We used to have a mobile kiosk selling "street foods" and this banner I designed was printed on tarpaulin as marketing collateral.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Jascha Saint as Endorser
We used to have a mobile kiosk selling "street foods" and this banner I designed was printed on tarpaulin as marketing collateral.
A FATHER IS...
A father is a person who is forced to endure childbirth without an anesthetic.
He growls when he feels good and laughs very loud when he is scared half-to-death.
A father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in a child's eyes. He is never quite the hero his daughter thinks . . . Never quite the man his son believes him to be...
And this worries him sometimes. (So he works too hard to try to smooth the rough places in the road of those of his own who will follow him.)
A father is a person who goes to war sometimes . . .
and would run the other way except that war is part of his only important job in his life, (which is making the world better for his child than it has been for him.)
Fathers grow older faster than people, because they, in other wars, have to stand at the train station and wave goodbye to the uniform that climbs onboard. And, while mothers cry where it shows, fathers stand and beam . . .outside . . . and die inside.
Fathers are men who give daughters away to other men, who aren't nearly good enough, so that they can have children that are smarter than anybody's. Fathers fight dragons almost daily. They hurry away from the breakfast table, off to the arena which is sometimes called an office or a workshop. There, with callused hands, they tackle the dragon with three heads; Weariness, Works, and Monotony. And they never quite win the fight, but they never give up.
Knights in shining armor; fathers in shiny trousers: There's little difference as they march away each workday. I don't know where father goes when he dies, but I've an idea that, after a good rest, wherever it is, he won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children she bore. He'll be busy there too . . .repairing the stars, oiling the gates, improving the streets, smoothing the way.
~ Author Unknown ~
He growls when he feels good and laughs very loud when he is scared half-to-death.
A father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in a child's eyes. He is never quite the hero his daughter thinks . . . Never quite the man his son believes him to be...
And this worries him sometimes. (So he works too hard to try to smooth the rough places in the road of those of his own who will follow him.)
A father is a person who goes to war sometimes . . .
and would run the other way except that war is part of his only important job in his life, (which is making the world better for his child than it has been for him.)
Fathers grow older faster than people, because they, in other wars, have to stand at the train station and wave goodbye to the uniform that climbs onboard. And, while mothers cry where it shows, fathers stand and beam . . .outside . . . and die inside.
Fathers are men who give daughters away to other men, who aren't nearly good enough, so that they can have children that are smarter than anybody's. Fathers fight dragons almost daily. They hurry away from the breakfast table, off to the arena which is sometimes called an office or a workshop. There, with callused hands, they tackle the dragon with three heads; Weariness, Works, and Monotony. And they never quite win the fight, but they never give up.
Knights in shining armor; fathers in shiny trousers: There's little difference as they march away each workday. I don't know where father goes when he dies, but I've an idea that, after a good rest, wherever it is, he won't just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children she bore. He'll be busy there too . . .repairing the stars, oiling the gates, improving the streets, smoothing the way.
~ Author Unknown ~
A BOY IS...
Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and colors, but all boys are the same. Boys are found everywhere ... on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to.
Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older brothers and sisters tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them.
A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly, or else he becomes a savage, sadistic jungle creature bent on destroying the world.
A boy is a composite ... he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of an atom bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the shyness of a violet and when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand.
A boy is a magical creature ... you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can't lock him out of your heart. Might as well give up ... he is your captor, your jailer, your boss and your master ... a freckled face, pint size, cat chasing bundle of noise.
~ Author Unknown ~
Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older brothers and sisters tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them.
A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly, or else he becomes a savage, sadistic jungle creature bent on destroying the world.
A boy is a composite ... he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of an atom bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the shyness of a violet and when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand.
A boy is a magical creature ... you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can't lock him out of your heart. Might as well give up ... he is your captor, your jailer, your boss and your master ... a freckled face, pint size, cat chasing bundle of noise.
~ Author Unknown ~
Monday, February 18, 2008
BABY EXPERTS say:
According to baby experts when the baby cries he or she tries to convey the message that he is either feeling cold and wet after urinating or stuff, or maybe hungry and worst got ill or not feeling well. Although my baby JASCHA SAINT has those things, his crying has something to convey and tried to convince us even before he is inside his mom's womb...He would surely try to greet me and this is what he has to say:
DAD, when you come home at night with only shattered pieces of your dreams, your little
one can mend them like new with two magic words -- 'Hi Dad!'
DAD, when you come home at night with only shattered pieces of your dreams, your little
one can mend them like new with two magic words -- 'Hi Dad!'
CRYING JASCHA
I had heard all those things about fatherhood, how great it is. But it's greater that I'd ever expected -- I had no idea JASCHA SAINT would steal my heart the way he has. From the minute I laid eyes on him, I knew nobody could ever wrestle him away from me...
JASCHA SAINT'S FIRST CRIES
"DAD, when you come home at night with only shattered pieces of your dreams, your little one can mend them like new with two magic words -- 'Hi Dad!'"
Last October 13, 1999 at 8:57 in the morning, three days after my 26th birthday my child was born -- a very strong boy, with chinita eyes who belted out his first song so loud inside the Cebu Doctors Hospital's nursery room.
If you ever become a father, I think the strangest and strongest sensation of your life will be hearing for the first time the thin cry of your own child. For a moment you have the strange feeling of being double; but there is something more, quite impossible to analyze -- perhaps the echo in a man's heart of all the sensations felt by all the fathers and mothers of his race at a similar instant in the past. It is a very tender, but also a very ghostly feeling...
Last October 13, 1999 at 8:57 in the morning, three days after my 26th birthday my child was born -- a very strong boy, with chinita eyes who belted out his first song so loud inside the Cebu Doctors Hospital's nursery room.
If you ever become a father, I think the strangest and strongest sensation of your life will be hearing for the first time the thin cry of your own child. For a moment you have the strange feeling of being double; but there is something more, quite impossible to analyze -- perhaps the echo in a man's heart of all the sensations felt by all the fathers and mothers of his race at a similar instant in the past. It is a very tender, but also a very ghostly feeling...
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