train tracks
And fence to fence the other way
We ruled that land
It was ours
And it was whatever we told it to be

Poll #2: Survivor

Thanks to everyone who voted in the second poll, "If your plane crash landed on a deserted island, which Rohde brother would best help you to survive?"

Here are the results:

Coming in dead last was yours truly with only 2 votes, or 8% of the vote (apparently, I'm not much of a survivor man).
Tied for second place were Joel and Jase, each receiving just 3 votes (13% apiece).
Winning this poll quite handily was the handiest Rohde brother, Jaron, with a whopping 15 votes (65%).

There's a new poll up. Read it. Contemplate it. Vote in it.

Thanks.

The Fabled "Brother Smother"

It is an elusive beast.  Only a few humans in the history of mankind have ever seen it in its entirety.  While many have seen lesser versions, involving two brothers, I am only aware of two people who have felt this phenomenon from the complete collection of all four.  I am, of course, talking about the "Brother Smother".  While most think the Four Rohde Smother only exists in fiction, I assure you, it has happened.  Correct me brothers if I'm wrong, but I believe Pastor Dan Schoepf of Muscatine, IA and Mother Lisa Rohde of Santa Maria, CA are the only two humans to ever have experienced the Four Rohde Smother (Brian Rohde was also involved in the Lisa Rohde incident). Rather than explain this complicated occurrence, I will merely post a photo.  This photo is not for the faint of heart.  Parents, shield your children's eyes.  They may not be ready for the sheer power this photo represents.

It wasn't me! It was JOEL!

(I've got plenty of post ideas, and even though I don't want to "hog the blog," I'll do it if nobody else wants to write anything!)

My most embarrassing moment came in band class my junior year. I'd been playing the tuba for about one semester. I'd come a long way in that semester, but I wasn't great. And I was the only tuba player in the band, so I needed some backup.

That's where Joel came in. Joel is sort of a musically-inclined guy. He can play the piano, guitar, drums, trombone, didgeridoo, Peter Pan pipe, spoons, and even hacky sack. And during the second semester of my junior year in high school, he learned the tuba. Our band director assigned him to play the tuba with me for a couple of songs because a) even though he'd never played the tuba before, our director knew he could pick it up quickly for just a couple songs, and b) I needed the help or no one would be able to hear the tuba part in the songs.

I tell you that to tell you this: we were sitting next to each other in band class. Our band director was sitting at the front of the room speaking to the class. There was no music being played. Until Joel decided to unleash that natural tuba within.

He farted. Loudly.

Before anyone could react Joel snapped a look in my direction and gasped as if to say, "Jake! I can't believe you just farted!" Everyone took his reaction to mean that I was the culprit (which, of course, I was not). Unfortunately, there was not a whole lot I could do to change the perception. It was too late to deny it. Joel's reaction said it all: I was guilty.

Everyone in the class giggled and pointed at me. I sat there and turned red. And vowed never to speak to my brother again. What a jerk.

*In case you're sitting there in suspense and wondering, I have, in fact, spoken to Joel since this incident... but only once or twice. Reluctantly.