I’ve always looked forward to one day having children of my own. I’ve spent many indulgent moments envisioning a dozen-or-so little Taylor children running around doing the types of things that a dozen-or-so Taylor children would do. They’ll probably be really good kids, I’ve told myself. I’m sure they’ll be highly creative and exceptional thinkers. They probably won’t ever fight with each other and they’ll always clean their rooms. And all of them will be born with the inherent ability to use the toilet because they know that Dad isn’t really excited about the whole diaper thing. I have such thoughtful kids.

I was struck by the musings of a gifted and talented writer not long ago, in which the author made oaths to the children she would have someday. Promises of love, time, and complete adoration. I found myself more emotional than I care to admit in a public forum. And while I can’t pretend to come anywhere close to matching the poetry of her words, thoughts of fatherhood have crept into my mind and lingered ever since. And while my dreams of a perfect and non-diaper-changing childhood for my progeny might not be entirely realistic (time will tell), I can’t help but wonder what characteristics these yet unknown children will one day possess.

Will they be like I was when I was a child, or will they become altogether unique?

Will they like to play games?

Will they find passion in creating?

Will they appreciate the intricacies and beauty of baseball?

Will they be inspired by great storytellers, innovators, spiritualists, and artists?

Will they watch Saturday morning cartoons? Will they let me join them?

Will they cherish their childhood and keep a part of it with them always?

Will they gaze into the heavens and ponder deeply?

Will they be too cool for me in high school?

Will they cling to simple truths and values?

Will they be kind?

Will they be loving?

Will I be able to teach them?

Will they choose to believe?

Can I be the kind of example my father was?

Will they wonder these types of questions for themselves?

I don’t know the answers. But I like to believe that somewhere out in the far reaches of time there are some future Taylor children who have many of the same questions. I hope they are as anxious to find out as I am.

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Raccoons DO have masks. But it doesn’t define them. Don’t judge a raccoon just because of their mask. Or because of their mischievous nature. Or because they knock over your garbage cans. Or because they steal your food.

Clearly they are just misunderstood creatures.

The post Dismissed appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

Not too long ago I was starting a job where someone had been a parent involved in my high school when I was a teenager. Concerned that my high school antics might still foster up some remembrances I tried to downplay the connection. The conversation went something like this:

“I had a son your age at the same high school!”

“Oh. Well that’s nice…”

“Let’s see…what did you say your last name was?”

“Um…Taylor?”

“Yes. Matt Taylor…that name sounds so familiar…”

“Uh…it’s just a really common and generic name. I’m sure there are lots of other Matt Taylors out there…”

“So familiar…”

“Yeah…so I have to go…do stuff… Bye.”

It wasn’t quite pleading the 5th, but it was close enough.

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I may have a problem with ice cream sandwiches. A delicious, wonderful, problem.

The post Reporting In appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

I expertly avoided jury duty this last week. I was very fortunate. I had a great number. We’ll see if I’m so lucky next time…

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For April Fool’s I went and found the first ever landing page for website and put it up again saying we’d done a website redesign. Ha. So clever. I kill me. The site looked so very different over 12 years ago. A lot has changed.

The post April Fools appeared first on Raccoon Toons.

A little extra green for St. Patrick’s Day…

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We really must do something about this whole time changing business. No one wants to change times. No one wants to move clocks ahead or backward. It’s a devious ploy to mess with your sleep. They just want to suck an hour of your life away like a cheap vacuum. It’s not cool man. Not cool at all.

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Every year I have a huge inner battle between my love of movies and my hatred of pretentious Hollywood. I call this conflict: “The Oscars”.

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