… Of Ants and Minnows and the Ends of Worms
As a little boy, I would spend hours watching ants fight and fishing for minnows. About the ants…. In Salina we had some fairly fearsome ants. The big red ones were the toughest. I would take two big ants and rub their heads together until they were really mad at each other and then watch them fight. It seems to me now, that I would spend hours and hours watching them but it may not have been that long.
About the minnows…. Minnows are tiny little fish about the size of a small feeder goldfish. Salina creek (pronounced crIck) ran about 60 feet behind my house. It was a small stream with some small fishing holes about two feet and six feet across full of minnows. I would take a two or three foot willow and attatch a very small hook (about 1/16 of an inch) to the end of the three to four foot piece of fishing line and add a tiny piece of an earthworm that I had dug up, to the hook and fish for many hours. I would catch many little fish and put them in a jar of water. I would feed some to the cats and put the rest in the horse trough (a 50 gallon metal drum cut in half lengthwise full of water for the horses to drink out of). I would keep them alive there for as long as I could so I could feed them to the cats. I don’t know if the horses drank a lot of little fish or not. I was probably six to nine years old when I did these exciting activities.
Showing posts with label 2002. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2002. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
The Beginning and the End
The Beginning and the End
When I was preschool aged I was in Raley’s with mom, saw some orange bubble gum while we were in line, decided that I wanted it, so I put it in my pocket, took it home and started to open it in my room. Before I got a chance to chew a piece, mom caught me and drove me back down to the store to return it. I remember being really embarrassed and knowing that if I wanted something that I couldn’t have, from now on I was gonna have to be sneakier. Yeah, not so good.
So years later after never being caught (don’t remember much in-between), I was now in the 5th or 6th grade and as mischievous as ever, I was on my way to school and dropped by 7Eleven to get some “free” school snacks. After school and not happy with the current candy I had, I greedily went back to 7Eleven. My back pack was probably a quarter full and my left hand was completely full of Dubble Bubbles when the lady behind the counter told me to come up to the counter.
“Open up your bag” she said.
So I opened it and she said that she was going to call the police, so without any hesitation I said,
“Why?” And she said because I had stolen all that candy.
“What are you talking about? I came in here this morning and bought all of this for my brothers and sisters. I forgot the gum and had to come back for it. It’s you people’s fault that you don’t give receipts.”
She then asked for my name, address, and telephone number and without a doubt I said,
“Jennifer Simmers”, gave her phone number, address, and parent’s names. The clerk then mentioned something about the police and picked up the phone. I was now on my way home and fear finally found and owned me. I went thru parking lots, across business parks, anyway to stay away from streets because I knew that the cops were looking for me. I made a run for it in front of the canal and hid in the field across from the hospital for a short time until I was sure that I could make it home. After an eternity, I got home, and knowing that everyone in the world knew what I had done, hid the bag of treasure behind the bushes in front of the pool area. I was so nervous that I didn’t go to get the backpack until the next day and it was gone. And so ended my klepto. days.
Wendy 2002
When I was preschool aged I was in Raley’s with mom, saw some orange bubble gum while we were in line, decided that I wanted it, so I put it in my pocket, took it home and started to open it in my room. Before I got a chance to chew a piece, mom caught me and drove me back down to the store to return it. I remember being really embarrassed and knowing that if I wanted something that I couldn’t have, from now on I was gonna have to be sneakier. Yeah, not so good.
So years later after never being caught (don’t remember much in-between), I was now in the 5th or 6th grade and as mischievous as ever, I was on my way to school and dropped by 7Eleven to get some “free” school snacks. After school and not happy with the current candy I had, I greedily went back to 7Eleven. My back pack was probably a quarter full and my left hand was completely full of Dubble Bubbles when the lady behind the counter told me to come up to the counter.
“Open up your bag” she said.
So I opened it and she said that she was going to call the police, so without any hesitation I said,
“Why?” And she said because I had stolen all that candy.
“What are you talking about? I came in here this morning and bought all of this for my brothers and sisters. I forgot the gum and had to come back for it. It’s you people’s fault that you don’t give receipts.”
She then asked for my name, address, and telephone number and without a doubt I said,
“Jennifer Simmers”, gave her phone number, address, and parent’s names. The clerk then mentioned something about the police and picked up the phone. I was now on my way home and fear finally found and owned me. I went thru parking lots, across business parks, anyway to stay away from streets because I knew that the cops were looking for me. I made a run for it in front of the canal and hid in the field across from the hospital for a short time until I was sure that I could make it home. After an eternity, I got home, and knowing that everyone in the world knew what I had done, hid the bag of treasure behind the bushes in front of the pool area. I was so nervous that I didn’t go to get the backpack until the next day and it was gone. And so ended my klepto. days.
Wendy 2002
What I was like as a kid
Since I am an in-law, most of you do not know what I was like as a kid. Imagine this: Here’s a little girl. She has the cutest super curly brown hair. She is dressed in the latest fashions. She says the funniest little things. She has the smile of someone you fall in love with immediately. She is so sweet and kind. She’s perfect! Well, most of this was true of me; except of course for that whole sweet and kind and perfect business. The only thing that saved me from being spanked for my naughtiness for eternity was the fact that I did have the smile that could melt anyone’s heart.
When I was a month shy of 3, my little brother Scott was born. My dad took me to the hospital in eager anticipation of seeing my excitement when I saw my very own little brother for the first time. My dad lifted me up to look at Scott and give him a little kiss. Only instead of a kiss, I spit in the poor kids face. I hated him. I was so jealous of him. My parents were to love me and only me. Alas, the only thing that saved me was my cute little smile and “Sorry Dad.”
Fast forward to a few weeks later. Little Scott is lying on the couch resting peacefully. Maybe I have gotten over my jealousy of the little one and am curious of the new baby in our house. Wrong!! I grabbed his little legs and dragged him to the floor, where he landed on his head. (Yes, I suppose I am partly to blame for Scott’s emotional ness that he still has to this day,I probably gave the kid brain damage.) Don’t worry, I smiled my little smile and all was forgotten.
Okay, so I must be 16 or 17 now, and am much more mature. Scott and I were outside and mad at each other for something or other and of course we decide to talk things out like rational adults. Nope! We were standing on the front porch stairs and I pushed him down into my mom’s miniature rose bushes. (Just because they were miniature does not mean that the thorns hurt any less.) “Oh no, Scott. I am so sorry!” Little smile, and he forgave me.
I would have to say that probably 90% of my time was spent saying naughty things, doing things I knew were bad, and hurting my little brother. But, I remember once when the sweet little Sarah decided to share herself with the world. I was little— maybe 3 or so. Every year, at Christmas time, my parents would take us to Denver to look at all of the buildings lit up in Christmas lights. It was beautiful. We would end the evening by stopping at one of the government buildings ( I don’t remember which one) and looking at the Nativity Scene. My mom pushed me up to it in my stroller. There was a crowd of people looking at the serene sight and listening to the soft carols being played in the background. All of a sudden I started to cry. My mom knelt down and asked me what was wrong. Now, knowing what you now know of me, you probably think I was throwing a tantrum or something because I was cold or wanted to go home. But no. I pointed to the little baby Jesus. Everyone around us looked to see what was upsetting me. “What is it Sarah?” Sniffle, Sniffle, little sob, “Baby Jesus. He don’t got no clothes on. He cold.” I was so upset because poor little baby Jesus was not wrapped in his swaddling clothes and it was cold out that night.
The moral of my story is we will probably all have one of those naughty little kids who says bad things, and is mean to their siblings, and just does not mind. But just look at their cute little smile, love them and treasure the sweet little moments that will shine through all the naughtiness.
When I was a month shy of 3, my little brother Scott was born. My dad took me to the hospital in eager anticipation of seeing my excitement when I saw my very own little brother for the first time. My dad lifted me up to look at Scott and give him a little kiss. Only instead of a kiss, I spit in the poor kids face. I hated him. I was so jealous of him. My parents were to love me and only me. Alas, the only thing that saved me was my cute little smile and “Sorry Dad.”
Fast forward to a few weeks later. Little Scott is lying on the couch resting peacefully. Maybe I have gotten over my jealousy of the little one and am curious of the new baby in our house. Wrong!! I grabbed his little legs and dragged him to the floor, where he landed on his head. (Yes, I suppose I am partly to blame for Scott’s emotional ness that he still has to this day,I probably gave the kid brain damage.) Don’t worry, I smiled my little smile and all was forgotten.
Okay, so I must be 16 or 17 now, and am much more mature. Scott and I were outside and mad at each other for something or other and of course we decide to talk things out like rational adults. Nope! We were standing on the front porch stairs and I pushed him down into my mom’s miniature rose bushes. (Just because they were miniature does not mean that the thorns hurt any less.) “Oh no, Scott. I am so sorry!” Little smile, and he forgave me.
I would have to say that probably 90% of my time was spent saying naughty things, doing things I knew were bad, and hurting my little brother. But, I remember once when the sweet little Sarah decided to share herself with the world. I was little— maybe 3 or so. Every year, at Christmas time, my parents would take us to Denver to look at all of the buildings lit up in Christmas lights. It was beautiful. We would end the evening by stopping at one of the government buildings ( I don’t remember which one) and looking at the Nativity Scene. My mom pushed me up to it in my stroller. There was a crowd of people looking at the serene sight and listening to the soft carols being played in the background. All of a sudden I started to cry. My mom knelt down and asked me what was wrong. Now, knowing what you now know of me, you probably think I was throwing a tantrum or something because I was cold or wanted to go home. But no. I pointed to the little baby Jesus. Everyone around us looked to see what was upsetting me. “What is it Sarah?” Sniffle, Sniffle, little sob, “Baby Jesus. He don’t got no clothes on. He cold.” I was so upset because poor little baby Jesus was not wrapped in his swaddling clothes and it was cold out that night.
The moral of my story is we will probably all have one of those naughty little kids who says bad things, and is mean to their siblings, and just does not mind. But just look at their cute little smile, love them and treasure the sweet little moments that will shine through all the naughtiness.
The Fight
The Fight
(Extended Edition)
Nice isn’t it? The title I mean. It makes it sound like a Van-dam movie like “The Quest” or something. But when you think about it, it was a lot more exciting than any pretty little choreographed fight film. No fancy little spin kicks or matrix special effects were needed to spice this thing up. No, it was a good old fashioned, down and dirty, hard core beating. No referee, no rules. Who got beat you ask. Well you just settle yourself down in that chair of yours and listen to the tale of the little white boy, and “Nick Dogg”. (Now it sounds like and Aesop’s fable)
It was Christmas break and I was a freshman in college. The night was cold like you would expect for a winter’s night. Christmas had come and gone and that nice relaxed “no care in the world” feeling had settled in. You know the feeling, the one you only get as a kid when no bills are to be paid by anyone but dad, anyway, that was the feeling that had settled itself in at Black Oak Manor. Yeah, I was 18 but still just a kid. But I’m afraid I’m getting ahead of myself. The story really starts freshman year in high school.
Freshman year, Ted Biggs and I were buds. He tried his best to get me into trouble and did a pretty good job at it. We would hang out at church dances and the like but never at school, didn’t I like the kids he paled around with. Anyway, at one particular youth conference dance Ted and I met this little thing named Rachel Czerban. She liked my style I guess you could say and wanted to get to know me. I found no harm in making a new friend even though I knew she wanted to be more than friends, but I played the “good guy friend that you can never have so don’t try” role. I soon found out how weird she was. She had pictures of me in her “hot guys” book as it was titled and talked about me to every girl in the Antioch Stake, telling them to keep their mitts off me because I belonged to her. I wasn’t too keen on the whole ownership thing so I started to ignore her. She went from obsessing over me to hating my guts. And that’s were I left it. Her and Ted liked each other for a bit but I didn’t really care to know about it.
Okay, now fast forward back to Christmas break when I was a freshman in college. Aaron and I were on our way home from college to get some good eats and presents. At the airport I bump into Ted on his way home as well, and on the same flight to boot. We hadn’t really spoken in a while just because our paths had lead different ways. We caught up on what was going on, he showed me his new tattoos and we talked. When the plane landed he said we should maybe hang out over the break. This basically meant I would entertain him when he got bored with his family. I said that would be cool, why not?
Now I was home, the Night was cold like you could expect for a winter’s night. That nice Christmassy feeling was settling itself into my pie filled belly when the phone rang. It was Ted wanting to come over. I didn’t particularly want to entertain him right then but I didn’t mind. So he came over and after the whole “what did you get? I got a new truck” talk was over he told me something that surprised me. Now nothing coming from Ted’s lips surprised me anymore because after all, it was tattoo covered Ted. But the story wasn’t about him. It was about Rachel. He told me that she had been dating this scum bag for the past x amount of time and the very day she turned 18 she moved out of her house into his. I was just a little bit shocked you could say. So I asked;
Me- “Who told you this?”
Ted- “Her mom bumped into mine at the mall and, in tears, told her the story.”
Me- “That’s pretty crazy. I never would have expected this from Rachel even if she is a little boy crazy”
Ted- “It gets better, her mom gave my mom who then gave me her phone number. Well I called it and this guy gets on the phone, puts me through all this crap as to who I am then puts her on the line and she tells me to never call her again.”
Me- “No way, you’re lying.”
Ted- “Here’s her number dude, call and see.”
So I called her up and sure enough it went the same way with me. Nick Dogg picked up, and after I explained to him that I was Rachel’s friend back from college and wanted to see how she was doing, he put her on the line. She, in the meanest voice her little vocal cords could muster, told me to never call again. Maybe it was my hot head, or the feeling that something wasn’t right, but what ever it was that made me call back got me into a lot of trouble. I called back and asked for her again. After a bomb of expletives blew up in my ear I said something that made him really mad. He threatened to kill me, I told him (in the most educated an upper class way possible) that I wasn’t afraid of what he thought he could do. He hung up on me. My heart was racing. What I just went threw blew my mind, I talked to a real life idiot-wannabe-thug. I had always heard about them and seen them on the TV show “COPS”. But never did I have my life threatened by one. 30 seconds after he hung up he called back and said he was serious about killing me, he knew who I was and where I lived because of Rachel’s “Hot Guys” book. (She still had that? What a weirdo!) So this guy knew my address, big deal, I still wasn’t scared. Nobody can find our house in the day let alone at night. So after my heart slowed down a bit Ted and I went down stairs and watched Amy play “Tomb Raider.” Five minutes later the phone rang. It was Nick Dogg again with a bunch of people in the back ground that he must have called to come with him to kill me. He told me to be outside in 45 minutes. I got a little nervous. Was he serious? Was he really coming over? I don’t remember where Aaron was but I told him what had happened and what might happen. I don’t remember ever seeing him so excited, this gave me some comfort. I think it was Him that decided to arm us. Amy got a gun (pellet that is) and we got my machete and gave it to Ted I think. It’s a good thing Amy had the pellet gun. Maybe she could have shot out a few eyes. Aaron thought it best to have her hide in the apple trees with it just incase they had guns; we didn’t want them to pull theirs out.
We went out side right about when he should have shown up. Nothing, nobody but us, Nevada and Ebony. I called his place hoping to get Rachel on the line now that he was out of the house. No answer. We waited a bit longer and just as I was about to go inside (much relieved) I saw three cars slowing driving by the front of our property and my heart sunk. I knew it was only time before these retards could figure out that the numbers on our mail box, “2, 1, 6 and 3” were indeed the address “2163”. You see, numbers with more than one digit can confuse ignorant thugs, but give them time and they can sometimes figure it out. Once they put the four one-digit numbers together, two of the cars parked across the street and one came down the road in reverse to see if I was there. When they saw me they took off up the road and parked by the other cars. They all got out. About 20 or so of them came down the road with flash lights. I heard one of them yell, “Spread out”. The last thing I wanted was for these cake boys to make it back to my house and break windows or something that vandals do. I yelled back that my business was with Nick and that if he was man enough, I was standing in the middle of the road waiting. Their pace quickened. Their attempts to hide their bats and crow bars from my vision failed as they tripped their way up our gravel, pot hole filled road. Nevada went up to great them like a nice Labrador would. The big guy in the middle, who I assumed to be Nick Dogg, swung his crow bar at him but missed. Wendy, picking the worst time to leave for work, pulled up to him not knowing it wasn’t me and complemented his mask. When she realized it wasn’t me she threw her car into reverse and went back to the house.
As he approached I realized just how small I was. Now face to face, maybe I should say face to chest, I knew some one was going to get hurt real bad that night. I just hoped it wasn’t me. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t Nick Dogg, but lied that he was someone who takes care of Nick Dogg’s business. I didn’t buy it especially because his idiot friends kept yelling, “Kill Him Nick Dogg”. Ted jumped in between us muttering some cowardice apology but it only fell on deaf ears, mine and his. This cake eater was on my property, in my face, yelling a bunch of insanities, and I was going to have a little whimp like Ted apologize for me? I don’t think so. I told Ted to shut up and pushed him away. Way to have my back Ted.
Nick Dogg pushed me, “What are you gonna do? Huh, What are you gonna do?” When He pushed me I thought I would not live to see the next day. This kid was strong! I was knocked back a bit but got right back in his face. I yelled, “Your on my property punk, what are you gonna do?” He pushed me again and this time when I was coming to get back in his face he swung at me. Maybe it was luck or my lightning quick reflexes but some how I got out of the way when his fist came flying toward me. With this one mistake the outcome of the fight decided. The fool had left his body exposed, even if it was for a split second, and you never leave yourself open to a wrestler. I jumped in on him using an arm drag and didn’t hesitate to soufflé him right to his head. His body went limp for a fraction of a second but strength returned to his limbs. He started to stand up with me on his back. Fool. I threw him again. This time he stayed down. I legged in and started to pound on his head with a speed that surprised me. He rolled to his back in attempt to crush me or at least make me stop hitting him. I shifted my hips and was now on top of him, thrashing down on his ski-mask covered face. He rolled around some more but there was no way to get me off him. Poor fool judged me to be a week little boy. In his struggle to escape my “kung-foo” grip he tried pulling my hair and biting my ear. Being unsuccessful at both he bit my chest. (I still have a mark)
Amid the sound of my fists crunching his head into the gravel road and his gasps for air, you could hear his friends calling out for him to kill me and other words of thug-like encouragement. I wasn’t with out my choice words as well. I had a cool enough head to keep my mouth clean but really make them all look like fools, all the while beating and submitting their thug idol.
Aaron informed me that the cops were on their way and that I should now proceed to choke him out. I went to do it but couldn’t get my arm around his neck because his chin was down. Aaron got a little impatient with me. I went to choke him out another way but he jerked and god my right ring finder in his mouth. He bit down as hard as he could. It didn’t hurt at the time but I knew it would. Aaron told me to hurry up and choke him out. I said I couldn’t because he was biting my finger. It was here that his friends cheered for him. I mean really, this guy pulls my hair, bites my chest and fingers, and his friends are proud of him? I finally ripped my hand away leaving most of my finger tip in his mouth. I maneuvered to get on top of him to knock him out with punches. In the light of the flash lights I could see that my hand was in no condition to make a fist, so I used my elbows. His flailing arms couldn’t find me even though I was right on top of him. He was pretty dizzy.
In a weakened voice, while gasping for air he said, “Wheres my doggs is at? Where my niggas is at?” Two of his “doggs” came up to get me off of him, grabbing me under each arm. I looked at them and said, “Okay, its over, its over” they said, “No were just standing you two up again.” Now this is a street fight mind you. Nick Dogg had already proven that there were no rules by biting me and pulling my hair. So I was amazed at the idiocy so embedded in the heads of his friends to think it wasn’t fair that I could grapple and he couldn’t. I pulled my tired arms away from them and came down with a defeating blow right to his nose. Then for the first time since the fight began, I was afraid. I didn’t fear for my safety anymore, I knew none of these punks would come against me or Aaron after seeing what we were capable of. No, it wasn’t my life that was in any danger, it was theirs.
Immediately after I hit Nick in the nose I heard a shotgun blast. Dang it Wendy! Why did you wake dad up? Girls are such babies I thought. I looked back to see my dad with his pistol-grip shotgun in hand, coming down our drive way yelling all sorts of things I don’t remember. He had rage in his eyes and his robe on his body, half opened exposing his chest. Most of the kids took off at the sound of gunfire. I got up and walked toward the house. Wendy grabbed my arm and said, “Michael, human bites can be more harmful than snake bites.” Thanks Wendy for the free trivia. I was being pulled back to the house like a mother pulls her kids through the supermarket when they’re having a tantrum. Dad yelled something as one of the kids threw a crow bar at me. It didn’t come close. Wendy tugged on my tired arms some more and then we were back at the house.
We came through the front door. Meghan saw the blood on me and began to cry. I didn’t say anything but remember thinking, “Don’t worry, it’s not mine, it’s his.” I don’t know if my thought ever formed words. Just then Wendy pulled me into the kitchen telling me all sorts of horror stories about human bites. She immediate began to clean my finger then put it in a cup of Hydrogen Peroxide. It bubbled and fizzed like an agitated can of soda. I was surprised that it didn’t hurt at all. In fact nothing hurt. I saw some of the family coming through the back sliding door and then a police officer. “Good” I thought, “they got them.” But no they didn’t. For some reason cops don’t really know how to follow cars speeding away from a reported disturbance.
When the cop asked what had happened, I related the story to him. He asked for a description and I said Nick was about 6’1’’ and around 200 pounds. The look on his face told me he didn’t believe a word of it. Realistically I should have been stuck to the bottom of his shoe and he knew that. But dad was able to confirm his height and size. The cop told me that the next time this happened I should call the police. As polite as I could I pointed out that this kind of thing almost never happens and most likely would not happen again. He realized the truth of my words and let it go. He looked over at Dad who was standing there in a robe still with his black assault shot gun in hand and a crazy smile on his face. He asked Dad to produce the registration for the fire arm. I’ve never seen Dad so proud as when he showed the cop the license and the cop nodded in a type of approval. I think Dad was happy that he had followed the law for once. Then after taking pictures of my arms, fists and torso and seeing some teeth and gravel marks on my fists and elbows, he gave me a victim card that was good at any hospital. This was perfect, now I was able to get all the shots I needed to go on a mission, for free.
During all of this the endorphins running through my veins ran out. My finger burned with a stinging heat. I just wanted to go bed. The cops left and I went up to my room. I noticed how beside herself my mom was. Poor thing thought she almost lost one of her babies. Dad came in as I was getting in bed and informed me that I was grounded for the rest of the break. This was funny because I didn’t plan on going anywhere unless it was with the family anyway, and he knew that. He seemed real excited about what had happened and that his sons were true scrappers like he was in his younger days. I think he wished he could have watched it. Too bad fighting isn’t as safe as it was then. Nowadays people get too dangerous with their bats and crow bars and all.
After everyone left Aaron stuck around and quizzically asked me why I didn’t choke Nick out. Good old Aaron. I knew deep down that he wished someone had attacked him as well so he could put his skills to the test. After he left I laid in bed actually feeling sorry for this kid. After all He looked like a fool to his friends and had to go back to his girl friend and explain his pitiful physical state, and I was a hero.
(Extended Edition)
Nice isn’t it? The title I mean. It makes it sound like a Van-dam movie like “The Quest” or something. But when you think about it, it was a lot more exciting than any pretty little choreographed fight film. No fancy little spin kicks or matrix special effects were needed to spice this thing up. No, it was a good old fashioned, down and dirty, hard core beating. No referee, no rules. Who got beat you ask. Well you just settle yourself down in that chair of yours and listen to the tale of the little white boy, and “Nick Dogg”. (Now it sounds like and Aesop’s fable)
It was Christmas break and I was a freshman in college. The night was cold like you would expect for a winter’s night. Christmas had come and gone and that nice relaxed “no care in the world” feeling had settled in. You know the feeling, the one you only get as a kid when no bills are to be paid by anyone but dad, anyway, that was the feeling that had settled itself in at Black Oak Manor. Yeah, I was 18 but still just a kid. But I’m afraid I’m getting ahead of myself. The story really starts freshman year in high school.
Freshman year, Ted Biggs and I were buds. He tried his best to get me into trouble and did a pretty good job at it. We would hang out at church dances and the like but never at school, didn’t I like the kids he paled around with. Anyway, at one particular youth conference dance Ted and I met this little thing named Rachel Czerban. She liked my style I guess you could say and wanted to get to know me. I found no harm in making a new friend even though I knew she wanted to be more than friends, but I played the “good guy friend that you can never have so don’t try” role. I soon found out how weird she was. She had pictures of me in her “hot guys” book as it was titled and talked about me to every girl in the Antioch Stake, telling them to keep their mitts off me because I belonged to her. I wasn’t too keen on the whole ownership thing so I started to ignore her. She went from obsessing over me to hating my guts. And that’s were I left it. Her and Ted liked each other for a bit but I didn’t really care to know about it.
Okay, now fast forward back to Christmas break when I was a freshman in college. Aaron and I were on our way home from college to get some good eats and presents. At the airport I bump into Ted on his way home as well, and on the same flight to boot. We hadn’t really spoken in a while just because our paths had lead different ways. We caught up on what was going on, he showed me his new tattoos and we talked. When the plane landed he said we should maybe hang out over the break. This basically meant I would entertain him when he got bored with his family. I said that would be cool, why not?
Now I was home, the Night was cold like you could expect for a winter’s night. That nice Christmassy feeling was settling itself into my pie filled belly when the phone rang. It was Ted wanting to come over. I didn’t particularly want to entertain him right then but I didn’t mind. So he came over and after the whole “what did you get? I got a new truck” talk was over he told me something that surprised me. Now nothing coming from Ted’s lips surprised me anymore because after all, it was tattoo covered Ted. But the story wasn’t about him. It was about Rachel. He told me that she had been dating this scum bag for the past x amount of time and the very day she turned 18 she moved out of her house into his. I was just a little bit shocked you could say. So I asked;
Me- “Who told you this?”
Ted- “Her mom bumped into mine at the mall and, in tears, told her the story.”
Me- “That’s pretty crazy. I never would have expected this from Rachel even if she is a little boy crazy”
Ted- “It gets better, her mom gave my mom who then gave me her phone number. Well I called it and this guy gets on the phone, puts me through all this crap as to who I am then puts her on the line and she tells me to never call her again.”
Me- “No way, you’re lying.”
Ted- “Here’s her number dude, call and see.”
So I called her up and sure enough it went the same way with me. Nick Dogg picked up, and after I explained to him that I was Rachel’s friend back from college and wanted to see how she was doing, he put her on the line. She, in the meanest voice her little vocal cords could muster, told me to never call again. Maybe it was my hot head, or the feeling that something wasn’t right, but what ever it was that made me call back got me into a lot of trouble. I called back and asked for her again. After a bomb of expletives blew up in my ear I said something that made him really mad. He threatened to kill me, I told him (in the most educated an upper class way possible) that I wasn’t afraid of what he thought he could do. He hung up on me. My heart was racing. What I just went threw blew my mind, I talked to a real life idiot-wannabe-thug. I had always heard about them and seen them on the TV show “COPS”. But never did I have my life threatened by one. 30 seconds after he hung up he called back and said he was serious about killing me, he knew who I was and where I lived because of Rachel’s “Hot Guys” book. (She still had that? What a weirdo!) So this guy knew my address, big deal, I still wasn’t scared. Nobody can find our house in the day let alone at night. So after my heart slowed down a bit Ted and I went down stairs and watched Amy play “Tomb Raider.” Five minutes later the phone rang. It was Nick Dogg again with a bunch of people in the back ground that he must have called to come with him to kill me. He told me to be outside in 45 minutes. I got a little nervous. Was he serious? Was he really coming over? I don’t remember where Aaron was but I told him what had happened and what might happen. I don’t remember ever seeing him so excited, this gave me some comfort. I think it was Him that decided to arm us. Amy got a gun (pellet that is) and we got my machete and gave it to Ted I think. It’s a good thing Amy had the pellet gun. Maybe she could have shot out a few eyes. Aaron thought it best to have her hide in the apple trees with it just incase they had guns; we didn’t want them to pull theirs out.
We went out side right about when he should have shown up. Nothing, nobody but us, Nevada and Ebony. I called his place hoping to get Rachel on the line now that he was out of the house. No answer. We waited a bit longer and just as I was about to go inside (much relieved) I saw three cars slowing driving by the front of our property and my heart sunk. I knew it was only time before these retards could figure out that the numbers on our mail box, “2, 1, 6 and 3” were indeed the address “2163”. You see, numbers with more than one digit can confuse ignorant thugs, but give them time and they can sometimes figure it out. Once they put the four one-digit numbers together, two of the cars parked across the street and one came down the road in reverse to see if I was there. When they saw me they took off up the road and parked by the other cars. They all got out. About 20 or so of them came down the road with flash lights. I heard one of them yell, “Spread out”. The last thing I wanted was for these cake boys to make it back to my house and break windows or something that vandals do. I yelled back that my business was with Nick and that if he was man enough, I was standing in the middle of the road waiting. Their pace quickened. Their attempts to hide their bats and crow bars from my vision failed as they tripped their way up our gravel, pot hole filled road. Nevada went up to great them like a nice Labrador would. The big guy in the middle, who I assumed to be Nick Dogg, swung his crow bar at him but missed. Wendy, picking the worst time to leave for work, pulled up to him not knowing it wasn’t me and complemented his mask. When she realized it wasn’t me she threw her car into reverse and went back to the house.
As he approached I realized just how small I was. Now face to face, maybe I should say face to chest, I knew some one was going to get hurt real bad that night. I just hoped it wasn’t me. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t Nick Dogg, but lied that he was someone who takes care of Nick Dogg’s business. I didn’t buy it especially because his idiot friends kept yelling, “Kill Him Nick Dogg”. Ted jumped in between us muttering some cowardice apology but it only fell on deaf ears, mine and his. This cake eater was on my property, in my face, yelling a bunch of insanities, and I was going to have a little whimp like Ted apologize for me? I don’t think so. I told Ted to shut up and pushed him away. Way to have my back Ted.
Nick Dogg pushed me, “What are you gonna do? Huh, What are you gonna do?” When He pushed me I thought I would not live to see the next day. This kid was strong! I was knocked back a bit but got right back in his face. I yelled, “Your on my property punk, what are you gonna do?” He pushed me again and this time when I was coming to get back in his face he swung at me. Maybe it was luck or my lightning quick reflexes but some how I got out of the way when his fist came flying toward me. With this one mistake the outcome of the fight decided. The fool had left his body exposed, even if it was for a split second, and you never leave yourself open to a wrestler. I jumped in on him using an arm drag and didn’t hesitate to soufflé him right to his head. His body went limp for a fraction of a second but strength returned to his limbs. He started to stand up with me on his back. Fool. I threw him again. This time he stayed down. I legged in and started to pound on his head with a speed that surprised me. He rolled to his back in attempt to crush me or at least make me stop hitting him. I shifted my hips and was now on top of him, thrashing down on his ski-mask covered face. He rolled around some more but there was no way to get me off him. Poor fool judged me to be a week little boy. In his struggle to escape my “kung-foo” grip he tried pulling my hair and biting my ear. Being unsuccessful at both he bit my chest. (I still have a mark)
Amid the sound of my fists crunching his head into the gravel road and his gasps for air, you could hear his friends calling out for him to kill me and other words of thug-like encouragement. I wasn’t with out my choice words as well. I had a cool enough head to keep my mouth clean but really make them all look like fools, all the while beating and submitting their thug idol.
Aaron informed me that the cops were on their way and that I should now proceed to choke him out. I went to do it but couldn’t get my arm around his neck because his chin was down. Aaron got a little impatient with me. I went to choke him out another way but he jerked and god my right ring finder in his mouth. He bit down as hard as he could. It didn’t hurt at the time but I knew it would. Aaron told me to hurry up and choke him out. I said I couldn’t because he was biting my finger. It was here that his friends cheered for him. I mean really, this guy pulls my hair, bites my chest and fingers, and his friends are proud of him? I finally ripped my hand away leaving most of my finger tip in his mouth. I maneuvered to get on top of him to knock him out with punches. In the light of the flash lights I could see that my hand was in no condition to make a fist, so I used my elbows. His flailing arms couldn’t find me even though I was right on top of him. He was pretty dizzy.
In a weakened voice, while gasping for air he said, “Wheres my doggs is at? Where my niggas is at?” Two of his “doggs” came up to get me off of him, grabbing me under each arm. I looked at them and said, “Okay, its over, its over” they said, “No were just standing you two up again.” Now this is a street fight mind you. Nick Dogg had already proven that there were no rules by biting me and pulling my hair. So I was amazed at the idiocy so embedded in the heads of his friends to think it wasn’t fair that I could grapple and he couldn’t. I pulled my tired arms away from them and came down with a defeating blow right to his nose. Then for the first time since the fight began, I was afraid. I didn’t fear for my safety anymore, I knew none of these punks would come against me or Aaron after seeing what we were capable of. No, it wasn’t my life that was in any danger, it was theirs.
Immediately after I hit Nick in the nose I heard a shotgun blast. Dang it Wendy! Why did you wake dad up? Girls are such babies I thought. I looked back to see my dad with his pistol-grip shotgun in hand, coming down our drive way yelling all sorts of things I don’t remember. He had rage in his eyes and his robe on his body, half opened exposing his chest. Most of the kids took off at the sound of gunfire. I got up and walked toward the house. Wendy grabbed my arm and said, “Michael, human bites can be more harmful than snake bites.” Thanks Wendy for the free trivia. I was being pulled back to the house like a mother pulls her kids through the supermarket when they’re having a tantrum. Dad yelled something as one of the kids threw a crow bar at me. It didn’t come close. Wendy tugged on my tired arms some more and then we were back at the house.
We came through the front door. Meghan saw the blood on me and began to cry. I didn’t say anything but remember thinking, “Don’t worry, it’s not mine, it’s his.” I don’t know if my thought ever formed words. Just then Wendy pulled me into the kitchen telling me all sorts of horror stories about human bites. She immediate began to clean my finger then put it in a cup of Hydrogen Peroxide. It bubbled and fizzed like an agitated can of soda. I was surprised that it didn’t hurt at all. In fact nothing hurt. I saw some of the family coming through the back sliding door and then a police officer. “Good” I thought, “they got them.” But no they didn’t. For some reason cops don’t really know how to follow cars speeding away from a reported disturbance.
When the cop asked what had happened, I related the story to him. He asked for a description and I said Nick was about 6’1’’ and around 200 pounds. The look on his face told me he didn’t believe a word of it. Realistically I should have been stuck to the bottom of his shoe and he knew that. But dad was able to confirm his height and size. The cop told me that the next time this happened I should call the police. As polite as I could I pointed out that this kind of thing almost never happens and most likely would not happen again. He realized the truth of my words and let it go. He looked over at Dad who was standing there in a robe still with his black assault shot gun in hand and a crazy smile on his face. He asked Dad to produce the registration for the fire arm. I’ve never seen Dad so proud as when he showed the cop the license and the cop nodded in a type of approval. I think Dad was happy that he had followed the law for once. Then after taking pictures of my arms, fists and torso and seeing some teeth and gravel marks on my fists and elbows, he gave me a victim card that was good at any hospital. This was perfect, now I was able to get all the shots I needed to go on a mission, for free.
During all of this the endorphins running through my veins ran out. My finger burned with a stinging heat. I just wanted to go bed. The cops left and I went up to my room. I noticed how beside herself my mom was. Poor thing thought she almost lost one of her babies. Dad came in as I was getting in bed and informed me that I was grounded for the rest of the break. This was funny because I didn’t plan on going anywhere unless it was with the family anyway, and he knew that. He seemed real excited about what had happened and that his sons were true scrappers like he was in his younger days. I think he wished he could have watched it. Too bad fighting isn’t as safe as it was then. Nowadays people get too dangerous with their bats and crow bars and all.
After everyone left Aaron stuck around and quizzically asked me why I didn’t choke Nick out. Good old Aaron. I knew deep down that he wished someone had attacked him as well so he could put his skills to the test. After he left I laid in bed actually feeling sorry for this kid. After all He looked like a fool to his friends and had to go back to his girl friend and explain his pitiful physical state, and I was a hero.
When I was little I was always afraid of something
When I was little I was always afraid of something. After I saw this dorky B movie called The Giant Tarantula during one Saturday matinee, I just knew a giant spider was going to come and step on our home and smash me to smithereens. I’d lay awake at night - scared to death - awaiting my doom.
I also went through a witch phase. I didn’t know what a witch was except for the kind I had seen in the movie, The Wizard of Oz. I was afraid a witch would come into my bedroom at night and “get me”. I was always glad to have a friend spend the night or a cousin. I’d have them sleep closest to the door and figured when the witch came she’d get them first and that would give me time to flee to my parents bedroom to safety.
My parents would not let me sleep in their bed. Oh, they let me sleep there a few times - but they couldn’t go to sleep with me there - my mother would complain about me wiggling and moving and keeping her awake. BUT I had a grandma - a wonderful grandmother and she loved me sleeping with her. She’d tell me that I’d keep her warm. She missed sleeping with my grandpa and she really liked having a little grand-daughter to snuggle up to her. But alas, my mother would tell my dad that it wasn’t proper for me to sleep with her - so even that came to an end. Every now & then I’d still sneak downstairs in the night after an especially scary dream so my mother forbade my grandmother to let me sleep with her. I don’t remember grandma actually sending me back upstairs after I’d traveled that scary distance down to her - I just remember it stopped so I had no one to sleep with to keep me safe. After I was condemned to sleep alone I would get so terrified that I braved sleeping on the cold cold hard wood floor underneath my bed. I figured that a demon witch wouldn’t look underneath a bed for a little child. It never occurred to me to drag my blankets down under with me. Our house was always orderly and I made my bed every morning nice and neat. I knew I’d get into major trouble if I messed up my bed so I’d just lay there under the bed and freeze.
Because of the many many nights that I’d lay awake in terror………in paralyzing fear……..because of the many many nights I froze as I lay underneath my bed on the hard wood floor………because of the many nights I’d slowly - in the dark - travel agonizing step by step down the hall, through the kitchen, past the back door, down the scary basement stairs, through the unfinished basement all the way to my grandma’s bedroom awaiting at any moment with each step I took to be grabbed by some demon or witch or evil scientist or Dracula or Frankenstein …….. because of all that ……… I always let you children come and sleep with your dad and I anytime you wanted to when you were scared. I couldn’t bare to think of any of you laying awake terrified in your bedrooms. Of course it was a bit different for all of you because you were rarely alone in your rooms. You always had each other.
I wasn’t afraid at college. We were safe up in Deseret Towers with lots of other girls but…………..I was afraid of the dark and being alone again after your dad and I were married. We lived in an OLD creaky apartment on Carl street and each morning my clock radio would wake me up with the news of the Zodiac killer and his latest victim. I was fine during the day but one night your dad said he was going home teaching. So I had him load a shot gun and I sat paralyzed with fear in one of the only chairs we owned for two solid hours holding the shot gun waiting for your dad to get home. It was just like those Halloween stories. We lived on the 2nd floor and I heard the door open and then stomp stomp stomp stomp - footsteps up the stairs. Your dad opened our apartment door to find me aiming the loaded gun at him. He felt that he was lucky that I didn’t shoot his head off. I kept wondering when I’d outgrown my fear of the dark and of being alone. Oh, I was no longer afraid of witches and giant spiders. I was afraid of intruders - of bad men breaking into my home hiding behind the curtains just waiting to grab me and startle me. It was strange to me to discover that as soon as your dad and I bought our first home that I was never afraid to stay alone and I was never afraid of the dark ever again. It amazes me that in the summer when I wake up at 3AM or earlier how I love to walk around our property. I haven’t been scared since we first moved in to our first home at Cascade court. I wasn’t afraid at Marble drive and I’ve never ever been frightened of the boogie man ever ever at our home here at Blackoak off of Concord avenue - our beautiful home.
December 24, 2002
I also went through a witch phase. I didn’t know what a witch was except for the kind I had seen in the movie, The Wizard of Oz. I was afraid a witch would come into my bedroom at night and “get me”. I was always glad to have a friend spend the night or a cousin. I’d have them sleep closest to the door and figured when the witch came she’d get them first and that would give me time to flee to my parents bedroom to safety.
My parents would not let me sleep in their bed. Oh, they let me sleep there a few times - but they couldn’t go to sleep with me there - my mother would complain about me wiggling and moving and keeping her awake. BUT I had a grandma - a wonderful grandmother and she loved me sleeping with her. She’d tell me that I’d keep her warm. She missed sleeping with my grandpa and she really liked having a little grand-daughter to snuggle up to her. But alas, my mother would tell my dad that it wasn’t proper for me to sleep with her - so even that came to an end. Every now & then I’d still sneak downstairs in the night after an especially scary dream so my mother forbade my grandmother to let me sleep with her. I don’t remember grandma actually sending me back upstairs after I’d traveled that scary distance down to her - I just remember it stopped so I had no one to sleep with to keep me safe. After I was condemned to sleep alone I would get so terrified that I braved sleeping on the cold cold hard wood floor underneath my bed. I figured that a demon witch wouldn’t look underneath a bed for a little child. It never occurred to me to drag my blankets down under with me. Our house was always orderly and I made my bed every morning nice and neat. I knew I’d get into major trouble if I messed up my bed so I’d just lay there under the bed and freeze.
Because of the many many nights that I’d lay awake in terror………in paralyzing fear……..because of the many many nights I froze as I lay underneath my bed on the hard wood floor………because of the many nights I’d slowly - in the dark - travel agonizing step by step down the hall, through the kitchen, past the back door, down the scary basement stairs, through the unfinished basement all the way to my grandma’s bedroom awaiting at any moment with each step I took to be grabbed by some demon or witch or evil scientist or Dracula or Frankenstein …….. because of all that ……… I always let you children come and sleep with your dad and I anytime you wanted to when you were scared. I couldn’t bare to think of any of you laying awake terrified in your bedrooms. Of course it was a bit different for all of you because you were rarely alone in your rooms. You always had each other.
I wasn’t afraid at college. We were safe up in Deseret Towers with lots of other girls but…………..I was afraid of the dark and being alone again after your dad and I were married. We lived in an OLD creaky apartment on Carl street and each morning my clock radio would wake me up with the news of the Zodiac killer and his latest victim. I was fine during the day but one night your dad said he was going home teaching. So I had him load a shot gun and I sat paralyzed with fear in one of the only chairs we owned for two solid hours holding the shot gun waiting for your dad to get home. It was just like those Halloween stories. We lived on the 2nd floor and I heard the door open and then stomp stomp stomp stomp - footsteps up the stairs. Your dad opened our apartment door to find me aiming the loaded gun at him. He felt that he was lucky that I didn’t shoot his head off. I kept wondering when I’d outgrown my fear of the dark and of being alone. Oh, I was no longer afraid of witches and giant spiders. I was afraid of intruders - of bad men breaking into my home hiding behind the curtains just waiting to grab me and startle me. It was strange to me to discover that as soon as your dad and I bought our first home that I was never afraid to stay alone and I was never afraid of the dark ever again. It amazes me that in the summer when I wake up at 3AM or earlier how I love to walk around our property. I haven’t been scared since we first moved in to our first home at Cascade court. I wasn’t afraid at Marble drive and I’ve never ever been frightened of the boogie man ever ever at our home here at Blackoak off of Concord avenue - our beautiful home.
December 24, 2002
HOT HEAD MADNESS!!!
HOT HEAD
MADNESS!!!
Once upon a time.. Long long ago… sometime in-between 1988 to 2002... There was a little girl that had a brain the size of a pea. And we all know, how are parents have told us not to play with fire… Especially in an enclosed spaces. Well this little gril was the biggest pyro you would ever meet….and she didn’t like the fact that her parents wouldn’t let her play with fire. So one day she went outside in the Old grass growing poo Mobil, with a brand new box of matches… She had sat in the drivers seat and started lighting one match after another and just started watching them burn until they would get close enough to burn her hand… and then she would bend down spit a little puddle and put it out.. She was doing it over and over again.. She was almost finished with the whole box when it was time to put another match out. She bent down to spit, and she put the match a little close to her head. All of a sudden she heard a huge puff and her head got really hot! She didn’t know what had happened when she saw in the mirror that her head looked like the burning match… She thought it was cool at first until it started to hurt… Then she got scared… then she opened the door and ran outside… Instead of running to the pool or getting on the floor and rolling around she decided to run back and fourth in the back of the house outside. Soo she didn’t know what to do.. This fire must have burned all of her brain cells because she went inside the house and found a bottle of moose… and instead of turning on the sink and putting her head under it she decided to spray the whole can of moose all over her head.. Clearly it wasn’t her time to die because as we all know moose is very flammable.. With the whole can of moose on her head the fire finally went out. She found a Bennie and decided to put it on her head… Her hair just added to her hideousness… She was about to go back outside to the car to finish her work with the matches because once you start a box you have to finish the box. Then she heard her mother calling her….She went into the kitchen.. Her mom said, “ Emily, where have to been… we have been calling you forever… it is time for dinner.” She went and sat down at the dinner table… and of course her whole family had to be there waiting for her.. “ take off your hat Emily.” She had said.. “NO” “come on… take it off we are about to say the prayer!” “nope” She continued… Her mom finally got fed up with her and took it off her self… Emily heard everyone gasp.. “WHAT DID YOU DO!” Cried the mother… “GET UP IN YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW! I CAN’T EVEN LOOK A YOU RIGHT NOW!” The little girl ran upstairs and slammed the door.. Her mom was screaming soo loud that she heard every word her mother said.. And it went something like this……. “ WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER!! SHE’S CRAZY! WHY US! WE HAD A CRAZY CHILD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER!!” It kept going for about 20 min. The moral of the story is…. DON’T PLAY WITH MATCHES IN THE OLD GRASS GROWING POO MOBIL!
THE
END!
MADNESS!!!
Once upon a time.. Long long ago… sometime in-between 1988 to 2002... There was a little girl that had a brain the size of a pea. And we all know, how are parents have told us not to play with fire… Especially in an enclosed spaces. Well this little gril was the biggest pyro you would ever meet….and she didn’t like the fact that her parents wouldn’t let her play with fire. So one day she went outside in the Old grass growing poo Mobil, with a brand new box of matches… She had sat in the drivers seat and started lighting one match after another and just started watching them burn until they would get close enough to burn her hand… and then she would bend down spit a little puddle and put it out.. She was doing it over and over again.. She was almost finished with the whole box when it was time to put another match out. She bent down to spit, and she put the match a little close to her head. All of a sudden she heard a huge puff and her head got really hot! She didn’t know what had happened when she saw in the mirror that her head looked like the burning match… She thought it was cool at first until it started to hurt… Then she got scared… then she opened the door and ran outside… Instead of running to the pool or getting on the floor and rolling around she decided to run back and fourth in the back of the house outside. Soo she didn’t know what to do.. This fire must have burned all of her brain cells because she went inside the house and found a bottle of moose… and instead of turning on the sink and putting her head under it she decided to spray the whole can of moose all over her head.. Clearly it wasn’t her time to die because as we all know moose is very flammable.. With the whole can of moose on her head the fire finally went out. She found a Bennie and decided to put it on her head… Her hair just added to her hideousness… She was about to go back outside to the car to finish her work with the matches because once you start a box you have to finish the box. Then she heard her mother calling her….She went into the kitchen.. Her mom said, “ Emily, where have to been… we have been calling you forever… it is time for dinner.” She went and sat down at the dinner table… and of course her whole family had to be there waiting for her.. “ take off your hat Emily.” She had said.. “NO” “come on… take it off we are about to say the prayer!” “nope” She continued… Her mom finally got fed up with her and took it off her self… Emily heard everyone gasp.. “WHAT DID YOU DO!” Cried the mother… “GET UP IN YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW! I CAN’T EVEN LOOK A YOU RIGHT NOW!” The little girl ran upstairs and slammed the door.. Her mom was screaming soo loud that she heard every word her mother said.. And it went something like this……. “ WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER!! SHE’S CRAZY! WHY US! WE HAD A CRAZY CHILD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER!!” It kept going for about 20 min. The moral of the story is…. DON’T PLAY WITH MATCHES IN THE OLD GRASS GROWING POO MOBIL!
THE
END!
Kindergarten Klepto
Kindergarten Klepto
When I was five years old I attended Sutter Elementary School. One day we had
sugar cookies for a boy’s b-day and I, like everyone else, received but one
cookie. Well, post party bash, we went back to our grueling school work which
consisted of finger painting and nap time. Well, this nap session in particular my
mind was fixed upon the extra cookies and, consequently, I couldn’t sleep. So
when I thought everyone was asleep I crept up to the tall bookshelf, climbed up,
helped myself to another cookie and ate it in the restroom. After my second
cookie I thought that I was satisfied and went back to my mat. Well, a couple of
minutes later the cookies were calling my name once again, so I crept over to the
book shelf, climbed up and heard someone’s name being called and assumed it
was mine so I ran to the bathroom with two cookies this time and hid in their for
about an hour. When I finally got my courage to go back out there everything was
fine and I got not one, but four cookies in my belly while everyone else was
sleeping.
Amy 2002
When I was five years old I attended Sutter Elementary School. One day we had
sugar cookies for a boy’s b-day and I, like everyone else, received but one
cookie. Well, post party bash, we went back to our grueling school work which
consisted of finger painting and nap time. Well, this nap session in particular my
mind was fixed upon the extra cookies and, consequently, I couldn’t sleep. So
when I thought everyone was asleep I crept up to the tall bookshelf, climbed up,
helped myself to another cookie and ate it in the restroom. After my second
cookie I thought that I was satisfied and went back to my mat. Well, a couple of
minutes later the cookies were calling my name once again, so I crept over to the
book shelf, climbed up and heard someone’s name being called and assumed it
was mine so I ran to the bathroom with two cookies this time and hid in their for
about an hour. When I finally got my courage to go back out there everything was
fine and I got not one, but four cookies in my belly while everyone else was
sleeping.
Amy 2002
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Bicycles , Treasure , and Trouble
Bicycles , Treasure , and Trouble
My search for treasure
It was just another morning, a slight drizzle and a grey sky. The sun wasn’t too high and didn’t add much light nor warmth to the day yet. I don’t remember but I think I was still on my red and black Moab II, which I later donated to someone at the light-rail station who happened to have some bolt cutters with him… My search for treasure
I haven’t been all that lucky with bikes; I guess it all started to go south back at BYU on a fine October General Conference Saturday. The mountain was calling our names, and our bikes looked sad and neglected so…
No wait, it was before that; we’ll have to go back a little further to another Saturday at Contra Loma. Me, Dad, and Joseph were fishing near the dam for trout. To pass the time while our salmon eggs floated in the muck waiting for a fish to find them, me and Joseph were combing the banks for lures and bobbers and little led weights still stuck to tangles of fishing wire scattered around. Most of our treasure consisted of the weights, bobbers were rare and lures were far an in between. All I’d found that day was a few weights, some dead fish and lots of dirt, which I kept under my fingernails and on my clothes. Then from the distance Joseph yelped and was heading for Dad to show him something he’d found. My eyes grew wide and I ran over to see what it was. In slow motion, as I held my breath and watched, Joseph’s hand opened to reveal a lure, not some rusty old lure with the hooks broken off, though that still would have been a find, but a useable lure that would be kept in the tackle box and treasured forever. I was in awe, wishing it’d been me and thinking I still had a chance, I redoubled my efforts. Not even watching to see if the red and white bobbers would dip under the water or if my pole would get tugged and fall from where it was wedged, I searched. Even the thrill of pulling in a fish was second to a possible find. The sun got hotter and moved up across the sky as I continued my hunt under rocks and up in the branches of trees in the rushes and around roots dangling in the water. Forever had gone by, well at least fifteen to twenty minutes, without anything to show for it. It must have been the delirium of envy that made me do it, it seemed stupid the moment the words came out of my mouth, but it was too late. I’d taken Joseph’s lure out of the tackle box went back out on a mock search that probably lasted 30 seconds and yelled “I found one!”. On inspection it was obvious what I’d done but I insisted I’d found it. Well that got me in trouble…
The next time I got that jealous was a beautiful sunny day out in the green grazed fields past the big hill in Ridge Rock. We were out there exploring and playing around the dragon bones, the remains of Smaug, or some other ancient beast whose true nature went unnoticed due to the resemblance to moss covered rocks. We ventured out a little further and in a different direction that we had before and came to a lone oak tree. Under the tree was an old truck, rusted and dismantled by time. The wooden seats were rotted so rather than driving the thing around we searched for treasure. I found a few rusted nuts and bolts, some glass and other things that I’d find some use for. Then Matthew found a treasure that put even the lure to shame. It was an Indian head penny and in good condition. I was jealous; I took the penny, for safekeeping, and referred to it from then on out as the penny we’d found…
Only one other time do I remember being really jealous of someone who found something, it was near mono lake at a pumice mine that Krista found an old tobacco can, a treasure in it’s self, but making it one of the greatest finds of all was that it contained an old brittle deed to the pumice mine it’s self. I’d learned my lesson by then and got over the surge of envy without doing anything rash, though again I did take it for safekeeping (it’s still in the curio)…
Any way the penny…we tried to imagine the penny falling from the man’s pocket and what happened to him after his truck broke down under the tree so many years ago. We went back a few times, looking for more treasure and the old man’s bones probably, but soon the bulldozers came through and took the truck, the tree, and all the dragon remains and planted houses. I kept the penny as long as I can remember, but eventually it disappeared like the rest of it…
Anyway back to that day at Contra Loma - tired, jealous, treasureless, and in trouble, I got my bike and started home. Rounding a corner down the steep hill by the dam I hit some gravel and things went fuzzy. There was a dull thud and some stars. I dizzily got up and not feeling any pain proceeded to get on my bike when some guy axed if I was OK. I would have answered that I was but he finished his question with “you’re bleeding”. I looked down and saw my leg covered in blood and then came the pain. The handgrips on my bike were worn through on the ends and in the crash the handlebars had stuck into my leg leaving a nice hole. Too embarrassed to go back up the hill to Dad and Joseph I pointed toward our home on marble drive, he pushed me the two or three miles back home…
Then came October General Conference. Like I said it was a perfect Saturday and after the first session the mountain began to call so Me, Joseph, Matthew and some friends. We went to diamond fork canyon for a ride. It was great, well that is until Matthew came around a corner and found me climbing back up the bank of a twenty foot drop into a dry creak bed. I’d seen a good place for a jump but the trail decided to take a right when I was in mid air. Matthew got the heap that was my bike from the bottom while I tried to use my right arm, it didn’t work. I crashed three or four more times on the way down the mountain and crashing on my lame arm didn’t feel so hot, and it was getting hard to find skin left on my hands to pick the gravel out of. I kept crashing because my only good arm happened to be on the side with the front brake, when I tried to slow down over the handle bars I’d go, my right arm didn’t work at all. I remember it was six months later when my arm was starting to feel better. I remember because that weekend, the Sunday evening after April Conference, my bike got stolen; I’d wanted to go on a bike ride the day before but decided to wait another week for my arm to heal and for a non-Conference weekend…
I ended up buying the Moab that I was on that wet grey morning on the way to work. As I often do, I had my eyes pealed looking fore some sort of treasure on the side of the road. You never know when you’ll run across a fishing lure or an old tobacco can with a deed to a pumice mine in it. As I road along I saw some pennies on the ground. Almost enough to stop and pick them up but I decided not to, a few pedals later I found some more. I decided I’d better not miss out on 10¢, if it was a dime I would get it. So I stopped and collected the change. Then I found a broken roll of pennies. I thought all the pennies made sense now as I picked up the soggy roll. I found a few more rolls and was starting to wonder what these pennies were doing all over. I had two to three dollars worth. Slowly, I made my way down the sidewalk collecting pennies. Soon, I was only keeping the ones mostly wrapped up and feeling rich with five or so dollars in pennies. That’s when I saw it, a big canvas bag. I walked up to it and looked and it was full of pennies all rolled and not too wet thanks to the canvas bag. I hefted them into my backpack and with a little difficulty worked it onto my back. It was heavy; it felt like 50lbs and I was winded and tired by the time I got to work and my back was sore. I was worried that my backpack would tear but it held out. Once I threw the bag under my desk, I began to wonder, how does a canvas bag full of pennies…pennies rolled and marked US bank…my eyes began to get wide…find it’s self on the side of the road...not far from a US bank…and actually it was right in front of a police station that I loaded them into my backpack…but what would bank robbers want with pennies...but then again they didn’t keep the pennies…I did…Uh Oh…If I had just robbed a bank and saw that I had a bag full of pennies I’d probably toss it too…I can’t imagine making a get away with 50lbs of pennies, let alone riding to work with them in my backpack…or maybe they tossed’em on the steps of the police station to say “Ha ha piggies you can’t catch us!”…I waited till I had the car to bring them home. It turned out that it was only 40lbs but it turned out to be $50.00 in pennies. I still have them out in the garage. Finally after so many years of searching I found my treasure.
Aaron 2002
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