Peanut Butter and Jam

Now that I have children of my own that climb onto the counters to help themselves to items Denise and I would prefer remain hidden ...

I remember climbing up onto our counter to get the peanut butter to make myself a sandwich. This must have been either Phoenix or Kansas City. My generous portion of jam inspired my mother to proclaim that I had enough jam "for a whole army", and she made me put most of it back into the jar.

I protested that when I was older, I would use that much jam all the time on my sandwiches.

And I do.

Other memories about what I thought life would be like when I was "older":
- wishing for a motorcycle in the mall fountain
- being the "doctor" on my mission (smashed fingernails)
- the '67 Chevy Camaro that wasn't to be
- inspiration from my father

upstairs in Kansas City

Dad came to visit this past week, and while we were talking, he asked me what I remember about Kansas City. This is what I told him.

I remember looking out onto the street from my upstairs bedroom window after I got in trouble and Mom had spanked me. I remember thinking "Mom, you are going to be in so much trouble for spanking me when Dad comes home."

Dad laughed and said "Boy, did you have that wrong!".

Yes I did.

The Ticket

This is the story of what will likely be Joseph's earliest memory he will ever retain.

In the days following Ben's birth, things were a little hectic. Ben was very small. He weighed five and a half pounds at birth and lost a half a pound while in the hospital. If he had lost any more weight, he would have been admitted to the hospital for being so small. This caused us some concern.

On top of that, he was very jaundiced. We were able to get a bili-blanket driven up from Eugene to help drive his bilirubin count down. The bili-blanket is actually a small pad attached to a tube that houses optic fibers. The flexible tube is about three feet long and is attached to a small unit that houses a blue light. The light travels through the optic fibers out of the pad and directly onto the infant's skin where it will break down the bilirubin. The infant should be in direct contact with the pad 24 hours a day with the exception of diaper changes and baths. Treatment lasts a few days or more.

For the mother, this means that you need to pick a single spot in the house that you will not move from for the next few days, as moving the source unit is not advised while the light is hot, and waiting for the light to cool down can take up to a half hour. This drove Denise a little stir crazy. The night before my mother flew into town, Denise cried as she desperately called older mothers in the ward so that she could take a break while I took care of the kids. It was heartbreaking to watch, and I was so grateful when Heidi Neuffer answered the call and came over to hold little Ben while I put the kids to bed and Denise took a shower.

The next morning, I readied the kids to make the drive to Eugene to pick up my mother, and her extra pair of hands. I had made every effort to be on time, but each time I thought I was on my way out the door, something came up, and another few minutes were lost to another important task. Finally, when all the kids were buckled in the car and I pulled out of the driveway, I looked down and saw that I needed gas. Now I was going to be late. I hate being late. Fortunately for me, the drive to the Eugene airport, along old Highway 99 is rarely patrolled outside of the small towns every few miles, and I'm not a shy driver. I was frustrated, but I'd be able to make up some of the time.

There isn't a direct route from our side of town to Highway 99. Either you travel south of town for 10 miles before you take a side road to catch the highway (the route we prefer now), or you go downtown and catch the highway as it passes through the heart of Corvallis (the route I took this night). I took one of the main roads (speed limit: 45 mph) across the river and took a long turn onto 3rd street (a 1-way street, speed limit: 25 mph). I'd have to drive a block on 3rd before I could swing over to 4th and head out of town.

As I turned on to 4th, I saw the flashing lights. I stopped and asked to kids to calm down, secretly thinking that if they were going crazy that the offices would have pity and ask me why I was going so fast. I could honestly reply that I was late picking up my mother who was coming in to town to help out with my days old newborn. The kids calmed right down and Officer Roach (his real name) never asked. I explained to the kids that daddy was driving too fast and the officer was helping me remember that its not safe to drive so fast. I explained that police officers are "good guys" and they are always trying to help everyone be happy obey the laws.

To this day, when Joseph thinks we (either Denise or I) are driving too fast, he asks us to slow down, and reminds us of the time that daddy got a ticket while we were picking up Nana. I'm glad that we were able to have a teaching moment that will last a lifetime, but somehow I wish Joseph could have chosen a different event as his first and earliest memory.

My First Race

Near Merced, California is a man-made reservoir across from the new UC Merced campus called Yosemite Lake. While I was in high school, this was the location of an annual Cross Country Invitational that our school regularly attended. The event took place at the beginning of the season, before any of the dual meets had began, and this was the site of my very first race.

We got to the school in the morning, and drove around 30 minutes to get the the lake. In true form, I fell asleep on the bus. I was a sophomore, and would be running one of the earliest races. Some of these events had separate races for freshmen and sophomores, but most had JV Boys, JV Girls, Varsity Boys and Varsity Girls. The latter was probably the case for this event, as it was a smaller invitational.

As the bus pulled into the parking lot, we could hear someone on the bullhorn making last call for someone's race. Down came the windows, and we heard them make their call for my race. The bus pulled to a stop and I made my way to the starting line to warm up.

The typical modus operandi for any race is to jog the course once so that you are familiar with the lay of the land before you have to find twists and turns when it really counts. This was obviously not going to take place today. Instead, I had on my sweats and just did the best I could to get a little sweat running before my race began.

As we were called to the line, I felt a little sick to my stomach, usually a good indicator that I was going to do well. The gun went off, and I did the best I could to run a good race. I knew I wasn't going to win. Mostly I just tried to push as hard as I could through to the end.

My coach met me at the finish line, and told me I had finished ninth. This was obviously much better than either she or I had thought I would do. It was my first taste of a real race, and the start of a long road (literally and figuratively) that I am still running on today.

Dropping the Ball

When I was in third grade, my older sister, Deborah (a fifth grader) had the coolest friends in the whole school. There was this one boy who would wrestle with me on the playground, and would reply "Touché, mama sow" if you said something cool. She also had another friend who was really into the Talent Sprouts and had a cool leather jacket, but seemed a bit too "slick" to me. But the coolest guy in the whole school was Gehrig (Garret?) Peterson. Gehrig was THE JOCK.

The coolest thing about Deborah's friends was they would let me play baseball with them at recess sometimes. Of course I wasn't as big and strong as they were, but they needed an extra pair of hands sometimes, especially at the positions none of them wanted to play. This meant that when I got to play I usually played catcher.

By the time I reached third grade, I had already played a few years of Little League and I knew my way around the diamond. I wasn't ever the best hitter, but I was a fairly decent fielder and I didn't make mental mistakes, especially when it came to recess ball.

The one moment I remember more clearly than any other recess moment at A.J. Winters elementary school came while I was playing catcher and Gehrig was up to bat. He took a few pitches, and then clipped the bottom of the ball so that it flew into the air behind home plate. I positioned myself under the ball, prepared to make the catch, and at that moment Gehrig shouted "No, don't catch it!". I wanted so desperately to be included. I wanted to be a part of the team. I wanted to be invited back to play again tomorrow. I dropped the ball. I didn't just muff the catch. I opened my arms and let the ball fall straight to the ground. I sold out.

I gave in to peer pressure and sacrificed my integrity to feel included. I should have put Gehrig out. Maybe I didn't realize at the time that putting him out was the only choice THE JOCK would have respected.


(Aside: Deborah will have to correct me on the names.)

ORANG...E

In honor of the Scripps national bee that took place this last week ...

Deborah and I competed in the annual Spelling Bee in Montpelier. I competed in first and second grade. I don't remember what happened in third grade. I missed the fourth grade competition because I missed the word "eschew" in Mrs. Abplanap's (Mrs. A) class competition, but that's a different memory.

In second grade, I was in Mrs. Keetch's class, along with Cody Brown. Cody had won first place the year before, and I had gotten second. I think the following story took place in the second grade competition.

Cody Brown was smart. He had a physical handicap and walked with crutches. Dad told me what he had, and that he probably wouldn't live to see his 12th birthday. I don't remember what it was nor do I remember having him in class after the second grade. Cody was a nice kid, and I won't call him my nemesis. Nonetheless, he was very smart and I knew he was the one kid standing between me and first place.

The spelling bee finals took place on the stage of the old high school. The stage was lit and the audience was dark. We contestants sat on stage waiting for our turns in neat little rows of worn and tired chairs. I was confident. I just needed Cody to made a mistake somewhere. There were first grade words, second grade words, third grade words, and so on. When you exhausted one list, you moved on to the next, until there was only one person standing. I don't remember any of my words, but I clearly remember one of Cody's.

On his turn, he approached the microphone, and the reader announced "orange". Cody was a rock. He spelled "O..R..A..N..G", and then turned to walk away. That was it. Cody was out of the competition. My way to first place was paved. It would be smooth sailing from there on.

Cody took one step, and then another, and then, in desperation, reversed direction and lunged with all of his might back to the microphone. "E!!!!" he pronounced before the judge had issued a ruling. My hopes dashed, I secretly urged the judges to disallow the continuation. It was ruled as correct. I got second place, behind Cody Brown.

-- end of story--

For the record, this is a partial list of my elementary school teachers. If anyone else remembers the names that I left out, post it, so that my record can be complete:
Kindergarten teacher (Summit Elementary): Mrs. Theriot
1st grade (Summit Elementaty): Mrs Vernon
1st grade (A.J. Winters): ???
2nd grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Keetch
3rd grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Webber
4th grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Abplanap (Mrs. A)
5th grade (A.J. Winters): Mrs. Etcheverry
5th grade (Fremont): Mr. Thompson (Mr. T)
6th grade Sep-Dec (Fremont): Mr. Denezio
6th grade Jan-Jun (Fremont): ???

Other elementary school memories.

- Ryan takes a softball in the stomach (1st grade)
- kickball on the A.J. Winters playground
- walking to school in the snow (getting offered a ride)
- walking to school in the snow (getting stopped by an officer)
- walking to school in the snow (just in general)
- field day at A.J. Winters (losing to J.R. in the footrace)
- playing catcher at recess (dropping the foul ball)
- placing bets with Wendall
- fishing for J.R.'s beltbuckle
- substitute teachers at A.J. Winters
- kissing tag at Summit Elementary

Broken Glasses

The Orangeburg chapel in Modesto is one of the most awesome buildings I've ever been in, at least from a boy scout's point of view. There are so many nooks, crannies, and secret passageways in that building that playing indoor tag or hide-and-go-seek actually requires real effort. Alas, this story isn't about the indoor maze, but about a small brick utility building on the grass outside.

On this particular day, the scouts were playing a game of tag after our regular meeting. It was a wonderful summer day and we were having a good time. On that very day (or perhaps the day before), I had been to the optometrist to get a new pair of glasses. Mom had gone with me, and the three of us had a long discussion on the merits of glass versus plastic lenses. Glass lenses won't scratch as easily as plastic (a common problem for me), but glass will shatter easily. For the first time in my life, we agreed that I would get glass lenses. I felt responsible.

Of course, this was the period in my life when I wore my glasses all the time. I wore them to school. I wore them to church. I wore them when I played outside. I was wearing them when I turned around and my face found the corner of that brick utility shed on the grass lawn of the Orangeburg Chapel, and the glass lenses shattered.

The Scoutmaster (I don't remember if it was Brother Fairbanks or Brother Blazzard) wanted to make sure that I was OK. He was especially concerned that I may have gotten a glass shard in my eyes. I didn't care about that. I knew that I back to the plastic lenses. And so it was.

Other memories:

- Deborah doesn't get kissed by Dave Spencer (barely!)