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Monday, July 13, 2015

Mr. Grumpytrousers




To outsiders, being a prepper is a mindset—one monolithic, right-winged, misguided-at-best mindset—but the reality is that there are a multitude of mindsets.

Some want to be the “gray” man who is prepped but no one knows it.

Others want to be the camo-wearing, Hummer owner with a knife between his teeth ready to bug out to Buttfluck Idaho at the slightest interruption in normalcy.

Too many of us relish talking about #WROL, #SHTF, #TEOTWAWKI, and #C-Day.

Too may of us relish being Mr. Grumpytrousers.

We wallow in worst case scenarios.

I’m not saying we should all whistle past the graveyard or retreat into a normalcy bias from hell, but I am saying that we could lead by example.

I want to be the open prepper. I want people know know I prep.

Yes, I could get punked in a #SHTF moment, but I would rather increase the number of people who prep rather than trying to guard against the uneducated and uninformed.

I am a teacher by trade, so I value bringing knowledge to people.

I became a prepper—not because I was scared spitless into it—but because a Mormon couple I dearly love providing an example that made sense to me.

Yes, they are prepared for #SHTF and #TEOTWAWKI, but more importantly, they are prepared for FORSEEABLE crises, not imagined ones.

I began my journey as a prepper and concurrently I decided to write about my growth as an emerging prepper.

I have learned a lot.

I believe we preppers should be ambassadors rather than keepers of arcane information that only we know.

We need to change our image.

We are sane people who are outfitting pantries, looking at frugal practices, taking nothing about our lives for granted, and looking to be responsible people as our default.

We need not to bristle when someone “offends” us. Today, my daughter and I made a Dr. Pepper cake and she wanted to take one layer to her mother—my exwife—and so we boxed it up. The first question out of my ex was whether the cake she eyed with suspicion was a “survivor” cake.

I have no idea what a survivor cake is.

I could have been Mr. Grumpytrousers and protested, but instead I just reiterated what it was.

My ex doesn’t “get” prepping and I have to be patient enough to not react to her “funny haha” comments, which are neither funny nor haha.

My ex may never become a prepper, but my daughter values frugality.

In six weeks, we have run the dryer 4 times because we have a clothesline.

During summer, my daughter is amazed that our pantry has everything we need to survive.

In August, she and I are headed to a family reunion barbecue that is prepper themed.

As preppers, we are not crazies.


We are—yes—misunderstood, but not crazy.

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