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As parents we fill many roles: jester, counselor, disciplinarian, teacher, student. I know children mirror what they see and hear, however, this one has me boggled. I have decided that I am boring. My daughter finds me utterly useless at times and resorts to slapping, biting, and walking away as her attention atrophies. I sing and dance and make a fuss — She could care less. In an effort to keep her entertained we resolved to purchase discrete pieces of high cinema: Shrek was our selection this month. In desperate moments we have purchased Barney, Sesame Street, and Disney — we thought that our friends at Pixar would serve us well. Grace talks. She speaks in short burts, hiccups of speech and single syllable words punctuated by ooohhhs and aaahhhs that make sense to her mother and I. She puts together primitive sentences. We fancy her as bright, gifted. We are proud parents. She is capable of making the “Sh” sound but lacks the “r”. One could imagine her uttering “Shek” or “Shk” or something benign. It would seem that the Grace of God has smiled fondly upon me and laughed: my daughter pronounces “Shreck” as “Cock”. Yep . . . cock. She is proud; she is proud of her new word and the confidence that it brings. She finds it necessary to exclaim it to everyone we see. She says it at terribly inconvenient times: church, family gatherings, stores, walking in public. She will look at you sweetly and say, “I want cock!”. It is precise, clear, and unmistakable. We are mortified. So which am I: jester, counselor, disciplinarian, teacher, or student? I am blessed.

While waiting at the gate for my flight to Chicago, I happened to witness the most egregious display of hillbilly social ineptitude imaginable. The gate next to ours was outbound to Houston, and it showed. The usual throngs of neat and durable business people were mixed with toothless, mullet bedecked passengers doing what passengers do best: waiting. Most passed the time in ordinary ways: listening to music, reading, eating, sharing a spot of light conversation. As we surveyed the gate my wife and I were both transfixed by the same victorian sensibility shocking behavior: a man leafing through a copy of Playboy. I admit that I was impressed; it takes enormous brass balls to plop down at your gate, snap into a Slim Jim, and unfurl the Playboy centerfold. As we stared in disbelief, a pair of young women in close proximity to our antagonist expressed their displeasure in an audible and obvious way. In his defense, the man simply stated that the news stand had run out of Sports Illustrated. What else was he to do?

While reading a review during a lull in my TechServices shift, I came across one of the many adverts for VoIP service. This one, however, was special.

VoIP experst???? What the hell? I have tried for some time to not notice errors like this, but my world is rife with them. Technical documentation, once known for its high standards, is no longer. Product collateral and reviews — the same persistent issues: lack of quality and oversight. Perhaps we need to get back to basics. Perhaps we need more copy editors.