Teeth, Who Needs Em?

Ahhh, my dear cousin Rik. The only true towhead of the lot. I'm sure an apology would be in store from me, and on behalf of your older brother, would be appropriate for the treatment (just shy of torture) we put you through. But if we apologized, that would mean we were sincerely sorry for our actions, beg for forgiveness, and pray that our past crimes never again resurface. So we can't do that. You were Keith's personal punching bag, stray dog, voodoo doll, and skid mark. You wanted to be bigger, and do the things the bigger kids were doing, but Keith was going to haze you to the nth degree, to make sure you were worthy. I think he made you cry almost every day of your life until you reached school, and were able to make friends outside of your immediate family. You wonder where Keith got it? From me. I did the exact same thing to him when he was that age. He was just helping you through your rite of passage to become a part of our family. You should really thank him for all his hard work. Especially the numerous times he would stick a football in your hands and tell you to start running. First of all, you were too small to even carry a football, so you had to hug it with both arms around it. Then Keith would chase you down, and tackle you. It was your typical 'David and Goliath' situation. The only difference - David won his battle - you never did. So Keith proceeds to play quarterback one day, and you were to fulfill the role of running back. You were pretty darn fast for a little guy, probably because of the daily terror you faced. But for once, it appears you and Keith are teammates? Keith calls out his cadence, the ball is hiked from his imaginary center, he turns, hands the ball off to you, and instantly is transformed into the ferocious linebacker. He chases you the length of the yard, all you have to do is reach the fence before he gets to you, and you're spared impending doom. He makes a last ditch effort, since you were just a few steps away, and dives for your feet and is able to trip you up. Since you kept the football in your hands, rather than dropping it (that would have been a fumble, Keith would have picked it up, then humiliated you by rubbing the fact in your face), you fell forward on the ball and hit your mouth on the tip of the ball, knocking out your two front teeth. Fortunately, (is this a fortunate event?) those were baby teeth he helped you remove from your smile. I remember the dentist making you a partial, and you being the youngest person I knew with false teeth. Another time, we were all out at dam site 16, fishing, I believe it was your first attempt at fishing. We had the perfect set up for a young kid. It was actually an ice fishing pole. Perfect length for a little kid to maneuver. So I got you all set up with a worm and bobber, and gave you a crash course on casting. You were a wild man! Your first cast hooked into your brother's sock. Got that out, so let's try again. Another cast shortly afterwards hooked into my elbow, and you couldn't understand what the hang up was, so you kept tugging, burying the hook further into my skin! I had to yell at you to stop while my arm is being flung involuntarily into the air. So I got that hook out. I then moved you down the bank about 15-20 yards away, and banned you from coming near the rest of mankind, while you were armed with a fishing pole. So about ten minutes goes by, and you're casting and reeling in as fast as you can, making it nearly impossible for any fish to even realize there's potential food in the water. Regardless, you weren't injuring anyone. Then you come walking over towards me, and I see you're crying. Keith is nowhere near you, so I'm a little puzzled why you would be experiencing trauma. You approach and cry, "Get it out Kev". I look, and see a waterlogged worm hanging off the back of your head, and the hook stuck in your scalp. I tried VERY hard not to laugh because you were in pain. But what a great story! I think I'm current on my tetanus shot, so if you would ever like to go fishing again, that would be OK.

What Goes Down, Must Come Up!

Ahhh Angie....... Ang, Ang, Ang. I had a difficult time titling this entry, because you really didn't stand out in a crowd full of idiots, otherwise known as relatives, until you were much older and wiser? I remember you being just about the happiest child on earth, and we relentlessly teased you about you report card. Because of our inferior genetics, we were all a bit envious of your straight A's. SHOW OFF! Sorry, I'm still a bit resentful. But, there were two incidents that stick in my memory, and I can't help but chuckle just by writing this. You had a knack for being rather stealthy, and you were involved in an early form of 'drive-bys'. You had these moments where you were rather ninja like, and before anyone realized, you made your move toward their open beer bottle or can, swigged as much as a five year old can shotgun, and just like a shadow, you were gone, and a good quarter of a can was now devoid of malt beverage. Of course, every thief has their moment. Unfortunately, our family has had their fair share of smokers. And unfortunately, just about anything served as an ashtray. You know where I'm going with this right? So one day, while your parents, and or other miscellaneous adults, happened to be sitting at the table, drinking a few afternoon brews to take the edge off, and probably playing marathon rounds of pyramid solitaire, you decided to strike while everyone was engrossed in card games. You quietly walked to the table next to your mother, reached up, grabbed a beer can and threw back! Little did you realize the can of beer was inadvertently booby trapped with cigarette ashes and butts! I just remember a lot of coughing, gagging, spitting, and topped off with some crying. Quite possibly one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed. Sorry it was at your expense. Another incident happened on Aunt Gin's front porch. You somehow got a hold of some money, and was putting it in your mouth. I think you accidentally swallowed it? But while your mom was there to pick you up at the end of the day, you threw up about 36 cents on Aunt Gin's porch. Ah yes, the loving, watchful care of our dear Aunt Gin.

The Youngest

Ahhh Sam.... Sam, Sam, Sam. We used to call you Sammy, since your dad was a Sam, and your grandfather was a Sam. By the time you came along and joined the group, I was ready to enter my teenage years. Since you were the last born, I always felt a little sorry for you, thinking you really had nobody your age to play with. The only kid in the neighborhood I remember you playing with was the little boy two doors down, with the blue lips. That kid was hell on wheels! Since there was a time where I lived with you guys, I thought I would let you hang out with me, kind of my personal assistant, or rather, more like my 'mini me'. After all, intellectually speaking, we were probably the same age, but I had a car. I'm sure you taught me some new cuss words, thanks to the kid with the blue lips. I remember at an early age you had an affinity for tools. Probably around three years old, you somehow managed to procure a screwdriver, and then proceeded to take the cold air return register off the wall. What was truly amazing was, you had the correct screwdriver! Then, of course, there is the time you were a constant source of irritation to Uncle Dick, as he's trying to work on his truck. Your natural curiosity, coupled with your love for mechanical devices, was just too much for you to resist. You had to be in Uncle Dick's garage lending a hand where possible, regardless of the fact Uncle Dick needed no help. Here's the good part! So Uncle Dick finally caves in under the relentless pressure you placed upon him, to give you tools to play with. He had a small ball peen hammer he stuck in your hand, and sent you on your merry way. One small problem though, ..... he didn't provide you with your own truck to work on! So you quietly strolled to the front of the truck (since Uncle Dick was at the back end, you thought you could do more good at the front), and proceeded to 'fix' his headlight with your hammer! I'm surprised he even let you live after that incident. Another priceless memory I have, you rode along with me to my grandpa Sam's shoe repair shop one Saturday. Yes, another Sam, but can a family really have too many? Probably. So we're at his shop talking to him, and he's perched on a stool. This was probably a cruel practical joke to play on a five year old, but too funny nonetheless. He asked if you could reach down and scratch his ankle, because he couldn't reach it, which probably was the truth, considering the round shape of my grandfather. So you obediently obliged and proceeded to help out an old man by fulfilling his request. Unbeknowst to you, he was a double amputee. The look of horror on your face was priceless when you started scratching his prosthetic ankle, and how quickly you withdrew your hand after realizing, 'something just ain't right here'! Well there's a few more stories, but I think they're best left off paper, and saved for times when we're face to face, around a campfire, sharing a moment of reminiscence.

Family Tree

My wife gave me some inspiration last night, to continue writing this blog. For several weeks, I've felt blogged down, blogged out, and a bit blogged due to the time of the month. But I got better (please reread that, but with a British accent). She reads another friend's blog who happened to dig up old pics of her siblings and relatives, and put those in blog form. I thought, I only have one sister, BUT, all of my cousins are just like brothers and sisters to me, that I can relate some family history to the rest of the world. Don't panic. I promise not to relate anything cruel or harsh, but slightly embarrassing maybe:) And I certainly won't give out last names, and I may have to change some names to protect the innocent. I will probably throw in some of my 'brighter moments' as well. So, eight grandkids equates to at least seven blog entries. I may be able to post some pics with the help of my wife, to substantiate my stories. I'll try not to embellish too much. Enjoy!

Make Me Proud

Earlier today, my fifteen year old sent me a text message, asking if we could go to the baseball game tonight, and as an added bonus, 38 Special was playing a free concert in the parking lot afterwards. I had to oblige. 38 Special was one of those bands who had a half dozen songs that received uber amounts of playing time, and the songs became part of your road trip music. Everyone in the eighties knew the words to 'Back where you belong'. So before the show, we secured our spot rather close to the stage and waited in anticipation. They opened with 'Rockin' into the Night', and I caught my children dancing, and belting out the words as loud as they possibly could. They seemed to enjoy themselves thoroughly. On the way home, they're talking a mile a minute about the music, the musicians, the crowd, etc. So I had to ask if they actually enjoyed their parents' music. Usually I catch crap for liking, and or listening to the music I cut my teeth on, so it was a total surprise, but brought a smile to my face when they admitted to enjoying themselves tonight. I can only imagine the smile our parents had, when they caught us singing along to the Beatles or the Beach Boys, as we were driving in the car. Truly amazing how the next generation carries over a little from their parents:)

Music To My Ears?

Yesterday the temperature in my truck read 99 degrees, it's 5PM, and I'm stuck in a huge traffic mess at 84th & I80. So to keep myself in a good mood, and suppress any feelings of road rage, I roll up the windows, turn on the AC, and start to enjoy the song on the radio. Happens to be some Pink Floyd - perfect music for chillin' out to. Then, out of nowhere, this little Honda 'pimple', slammed to the ground, blacked out windows, a muffler that belongs on a Peterbilt, pulls up next to me, and starts to, beyond vibrate, more like thumping my truck with their, probably stolen, stereo system. The inside of my truck was shaking, and Pink Floyd was no longer distinguishable. At moments like these, it takes every fiber of my being to prevent me from breaking the law, or a windshield, or a head. I was attempting to make the most of an undesirable situation, but some inconsiderate puke, in his thundering tin can, has to go and infringe upon my personal space. If I could get away with it, I would quietly exit my vehicle, enter his vehicle on the passenger side, close the door, lean a little to the right, and let the sauerkraut I ate the night before, fill his compact car, with its limited supply of oxygen, with an aroma that would not be soon forgotten, and then excuse myself. The Bible says, 'an eye for an eye'. This would be bleeding ears for mustard gas, and then I would call it even. I wouldn't have been so upset if he had pulled up, rolled down his window and said, 'Hey, what are you listening to?', then change the music to Pink Floyd, rather than the offensive rap music that comes along with owning a monster stereo system worth 5 times more than the vehicle that houses it. In my estimation, the letter 'c' in rap, is silent.

Sticky vs. Slimy

Which would I prefer? Depends on a couple of factors. Are we talking on me, or on someone else? Last night, after having a couple of cold, adult beverages with friends, the topic of children arose. Since all of us present have children, we all have first hand experience, plus the stories that accompany them. We first discussed how much more in tune we were mentally prior to offspring. It was determined by our panel that adults with children, suffer brain loss due to two different factors. Figuratively speaking, children stand on your head until brain seepage occurs. Spending untold hours of untold days, compiled into years, conversing on an adolescent level, an adult cherishes conversation with another adult. This activity may slow down the process, but may also prolong the agony. Second factor actually involves physical harm to the adult. Children will, on a regular basis, undo something that took an adult several hours, or even days to accomplish, in ten minutes. This is when the self inflicted harm comes into play. Do I put my fingers around this little person's throat, or do I bang my head against a wall? Study shows most adults opt for the wall. But back to the subject at hand, sticky vs. slimy. Which do kids prefer? After interviewing a few choice specimens, children enjoy both. It required them to be engaged in messy, playful, sometimes delicious fun. Slimy was preferred, but sticky seemed to prevail. Sticky seemed more reasonable to children because some type of sweetened food product would be involved, and dirt would stick to the affected areas afterward, much better than a slimy mess. After partaking in this study panel, it was determined that adults occasionally drink to make the pain go away, and we usually drink together while discussing our children and the ill effects of raising them. I guess this is a form of therapy.