Change The Channel

I've explained about my Dad's, shall we shall, overexcited behavior in several of my earlier stories. Here I am going to share another example of Dad loosing his cool, blowing his top, flipping his wig, whatever analogy you want to use really. I also hope to use it as an opportunity to show that Dad was often provoked into doing whatever it was he did. In fact, Dad often just did what most people would have done had they not been afraid of social stigma, financial loss or jail time. So, a lot of the things that look like the actions of a complete crazy person could be construed as rather misguided courage instead.

It all started with Dad very calmly doing one of the things he loves to do. He was watching TV while laying on the couch in the living room. There may have been an empty milk glass with a banana peel in it around there somewhere, I can't remember. (Dad used to drink a glass of milk while eating a banana then stick the peel in the empty glass and stick the glass somewhere. It drove Mom nuts.) Either way, Dad was watching some murder mystery show that had been on for what seemed like hours. It may have been part of a mini-series or have had far too many commercials in it or both.

Whatever the cause Dad had been watching it for a long while. The entire time it had been on Mom had been sitting there quietly reading a magazine. Here I have to take a moment and say that Mom and I hated these kind of shows. Mom has a gentle spirit and certainly doesn't want to see anyone get brutally murdered on TV. As for myself I was set down to watch 'An American Werewolf in London' at age five. Some friends of Mom and Dad said it was kid safe. I ran into the room where Mom and Dad were bleached white after one of the gore scenes and never liked those kind of movies again. However, this movie wasn't a gore fest it was low key murder mystery where the villain was sure to get his in the end. I still didn't like it, but it was squarely in the “ignorable” category.

Both Mom and I had been ignoring the show the entire time it had been on. After hours of suspense and mystery the show had finally culminated in a chase scene. The heroine was running from the villain having finally put it together that he was the common denominator behind all the deaths. The music picked up to help set every nerve on edge as the camera flashed back and forth between the running damsel and the pursuing monster. Tension was crackling in the air. Would the police arrive in the nick of time? Would she find an old shotgun and blast him through the door? Would he catch her and her unsolved murder be the setup for the sequel? We'll never know...

At the moment of truth Mom looked up at the TV and for the first time in hours her pupils focused on something other than her magazine. For a moment she sat there in silence. Her brain was slowly changing gears from “What a lovely fabric!” to “Why is that girl running through that building? And who is that man?” I blame the change in music myself. I think she could have sat there quietly until the end if her nerves hadn't started to warn her. “You hear that? Something's wrong!” Those composers are amazing. Little did that guy know that he had betrayed my dad when he wrote that piece. He was just trying to play up the drama of the scene. Oh well... Once Mom's mind had locked onto what was going on she decided to put a stop to it.

“Change the channel!” She said in a nervous voice that expressed how badly she wanted the young girl to get away.

“Hold on! This is the very end of the movie.” Dad replied, not daring to look away from the screen.

“Change the channel!”

“No. It's almost over.”

“I don't care. Change the channel!”

“Barbara, be quiet. It's the very end and I want to hear it.”

“I don't! Change the channel!”

“I've been watching this for hours with you in here!”

“I don't care. Change the channel!”

“Just go in the other room. It'll be over in ten minutes!”

“No! Change the channel!”

At this point Dad decided to stare at the TV and do his best to hear it over Mom or at least read the actor's lips. He had gotten down to the last five minutes and he was missing it arguing with her. When Dad stopped replying Mom realized she would have to use another approach. Unless something happened immediately she was going to inadvertently see the end of the movie. Why didn't she just get up and leave the room you ask? Good question! Moving on! She decided to take a more direct approach.

“Change the Channel! Change the Channel! Change the Channel!” She said over and over as fast as she could.

Dad sat there for a moment waving his hand back at her as if he were trying to knock the sound away from his ear before it reached him. This just made Mom get faster and louder.

“Change the Channel! Change the Channel! Change the Channel!”

I wish that I had gotten a video recording of the whole thing. I am sure we would have been able to go through it frame by frame until we reached the moment when it happened. “There! Right there!” I would be able to say pointing triumphantly at the frozen frame of video focused on my Dad's face. “That's the moment where he snapped!”

Sadly we have no video, no slow motion, no freeze frame. A great opportunity for scientific study in psychology has been lost. All we have to record the event is the human memory which is very useful for telling a story, but a bit short on the scientific necessities. For example if they were to ask me “How big did your Dad's eyes get in millimeters?” I could only say “Big!” “Could you be more precise?” “Real big!” It's all very well for amusement, but not much for the science of the thing.

In any event, even though the moment wasn't caught on video it had arrived. Dad snapped! He leaped up off the couch with the speed of a ninja (keep in mind it was the eighties) and jerked the TV up over his head. (This wasn't a small TV, it was our main living room TV.) He held it there just long enough for me to think to myself “Whoa! Seriously?” Then Dad threw it down on the living room floor with everything he had and, with Dad, that was quite a bit. The set exploded in a shower of golden sparks. I can still see the scene in my imagination. It was really awesome. They should put a scene like that in a movie one day.

Having completely destroyed the TV Dad glared at Mom and screamed at the top of his lungs:

“There! It's changed now ain't it!”

Mom looked up from the magazine she had immediately gone back to reading to reply:

“What do I care if you smashed your TV, I've still got my radio.”

“Is that so?” Dad said and walked out of the room heading for the back door.

Here again, I have to take moment to give you a little additional information. Mom didn't just have a radio. She had a house wide radio with speakers strewn everywhere. Whatever housework she had to do could be done while listening to whatever she liked on the radio. It was very nice and one of the things that sold them on the particular double wide model they selected. It was this radio that Mom was so happy to still have.

“With all do respect, that was the stupidest thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.” I said starting at Mom in disbelief.

“Why? I do still have my radio.”

“You really think that don't you?” I said with a slight sad smile.

At that moment the back door flew open and Dad ran into the house. He had a hammer in his hand and as he came into the room he shook it with a “Hahahahah!” (I'm not making this up, he seriously did that.) He then proceeded to beat the radio out of the wall. When he was finished he turned to address us all.

“And we will never have another TV in this house as long as I live!” He screamed before collapsing on the couch.

The next day Josh and I were standing outside of school waiting for Mom to pick us up and discussing the entire affair.

“How long do you think Dad will make it?” I asked.

“I don't know. He was pretty upset.” Josh replied.

“A month, do you think?”

“A month! No, no. I mean he couldn't make it a month. I figure a week on the outside.”

“Yea, I hope it's not that long.”

As I said that the car pulled up. Mom was sitting in the passenger seat and Dad was driving. As we got in Dad spoke.

“We're going to town to get a new TV.” Dad said as we were buckling up.

“And a radio.” Mom added.

It may be that some of you think my Dad's behavior was inexcusable, but none of you were there. I was and I am here to tell you that you need to walk a mile in a man's shoes before you say too much about his actions. In truth the TV was very old anyway and Dad had been talking about replacing it for years. He just chose a dramatic way to get rid of the old one. What he did may not have seemed sane, but I'll tell you this, it was the last time he was ever pelted with “Change the channel!”

One Moonlit Night

Ron Smith is one the characters that appears here and there in my childhood stories. That's because he was kind of here and there in my childhood. He was certainly always one of our friends, but he lived a ways out of town and so, until we could drive, we only saw each other now and again. Once I had transportation Ron became a more permanent fixture in our group. This story begins with the fact that Ron didn't like the way I drove at night. If we were going anywhere after dark he wanted to be at the wheel.

On this particular night we were heading home from some Church get together. As usual Ron was driving. There was a beautiful full moon shining down on the deserted road we were traveling. Ron decided to to do something unusual that night. He made the observation that the moonlight was so bright that you could drive by it. In order to prove this, he turned the headlights off and drove along by moonlight. I thought that it was unwise, but the truth was that you could clearly see everything around us. Josh got tired of it after about ten seconds and opened a dialog.

“Turn the lights back on.” Josh said firmly.

“No. I don't need them.” Ron replied defiantly.

“I don't care, turn them back on.”

“No. I'm not going to hit anything.”

“I don't care about that. I don't feel like getting pulled over by the police.”

This argument escalated until two things happened. First, Ron did turn the lights back on. Second, he reached behind him and slapped Josh right in the mouth with the back of his hand. Now, I would have warned most people that hitting Josh was a bad idea, but Ron already knew it. Here I have to take a moment and explain one of Ron's limitations. He couldn't fight. I mean, he was strong, probably one of the strongest in our group. He was also ripped and looked tough enough when he pulled his shirt off. However, he hit like a girl. (There may be some big girls out there who would just love to show me how they hit, but I don't mean them. I mean princess-y type girls who love flying rainbow unicorns. Girls like my little girls... anyways, he hit like one of them.) I know that if Ron reads this he will deny it. Well, deny away, Ron, deny away.

For a moment nothing happened. The sound of Ron's slap was still hanging in the air. I could feel the moments ticking away. I knew that something was about to happen whether Ron had put that together or not. He had struck Josh in the face without even showing enough respect to look at him when he did it. Then he looked at the road as if there wasn't going to be a rebuttal. Poor Ron, he never saw things like this coming. After perhaps a second and a half it happened.

SLAP!!!!

Josh had drawn his hand back as far as he could in the car and swung it with all his force. He hit Ron so hard that the side of his head slammed into the window. (Yes, I mean slammed, I don't use that word for effect. Had his head hit the window any harder it might well have broken.) The car swerved all over the road. With a sound of squealing tires Ron got the car back under control. He then opened another dialog:

“That is it! It is ON!” Ron screamed at the top of his lungs.

“Good. I hoped it would be.” Josh quietly replied.

“I am pulling this car over!”

“Good. I don't have room to beat your brains out here.”

“Wait until I get you out if this car!”

“There's a good spot. Pull over right there.”

The car skidded to a stop and Ron jumped out.

“Get out!”

“As fast as I can!”

Now, by this time I had decided that this had gone far enough. I stepped out of the car.

“You two stop it. Each of you has hit the other. Let's get back in the car and go.”

“Oh no, he's going to get it!” Ron shouted.

“Well, come on.” Josh said.

“Josh don't hurt him.” I said loudly.

“Hurt me!” Ron said derisively as he threw a kick right at Josh's face.

Josh decided that I was right and that there was no reason to hurt Ron. In a flash he had thrown one arm behind Ron's outstretched knee and the other in front of his shin. He had Ron's leg trapped between his arms. He pulled his leg up so high that Ron was standing on his tip toes on one leg. Josh began to explain the situation.

“See Ron? I got you. What do I mean by that? I mean I can move you this way.”

As Josh said this he began to pull Ron's leg to one side making him hop in order to stay balanced.

“Or I can move you that way.”

Josh moved Ron's leg to the the other side, and Ron couldn't help but hop along to remain upright.

“See Ron. I've already won. Don't get yourself hurt.”

After Josh said this he threw down Ron's leg. Ron stared at Josh and fire blazed in his eyes. He knew he couldn't take Josh fighting on his feet, but he wasn't ready to give up. Suddenly he sacked Josh. They both toppled over into a pile of briars and began rolling around, each struggling to get the advantage over the other. While this was going on I decided that diplomacy might be my best option.

“This is ridiculous guys! Look at you! Now your both rolling around in the briars when we could be heading home. We're all friends here. What's the point of all this. Let's just stop and go home.”

As I was saying this I heard Josh's voice rise above the tussle.

“Ron, you are going to let me go or I am going to jam you eye out.”

Nothing happened. They were still struggling on the road side.

“One... Two... Three...” Josh counted out loudly.

Then:

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Ron screamed with everything he had.

Josh got up out of the briars and began brushing himself off.

“I warned you Ron. You need to learn to stop while you can.” Josh said walking back towards the car.

Ron crawled up out of the briars with one hand over his eye like a pirate's patch. He stood there panting staring at Josh. Again, I tried diplomacy.

“See, this is going nowhere. We all just need to get back in the car and go home. This entire thing has been stupid!” I said.

Josh tried a different type of diplomacy:

“Yea, Ron, you lost. Plain and simple. So let's get back in the car before you really get hurt.”

As Josh said this he turned around and started to walk away. At that moment Ron drew back and sucker-punched Josh in the back of the head.

Now, this was Ron's second big mistake of the night. This time it wasn't because Josh was someone you didn't want to tangle with, but because I was standing right there. I am a calm, peace-loving type of guy. It's hard to make me angry and I don't like to hurt people. However, once you step over the line I'm not going to warn you about it, you're just going to have to deal with the repercussions.

In a flash I shot my right hand up from my hip and punched Ron right in the eye. There was a loud “Crack!” and Ron was reeling on the back of his heels. As he slowly straitened himself, moving from side to side as his brain was working out what happened, I again tried diplomacy.

“Ron, do you see what you made me do?” I said, gently putting both my hands against his chest. “You made me hit you. I didn't want to. I even warned you that you needed to stop, but you wouldn't listen. I don't want to hit you again, but if you make me I'm going to be ready this time.” Here I dropped into my boxing stance and waited to see what Ron would do.

Slowly his eyes stopped spinning around randomly and he regained the ability to focus. He looked at me considering the situation and then looked over at Josh. He was clearly furious, but decided to open a dialog instead of start another fist fight.

“So! I see how it is! Ganging up me!?!? Takes two of you to beat me eh!?!?! Well, that's just fine!” Ron yelled right in my face.

“Ron, it wasn't like that. You just punched Josh in the back of the head.” I said apologetically.

“Oh no! You two wanted to jump me, that's fine!”

“Come on Ron, get back in the car and let's go home.”

“What!?!? Get in the car with you two!?!? Forget it! I'm walking!”

“It's a couple of miles into town.”

“I don't care! It's better than riding with you!” As he said this he stormed off down the road with me calling after him.

When he was almost out of earshot Josh and I climbed back in the car and headed for home. There was nothing I could do, I had tried to keep something like that from happening the whole time. Josh and I both felt like he would be over it in a few days. Fight or not we liked Ron and we didn't want there to be any bad blood between us.

Ron got over it more quickly than we thought he would. As soon as we walked through the door the phone rang. It was Ron, he wanted a ride home. He had walked about a mile down the road to where a friend of his lived. So, Josh and I climbed back in the car and went and got him. When we got him back in the light we could see his eye. One side was about as black as a black eye gets. He looked like he was wearing half of the Lone Ranger's mask. Between Josh's thumb and my fist that poor eye had a rough night. Still, none of us were worse for the wear and none of us held a grudge. Josh and I even helped him hide his black eye with Mom's makeup the next time we went to Church. It's wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.

Again, there are a few morals one can find here. The lesson could be “Don't start nothing, and there won't be nothing” or perhaps “Always drive carefully and you're less likely to get hurt.” Of course the point that stands out more readily than any other is “Don't start a fistfight if you hit like a girl.”

Writing all this has been good for me. I'm becoming a regular Aesop.

It's Not An Addiction

They say that the first step towards a cure is admitting that you have a problem. I don't think Sam would have ever admitted to being addicted to video games as a child. There were a few reasons he wouldn't have been able to stand up and say “Hi, my name is Sam and I'm a video-game-aholic.” First, he thought that everyone should be playing games basically all of the time, so he was only acting as a person should. Second, he would have refused to acknowledge the signs of withdrawal he had when he was separated from games too long. Third, he wouldn't have wanted to go to the meeting until after he had beaten this level. Whether or not he would have admitted it at the time, I think he would now. It's just part of Sam's personality, he loves to say things like “I had a video game addiction before it was cool.”

Some of you who are familiar with the modern concept of VGA (Video Game Addition, obviously) probably think of it as the kind of thing that affects most teenage boys in our country. You may also think of it in terms of forty-year-old men getting out of work and heading straight for WoW. (If you don't know what WoW is you probably don't know anyone with VGA. It stands for World of Warcraft. You can look it up, but be careful. The first hit is free.) If you're old enough, you think of it something like “and those lazy kids are always messing with that idiot box making that little guy do stupid things and...” All three impressions are wrong. Modern VGA is nothing compared to what Sam had. Of course, back in the day we did have the good stuff. So I guess it was easier to get hooked.

To begin to explain I have to go back just a bit. My brother was generally a good sportsman. He could lose a game and shake hands with the winner. He was fairly even tempered when it came to people. However, he hated our Nintendo. I don't know how many times I saw him slam the controller down on the floor while screaming “The game cheated me!” (To be fair, RC Pro-Am did cheat. Almost everyone who has ever played it knows that.) The reason that this is important is because, over time, the controllers stopped working because of these beatings.

In fact, at one point we were down to one controller. The more we used it, the less it worked. Before it was all over with, it was so hard to push the directional pad that it was impossible to use. After about three minutes your thumbs would be too sore to use them anymore. As a result Josh and I gave up. Sam, however, kept trying to think of a way to use it. Finally he came up with idea of biting the directional pad and pushing the buttons with his fingers. He put in a game where speed didn't matter and sat there playing the Nintendo by mouth for hours. Until you have watched someone playing a game with the end of a controller in his mouth and playing the buttons like a flute, you haven't seen how bad VGA can get. Fortunately I have more information that can be passed down to posterity.

The next example was a few years later. By this time we had a Super Nintendo. I was home sick and didn't even feel up to laying there playing a video game. Sam had gone up-town and rented a game. Since the SNES (Super Nintendo Entertainment System) was at our house, he had come over to play even though I was stuck in bed. I remember lying there trying to sleep as Sam sat at the foot of the bed playing for hours. Finally, this just wasn't enough for him.

“Hey, Bro,” he said to me, turning away from the screen for a moment to look at me.

“What?” I groaned.

“Want to play two player?”

“No.”

“Come on, it'll only take a few minutes.”

“No, I'm sick.”

“You can play while you lay there!”

“No, I don't feel up to it. Just let me rest.”

“Look, I'll beat you in like five minutes and then you can go back to sleep.”

This actually made a bit of sense to me. I knew that Sam couldn't control the craving once it was on him. The easiest thing to do would be to sit up for five minutes, get beaten and then go back to sleep. However, I wasn't the type of guy to just let myself lose without trying. Still, Sam played so much, he almost always beat me, whatever the game was. All things considered I decided to sit up and play one match with him.

It was a war game called Super Conflict. The idea was simple enough: take your army and destroy your opponent's. Fortunately for me this was one instance when Sam forgot a cardinal rule: Never let your enemy control the bridges. Perhaps an hour later I had won. Sam's forces were humiliated and defeated. He wanted a rematch, but I told him no. The fates had been with me because I was sick. I did what I had to do in order to go back to sleep. It wasn't my fault that I won. Sam was satisfied with the idea of a rematch at a later date and I was allowed to go back to sleep. Of course, it wasn't the last time Sam's addiction kept me up.

Here I have to explain the fact that Sam was always beating my games before me. For the most part I didn't care, but he could go the extra mile and make it annoying. For instance, one time I got a new game and he came over to play it with me. When it was time for him to go home he asked if he could borrow it because his bedtime was later than mine, so he would get to play it even if I couldn't. I told him to go ahead and take it, but to bring it back the next day after school. He said that he would. I didn't see him again for three days. Finally he returned with my game and apologized for having taken so long to beat it.

That was enough for me. After that, I laid down the rule that Sam couldn't beat any of my games before I did. Now, this was a terrible fate to befall Sam. I was and am notoriously fickle when it comes to gaming. I pick something up, play with it for a while and then put it down. It may be months or years before I pick it up again. For instance I didn't beat The Legend of Zelda until I was a grown man, even though I reached the last level when I was twelve. Mom and Dad bought me a game for Christmas one year, and I didn't beat it until summer-time two years later. It's not that I'm not a good gamer, I just get distracted and bored very easily. Either way, Sam knew that it might mean never beating another of my games.

All things considered, he took it well. That is to say, up until I got my next new game. It was Star Wars for the original Nintendo. Sam began foaming at the mouth right after I got it. He held out for a few hours, but then it began.

“You going to beat it soon?” Sam asked shortly after we started playing.

“I don't know, we'll see,” I replied, having just started the game.

“I'm sure you could beat it tonight if you tried.”

“Maybe I can. We'll see.”

An hour or so later I decided to stop. Sam couldn't just let that go.

“What? You can't stop now! Look how far you are,” he said with a big smile.

“I'm getting tired, you guys can play something else.”

“Can we play this?”

“No, you'll beat it.”

“I won't!”

“I don't trust you.”

“Well then, the least you could do is play a little more.”

I conceded his point. If I wasn't going to let him play until I beat the game, it was only fair that I try to beat it as quickly as possible. So, the game went on. It got very close to my normal bed time and I had been playing Star Wars all day. I decided I had done my best and that it was time to quit.

“No! You can't stop now! You're almost there!” Sam said as I went to turn off the Nintendo.

“I'm not almost there! It's almost bed time anyway,” I replied, tired of the very sight of the game.

“What! Almost bedtime! It's Summer, Bro! What's the point if we can't stay up late once in a while?”

“I'm tired!”

“Non-sense! You just need to hit your second wind. You're close, Bro, I can feel it!”

My sense of fair play made me sit down again. I couldn't give up while Sam was so excited about beating it himself. I would have to go the extra mile for my friend. The hours flew by, but I reached the end of the game. It was after midnight, and I was so tired that I couldn't see straight. I knew that I couldn't win, I was just too tired.

“Sorry, Bro! I can't make it,” I said as I began to get up to turn everything off.

“What?! I can't believe this, you're right there!” Sam replied with a shocked look on his face.

“I can't beat it right now! I can't see straight! Literally!!”

“You can beat it! You just have to try!”

“You are out of your mind! I'm too tired to play anymore. I'll just beat it in the morning.”

“No, tonight! It has to be tonight!”

“Why?”

“Because tomorrow you'll want to do something else. You'll get distracted! That will be it!!”

Again, Sam had made a valid point. Would I be willing to beat it in the morning? The way I felt at the moment I wasn't sure I would ever want to see the game again, much less play it. Still, it didn't matter, I would have to beat it tomorrow. Beating it at that moment was impossible, I didn't have the strength.

“Sam, I will do my best to beat it in the morning, honestly. I just can't do it right now.”

Sam looked at me for a moment in silence. Then he spoke:

“I'll help you!”

“How?”

“Just start playing!”

“OK, I guess. At least when I die you'll let me go to sleep.”

I started playing again. Sam was calling out warnings and suggestions almost non-stop. I was slow to respond and was certainly losing. I began to fall asleep where I was sitting. Suddenly I felt Sam's arms reaching around me.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I looked back at him.

“I told you I would help you and I will!” he said as he took each of my hands in each of his.

“Sam, this is crazy! You've gone insane! Let's just go to bed!”

“No! Play!”

So, play we did. I don't remember much. I was falling asleep even in the uncomfortable position of sitting up while being enveloped in the arms of Sam. Had I had the strength to fight him off, I would have told him to keep his hands to himself. However, at that moment I was so tired I would have slept if he had decided to pick me up and cradle me like a baby. I don't how long we sat there with Sam's hands on mine making me push buttons, but I do remember being fully awakened by shouts of joy.

“You did it, Bro! You won! Wake up and look, you beat the game!” Sam was about to cry he was so happy.

“Good job, Bro!” Josh threw in there. He had stayed up with us through this insanity.

“That's wonderful. Well, goodnight,” I said, not caring about anything but sleep.

The next morning I made a decision. It hadn't been worth it. I would rather loan Sam all my new games for two weeks before I ever played them rather than go through that again. I loved Sam like a brother, but I had no desire to be wrapped in his arms during another midnight gaming session. I told him of my change of heart, but he seemed indifferent. He was too busy playing the game to take any real notice of what I was saying.

Sam got older and got his addiction under control. His wife still has to keep an eye on him, but he's very manageable. So, if you're concerned about a child or grandchild or husband who seems to have VGA just compare them to Sam. His was a real addiction, and he beat it. He just found something he loved more: his family. Your loved one can beat it too, they just need a reason to turn the game off. In any case I doubt they are bad off enough to wrap their arms around me in order to get to play, so it's not as bad as it could be. That's something to be thankful for.

That's Gonna Leave a Mark

I've already described Brandyn Boatwright and filled out that description in previous stories. If you don't know who I'm talking about it would be worth reading “Arboreal Brandyn” or “Brandyn: Ninja Carpenter”. It will help you understand what kind of person he was and why my brother and I loved to torment him. It will also explain why it's perfectly acceptable to laugh at his pain even if pain-laughing isn't something you do as a general rule.

When we were teenagers, Brandyn would call my brother constantly. Literally there were days when he called more then ten times. If we planned to get together and do something this was unnecessary. If we weren't planning to get together it was merely obnoxious. I suppose there are people out there that could call me ten times a day without bothering me at all, but Brandyn was not one of these people. For one thing the conversation was often like this:

“Is Josh there?” Brandyn asked whoever answered the phone.

“Yeah, hold on.”

“This is Josh.”

“Hey Bro!”

“Hey, what's up?”

“Nothing... what are you doing?”

“Watching a movie.”

“That's cool. I'm bored.”

“Sorry, Bro, I need to go. We're watching a movie.”

“That's cool.”

“I'll talk to you later.”

“OK. Bye.”

So far it may seem dull but not that annoying, but that's just the first call. Ten minutes later:

“Is Josh there?”

“It's me, Bro, what's up?”

“Nothing... what are you doing?”

“I'm still watching that movie.”

“Oh sorry... I'm bored.”

“Sorry Bro, but I need to go.”

“OK. Bye.”

This would happen every few minutes until everyone in the house was ready to scream. He would also try to keep Josh on the phone for as long as possible. I shortened it up a great deal for you, the reader, in order to keep you from getting annoyed with it yourself. After a while my brother got tired of it and decided to shake things up a bit. Josh answered the phone for the tenth time:

“Bootie-Cam Incorporated, how may I direct your call?” Josh said as he picked up the phone.

“Can I speak to Josh?” asked a bewildered Brandyn.

“I'm sorry, you have the wrong number,” Josh answered, and hung up.

We all busted out laughing, but it only lasted a moment. The phone rang again.

“Bootie-Cam Incorporated, how may I direct your call?”

“Who have I reached?” Brandyn asked, expecting it this time.

“Bootie-Cam Incorporated, how may I direct your call?”

“What do you do?”

“We are makers of the famous bootie-cam. Would you be interested in buying one?”

“Yes!”

“I'll transfer you to sales, please hold,” Josh said, and then hung up the phone.

Again, a torrent of laughter, and again the phone rang.

“Bootie-Cam Incorporated, how may I direct your call?”

“I was trying to get in touch with the sales department, but I was disconnected.”

“I'm sorry, Sir, please hold,” Josh said, and once more hung the phone up.

This happened again and again over the course of half an hour. Sometimes Josh would hand the phone to me or one of the other guys and we would pretend to be Bootie-Cam executives trying to help Brandyn with his problem until we hung up on him. Finally this got old. Brandyn was enjoying the game too much and we just wanted some peace and quiet. I decided to do something about it.

The phone rang again for roughly the thirtieth time. I told Josh to hand me the phone. I took it and I walked into the bathroom followed by all the guys that were currently at the house. I lifted the lid and seat of the toilet and carefully put the phone down in the bowl (it was a cordless phone, for those of you who may be wondering how long the cord was). I answered the phone and flushed the toilet. As soon as it had sucked the last few drops of water down the drain, I hung up.

Amazingly this didn't stop Brandyn. For the next half hour we took turns flushing the toilet at the phone and then hanging up. We could hear Brandyn yelling at us from out of the bowl and calling us all kinds of interesting names, but we ignored it and went on with our great work. Finally Josh couldn't take it anymore. When the phone rang again, Josh picked it up and said “Hello.” He heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and then it hung up. We all burst out laughing.

After all that, I think we decided it would be worth taking the trouble to drive all the way out to Brandyn's house to pick him up. At the time Brandyn didn't have a ride so we were constantly picking him up for one thing or another. Most of the time he would be sitting out on the porch, talking on the phone waiting for us. One Sunday evening, however, this wasn't the case.

We were coming to pick him up for Church. As we got near the end of his long dirt driveway, we saw him sitting in a lawn chair, talking on the cordless phone, right in the middle of the driveway. Both of us were looking at him as we pulled up. Finally, I spoke.

“Hit him with the car,” I said with a slight smile.

“Don't worry, I was going to,” Josh replied.

We slowed down to perhaps three miles an hour. Brandyn looked at us, smiling, and refused to move. Just before we got to him he threw his feet up on the hood of the car. No doubt he thought we intended to stop at the last moment. That was, strictly speaking, true. However, our last moment was later than he thought. With Brandyn's feet propped up on the hood Josh rolled forward and hit the chair with the car. The result was spectacular.

Brandyn shot backwards, flying heels over head. The phone flew out of his hand and up into the woods, and the chair shot straight back about ten feet. Brandyn hit the dirt and rolled around on the ground several times before coming to a stop. He jumped up and said some very colorful things as he kicked the car again and again. Finally we got him calmed down and into the car, and we were on our way to Church. Not that Church was always a safe place for Brandyn.

It was on another night not that long after that, when he found out how dangerous the Church yard could be. Sadly I wasn't there to witness this first-hand. I have had to piece it together from the many eye witnesses. Fortunately for me, and for those of you who have taken an interest in my youth, there were a large number of reliable people there who saw the entire and affair, and most of them loved to talk about how bad it had been and then laugh until they couldn't breathe.

The youth group in Aiken was going through a bit of teamwork training. This training consisted of running through different obstacles as a team: working together to climb over walls and that kind of thing. The idea was that young Christians are stronger together than they are alone. My brother, being who he is, had decided through most of it to prove that he could “win” each of the team events. Now, to those of you who know Josh this will come as no surprise. The fact that he was also the best at every event will surprise very few.

However, this introduced the wrong spirit into the exercise. Whereas it had started as a group of events to show that we all have our strengths and weaknesses, it had become a contest between the boys to impress the girls. The guy coordinating the event kept trying to put a stop to it, but to no avail. Each challenge came, and Josh was first every time.

At last they came to the high jump. One by one, the teenagers failed to get over the rising rope. In the end it came down to two guys: Josh (no shock there) and Brandyn. Here I have to take a moment to explain a few important facts. First, the fact that Brandyn had gotten to the last stand-off with Josh was very impressive. Out of our entire group, Brandyn was the heavy guy. He wasn't fat, but he had a lot more body weight than Josh. Second, Brandyn had just gotten the cast off his leg from where he had cut his toes almost completely off (if you haven't heard that one, read the stories I mentioned at the beginning; it's worth the extra time). I mention these things because I want you to understand how amazing Brandyn's feat was and to what extent he would go to impress girls.

They raised the line again. By this time it was up to Josh's neck. He knew he could make it, but that it would be close. He and I had often jumped over this and that, and each of us could get over something up to our necks, but no higher. Josh mulled this over and decided there was no way Brandyn could make it. He decided to warn him.

“Hey Bro, don't try this jump,” Josh said as they looked at the rope.

“Why? I'll make it,” Brandyn replied with confidence.

“No, you won't. I watched you on the last jump.”

“Afraid of competition?”

“No, I'm afraid you're going to get hurt.”

“Well, I'm not.”

“OK.”

They were told to jump. Josh got a running start and jumped over the line. Brandyn was next up.

I am going to do my best to describe this just as Josh described it to me. He said it was one of the most impressive things he ever saw. Brandyn prepared himself mentally and began to run at full speed. He jumped sort of sideways and kicked one leg up over the rope as if he were doing a flying kick. Then he used his momentum to throw his body up and over. As his other leg passed over the rope he jerked it up behind him. All this happened in a flash, and he was over the rope. He had done it.

However, sometimes great success leads to great failure. His unique jumping style had left his lead leg stretched out at a bad angle. He was so distracted with the jump that he hadn't considered his landing. This lack of consideration ended in his landing badly. In point of fact, he broke his ankle. Well, I say broke; shattered or pulverized might give you a more accurate picture. Brandyn let out a scream that might have been heard over half of Aiken (it didn't actually make the papers for some reason; perhaps it was a heavy news day...). He then collapsed into a twisting, writhing, screaming ball that needed immediate medical attention.

Fortunately they were rather near the hospital. The entire youth group was loaded into the Church bus and they rode out to get Brandyn the help he needed. Several hours later Brandyn was put back together as best as could be with a cast the ran up his entire leg. He was expected to make a full recovery in around six months. The youth minister got in a bit of trouble because no one called anyone's parents due to the emergency. However, pity for Brandyn bought sympathy, and in the end all was forgiven.

Now, some of you may be thinking that it's just wrong to find this funny. Well, I can't help how it seems. It was and is funny. Brandyn ended up wearing a cast on his leg for right around twelve months. He had been warned that what he was about to do was dangerous right before he got both his casts. He heedlessly pressed on, which is what he basically always did. In these two cases it turns out he should have listened to his councilors. Plus, one has to consider that in the end he was no worse for the wear. When the dust had settled, he was the same old Brandyn, and he hadn't even learned anything from it.

We were a wild crew and loved to give each other a hard time. Brandyn was often the butt of things just because he was the loudest. The moral there may be not to draw too much attention to yourself. At least not the kind of attention that makes people think “I would love to see him get hurt. I would laugh until I cried.” Attention like that always was Brandyn's specialty.

Jim's Trampoline

After my family moved to Lake Drive, taking our trampoline with us, Jim's parents got him one. It was one of the more modern round ones that you still see around today. It wasn't covered in padding and fenced in with a net, but the metal wasn't quarter inch steel plate either, so it was a little safer than our old square one. A number of things happened on that old trampoline and I intend to share a few of them.

Jim and I loved to trampoline fight, as you may recall from earlier stories. One of the things that Jim loved to do was to double bounce me and send me flying to outrageous heights. By this time we were ten or thereabouts so I was around four foot nothing and Jim was close to six foot three. I also weighed about half what Jim did, so when he double bounced me it was something to see.

We had been out playing on it for I don't know how long when Jim got me with the perfect double bounce. I don't know what the mechanics behind it were, only that as far as it could be perfect it was. I shot up above the trampoline twelve to fifteen feet. (I know some of you aren't believing this and that's fine, it happened all the same.) I also shot up so fast that Jim didn't see what had happened.

What happened next will take a while to explain, but it all happened in about three seconds. I clearly remember looking down from above and seeing Jim turn around in a circle trying to figure out where I was. He was stunned. I had simply disappeared. He called out to me.

“Jeremy! Where are you?” He said looking this way and that.

“Up!” I said right before I landed.

Jim looked up and saw me, but only a moment before I landed on him. Needless to say I had no control of where I was going. I had gone up and I had to come down, but the “where” wasn't really up to me. As I was falling I could see that I was going to hit Jim, the best I could do was try not to hurt him. I decided the wisest thing would be to try and land with my feet on his shoulders. I managed to do it, just as he looked up. He had no time to react. I am certain that if I had been able to see his eyes I would have noticed some glimmer of sudden comprehension as my feet slammed down on top of his shoulders. As it happened I couldn't see his eyes and I didn't have a lot of time for making observations anyway. I knocked him down and we collapsed into a laughing heap. That was the best double bounce I ever got and I'm sure it was the best Jim ever gave.

We enjoyed the trampoline so much that we would share it whenever we had the chance. Obviously any kids that were around were more than welcome to come have a bounce, but we didn't limit it to people. Dogs, cats and whatever other animals we could get up there with us were welcome. In fact we were so opened minded that we had a snake come up for a bounce one day.

Jim and I found this young green snake crawling along through the grass. Being the type boys we were we immediately picked it up. It was emerald green and very small. It couldn't have been over a foot long and it was about as big around as a pencil. It had enough sense not to bother trying to bite us. It just slithered slowly through our hands trying to get away.

“So what do you want to do with it?” Jim asked as it curled around his hand.

“I don't know. Something.” I relied.

“Well obviously, but what?”

“I guess we could put it on the trampoline and give it a bounce.”

“Great!”

Without further debate we crawled up and started bouncing. At first we kept the little guy in our hands as we bounced around, but then we decided to let him go solo. As soon as we put him down he started to make a break for it. I suppose he figured it he could get back in the grass he would be over the hills and far away before we could do anything about it.

As he started to head one direction we would bounce him back in another. We had to be very careful not to step on him and not to bounce him too hard. Seeing the snake trying to slither while hanging in midair was something else. He just kept moving no matter what. As soon as his body hit the mat he would be moving along. Then, before he could move a foot, he would be bouncing back in the opposite direction while still slithering with all he had.

I'm not sure to what extent snakes think. I believe most of their actions are guided by instinct and that they do very little actual thinking. I mention this because it's hard to believe that the snake came up with a plan. However, it's equally hard to believe that it was inspired by instinct with a method to get out of the situation it was in.

Whatever it's motivation it suddenly when limp. It bounced whichever way it was heading without putting up any resistance. We stopped bouncing and it just lay there with it's mouth slightly open. Jim and I began to speculate about the cause:

“It can't be dead!” I said as I picked up the little guy.

“It could be...” Jim replied as he looked it over.

“How? We didn't touch it”

“The shock of the bouncing could have been too much for it.”

“I doubt it! Snakes are tough.”

“Maybe it had a heart attack... It couldn't have been used to that kind of thing.”

“I've never heard of a snake having a heart attack... Still, you may be right.”

“What should we do?”

“Let's just put it in the grass and see what happens.”

That is just what we did. It lay there looking as dead as it could for a few minutes. Finally we decided that we would have to walk away for a little while and give it the chance to notice we weren't there. After around five minutes or so we went back to check on it. The snake was gone. I have no doubt it headed out as soon as it realized we weren't looking. I know that playing dead is a normal getting away method, but I had never seen a snake do it. I also didn't think it would have found bouncing on a trampoline a life threatening situation. Still, in that regard snakes may be wiser than people.

This next tale should stand out as a lesson for mothers. Too many times a mother over-thinks what her children may be up to. I admit that to a certain degree a parent has to do that. Otherwise the child may cut his or her hand off before you get there in time to stop them. However, Jim's mother stumbled into one of the classic blunders. She actually took the time to tell us not to do it before we had even thought of it.

“Boys!” She cried out as she walked out of the back door.

“Yes Ma'am.” We replied.

“Now you know we have the pool setup beside the trampoline?”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“You also know that the trampoline is setup beside the shed?”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“Good! Now, I don't want you two jumping off the shed onto the trampoline and then bouncing into the pool. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“Good!”

Having made her point she headed back into the house.

“So... that's a brilliant idea.” I said as soon as she was out of sight.

“I know! I wonder how we never thought of it before.”

“We shouldn't do it though.”

“I know... Let's do it anyway.”

“Yea... it's just too good.”


A few minutes later Jim's Mom came pelting out of the back door. I think the noise we were making was probably what attracted her attention. There was no way to jump off a twelve foot building onto a trampoline and into a pool quietly. She caught us right in the middle of things.

“Boys!”

“Yes Ma'am.”

“Didn't I just tell you not to do that?!?!”

“Yes Ma'am...”

“Then why did you do it?!?!?”

“Well, we hadn't thought of it until you mentioned it. After that the idea seemed too goo not to try....”

It may seem hard to believe, but she actually accepted that explanation. I suppose at that moment she had learned a valuable lesson. Don't tell us not to do something that would be that much fun until she actually caught us doing it. With a short warning that we had better not do it again she headed back into the house. Jim and I never did it again. His Mom was kind of like my Dad in some regards. You might be able to get away once, but you wouldn't do it twice.

There are several morals one could take away from these stories. First, buy your kids a trampoline, it's worth every penny. Second, don't mention things your kids shouldn't do, dangerous things aside, until you actually catch them doing it. Third, a snake isn't necessarily dead just because it's not moving and it's mouth is hanging open, so watch your back. Like so many things that happen in life there's a lesson there if you take the time to look.

The Days With Danny

One of my best friends growing up was Danny Flint. He was a barrel of fun and the two of us were always getting up to something. Sadly he lost his life when we were both fifteen years old. I have heard it said that everyone dies, but not everyone truly lives. I honestly believe that. Danny crammed more life into his fifteen years than some people manage to put into eighty. He loved life and lived every minute he had of it. I record here a few examples of the kind of things we did.

Danny had motorcycles. He didn't have a motorcycle or a selection of motorcycles, he just had motorcycles. From the time I met him he always had a few around that were sort of generally his. I think his Dad was good at small engine repair or some such. Whatever the reason he always had dirt bikes around. Because of this he could ride well.

He had a bit of a dirt track out in the woods just down the road from his house. He decided to take me out there one morning. I hadn't seen it yet and he decided it was high time for me to go have a look. We headed down the road on one bike. He was driving and I was riding behind holding on for dear life. We shot down the road at perhaps forty miles an hour. Suddenly Danny turned up into the woods and before I knew it we were on the track.

We were flying past trees and leaning over as we flew quickly around sharp corners. Before I knew it we had hit a ramp and shot up into the air. At the highest point in the jump Danny just disappeared. Well, I say disappeared, in truth I saw where he went. He went up. It didn't make much sense at the moment. He had been sitting in front of me when we hit the ramp. We all three (The bike, Danny and me) had all flown up into the air. However, when the bike and me started to descend Danny didn't. He just went up into the air as I went down.

I grabbed frantically at the handle bars which were just out of my reach because I had been sitting on the back of the seat. I landed before I could get my hands on them, so I couldn't keep from crashing into a group of bushes strait ahead of me. As soon as the bike had thrown me off into the brush I heard Danny laughing. I looked back toward the ramp and saw him hanging from a pine branch.

He had grabbed the limb in the high point of the jump and left me to make the descent by myself. It was hard to believe he had planned it, but that was the case. The ramp had been strategically placed below the limb so Danny, and a few other friends, could make the jump and then desert their bikes mid-air.

“So, did I surprise you?” He asked as he dropped back to earth.

“Yea, you could say that!” I laughed.

“You're not hurt?”

“Not at all!”

“Good! I just wanted to scare you!”

He had picked the bike up as we were talking. He cranked it up and I hopped on. Danny and I had very similar senses of humor. The fact that he had abandoned me in the middle of a jump and left me to crash into the woods didn't bother me at all. In truth I would have done the same thing to him. We each one loved a laugh and were more than willing to undergo a few bruises and scrapes to get one. As soon as I was back on the bike we were off.

It was an ill fated day for me as far as that motorcycle was concerned. As we were on the way back to Danny's house we ran up a earth embankment. The sand was loose to say the least and as soon as we hit it I knew we were in trouble. The bike jerked one way and then the other and before you could blink we had crashed into the sand.

It was soft and warm and didn't hurt a bit. Danny and I just lay there laughing for a moment. I had one of my legs sticking up over the side of the bike. As I relaxed I lowered my leg and it touched the bike. That is to say that it touched the muffler. It took me a moment to realize I was burning. The thing was so hot it deadened the nerves as it burned. Finally I realized something was wrong and jumped up with a loud yell.

I looked at the back of my leg and it looked like part of it was melted plastic. All the skin was bunched up and melted away from the back of my leg. To say that it hurt would be an understatement, but I wasn't about to start screaming and crying. I was twelve or thirteen and so I knew I had to walk like a man.

“Oh man! I'm sorry!” Danny said as soon as he saw my leg.

“No problem. It's not your fault. I should have been watching the muffler.” I replied as I inspected my calf.

“Hop on the bike and I'll run you back to the house so was can take care of it.”

“No thanks. Let's walk...”

So, walk we did. I limped along while Danny walked beside me pushing the bike. It took us a lot longer to get home than it would have if I had just ridden the motorcycle, but I didn't feel up to any more of it at the time. When I got back to Danny's his Mom took a look at it. In short she said that it was going to hurt for a while, but that it would heal. They were used to muffler burns and knew I was in no real danger. It hurt for a long time, but now I have only the smallest scar to show you where I once had the back of my leg burned off. Even at the time I felt that the burn had been worth the fun.

Danny and I attracted fire. At least that's how it seems now that I look back at it. Long after the leg incident Danny had come over to my house to play. In a lot of ways my house was the place to be because Dad let us do pretty much whatever we wanted provided that it wasn't immoral, illegal or very dangerous (he expected us to do things that were slightly deadly). We had a number of club houses and the greatest tree house in town.

Danny and I had decided to camp out in the current club house in the back yard. It was a low building made out of railroad cross ties stacked up and walls with a tin roof set on it. It had no windows and the door was a hole dug below one of the walls. The tin roof had a hole for a chimney and we would crawl in and start a fire during the colder months.

That day we had a small fire going. It was very pleasant inside. It was warm. It was glowing. All in all it was very inviting. Danny and I sat there talking as Sam was collecting fuel for the fire. At some point he decided to tear up a bunch of dead morning glory vines. (Mom grew morning glories all around the house when I was a child.) He carried a huge load of them over to the clubhouse and decided the best thing to do would be to jam them down the chimney.

So, there we were, Danny and I suddenly staring at a pile of morning glory vines that went from the fire on the floor all the way out of the top of the chimney. (It was a low building, it couldn't have been more than three feet tall. It was club house we couldn't stand up in, but that wasn't the point.) For a moment the fire looked as if it had been smothered. The club house was almost completely dark and smoke was pouring from the smoldering sparks of the fire.

“Why did you do that?” I yelled to Sam.

“I'm burning the vines!” he replied.

“Yes, but we're in here!”

“I know.”

“Well, you could have smoked us to death, not to mention burned us.”

“Nah....”

Our conversation was cut short. Suddenly there was more light in the room. Within half a second that the light was blinding. The vines has gotten hot enough to burst into flame. (All this had taken about fifteen seconds.) Danny and I were suddenly sitting in a room with a column of fire in the corner that went from the floor to the ceiling. We did the only logical thing we could do. We screamed and started crawling out of the hole/door. We came up covered in soot and yelling at Sam. For his part he couldn't stop laughing. After we were sure that neither of us were on fire we joined in Sam's mirth. After all, we couldn't deny that it was funny. That wasn't the first time I had been close to the flames with Danny.

For those of you who have read other stories of mine you may find this next one very similar to one you have already read. It's as if only the names and a few other details have been changed. The reason for this is simple: Boys will be boys. We are drawn to the same ideas and often suffer the same consequences.

I had gone to spend the night at Danny's house one Friday. We woke up on Saturday morning and started looking for things to do. After a while we found an old toy truck he had left out in the woods. In my typical fashion I suggested that we burn it. I wasn't into wanton destruction just for destruction's sake, but I did love to burn up old toys for some reason. Danny readily agreed to the idea. We wanted to make a car wreck scene of some kind that burst into flame.

Finally we decided that falling off a cliff was a good kind of explosive crash. As we were walking along talking about it we came up on a concrete block wall out near Danny's house. Normally a wall like that would have had all the holes between the blocks filled with concrete. This one didn't. For some reason some of the holes between the blocks were empty from the top of the wall to the ground. We looked down into one and considered the possibilities.

“We could drop the car down there as if it crashed and set it on fire.” I said looking down into the hole.

“Yea! That sounds good.” Danny replied.

“We would need something to get it started though...”

“Spray paint?”

“Perfect!”

The decision having been made we ran off to get a can of spray paint. We took the can and shook it well and then sprayed most of it down into one of the holes. After that we rolled the truck along the top of the wall making up dialog as we went. “Look out for that cliff!” “I see it! Ahhh!! The breaks are out!” and so forth. The truck was dropped down into the dark abyss and it was time to give our creation life. That is to say we just needed to catch it on fire.

I took a long stick and lit the end. I stood bent over looking directly down in the hole. I looked up at Danny, smiled and said “Let's take a look with the light. Maybe there are survivors.” or something like that. With that I slowly lowed my flaming brand into the darkness. And then there was light!

Yes, the fumes caught fire in a flash. The entire hole became a vortex of flame that shot out of it like the exhaust of a jet engine. My head was engulfed in crimson flame. In an instant I jerked my head back, but it was too late. I had no facial hair left. My eye lashes we little crispy strings. My eye brows were crumbly little patches of fluffy dust. Even the front of my hair was melted into an odd position.

“Are you alright?!?!?” Danny yelled as soon as I had stood up.

“I think so.” Was my dazed reply.

“We better get you washed up.”

“I agree!”

We went back to the house and washed away the burnt remnants of my eye brows and lashes. We did our best to comb my wad of melted hair. When we were done Danny stepped back to take a look.

“Much better!” He said with confidence.

“Really?” I said looking in the mirror.

“Oh yea! No one will be able to tell anything happened now.”

“You don't think I look a little red?”

“No, not at all.”

As soon as we came out of the bathroom we ran into Danny's Mom.

“What happened to you!” She said loudly looking at me in surprise.

“So, I look normal?” I asked looking at Danny.

Needless to say we had to explain exactly what had happened. We were criticized through almost constant laughter and warned not to do it again. As one can imagine, we never did. Most young men only need their face caught on fire the one time. After that they never put their face close to things that may burst into flame at any moment. That was my one time and I learned my lesson.

As I sit here writing this I miss Danny. We never got to finish growing up together. A single accident sent him home and those of us that knew him were left to go on here without him. I think about him now and then when this or that brings him to mind. I miss him, but I'm happy to miss him because it means I knew him.

Still Waters Run Deep

Most people have childhood stories centered around the old swimming hole and I am certainly no different. My grandmother's pond was the source of many a story. Her house and yard in general were great fun, but that little body of water provided something more. Everywhere we went there were woods filled with adventure, but not everywhere had a pond. We went fishing and swimming as well as boating. It was a source of great fun.

To begin with we have to go back to a time when I still lived right beside that old pond. We lived in a trailer in Grandma's back yard at the time. I couldn't have been over six, because I was that old when we moved to Williston. The story takes place on an unusually cold South Carolina winter. It had gotten so cold, in fact, that the pond was frozen over. The ice was so thick you could walk on it.

I know that at this point many people will be thinking “So what... A frozen pond is no big deal!” Well, keep in mind this is South Carolina. I've stepped on top of a pond roughly three times down here and I'm over thirty years old. It's not something that happens to us every winter. It's like when you tell stories of how it got to be over one hundred degrees for a week that time. It's a big deal to you even if it makes us all laugh.

Dad was very excited about the whole thing. He still gets excited about things like a child would. I do the same in fact. It's important to hold on to your youth. (Dad has managed to do a very good job of it.) In addition to the frozen pond we had gotten snow. (Again, I know it's not a big deal to everyone, just run with me here.) As a result he decided that we needed to do something fun with it while it lasted. After a few minutes contemplation he went and got the hood of an old Volkswagen Beetle.

There are actually a few stories about that Beetle that culminate in it catching on fire and burning up Dad's dream, but that, as they say, is another story. The point for the moment is that the hood was left and that Dad had gotten it while Mom and me stood there looking around the winter wonder land. As soon as Dad got back he explained his plan.

“We can use this as a sled.” Said Dad as he started to walk up one of the hills beside the pond.

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Replied Mom. (Mom likes to say that to Dad every time he has an idea just to make sure he's serious about whatever it is.)

“Why not?”

“You're going to end up in the pond.”

“The pond is frozen. We've walked on it already.”

“I know, but you'll break through.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

Mom has never put together the fact that this kind of talk drives Dad on to do whatever it is he's set out to do. All she had done was make him more determined to slide down the hill and out onto the pond. He got to the top, put his sled down and hopped on. He flew to the bottom and out onto the pond in a blaze of snow. Needless to say that as soon as I had seen Dad do it I wanted to as well. While this in no way pleased Mom it made Dad very happy.

I walked up to the top of the hill with him. He climbed on board his Volkswagen sled and I sat in his lap in front of him. He pushed off and we flew down the hill. My added weight meant added momentum, so when we hit the pond we slid out further toward the middle than Dad had alone. Of course, my added weight also meant, well, added weight. So as we slid out to a thin spot we were heaver than Dad had been alone. The result was simple: we broke right through the ice.

Dad grabbed me and made for shore. Fortunately he could stand on the bottom where we were. Unfortunately he couldn't climb back up on the ice. It just broke before him as he tried to climb up here and there. Still, all things considered we were very close to the shore and in less than a minute we were both standing there soaking wet in the freezing cold.

“I told you that would happen!” Mom said as we headed back to the house.

I won't bother to record Dad's reply. It was one of the many cases where Mom had just happened to be right when she made a completely blind guess. Dad was also annoyed that the hood of the Beetle was now at the bottom of the pond. He never did get it back out. That was end of the sled and of the old Volkswagen.

The next tale takes place when I was a teenager. Sam, Josh and I had gone to stay with Uncle Grover and Uncle Hans for a few weeks in the summer. Almost every day found us out on or in the pond. We would often row around in the old john boat lazily fishing for an hour or so. We often had a good catch, but we weren't allowed to keep what we caught.

Uncle Hans and Uncle Grover didn't believe in killing things to eat them. Oh, they believed in eating meat whenever you could get it, but only if it was already cleaned and processed. Now, by this time Grandmother had already passed away so it was just us and the bachelors. They weren't as careful about feeding themselves or us as Grandma might have been.

Everyday we scrounged for whatever we could find to eat. Hunger was increasing each day and it was with increased pain that we put our catch back into the pond. Each night there was one light at the end of the tunnel. Uncle Hans was going to bake a cake. One night we had carrot cake, the next German chocolate. On and on it went for weeks.

In the end Sam and Josh finally cracked. They had been fishing on the far side of the pond and caught a big Bass. The view from the trailer to that part of the pond was blocked by a small forest of pine trees. They decided to take a chance. They landed the boat cleaned the fish and started a fire. They then roasted and ate the fish. Both of them claimed that they would have come to get me, but both were afraid of raising the alarm. After weeks of the cake only diet the fish seemed like manna from heaven in the wilderness. (Uncle Hans and Uncle Grover have never heard this story. I ask them to keep in mind that the fish killers were starving children and to look within their hearts to find forgiveness.)

All this is only to set the scene really. During that Summer we did all kinds of things to keep our minds off the hunger. (Some of you may be wondering why we stayed in this starving condition. Well, UG and UH were and are great fun. It was more than worth loosing twenty pounds. Even when you hadn't weighed a hundred to start with.) One of the things we were allowed to do was to dig through everything Uncle Grover and Uncle Hans owned provided that it wasn't actually in their bedrooms. Even there we were allowed to mess with almost everything.

As we were digging through one of the sheds we stumbled upon some old diving equipment. It was like finding a pile of gold to us. Each of us had always wanted to go scuba diving. We pulled everything we could find out and piled it up. We were ecstatic! There were some old face masks, a number of wet suits and some old respirator equipment. Then it hit us... No air tanks! We stayed calm. All we needed to do was wait until Uncle Grover got home and then ask him where the tanks were.

“We found a bunch of your old scuba equipment today.” I started when he came home.

“That's good.” He replied.

“You don't care if we use it?”

“What? No, go ahead!” He said with a smile. (Honestly, neither UH or UG ever stopped us from doing anything that wasn't dangerous.)

“So, we couldn't find the tanks. Do you know where they are?”

“Oh... I gave them away.”

“To who?”

“Some guy. I don't remember.” He said laughing.

“Honestly?”

“Well, I mean I gave them to one of my scuba friends. It could have been...” Here he started to list a bunch of people that I had never heard of.

“So, no chance of getting them back.”

“None. Sorry!”

Well, it was a setback, but we generally accepted such things with quiet dignity and grace. The next day we decided to pull the wetsuits out and see what we had. Josh and I had found tops and bottoms that would fit us and were soon wet-suited up. Sam went with a one piece suit that zipped up the side. After he had slipped into it he looked like a Scottish Jacques Cousteau. As soon as we were all attired we went and jumped in the pond.

It was my first experience with a wetsuit and I have to say it was amazing. At first cold water poured into the suit and it was freezing. However, as soon as it was full of water it started to warm up to body temperature. Once it was warm it stayed warm. We swam around enjoying the sensation for about an hour. It was just the three of us and we weren't willing to swim out too far in the old pond. Occasionally you would see alligators around, so it was best to stay close to shore.

Finally we all climbed out and started stripping off our wetsuits. Josh and I had no problem. The separate tops and bottoms came off just like shirts and pants. Sam on the other hand ran into a little trouble. His zipper unzipped about eight inches and got stuck. He pulled at it furiously for a minute or so and then realized he couldn't handle it alone.

“Hey Germ, help me with this zipper.” Sam said still fighting with it. (Germ was one of my childhood nicknames. Sam and Uncle Grover still use it.)

“No problem bro!” I replied as I stepped over to help him.

I pulled as hard as I could, but the zipper would move.

“It's stuck!”

“Yea, I know. That's why I asked for help...”

“Ok, hold on.”

I jerked on that zipper with everything I had. It didn't budge.

“It's not going to move. We're just going to have to get you out of the unzipped part.” I said.

“There's no way! It's like eight or nine inches tops!”

“Well, it's that or stay in the suit. I ain't cutting it up.”

“Fine. How do we go about it?”

“Let's get your arm out first.”

Here it will be impossible to describe what happened. The twisting, turning and squirming was fantastic to see, but to write it out would take pages. Imagine someone trying to win a gymnastic, limbo and interpretive dance competition all at one time. Slowly we worked and pulled and stretched the suit. I almost had one of Sam's arms out when it slipped from my grasp. The rubber was stretched out and it slapped Sam's arm down to his side. His upper arm, elbow and lower arm were all out of the suit, but his shoulder and wrist were still in. The resulting position left him looking like a modernized Gainsborough's blue boy. It might have been entitled “Gainsborough's scuba boy” or something. (I know that not all of you may be familiar with the painting which is why I posted it in the blog.)



For a few minutes all I could do was laugh. Sam stood there yelling and straining against the rubber, but the more he fought the more I laughed. He spun around in a circle waving his elbow like a chicken wing as he tried to pull his wrist out. It was no good, he couldn't do it himself. Finally I got myself under control and again started helping Sam out. I got his arm out, but the result was that the suit was stretched up on one side and, if anything, even titer on him.

“We're going to have to go all the way and try to get your head out next.”

“Fine! I'm burning alive in this thing!”

We had been standing in the summer sun for twenty minutes fighting this suit with all our energy. The fact that it was jet black didn't help keep it cool. Sam was begging to understand how meat in a crock pot felt.

We began to pull and shove and stretch again. Slowly, but surely, he got his head twisted around to the hole. He jammed his face into it with all his strength. As his head began to emerge it pulled the skin back on his face, made his eyes roll back in his head and pulled his lids back as far as they would go. His mouth was pulled open and he was yelling with everything he had as he put every once of strength he could into gaining freedom.

It looked as if some wild dark animal was giving birth to a possessed Scotsman. Had I walked up on something like that in the woods I would have run for my life. As it was I had to stop helping because I was laughing so hard. At last his head popped out and after that, just like in a normal delivery, the rest was easy. He lay there breathing in the free air for a moment while Josh and I laughed until we were about to cry. Sam had won his freedom and he never again dared to put on that accursed suit.

It's been a long, long time since we went down to that old pond. We all grew up and got busy. I still think of it though on hot days when I wish I could take a dip or go fishing in that old john boat. I can't go back to those days, but I carry them on with me as memories. That's where most of reality is, in our past. Moments fly by too fast for us to truly consider them, but as we look back at them as memories we are able to consider all their shades. As I sit here quietly contemplating these deep thoughts it proves the old saying: “Still waters run deep”.