A horrific accident happened today in Orange county. Five people dead. Three in hospital fighting for their lives.
There is no such thing as an accident to begin with. The final catastrophe begins much earlier. Unfortunately, not everyone is lucky enough to receive Air Force training that teaches a student to smell a bullet coming at him.
I had four children. Or rather, the girl I married had them. We did more arguing more times than doing any sex. The children being one of the issues. Her being a religious fanatic in the JW clan, everything had to go her way, being under direct heavenly orders, resulting in getting her way about nothing. One law: ‘spare not the rod.’ I had to threaten her. If she put a hand on a child, she would get a fist in return. Me being a strict disciplinarian caused her church people to make a legal move to have the children taken away from me. They did not agree with my kind of discipline: Psychology. No rods. For a couple examples. A call came from a teacher that my son got into a fight on the bus. “Madam” I said, “I can assure you this will never happen again.” Her response; “Mister Bauer, you are the first parent to not fight and argue and threaten to have me fired.” That a bit of a sad commentary in itself. When the children addressed me, they had to stand at attention. Being fresh out of the Air Rescue Service, I described what mangled bodies look like. To his mothers howling that I would stint him psychologically for life. “How would you have felt, Mister Scott, if the bus driver got distracted because of your fight, hit a tree, and twenty kids were laying in the ditch, with brains oozing out of their skulls? In these situations, there are no second chances. The right decision must be made immediately. Since you did not have enough character to contain the dispute without getting into a stupid fight, you can no longer ride the bus. You walk to school.” His mother exploding with rain sleet and snow. “Your mother is right Mister Scott. You cannot walk. So you must run. Don’t let me come behind you to see you not running, because I do not want to be fighting with your mother if you are late.” I have never given one of them a single penny. Another contentious issue with their mother, who wanted to keep them babies, playing with toys, One of them, just one time, asked me for something. My response; “You came to the wrong place. I’m broke. But I can show you how to make the money to buy what you want.” And that was at five and six years old. When my two sons were ten and twelve, a gentleman named Adeline Moniz called to ask me to build him a house. I took the job solely for thinking it was high time for the boys to make their own living. A lot of people would like to be in the financial condition they are. Scott was the only one to give me a little bit of trouble, like the school bus incident. But nothing close to what other parents go through. His Web site: ‘Boston Shower’ He lives in a house that resembles a British Castle. He has a sales crew that go from Connecticut to the Canadian border. He spends twenty minutes, maybe a half hour sometimes, in the office. Rest of the day is in the gym. Looks like Arnold Swarzenegger. He clears for himself, on average, after all expenses, $10,000 a week. His old brother is doing even better. A three hundred million dollar Florida development. Not all his money. Has investors. But completely his operation. He has done a dozen big money projects. All made money. I came home once from overseas, to find Scott, at age 17, in the roofing business. He had a Bobcat, two trucks, nothing financed and not any money from me. I had not even heard about the roofing. I jumped into the truck, going with him to a job. On our way out, he said: “Johnny and I both agreed the old man is nuts. But he taught us how to make money.” Had to be back handed with him. Unable to just say; ‘thank you Father’ Hate to brag, my little daughter was a genius. Another call came from the school, saying there is something wrong with her. That she is a recluse. Has no friends. Just walks into the teachers room at will and begins gabbing. She also happened to be quite good looking, getting her looks from her mother, not I, and prematurely developed physically. I went to her bedroom. “Lisa” I ask, “why don’t you have any friends?” She gave me a quizzical look. “You want to come talk to the kids in my class?” No more discussion necessary. She was ten. Wife and I planned on the movies. When she called the baby sitter, I ordered her to hang up. “So we’re not going.” “Yes, just get in the car.” I knew what ruckus would be coming. Which had me snarl; “I have a daughter who has left more brains in the bathroom than your eighteen year old babysitter has.” “Than we can’t go.” “Yes, we are going. I want to see the movie. Now get in the car!!!” “If something happens” the wife screeched “it’s all on you!” “Nothing is going to happen. I can trust my little girl with my life. Now shut up and get in the car.” I can still see the daughters eyes, silently looking up at me. What little girl is going to disappoint her father that displayed so much confidence in her? We drove around to the next street, parked the car in someone’s driveway I had previously asked for permission to do so, came back through the woods, to where I had a blanket, with a cooler on it, food, snacks and drinks, able to hear every word spoken in the house. Reached up to see in the window, my daughter, like a little mother hen, her two brothers, one on each knee, reading to them. She took to my flying lessons like a duck to water. I soloed her in two hours. At the same level students in a civilian flight school get to in eighteen and twenty hours. We went to an airshow on the Base. She’s in a tight sexy dress, high heels, lipstick, earrings. She met a Lieutenant who flew the same planes I did. They began dating. Untill he discovered she’s 13. She never got pregnant. Not into any vices. And thanks to me, knew how to defend herself against any adversity. Have a little bad news for the people who want to stuff me into a Nazi gas chamber. They’ll need stand in line. I have a simple question. What is more important in a young persons life. Between ten and twenty or twenty to fifty. If someone knows by twenty what the average person learns by forty, would that not be better. I happened not to have had any childhood myself. I grew up in Germany during difficult times. We only knew work and surviving. In America at 14. In two years, making enough money to build my first mortgage free house at 16. For one reason; I got married. Recently, my son showed me a picture of a house on Google. Confused, I asked; “why are you showing me this?” “You don’t recognize it?” “No, why should I?” “You built it.” It took a minute for me to remember. That house is located on the corner of Jones Road and Bauer Lane in the town of Falmouth Massachusetts. At 16 I was developing land. A total of three small developments. Getting the land on consignment, not one dollar down, from three land owners, Charlie Botelho, Harold Moye and Eddie Anderson. Pay as I sell the houses. Until I ran into something, at about the thirtieth house stage, that made developing and building houses seem like the coffee money. SO anyone who wants to argue with me about how to raise children can try. I doubt if they can produce the results I had. On one family outing to McDonalds, my son, Scott, was not behaving as I thought he should. I said not one word about it. On the next occasion to go out, as we head for the door, I look over at him; “You cannot come.” His mother began with the usual feisty objection. “Because he has not yet learned how to behave in public.” Looking over at him; “and now, because of you Great Scott, your sister cannot go with us either. She needs to stay home because you have not yet demonstrated that you can be trusted.” Nothing like it ever happened again. It only took once. We must have made, with the whole crew, a dozen trips to Florida for the winter. Not on the whole trip, not one time, did one of them make a sound. My winter home at the time was in Dania. They were the only white children in the school. Judging how they turned out as adults, it does not appear there were any ill effects because of it. Are schools supposed to be the trainers on the way of life for the children or is that the parents responsibility. I could come up with a dozen real examples of the results my children had for no more reason than being well behaved and mannerly. I brought the boys with me on a visit to a friend named William Duarte. Upon meeting Mister Duarte, they stood quietly at attention. Not due to any instructions from me, Just normal for them, answering every question with; “Yes Sir and No Sir.” His wife Lorraine, fell in love with the boys. She could not hug them enough and do enough for them. For the next twenty five years, they sent the boys expensive Christmas presents,