So many products disappoint us.  You see advertisements, you expect a magical ride in a new car, then you find it doesn’t accelerate the way you’d like, the gas mileage doesn’t live up to its sticker and the seat gives you a pain in your hamstring if you’re in it for more than an hour.

We are so relentlessly assaulted by ads in so many ways that very few people in our information-soaked world probably even think about it.  We look at things on TV, the Internet or in magazines and see they are shiny and new.  Humans morph into cartoon figures, then leap through the air as if on wings, and we never think twice about it.

We watch, and these created scenes and images get absorbed by our senses.  On some primordial level, it activates our desire:  We want the object.  We feel it.  It will do good things.

Not really though.  That’s why we consistently get disappointed. Our expectations are too high.  Based on the advertising world’s perspective, the products we buy will never live up to the standard set by the projected image.  We should plan on being unhappy repeatedly or at least cynical and sarcastic.  That would help each of us accept our daily reality of the broken dishwasher, our need to replace the air conditioner or paying for a broken lawnmower after it fell apart.

It’s astonishing when we run across something that gains our complete endorsement.  But those products and services are out there.

Here’s one:  “5 Rain Gum.”  I chew gum to help with digestion and to try and keep from cramming sweets down my throat during the afternoon at work.   For this, I don’t need much to keep me happy.

But, at the same time, after trying multiple gums and finding them lacking, I settled on Rain.  The problems with other gums are probably ones you’ve encountered:

·         After 10 minutes (or perhaps 30), the taste is gone.  You chew and chew and wonder why you are chewing because it lost flavor.

·         Once you work the gum into its soft consistently, very quickly it hardens.   You have to chew with so much power in your jaw that it feels like your teeth jackhammer the gum to keep it pliant.

·         Texture quickly becomes lost.  It may sound weird, but each gum does have a specific texture.  Many lose it soon after you pop it in your mouth.

5 Rain might or might not have set out to resolve these problems.  Because I don’t work for the company and don’t know anybody who does, I can’t answer that question.

What I can tell you is that 5 Rain jacks the ball out of the park when it comes to maintaining taste, pliability and long-term texture.  It’s astounding.  The greatest thing is it continues to keep me happy years after I’ve begun chewing it.

In fact, my family now steals the gum from me.  We buy a big box at Costco.  It must hold 10 packs.  I take one.  By the time I go back for my second pack, there is only one left.  Where’d they all go?   Hmmmm, with three other people still home in our house, each of them must have taken at least two.

Maybe they are squirreling theirs away.  Maybe I should squirrel mine away.

They better keep making this product forever (http://www.wrigley.com/global/brands/5-gum.aspx).  Otherwise I’ll have to pretend like the end of the world is coming and hoard it for future generations.  And even 5 Rain couldn’t sustain its freshness then.

Supporting the next generation isn’t as simple as it might seem.  When you become a parent, part of your role (if not your major one) is to turn out a fully functioning adult who doesn’t pillage villages or launch nuclear weapons indiscriminately.

You work hard to teach your kids the right things, to be polite, share with others, listen, make decisions by exercising the brain they were given.  Along the way, you get to see results, both good and bad.

In the course of parenting, you hope to take your children places so they learn and grow, see other cities, countries, and cultures if economically feasible, and experience how others live.  We’ve been able to give our kids some excellent formative experiences as my jobs have moved our family around the U.S.

Camping, vacations and weekend trips have all afforded us time to share some beautiful scenery and enjoy being out in primitive surroundings that require you to depend heavily on your instincts and ability to survive.  Rainbows, sunsets, the ocean, the great Lake Superior, acres and acres of untouched northern forests are all incredible things we’ve been able to immerse our senses in.

It’s been a great ride.  We’ve experienced places I never expected we’d visit.   So why do I feel like something is slipping away?  There are still many landmarks I’d like to see, but it’s about more than just that urge.

There’s something about seeing your kids taking off on their own, experiencing the things they want, and exploring where they want, that takes you back to your own earlier years.  Part of that becomes a nostalgia tour.  You relive memories.  More than that though, it gets you thinking about your life, where you’ve been and why, and how at a certain point, you start turning over the keys to the next generation.  It’s their turn.

My wife and I discuss this transition with our three kids.   We hope we’ve prepared them for the world, the obstacles they’ll face, and the challenges they must overcome.  A broad set of experiences prepares you for the ball ricocheting back into your face.  Traveling helps give you that extra perspective to handle the lumps.

Our son Kirby recently got the opportunity to hike the Grand Canyon.  Thankfully, I’ve never wanted to hike it, so there’s no envy or jealously.”

When he got the invite, I was psyched for him, “What a great experience for an 18-year-old young man.  He’ll love it.”  He did, and he texted photos, so we got the modern day rundown on the trip.

But it left me continuing to think about how he’s heading out now, and he has a new world to experience and that he owns his life.   It’s a great stage, but it also sets the parent back because you remember how wide open everything seemed, the opportunities to experience the world.

That hasn’t gone away.  But the feeling has changed.   As your kids leave the house, you free up time for your own new experiences, but they are the dreams of an older man and tinged with a different fantasy about what constitutes fun, excitement and joy.

It’s odd.  You don’t think of these stages until you enter them.  You can only live through them, and adjust to the currents.

Plug on, add something that you look forward to in your future plans.  That’s a good tip our mother gave us as she got older.  It’s a good one to remember.

I don’t need to hike the Grand Canyon, but I would like to see Niagara Falls again.   Just not in a barrel.  That’s for the younger days.  

A jellyfish is spineless. It’s only part of the definition, but it’s something that comes to mind when you think of the creature.

When someone is a wimp and lies down like a sheep, you think what a pushover that person is.  Jellyfish.

There are a lot of jellyfish in the sea.  They come in many denominations, work in all capacities throughout the world, and populate every country.  They act like milquetoast.  They roll along with anything, backing down when things get tough.

They have no opinions, or if they do, you never hear them.  They hide.

Business jellyfish abound.  You see them in grey cubicles, heads down, nodding vigorously whenever someone speaks in a meeting, “I agree with that,” whatever “that” might be.  They don’t offer up a new idea. 

They are the “yes” men and women who go along for the ride, hoping the wave will continue to flow in a direction that is beneficial to them.  What they don’t get is that a wave can change at any time.  One day you’re riding it, and the next it rides you.  So quit being a mouse.

Political jellyfish are another matter.  This could be an elected officials or one of his staff members.  Regardless, this doormat is recognizable by the boring patterns of clothing worn, the complete lack of creativity in ties, suits, shoes and blouses, to ensure no one gets the wrong idea and thinks s/he actually has something to say that might solve a problem by taking a stand and driving towards accomplishing something.

That would mean s/he isn’t a jellyfish.  To continue their namby-pamby ways, the political jellyfish learns how to hide opinions, never staking out the early territory to frame the debate.

Instead, it is easier, and much more jellyfish-like to hide in the background.  Float around, conform to others’ opinions, don’t show a backbone. 

It’s amusing when you research the word jellyfish. Most of the definition is about the ocean-dwelling creature, with lots of info about its DNA, habitat and development. When you dig deeper, you get background on how the term is used to apply to those who are cowards and saps. 

Beyond the corporate and political jellyfish, there are the teachers and coaches who fill the role as well.  They cover all the expected bases, do the job as outlined by the syllabus, but not a step further.

They don’t stray outside safe parameters.  They know that criticism lurks if they leave their jellyfish-like classrooms and gyms.

So they do what is safe and expected, but not a bit more.  That’s the way to protect yourself, pretend that your enclosed environment can stay the same and you can control it.

Ultimately the jellyfish will wash away as the tides move in and out, whether that’s in business, politics or school.  Things do not stay the same.  That is just the nature of life.

Next time you go to a party, take notes.  Listen intently to replies to your questions and how the people you speak with act.  Notice the jellyfish.

They will try to escape your grasp, like a nebbish reed, hemming and hawing, pausing to wait until you insert your foot in your mouth so they won’t look bad.  Write down their opinions on your smart phone, acting like you are texting someone.

When you go back later, the screen will be empty and you will realize the doormat wimp had nothing to say all night, instead just hanging on for the ride.  You never know – someday the jellyfish might get a spine.  But don’t hold your breath.

I speak fluent Kankakeean.  It’s a strange mixture of slang, weird words and phrases that a group of us mixed together over our high school and college years in Kankakee, Illinois.

Like any local dialect, it probably doesn’t make sense to outsiders.  Some words/phrases might be unintelligible to the uninitiated.  Others might not make sense given the context of the situation where they are spoken.

Not everybody in our high school would understand.  Only certain people who hung out with us knew the stories that created the language.  That’s how you knew what was “meant” when something was said.

Like so many other dialects, you have to listen closely, read beneath the crude meaning of words and come to understand the culture.  It’s fascinating how this works, because we can use language to be inclusionary or exclusionary.   Speaking Kankakeean, we were neither.  We were just hanging out, experimenting, having fun, creating a little enclave where we knew each other and communicated with immediacy, stupidity and hilarity.

Dialects evolve for many reasons, including need.  In our case, it was a shared set of experiences that made their way around through storytelling and sheer repetition.  Pro wrestling, high school coaches and playground basketball influenced us, and to this day, we can repeat certain lines to a buddy when we see each other, and get an immediate grin and recognition without saying much at all.  You just know.

Take, for example, “Hey, wait a minute, where you going with that suitcase?”  On the face of it, this phrase means exactly what it asks:  The person asking the question wants to know if you are headed to the airport, train or bus station, going on a vacation or some other type of trip.

What the person doesn’t know is that in Kankakeean, when you ask that question, it pertains to basketball, and you are harassing the person with the ball for traveling.  “Yo, where you going with that suitcase?  Give me the ball, that’s a travel.”

Makes total sense to us, but if you overheard that randomly while watching a pickup game, you probably wouldn’t get it, at least not right away.  If you had Kankakee lingo person with you though, he could interpret for you.

The phrase “C’man” is another commonly used term in our Kankakeean dialect.  It is short for “come on.”  But it means a lot more.

It originated with our high school baseball/basketball coach.  He was a commanding presence, a guy we looked up to and mimicked.  Multiple phrases he used were imitated by us, trying to catch the exact cadence of his delivery.  “C’man” must be stated with the emphasis on “man,” and with that upper Midwest way of pronouncing your “a’s.” 

“C’man, son, on the line,” meant get your feet on the end line because you were going to run in basketball.  “C’man” in general just means a sense of recognition and familiarity.  Someone could do something silly or goofy and you’d look at him and say, “C’man.”  It still applies.

When you’re “frontin’” someone, short for “fronting,” you’re doing that person wrong.  “Quit frontin’ man. You’re frontin’ me off.”  That got a lot of play.

Language ebbs and flows.  The U.S., Canada, South Africa, Australian and New Zealand have all evolved niches from England.  Brazil follows in Portugal’s footsteps, but adapts locally.  The same occurs in all the Spanish-speaking South American countries.

Diversity creates a fluid and dynamic language, one that keeps growing.  More forces are at play.  That’s a healthy thing.  We should all keep adding to the language to embrace the development of culture.

If your language remains static, you’re just frontin’.  C’man.