There’s no man like a Snowman!

The recent chilly weather got me thinking. 

Do you remember the old classic Heinz commercial where a little boy stared into a full ketchup bottle waiting for the object of his desire to emerge on to his plate while the background music played, “Anticipation, anticipation…”  Well, for some reason that is how I feel about the upcoming winter in Alabama.  I am literally praying that we might see some of that freezing white fun they call snow sometime this winter.  For all of us in the middle portion of the state it has been years since we have seen any real accumulation.  As a matter of fact, of my three kids only the oldest can remember ever seeing snow in our yard.  Now you may think I am being selfish, but I don’t think any growing child should be deprived of the unique opportunity to pelt his or her sibling with a tightly packed ball of fresh powder.  I also think every child should have an Alabama memory of sledding full speed down a deserted wintry street past his newly created snowman and crashing headlong into a snowbank in front of the neighbor’s house.  But alas, perhaps my dreams are in vain.

The problem is this.  It has snowed here before.  As a matter of fact our last big snow was over eight inches!  (Okay you northerners…you can stop snickering, now…)  So, we have had a taste of the good life.  That is why it is so hard to deal with the current situation.  I really want to share a snow day or two with my family before they are grown.  I would love to wake up to the sound of silence in the streets and the radio declaration that, “Everything is closed!  Stay home and go crazy with your wife and your kids!”  That would be the greatest opportunity in the world for me, a blog waiting to happen!  Will it?  We’ll see.

From my desktop to yours…hopefully, it will be another Alabama memory!

One of my Favorite Toys

When I was growing up in northern Alabama there were many new and innovative toys that crossed my path.  However, none of them were quite as simple and eloquent and the infamous set of “clackers!” 

We used to play with these for hours at a time.  The best of us could get the two hard acrylic marble-looking balls to smash into each other above and below our fingers at amazing rates of speed.  Of course, the faster you got them going the louder the noise!  That made it even more fun!

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end.  When several kids started receiving injuries from these clackers, they were removed from the marketplace.  I could have sworn I heard a collective sigh of relief from parents and educators throughout the United  States when this happened.  I think this toy redefined annoying and obnoxious to the adult world.  But, in my world, they redefined fun!

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory!

Grand Theft Auto – The Final Chapter

Mark Bowers was a younger friend of ours.  We knew him from church.  This was just too good to be true.

“Mark?!” Chris said in an excited tone over the headset.  “Are you sure it’s Mark?”

“One hundred percent,” I whispered back.  “Cease talk.  They’re too close.”

I was still worried that they would see me, and I did not want to blow this fantastic setup.  After all how many times do you get the chance to nail one of your friends in the act of rolling your yard.  After a minute or so my tension eased.  They were starting their handiwork.

“Chris,” I spoke softly.

“I’m here,” he replied.

“I’m going to make my way to their car.”  I said it as I started the crawl to our neighbor’s driveway where they had left their vehicle.

“Good idea,” Chris replied.  “I am going to give Steve the headset while I call the police.  This is just too good to pass up.”

I laughed as I continued to make my way to their vehicle.  The thought of Mark being interrogated by the police was too funny.  “Hey, Steve?  You there?”

“I’m here.”  I could hear him adjusting the headset.  As he did he asked me,  “Who are the other three culprits?”

“I have no idea,” I said as I reached the car.  “They must be some friends from school or something.  I’ve never seen any of them at church.”  My thoughts switched gears.  “Oh man…Steve!  You’ll never guess what I see!”

“What?”

“They left the doors unlocked and…”  I couldn’t believe my luck, “and they left the keys in the ignition!”

I heard Steve passing along the info to my brother who was now on the phone with the police headquarters.  Steve asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Has Chris had any luck with the cops?”

“He’s on the phone with a dispatch,” Steve replied.  “She is really hoping they have someone available.  She is checking now.”  Steve paused and I could here him talking to Chris as he covered the microphone.

While he was talking I made a split second decision that had the possibility of disastrous consequences.  I decided I was going to “borrow” their car and leave all four of our toilet-papering friends trapped without escape.  Of course, at the time, I forgot that my brother was on the phone with the police trying to persuade them to send on officer to nab the culprits.  If I had thought about that I might not have been so hasty with my decision seeing as Mark and his friends might have successfully charged me with grand theft auto.

Steve came back on the headset, “Hey man, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here…sort of…” I replied.

“Sort of?” he questioned.

“Well, I’m taking their vehicle for a little test drive.”  I had turned the vehicle around and was speeding away from the scene of the crime as fast as I could.  I never looked back, and I lost contact with my partners.  The last thing I heard in my earpiece was, “Are you crazy?  What are you…?!”

Once I was safely away from all of the action I realized that I did not know where I was going.  That was not a good feeling.  I knew I could not go far because I had to hide the car and walk back to my house.  I finally decided to leave it at a small park that was about half a mile from my house.  My adrenaline was racing as I concealed the car behind some trees, locked the doors and pocketed the keys.

It took me about fifteen minutes to walk back to my house.  I tried to raise Chris or Steve on the headset the whole way back.  When I finally did I found out the police did not have anyone available to nab Mark and his friends.  I breathed a quiet sigh of relief having figured out the trouble I might have received.  Chris also told me that Mark and his buddies were now hard at work cleaning up their mess.  Once they saw their car heading south they realized their game was up.  At first they just sat there.  Then, Chris confronted them and told them what they had to do to get their vehicle back.  I cannot remember all of the terms, but I know they were rather humiliating.

We found out later that night that one of Mark’s friends was a foreign exchange student (I think she was from Norway) and that she had never been rolling before, so Mark decided to take her.  I’ll bet she never did it again!

After an hour or so of torture I took them back to their vehicle and warned them never to try to one up us again!  They never did.  As a matter of fact, the legend grew through the years, and it became known throughout the land that you couldn’t roll our yard without getting nailed!  Of course, the challenge was too great to resist for some, and the mighty fell one night about five years later.  But that is another story.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Grand Theft Auto – Part 1

It all started when a bunch of Grissom High School Band students started throwing cans of biscuit dough into our front yard!  Well, actually it all started when my Dad complained about the Band director teaching music lessons to his students during school hours and charging them money.  Somehow the controversy resulted in a Hungry Jack band student breakfast barrage.  We never could figure out the tie in.  Maybe they were putting Exlax in the biscuits and hoping we would eat them! I don’t know.

Anyway, one night my brother and I decided we would get some license tag numbers and put these biscuit flinging felons behind bars for good!  After all, what better way to test our new wireless headsets.  So, my brother staged our electronic setup and I finalized the overall strategy.  We would alternate positions during the stakeout hours to keep the game exciting.  He would begin in the field and I would locate on the roof outside my bedroom window.  That way I could keep the telephone handy.  We didn’t have cordless or cell yet.

It did not take long for the first incident to be recorded.  As a matter of fact it happened before we could get completely set up and we missed the license plate.  The adrenaline started flowing and by 9:00 we were anxiously awaiting the next drive-by fling.  We waited and waited and waited; nothing.  By about 11:00 we were losing patience and just about ready to give up for the night when everything took a very unexpected turn.

Next Week – Grand Theft Auto – Part 2

Heroes

Summertime was and is one of the greatest things about growing up in Alabama.  If you mention the season to me, it brings back memories of swimming pools, fishing, dirtball fights, forts, video games, baseball, fireworks, Frisbees, tennis, camp, and of course, girls.  For boys everywhere growing up ruins summertime.  Before puberty we see the season as one big adventure waiting for us.  The simplest things capture our imaginations.  A stick becomes a golden scabbard; a rock becomes a cannonball.  Our backyard is a time portal to the seven seas or an unknown planet beyond our galaxy.  Our rooms are full of hidden caves and buried treasure.  Every day turns us into a new hero accomplishing a new superhuman task, rescuing civilization and mankind right before Mom calls us in for dinner.  Life is excellent!  And then…puberty.

With puberty comes an awareness of the opposite sex that preoccupies and overwhelms the young male mind, especially during the summer.  Thoughts of adventure and heroism fade into thoughts of insecurity and self-awareness.  The back yard turns into something you mow.  Your room turns into an ordinary room with a mirror on a wall where you can ponder all of the changes your body is undergoing.  Your house turns into a prison and your parents into wardens.  Your brothers and sisters turn into objects of deep envy, reminders of how easy and beautiful life used to be.  Nothing is the same.

If you talk to grown men about this change, most of them will agree; it is a place they never want to visit again!  I believe most of our male adult lives are spent trying to get back to our childhood before puberty, when life was simple and we were heroes.  It is the core of our being.  We want to be heroes.  It can be found in the politician, the CEO, the professional baseball player, the teacher, the engineer, the systems administrator, and every other man on the planet. All of us want to save the day.  We want to be applauded and cheered for liberating civilization from the dark side once again.  If you look hard enough, you can see it.

There are many male responses to this desire for heroism.  Some men pursue it quietly and diligently at work or with their families.  Others will seize the adoration they seek through military, corporate, or social conquest.  Any way you look at it though, it is the foremost task in the heart and mind of the adult male to recapture his back yard youth and to once again become a hero!  Don’t you think?

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory. 

Resurrection is a beautiful thing!

When I was a younger man growing up in the northern part of Alabama I had a Golden Retriever named Feather.  I remember him with a warm heart even though I cannot bring to mind any specific tender tales to share at the moment.  My most vivid memory surrounds the end of Feather’s life.  He was thirteen and I was approaching my teens when he died.  The day I heard the news was one of the saddest I had ever experienced in my short time of existence.  I remember crying and hurting and hurting some more.  I guess his death really blindsided me.  Somehow I thought Feather would always be a part of my life, and now he was gone…forever.  I cried a lot that day.  I think I also learned a lot without really knowing it.  Maybe that is why I recently felt the need to honor the memory of my childhood companion by bringing him back from the dead.  No, I am not talking about performing a Christlike Lazarus moment.  Instead, I am speaking of turning a vague, shadowy, dearly held memory back into reality.

Three weeks ago my family and I went to a show breeder in southern Mississippi and picked up our seven-week old pet-quality male Golden Retriever puppy.  With too many smiles to count and more happiness than you can find in a lifetime, our new puppy has become a family member overnight.  It almost brings tears to my eyes as I think of my memory reborn and the joy he is already bringing to my children.  What’s his name you ask?  Why, of course, you already know.

It’s Feather.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.