The Curse of the Wayward Traveler- Part 2

Yep, Montgomery, Alabama.  Home of...umm...shit I don't know.  I saw some random bovine type creatures on our approach to the bodunk little airstrip that our Delta flight would soon be calling home.

After we landed, our genius captain, clearly a great leader of men, came back on the speaker.  "Well folks, we'll be back up in the air as soon as we can, there are a few other Delta flights stuck here too and it's pretty much first come-first serve."  The endless row of fire engines and men in silver Haz-Mat suites were not a comforting scene; however, as I looked out the window.  One of the airliners on the tarmac in front of had somehow spilled jet fuel all over the runway.  But hey, at least my new friend Jordan, who had silently sat next to me for the last couple hours, brought me a pack of cookies.  "Here you go, they gave me two."

Sweet, at least I wouldn't starve to death on this doomed vessel.  We introduced ourselves and then I invited her to look out my window.  "I don't think we're going anywhere for a while."

As the temperature rose inside the cabin, one sprightly young man took his guitar out of storage and started playing some music and singing a song he had just wrote in his head.  I was actually very impressed.  The captain again came on but the whispers of mutiny had nearly drowned him out.  He mentioned something about there being jet fuel on the runway, not enough people to get us out to the gate, and him having to go outside to inspect the plane before we take off.  OK, no worries, we'll be in Atlanta soon and I'll be on my later flight to Providence, Jordan will be back in her own bed, and everything will be right with the world after this little hiccup.

The End.

Except when the captain re-boarded the plane and indicated that we had a landing gear tire that was dangerously close to blowing out because it was so bald.  OK, I could deal with the thunderstorms, the critical low fuel level, the gas spill on the runway, the rising temperature inside the fuselage of the plane...but WHO THE FUCK CHECKED THE LANDING GEAR BEFORE WE TOOK OFF??  I mean, did we really land on a messed up tire?  Who is regulating this shit??

We finally exited this apparent death-trap of an airplane and made our way to the gate, where we met my other new insta-friend, Jeff, who was clearly the most intelligent individual passenger on the plane, and had already called ahead to Budget Rental Car.  After a small debate, it was determined that we three strangers would abandon our luggage and get the hell out of there to make the 2 hour drive to Atlanta, where I would (hopefully) catch the last flight home to Providence.  We were on a mission.  After leaving bumf**ck Alabama with Jeff at the helm, me co-piloting, and Jordan providing food and beverage from the backseat.  We had some fun conversations, especially the one  where it was determined that we would somehow get me home that night, come hell or high water.  At one point Jordan thought it was a good idea to call her Dad and tell him that she had met two strange men at the airport and was currently in a rented car on a rural highway.  Jeff and I thought this might be a bad idea, but she assured us it was cool.  The funny thing was, after we all realized that we wouldn't kill each other, (see quote from part 1), it was like we had known each other forever.  The nightmare of a travel day turned into a great adventure to get me home to my fiancé and in my own bed for some much-needed TLC.  As it turns out, this type of thing is actually commonplace for Jordan, who runs into this type of shit all the time, and she travels a lot for work.  This entire mess was clearly her fault, but Jeff and I forgave her.


Luckily Jeff knew the mega-airport very well, dropped my ass off right at the gate, and I made it through security and onto my plane home with about 4 minutes to spare.  Yes I was in the middle seat between an old woman and a large guy who had bare feet, smelled something awful, and snored...but I was happy all the same. 

This was one flight where I wasn't watching the aisle wondering just who would be in my row.  I figured I had exhausted my good luck for the day, and was just happy to be on my way home to my girl, and my bed.

The Curse of the Wayward Traveler-Part 1

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KRG 2.0

"So big guy, you can have anything you want for dinner tomorrow night for your birthday.  Anything in the whole wide world.  Where do you want to go eat?"

I can't put into words exactly the way I feel about my son.  Anything I write on paper or post as a blog could never do justice to the purest kind of love a person can feel for another person; which is the love a parent has for a child.

As my oldest son turns 4 years old on Wednesday, July 31st 2013, I've been reflective of the 4 years that have flown by like a Concorde. I have been thinking about how grateful I am to spend the rest of my life being the father of the most incredible little boy who walks this Earth.  Each day and every birthday brings new excitement to me, and I wonder if other parents feel the same way...I'm sure most do.  Each day is a brand new experience.  Every conversation we have is always the first of it's kind.  There is no play book or instruction manual on how to be a father.  There are definitely specific ways to NOT be a good father, but there are a myriad of ways to be a great father.  So many combinations of how to bring him up.  I am always wondering if I'm being a good father.  I want to be the best that I can possibly be and show my son just how very much he means to me.  At the same time, as with anyone else, I want to teach him to be a good person and instill in him the values my parents have instilled in me, only better.  That's not to say that my parents didn't do a GREAT job by raising me and my siblings, because they did.  I wouldn't change anything about the way my parents have raised me, but it's only natural, I think, to want to do even better for my kids.

Being a divorced parent is a hard job.  In a way, I'm lucky to have my father for advise because he was divorced from my mother, and can relate to how my life is.  I don't get to see my boy every day.  At first, this was almost too much pain to bare.  I hated being away from him for 5 minutes, never mind days at a time.  I still do.  But as with every new thing you learn as a child grows, I became more comfortable with having to be away from him.  Although I would love for him to live with me full time, it's just not the way it is, and I don't like it, but have accepted it and adapted to it.  If nothing else, it makes the time I spend with him every weekend that much more precious and makes me appreciate what he has done to make my life what it is.  I'm lucky to get along with his mother just enough so that I see my son as much as I want.  Some fathers are not as lucky.

The first 4 years of a child's life, in my experience, have been so incredible in such different ways, from the time he was a newborn up until now.  He has his own personality.  He can speak so well and is so smart.  He learns things so fast and the greatest feeling in the world is explaining something to him and have him understand what I teach him.  I love to look into his bright blue eyes and just see the knowledge pour into his sponge of a brain.  To talk to him on the phone and have him remember and talk about something that I taught him weeks ago is amazing to me.  Being a first time father, I never knew how I would teach him.  I always worried, and still do, that maybe I don't teach him enough or I worry that he doesn't have as much fun as possible when we hang out.  As we go on though, and as he gets smarter and funnier and develops his very own personality, I feel better about the job that I do.  I feel natural being a dad.  It's what I was meant to be, if nothing else.  Prior to him being born, I lived for myself.  I wanted to be successful in my job.  I chased girls, I partied with my friends, I traveled all over the place for fun.  I always knew that I wanted kids, some day, but I could never have predicted how much it has changed my life for the better.

Having a child, especially a son in my case, being male, is like being born again, (not in a religious way, yuck) and experiencing the joy of growing up for the first time all over again.  It's a second chance.  It's giving another human being the knowledge to live his life in the best possible way, and at the same time, having so much fun doing it!  I play trucks and Legos with him and we wrestle around and play monsters and watch Disney movies and sports...like my dad did with me when I was a boy.  I get to say silly things and be a kid again.  Christmas is exciting again.  Watching cartoons or going to see a G-rated movie is a blast.  Going to the playground and pushing him on a swing or riding on a merry-go-round at his very first carnival are more fun than I could have with anyone else.  I look forward to teaching him to play baseball and ride a bike and help him with homework and to be friendly and outgoing and learning more about what the type of person he's going to be.  And when the day comes when I've taught him all that I can, and he is his own man, I know that I'll not only be his father, but want to also be his best friend, until the end of all things.  I want to be able to look at him and whatever he decides to do with himself or have a family, and maybe a son of his own one day, and say, "Ya did good Vin."  I can't wait to be even more proud of him than I already am.

When I look at my son, I see me.  To think that I made him and he is part of me is pure joy.  His eyes are my eyes.  His voice is my voice.  His heart and his soul are parts of me.  When Jr. was born, when I saw him enter this world, when I was the first person on Earth to see him and touch him....this brand new life...I knew and felt right away, instantly, that I no longer lived for myself, but that I do so for him.  Everything I do is for him.  Of course I have my own life, my other family members, my friends, my fiancé and everything else good in my life means so much to me and I'm so happy.  When I'm with my son; however all of it vanishes, and it's just him...the person I helped make.  The world and all my stress and anxiety and problems goes away, so far away that I could not possibly be unhappy when I am with him.  Four years ago, I began to live for someone else.  And I would die for him as well.  He is the reason I live, the purpose of my life.  His happiness is my happiness. His failures and pain are mine.  I want so badly for him to be better than me.  I want him to know that he can be anybody.  He has so much time to do what he wants, and I won't let him forget it.  He is so pure and innocent and it's my job to make sure as the evil in this world and pain and heartache get to him, as it does to us all as we grow, it is as much on my back as I can possibly make it.  I'm his ozone layer.  I can't absorb all of the negative that might come his way, some will just get through, inevitably.  But I will always be the first one to help any pain he might feel become my own.  My instinct is to shelter him from everything, but I also know that he has to experience things to make him strong on his own as well, and become a strong person.

He's recently been calling me "Dad" instead of "Daddy" on occasion and it gives me mixed feelings..."Dad."  Yeah, I guess at 4 years old, that's about right.  It makes the last 4 years seem to have gone by so fast.  It makes me a little sad, in a way, that at some point, each time we talk there will no longer be any "Hi Daddy," the name fading away with the years.  I'll just be "Dad."  My little baby is now a little boy, and one day he'll be a young man.  I hope I can continue being the best "Dad" to him in the world.  I want to be his hero, just by loving him and teaching him.  I want him to love spending time with me, especially now, before he'd rather hang out with his friends someday.

Being the best father I can be is the most important thing in my life.  Buddy, I'm talking to you....I hope down the road, and you learn to read, you will look at this and be happy to acknowledge the admiration I have for you, my boy. 

I love you little guy.  Happy 4th birthday.  I'll try every day to be the best I can be for you, and make sure I say that I love you every day.  And yes my little man, we can just stay home and have chicken nuggets, beans, and ketchup with some juice for dinner on your birthday...like I said, anything you want in the world.

Paradise By The Dashboard Light

Dear Meatloaf, please don't break my balls for using one of your most famous song titles.  Those of you who are smart enough might actually get the irony involved by the end of this.

I recently got engaged to my girlfriend, Chloe.  Naturally, I proposed in writing because I can't seem to properly express myself verbally.  (I won't bore you with the story...)  I'm hoping this time around it will work out.  I think it will.  Even statistics are on my side.  First marriages only work half the time, but second marriages work out much more frequently...and I'm truly happy and in love.  Plus she's hot, funny, smart, driven, cooks and cleans, and gives fantastic blowj....ummmmm....back rubs.

To say that I've kissed a few swamp donkeys along the way is an understatement.  And by kissed of course I mean, well you know.  (Disease and unplanned pregnancy free since '96, by the way!)  Let's consider the history for a moment...and if I offend anyone, too bad, frankly.  Nobody said this space was meant for the thin-skinned, the politically correct, and the easily offended.

My major relationships have consisted of the following: 

1.  A girl who cheated on me with one of my good friends, (no blame from me on him, by the way...situations like this are the girl's fault, 100% of the time.)  Then she turned to crack, literally, at which point I promptly dumped her. She moved to a trailer park in Pawtucket, popped out a couple of illegitimate kids whose father is in prison, and has generally failed at life.

2.  A girl who has ballooned by about 250 pounds since we broke up and makes me vomit in my mouth every time I run into her.

3.  A girl who I wound up marrying who I legally can't speak badly about.  You'll all just have to trust me on this one.  She is the Antichrist.  My family hates her and for good reason, that of which, again, I can't get into.  She even told me after we got divorced that she knew we'd be divorced before we were even married.  Who DOES that?!?!  I just deleted 3 paragraphs following this on the advise of my attorneys.  I had my son with her, which is the one good thing that came out of this doomed relationship.  I'm hoping that enjoying my first born for the rest of my life will outweigh the fact that I have to deal with utter nonsense for the rest of my life.  The saddest thing is...I really like her family, and I even get along great with her new boyfriend.  I've tried everything possible to get along with her, even killing her with kindness...but it just doesn't seem to be in the cards.  Oh well.

4.  A girl who is 10 years older than I am, lived 60 miles away from me at the time, in cow country, and lost power every time there was a stiff breeze.  Her shitter very rarely worked and I guess the silver lining is that I learned how to flush a toilet by dumping a 2 gallon bucket of water in the bowl and letting gravity do the rest.  She had a chicken coop with a rooster who made it's presence known at the crack of dawn every morning too.  Not good times.

5.  A girl who tortured me for a year with her nightmare of a child and a cat who makes Beezle from "Movie 43" look tame.  It's ok though because I'm pretty sure she is now bulimic or has AIDS.  She has lost so much weight since we broke up that she looks like one of those kids who you can sponsor for only pennies a day.  I actually asked her when I bumped into her recently if she needed me to buy her a cheeseburger or some mayonnaise or something.  Side note:  Do yourself a favor and look up "Beezle" on Youtube if you haven't seen the movie....great fun.

The good thing about all these disastrous relationships, you ask?  I have finally, FINALLY found someone who treats me nicely, with respect...you know, the way that a couple SHOULD treat each other.  A beautiful woman who I can live with without wanting to savagely murder.  Someone who treats me the same way I treat her; with care, nurture, and love.  Someone I'm madly in love with, more so than I have ever been, and she feels the same way.  It's different this time, believe me...I've had enough practice with shit-headed women to know the difference. 

The moral of the story, if you're young, and you think you're in love....there's a pretty good chance you're not.  But do yourself a favor...fuck a bunch of sea-cows.  Kiss some swamp-donkeys.  Date some dumpster fires.  In the long run, it will tell you exactly what NOT to look for in a relationship.

Why take relationship advise from me??  Damned if I know. Honestly, I wouldn't.  But hell, there is a little truth to what I speak of here, is there not?

Anyways, thank you Chloe, for making me the happiest I've ever been, and ever will be.  "Mo chuisle, mo chroi."

Boston, You're My Home

I tried leaving Boston once...it didn't take.  My mom and my sister tried leaving and that didn't work either.  My girlfriend tried to leave Boston.  No dice.  Someone told me once that the only two ways you are born in MA and then leave are you either turn 65 and move to Florida or you die.  Of course it's not that extreme, but there is a sense of home to Bostonians, New Englanders, that is fiercely apparent more so here than probably anywhere else in the world.  

My dad texted me last night and reminded me that he and I were in the exact spot of the bombing recently, and it hit me.  I've been there probably a thousand times.  I've been to several marathons.  I've been training to run one.  We got hit in our very own home, and we as Bostonians, are not ok with that.

We get made fun of a lot.  We get called Massholes, shitty drivers, we talk funny, we make up words, we pronounce half the towns in our state in ridiculous manners, we are addicted to Dunkin' Donuts, we are the fiercest sports fans in the world, we don't recognize the letter "R" unless the next word begins with a vowel.  (True, by the way...if you have the accent....say the following:  "I left the car back at the bar."  Now say:  "I left the car over by the packie."  See!  HA!  You pronounced the "R" in the second sentence didn't you?)  I saw a joke recently that the four seasons of Boston are "Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Road Construction."  I laughed probably harder because it's very true, rather than the actual humor in the joke. 

When I travel out of town on business, it takes someone less than a second to ask me if I'm from Boston as soon as I speak.  Sometimes, I don't even have to say anything...people just know.  We have a look to us.  A swagger.  A confidence unmatched by anywhere else in the country.  The fact that I just typed this paragraph and am dead serious about it should show you that.  We LOVE that you think our accent is funny, cause guess what?  YOU'RE ACCENT IS FUNNY!! WE WERE HERE FIRST! HA! 

When I first heard and saw the footage of the bombs that were detonated at the finish line on Patriot's Day, (Yup, we even have our very own holiday, just for us), I got scared.  I thought of friends that were running and possibly there.  I wanted information and to know everyone I knew was safe.  Then I got sad, knowing how many people were affected, all those who were injured and the 3 who lost their lives.  Then, I got mad.  Who did this?  Why?  String them up in the Common for us all to stone and torture and kill.  THEN, I became proud.  The posts came flooding over Facebook.  The President spoke of the toughness of Bostonians.  Late night comedians, famous actors, sports figures from all over the country spoke of our great town and Commonwealth.  The word "tough" and "resolved" came up almost everywhere.  "Boston Strong."  "You Fucked With The Wrong City."  These rallies could be heard and seen on every Facebook page and emails and tweets.

Boston is the cradle of the American Revolution.  This is where the war of our freedom began over 200 years ago.  If it weren't for the Patriots for which the holiday was named, we may very well be drinking afternoon tea every day and our national anthem may sound very, very different...We have such a proud past, and instead of this being a dark time in our history, what I'll remember most, aside of course those who were lost, is the image of the first responders rushing towards a FUCKING EXPLOSION TO HELP COMPLETE STRANGERS!  Are you kidding me?  That's how we do it here.  You can call us Massholes all you want, but when the shit hits the fan, there is NOWHERE I would rather be.

Sports is always a soothing normalcy that reminds us of who we are and allows us to turn to something familiar for peace and comfort.  This was true after 9/11, and Sandy Hook, and it is now.  All across the Nation, the thoughts in baseball stadiums, hockey rinks, and basketball courts were on our town.  "Sweet Caroline" was played in several major league baseball stadiums.  It was played in YANKEE STADIUM!  Just as we were there for them, they are here for us.  The Chicago Tribune paid tribute to our sports teams on the back page on 4/16....look it up. Pretty awesome. 

We're all just Americans when it comes down to it, during times like this, and until the end of all things.  San Diego, CA to Wichita, KS to New York, NY, to my home, where the dirty water flows as much as the Sam Adams beer, Boston, MA.  The toughest motherfucking city on this planet.  Just ask the sumbitch or organization who is about to be caught for this atrocious act.  They will feel the full weight of every Bostonian's anger and sense of justice.

Renee Rancourt sings the National Anthem before every Boston Bruins home game.  He didn't make it too far into it last night...the 18,000 fans drowned him out after about 3 lines and he just stopped singing into the microphone and encouraged the masses, letting the crowd take over with a resounding, clear, thunderously loud version of our anthem that rose in a cacophony so immense that it shook the Garden and brought several people in the stands to tears.  Anyone watching and listening become immediately covered in goose bumps.  When they were done, "USA" chants began and American flags were waved throughout the crowd. 

You can punch us, you can stagger us....shit, you might even knock us down once or twice.  But we'll get up.  Every. Single. Time.  It's told in the history books and the stories of the Herald and the Globe....and in the faces of our citizens.  We won't be terrorized.  Whoever detonated those bombs made the biggest mistake of their lives.  They stirred up a hornet's nest while accomplishing NOTHING for their "cause."

Why am I so confident about this?  Cause I'm from Boston, born from Dorchester where my father grew up and his father before him.  And that's just how we are.  Boston, you're my home, and you always will be.  See you at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, Patriots Day, 2014.  I'll be there with thousands of others....just like it will be until the end of days. 

Dorothy Mantooth Is a Saint!

Good evening,

For those who might not know me, I'm Kevin Garrigan, Anne's oldest son.

People sometimes have to make up nice things to say after someone passes away.  That won't be the case tonight.  It's very easy to truthfully say good things about Anne Marie Francis.

Though my mom left us far too early, I could not be happier with the constant gift of her presence while she was with us.  Her 54 years were too few, but the amount of living she did while with us was enough to fill several lifetimes.

The four of us kids could not have asked for a better mother.  She did such a great job raising us in a happy home.  Katie, Mike, Shauna and myself didn't make it easy on her by any means, but somehow she managed to raise 4 sometimes out of control kids and teenagers into 4 relatively well-adjusted adults.  There was no better Grammy to her 3 grandchildren.  Her face lit up and her joy was evident when she spent time watching Keegan and Brooke play; and of course the few precious months she got to spend with baby Colby were truly a gift. 

She had a way of putting a positive spin on most things, and would always be there to lend an ear and offer sage advise....I know I myself needed a lot of it.  I will miss our talks terribly.  Mom never wanted to put anybody out of their way.  In her eyes, it would always be better to give than to receive, better to love than to be loved, and especially better to be concerned for others than have others be concerned for her.  This of course drove us all crazy at times, because we have so much love for her and wanted to help her as much as possible.  None of us wanted her to fight this fight alone, and despite her best efforts, we weren't about to leave her side.  She was stubborn, but very well aware of the love that so many had for her.  She didn't have an enemy in the world.  If you were lucky enough to spend any significant time with my mom, you definitely knew that you were around a special person.  Whether she made you belly-laugh by telling stories about her youth and causing trouble for her parents and siblings, or offered soothing comfort after you had a bad day, there was just something about her that made you leave her feeling good.

I remember one time when I was about 10 years old, I decided to add laundry detergent to the washing machine after my mom had put a load in...probably like half a container or so.  It didn't take long for an endless stream of bubbles to start pouring out of the washer and all over the floor of the basement.  I did what most 10 year olds would probably do and ran upstairs to my room and denied it to the bitter end when mom started screaming at me.  I was the only one there, so I wasn't sure who I was trying to fool.  So after really letting me have it, eventually my mom "asked" me to come down to the basement and help her clean.  "Ok, but I didn't do it mom."  She said fine and we both went down to the basement to clean up the mess.  After about 5 minutes of silent cleaning, knowing that she was furious, I told her, "mom, I did put the extra detergent in there, I thought I was helping."  She told me, "No shit Kevin."  When she saw how guilty I was, she started laughing.  I'll never forget her face.  I couldn't believe it.  I figured at the time that I really messed up, not fully understanding that it wasn't the end of the world, because I didn't know any better...until my mom laughed at me.  She gave me a hug and we finished cleaning up the mess.  I probably had a hundred different fights with my mom when I was a teenager, but I always remembered that no matter how bad I screwed up, my mom loved me and we'd eventually be able to laugh about it, which we very frequently did, the older I got.

My mom was a true believer that being a good person and doing good things would come back around to you in some type of Karmic circle.  These are values that I live my life by and that I instill into my son, niece, and nephew.  I think my siblings will agree with this.  She knew that if she lived a good life, that when the day came when she had to leave us, she would be in a good place and with her lost loved ones.  I like to think that she's in that place know, breathing deeply and easily, and having a good laugh with her parents, her boyfriend Bob, and other loved ones around the dinner table.  I know that if I continue to follow my mom's core values, that I'll join her one day around that table.  It gives me peace to know that when I leave this world, I'll have the most special, strong, good-hearted, nurturing woman that I have ever known, waiting for me with a big hug, and a kind word.

I love you mom.  I'll miss you...and as you would tell me every time we parted, with a series of kisses on the forehead: Goodnight, God bless you, I love you, see you in the morning.

Thank you all for coming.  We are so lucky to have such great friends and family.  The outpouring of love shown by you over the last two weeks has been palpable, and something that the 4 of us will never forget.

The Fall of an Empire

"Will you help us catch Pluto's super duper bouncy ball?" No current asshole Mickey from the shitty "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse"....I want to go fly fishing with you and Goofy and watch Goofy get his mouth caught by a fishhook....or watch Donald Duck play hockey with his nephews and watch his nephews fuck with him. I HATE CURRENT SHITTY DISNEY MICKEY!!! I WANT THE OLD ONE BACK!!!  20th Century Mickey is what made our childhood entertainment so wonderful.  Every kid wanted to go to Disney World....

The movies and the cartoons from when I was a kid, such epics like The Lion King, Alladin, Beauty and the Beast, Peter Pan, Lady and the Tramp, The Mickey Mouse Show, Duck Tales.  Sure, sometimes there would be an epic battle at the end of those movies between good and evil.  Isn't that "lesson learned" enough for a cartoon?  Do the cartoons of today need to teach kids colors and how to count?  That's what school and daycare is for you dumb fucks!  Steamboat Willie is more entertaining then the crap they put on today.   Jake and the Neverland Pirates??  Back in the day Captain Hook would be trying to put his hook in Peter Pan's jugular...now all he does is basically cry about 3 kids who keep outsmarting him over and over again while calling them "Puny Pirates."  I feel sick sometimes watching this garbage.  Chip and Dale were just playing with a bouncy ball....are you kidding? Chip and Dale would be plotting how to steal the ball and fuck shit up in the old days.....now the closest thing the Mickey Mouse show has to a villain is Pete, who basically just helps the rest of these morons count. Hey Disney Channel, our kids are educated just fine, it's called SCHOOL YOU CHILDHOOD RUINING FUN STOMPING ASSHOLES!!!

And I HAVE to watch these cartoons and pretend they're awesome, because my 3 year old loves them....and only because it's not a choice, it's a lack of options. Sure, I could change it to Spongebob on Nick, but then I would be forced to murder myself after about 5 minutes.  I'd love to hold Spongebob under fresh water...let's see if he can make my eardrums bleed after THAT!

Back to Disney....every conflict in every story is resolved in a friendly, soft resolution with absolutely no climax...it's storytelling 101.  Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner never had that problem.  Sure, you knew a safe would fall on the coyote's head or he would launch himself into a mountain...but even though you knew he'd always lose, at LEAST there would be a resolution to the story.  Triumph and failure. Good overcoming Evil.  Tom and Jerry?  Jerry always outsmarted Tom and Tom would wind up getting a bomb in his face or something like that.   You know why that happened?  Because Tom tried to EAT Jerry.  What would YOU do?  Once again, good triumphing over evil.  How can this be a BAD lesson? 

The only good thing about the Disney Channel these days are the Disney Shorts when they play classic stuff for like 3 minutes between the shitty shows they have on; except they make sure they cut anything remotely violent out of them...Gawd forbid anyone sees anything that is CLEARLY fake violence. My son is 3 and he knows damn well that when Simba and Scar are fighting at the end of Lion King it's FUCKING MAKE BELIEVE!!!! It's a cartoon for chrissakes!!!  It's not like he goes to the zoo and expects an epic battle between the lions in a pit full of fire while other lions fight against hyenas.

Here's an idea...just a small thought.  Be a good parent!!!!!!  TEACH your kids good from bad.  If you let the T.V. teach your son about violence....scratch that.  If you let the T.V. or movies or video games teach your kids ANYTHING.  You ARE a bad parent.  It's very simple.  Instill good values in your children, let them know that what they see on T.V. isn't real, and there you go.  Your kid will grow up just fine.  YOU are your kids biggest idol, not fake-ass Mickey Mouse OR Scar from the Lion King.  Their parents are their role models, and they WILL listen to you, (or they should be institutionalized.)  I'm not saying kids are perfect throughout their elementary years and teenage years, but if you parent them, they will share your values.  If you let them just do whatever you want, they'll probably end up as assholes.  Tell them about condoms, it's ok.  Don't let them stay up late.  Tell them about how drugs and alcohol are very bad.  Encourage them to play sports or dance and socialize and follow their dreams.  This isn't fucking Dr. Phil shit, it's common sense.  There are too many shitty parents out there, and corporations....EMPIRES like Disney are crumbling beneath our feet because they don't want to be responsible for the demise of the human race.  Give me a break.

Or better yet, give me back the Roadrunner, Tom, Jerry, and Simba.