Cub Scout Shoot 'em Up

When I was a little kid I participated in Cub Scouts. There were several things that I really
enjoyed about being part of the scouts. The first experiences I remember with the pack were had at a
house just down the street from where I lived. There was a young couple who were our leaders and we
had weekly activities at their house. My favorite part of the Cub Scout day was getting to play capture
the flag in the front yard afterwards. I’m glad I learned how to play capture the flag because I played it a
ton during my youth. I’ve played it in the park, the parking lot, the street, the backyard, the front yard, a
field, the dark, the dessert, a canyon, the forest, pretty much anywhere and everywhere.

Other memories of things I did in scouts include: learning to sharpen a pocket knife, visiting the
ASU planetarium, carving a piece of soap into the shape of a car, making a pinewood derby car (that did
terrible because I made a rum runner instead of a sleek racer, but I learned a lot about aerodynamics),
rain gutter regatta, and the space ship rubber band propeller thing (which I applied the aerodynamics
lessons to and got second place). I also remember learning about fire safety. After the lesson on fire
safety the leaders took us to their spare room where they had intentionally set up fire hazards and we
had to point them out and correct them. Then afterword we played doom on their computer. That was
my first experience playing a first person shooter game. I got the highest score of the group that day.
I went home and told my mom about it and that I wanted to get the game for our computer. She said
that she didn’t want me to play those shoot ‘em up games, so I never owned one. I’m glad she didn’t
just go out and buy one or let me buy one because I would have wasted my life away playing those silly
things.

You can never be too careful

When I was starting kindergarten there was a group of four kids that lived in my neighborhood
who were starting school at the same time. It was a half day class and we were all signed up for the
afternoon session. Our parents arranged for us to walk to school together because it was only about
3 blocks away. Someone gave me one of those “don’t talk to strangers” lectures before I was walking,
maybe even the first day. I remember I walked the first block and met up with two of my companions
and then we walked together another block and met our last companion. We walked about a half block
more and there was a small side street that we needed to cross. Just as we got to the intersection a car
approached with a bearded old man driving—when you’re little it seems like everyone with a beard
is a little scary, including Santa. As we got to the corner the gentleman in the car motioned for us to
go ahead and cross the street, but I interpreted his hand gesture as, “come over here and get in my
car.” I thought that he was trying to kidnap us! I told my companions and turned the other way and
ran. “Ahhhh! He’s trying to kidnap me!” By some miracle my friend’s mom just happened to be following
us in her car, to make sure that we got to school ok, so I banged on the car door and made her take
us to school so that we wouldn’t get kidnapped. Sometimes when people wave me on I think of that
experience and I’m glad that I’m a lot bigger now.

Swimming Lessons

I don't remember not being able to swim. My mom enrolled me in swimming lessons at the local junior high during the summers while I was growing up. I started when I was pretty little I guess. My last post reminded me of how grateful I am for the blessing of being able to swim. This post is about why.

I never knew that there were people who didn't know how to swim until my first or second year of scout camp. I always just thought that was a funny cartoon thing, when the character gets pushed in the water and then yells, "help me, I can't swim, I can't swim!" In actuality it is a little scary though. The scout camp that I went to had a glacier fed lake (I'm not sure if it was really fed by a glacier, but it was cold enough to take your breath away) and on the first or day of camp the troop would go down to the water and take the swimming test. In groups of 4 we would go out onto the diving board and then jump in and swim about 4 25 yard laps. My cousins and I went first. To get the top rating, that would let you swim or boat anywhere on the lake, you had to swim down and back freestyle and then use two different strokes to finish the next down and back. For my cousins and I, in the first group, it was no problem. In we jumped. Down and back we swam, twice. Done. Easy.

The next group was a little different. They all got out on the board and when the lifeguard said go... they stood there. Those of us who had just finished started saying, "com'on, let's go." It became obvious that those boys were ascared of the water. Finally one of them jumped in and doggy-paddled one length of the swimming area. Then he had to stop swimming and was given a second rate rating. The next guy did about the same thing. There were a couple other attempts made that I don't remember much about, but there was one scout who refused to get in the water. After much goading he finally took the plunge. He started flailing about and yelled, "I can't swim *splash, splash, gulp*, I can't swim." That was also the first, and only time, I've seen the shepherd's crook used to pull someone out of the water.

Hey everyone, teach your kids to swim. It could save their life... and at least save some embarrassment.

The Watering Hole

This post isn't so much about one watering hole in particular, but it is about my affinity towards water as a little kid. I was like a little divining rod with legs. If there was water I would find it. I can't uniquely remember all of the times that I came home soaking wet, so I'll just record a few of them in no particular order.

One of my favorite things to do was run through the puddles on the playground. My elementary school had big fields of grass that were dead 90% or the year, but the school still watered them occasionally using a flood irrigation method. We weren't allowed to get in the water, but that didn't seem to stop me... ever. I thought that I could run through the water and by running really fast and moving my off foot to avoid splashes I wouldn't get wet at all. It seemed to me like it worked great, but my mom wasn't very happy when I came home with soaked shoes. I remember the shoes being crunchy the next morning when it was time to put them on for school. Occasionally I got a little more than my shoes wet. I remember one time when it was raining a lot (I think 1993) and the rivers were flooding and stuff. They dug trenches along the front of the school to collect the water and keep it from flowing into the classrooms. Those ditches filled up and I remember playing in the water in the ditches.

Let's see... I remember playing with a fountain at the fairgrounds in Downey. There was drinking fountain (sort of) that pointed straight up and the water flow was controlled by a valve with a lever. You could make a water bottle rocket by putting a bottle on it and then opening the lever wide open. The bottle would fill with water and the pressure would cause the bottle to go way up in the air and then we would try to catch it. Seems like if you weren't any good at catching you could still run around with your hands in the air and get wet.

I remember many hours spent doing stuff that was authorized-get-wet-fun too. I remember running through the sprinklers, playing at Bear Lake, messing around in Cottonwood Wash, homemade slip'n'slide on the lawn in back of the church, and swimming lessons at the local public pool. It's a good thing I can swim!

I just remembered another thing that seemed to get me wet a lot. When we would visit the grandparents and cousins in the Gila Valley there always was a ditch full of irrigation water somewhere. My cousins and I would always take turns ditch running--an activity where you hop back and forth from one side of a cement ditch to the other and work your way down the ditch. This almost always ended  up with somebody getting wet and then the rest of us being jealous and "accidentally" getting wet too.

Sometimes it's just fun to play in the water.

Sweet Forgiveness

When I was little I had a hispanic friend that I played with at recess in kindergarden. After that year his family moved away for a couple of years, or at least he went to different school. In 3rd grade he moved back and he was big. I was tall, but he was tall and big. He and I had different groups of friends, but we were both athletic. One of the games that we liked to play at recess was smear-the-queer. As a little kid I had a habit of letting my fingernails grow too long before I'd clip them. Well, it was a hot day and we were playing the game (someone has a foot ball and everyone tries to tackle them). He had the ball and I was going for a horse collar tackle. My nail scratched the back of his neck and I saw the blood start as sweat dripped into the open wound. He shrieked in pain, threw down the ball, and turned with anger in his eyes towards me. The crowd started to chant, "fight, fight, fight..." and I heard someone say, "you're dead." I took off running, he chased me and the crowd followed. At one point he was close enough to throw the football and hit my legs. I ended up running for the rest of the break and was glad to hear the bell sound so that I could escape to class. I had to watch my back the rest of the day.

That night I was back at the school for some sort of parent teacher night thing. My mom was meeting with my little sister and her kindergarden teacher and I was waiting outside in the dark. Suddenly, my worst feared enemy was at my side! He said, "Hey, are we cool?" and I felt so relieved. I said, "yeah, we're cool" and then he offered me some of the candy he was eating. It was awesome to be forgiven like that. I learned a valuable lesson and gained a valuable friend.

Wiener Roast

One of my favorite extended family activities was, and still is, having a wiener roast in Idaho. In grandpa's back yard is a fire ring surrounded by beautiful grass and a couple of benches. There are trees with tree houses and rolling hills around that lead to gorgeous mountain skylines. It is cool in the evenings and everyone gathers round the fire to cook dinner. Yum, hot dogs and s'mores. Good food and good company. One of the few memories I have of my great grandpa (one of the ones I'm named after) is of having a wiener roast in his back yard. He had a fireplace built up with a chimney and there were big trees around the yard. I remember going down the back stairs to the basement where there was a throne surrounded by a royal purple curtain and a table with an old hand crank wheat mill attached to it. Those where the days.

We still have wiener roasts as often as possible when we're in Idaho. It's so wonderful and I'm sure that this post doesn't convey the feelings and memories that I cherish and associate with such occasions.

Dollar Store Bike Ralley

When Jake would come visit me in the city we would usually take a ride to the dollar store which was located about a mile away. It was quite the adventure because we would ride the back roads to the store. We had to go past the elementary school, which meant stopping to ride the lines of the basketball court. Then we rode to and through the duck pond park. Then through a couple of neighborhoods and finally we'd arrive at the strip mall that had the dollar store. Usually we would buy a cheap toy and then some cheap gum, and then as many packages of Sixlets as we could. Then we would ride back home and then ration/pig-out on our spoils for the rest of Jake's visit. I'm sure my parents enjoyed having us hopped up on sugar after our trip. I noticed my mom usually allowed us to go on the days when she knew that we would be left in the evening with a babysitter.

Burning Barn

One of the places I remember playing with my cousins was an old pole barn out behind my great grandparent's house. When I say old I mean it. That barn was about 100 years old. It was basically a corrugated tin roof supported on top of old telephone poles. At one point there was some hay stored on one side of it and an auger/spreader in the middle section and then the other side was open. At the back of the barn was a set of silos and and old feed storage area. All that was left was one silo, a little grain elevator, a large round cement foundation, and an old truck without a bed parked on the cement slab. I have 3 stories associated with this barn area.

Story 1.
One day Jake and I took Jake's little brother Joe and we went exploring this place. We were going all around the back and then we thought it would be fun to climb into the truck. When we opened the door to the truck we found it already inhabited by yellow jackets! The wasps came storming out and quickly stung Joe. Jake yelled RUN! but Joe couldn't run as fast as we could because he was smaller than we were. Anyway, we finally got away, but Joe was crying and hurt bad. Jake decided that Joe needed immediate adult first aid and so we headed in the most direct route to were the adults were. They were all at Mama Fawn's (my grandmother's) house which was across a corn field. I remember going crashing through the corn in a direct route, but I felt lost. Some how we made it to care and we didn't go back to the old barn for a long time. I still keep my distance from that truck.

Story 2.
A few years later a whole group of cousins, probably 10 of us, decided to turn the old barn into a war hospital. We had doctors and nurses. We had sick beds on top of the haystack. There was an ambulance (another old truck that was parked in the barn) and there was a surgery room. The surgery room was an old grain catch tire on a board. The grain delivery chute came down and aimed directly at the surgery table giving the effect of an overhead light like you see on TV. It took a little imagination, but we had quite the hospital. One of my older cousins and I went to work the control panel for the hospital (really it was a big electrical control board for the old grain silos). We decided that it would be a good idea to turn every switch to on and then press every green button. It took quite a while to accomplish the task but we finally reached the last button. When we pressed it, things came alive. This shocked all of us because we thought that there wasn't any power connected to the old stuff anymore. The auger began to turn and old black grain chunks poured out of the auger, right into the face of the surgery patient. Ahhhhhh! The alarm sounded and there was an emergency evacuation of he hospital. We were all scared. The cousin who was helping me turn everything on decided he would be brave and run back to turn it off. Whew! that was a close one.

Story 3.
A few years later the old pole barn collapsed in storm. It just blew down and crumpled on top of itself. My grandpa paid me and one of my cousins to disassemble it. We had to pull the old nails out of the roof and salvage the tin. Then the frame of the old barn had to be dismantled and hauled by tractor to the end of the dump. I was only able to stay and help for about a week, but we got most of the roof done in that time. We did have a couple run ins with snakes and carpenter bees, but nothing major. A couple months later, after the barn was completely torn down and moved, my cousins had a bonfire with the wood that was piled in the dump and I was able to go. A whole barn going up in flames is quite the site to behold. It was supper hot and we had contests to see who could handle standing within 20 feet the longest. Generally I just ran around and admired the huge fire I had helped create. Our proudest moment came when a police officer from the town (3 miles away) came out to see what the fire was. Awesome!

Fort Time!

One of my favorite activities to do with my cousins when I was little was to build and then play in forts. The first forts I remember were ones that my cousins had already set up. One was where the water had leaked out of the cement ditch in front of my grandparent's house and created a large cave under the ditch. It was kind of like a little cliff dwelling perched under a ditch and overlooking a cotton field. There was another one that was made when my cousins put big blue tarp over a huge hole in the ground and then started adding weapons and creature comforts (read: dirt clods and junk).

The fort that I really remember establishing myself though was way better than a glorified dirt bunker. Jake and I found that we could climb into an old wood cotton trailer. It had steps going up on the outside at one end which we utilized to get into the box. The box was about 3 feet off the ground with dimensions feet wide, 12 feet long, and 6 feet high. We equipped it with old couch cushions, fire wood, some art work, some cool sticks (every boy's ultimate toy is a good stick), and the we built a fireplace. In one end we layed down a sheet of metal and then found and old metal rim to place on top. We put a couple of 2x4's across the box and then hung a tarp between them for a little roof.

After it was completed we camped out in it. Everything was going well until we decided to get the fire going. First of all, our ventilation wasn't great so we about smoked ourselves out (I can still remember my eyes burning). Then we noticed that our fireplace, being built on a wood floor, was hot enough to burn the floor! We had to quickly elevate the metal sheet onto a little metal frame. It's lucky our fort didn't burn down.

Our usual place for fort supplies was the local dump. It wasn't a big commercial dump, just a local family dump. We managed to find all sorts of things in that dump. It's  a wonder any of us survived to tell these tales. My advice to kids today: Don't furnish your fort from the local dumpster and don't light fires in or near things you don't want to burn.

Riding With My Uncle's Roommate and The Sinners

Growing up I had a best friend cousin named Jake. We are about 6 months apart in age and 1 year apart in school. Even though I lived in central Arizona and he lived in eastern Arizona we still found ways to get together. We would find rides with relatives or friends. One time I rode over with a friend of a relative. I wasn't very old, maybe 9 or 10, and my uncle's roommate was headed over and offered to give me a ride. He planned to pick me up on Sunday evening and then head out of town. The first stop was the gas station where he fueled up and bought Ding Dongs. I was appalled because, as stated in an earlier post, my family holds strict observance of the sabbath. He asked me if I wanted anything and I politely declined. Then we headed on our way.

About half way between Jake and me was a little town were my rides parents lived. As we drove into town we passed by a hardware store and my ride said, "oh, there's my dad" and then he turned around and pulled into the hardware store parking lot. He talked to his dad and then we followed his dad back to their house. We then had dinner at his parent's house. I thought the food wasn't that good, but I thought that his little brother and sister were pretty cool. From there we headed out and finished our journey... oh also, there wasn't a good seatbelt and he was driving really fast and I was a little scared, but we arrived safely.

Well, later my family and my uncle's roommate's family moved to the same little town that Jake lived in. His parents became my Sunday school teachers and YSA leaders. I learned that his mom really is a good cook and that his dad really is a good person. I'm sure glad that I gave them a second chance. It just goes to show though that you never know who is watching and what they will remember. Big impressions from simple things are especially made on little kids.

B Cuz!

When I was little I loved to play with my cousins. I liked going to their house and them coming to my house and meeting up at the grandparents house. It was great. We got up to all sorts of stuff. I think why I enjoyed it so much, especially when I was little, was that I was an only child for about 4 years and then after that the closest thing I had to brothers was boy cousins. I always wanted to do what my cousins were doing. If they were playing in the dirt or jumping on the trampoline then that is where I wanted to be. That worked out pretty well later on when they were earning their Eagle Scout awards and going on missions because I wanted to do those things too.

Growing up we went over to Aunt Liz's almost every Sunday to see my great-grandma Roxy and to play with the cousins. They have this funny home video of us playing with one of those fisher price or tyco toy kitchens. Lafe was in the oven and I wanted to play with the stove. I kept going up to my aunt and saying, "Lafe won't let me play with the shove. I wanna play with the shove." My cousins still think it is hilarious and will quote me at any opportune time. Other things I remember doing on those Sunday's at their house was playing with playdough, drawing, sardines, hide and seek, climbing on the jungle gym and in the big tree. I also remember taking shots of vinegar, cleaning pennies, crawling through the broken bedroom door, and eventually not being allowed outside when they got their german dog who liked to eat tall blonde males.

Oh, those were the days.

Not exactly what I was playing with, but close enough.

Happy Mother's Day

Do you remember all the dump little things you made for your mom for gifts when you were little. I do. It is kind of silly to be like, "here mom, here's a bunch of trash that I glued together as a gift so that you would know I love you."

One of the many reasons I love mothers is because they see your gift and say, "oh, thank you. That's so sweet." And then, they keep that "gift" forever because it actually does remind them that you love them. That is a miracle. Only a mother could love a child enough to answer a gift like that with a sincere, "thank you, I love you too."

Some of the "gifts" I gave my mom:
a noodle frame
a spray painted candle stick holder
a reframed picture of me
tissue paper glued in the shape of a heart
an old fruit basket woven with yarn
homemade peanut butter-jelly-teddy graham goulash
and a lot of scribbled notes and pictures

I love you mom! Happy Mother's Day.

Soap is gross

Before my mother found the book 1-2-3 Magic, she used me as her discipline guinea pig. When I was little there were a few words that I was  not permitted to say. One of them was "stupid" and one day my mom overheard me tell or call or at least say the word "stupid" while playing with some of my friends. She quickly whisked me away to the bathroom and washed my mouth out with a bar of soap. YICK! Boy howdy, did I learn my lesson and believe me there were a lot of other unspoken words that remained unspoken after that.

and

= no more

Mothers are the best!

With mother's day coming up this week I thought it might be appropriate to share some of my favorite memories of my mother. Yesterday would have been the first. By the way I think all mothers are amazing. Thank you for putting up with your little kids!

When I was little my mom was so patient with me. We have a home video of me eating breakfast one Sunday morning. I was eating oatmeal, very slowly. I would take a bite, chew for a while, swallow, take a sip of juice, and then talk a little. My mother would then say, "Take another bite", which prompted me to start the cycle again. I'm sure this happened nearly every morning. I really don't like oatmeal, but I'm glad my mother made me eat it so that I could grow up big and tall.

I usually load as much sugar into my breakfast as possible, even now. So when mom made oatmeal I liked to push the limits of my cereal to sugar ratios. Usually I was only allowed one spoonful and my mother would tell me the story of Sugary Sam:

"One day Sugary Sam had a lot of sugar on his cereal. Sugary Sam loved sugar. He ate it with everything. His mother warned him not to eat too much Sugar, but Sam never listened. One day Sugary Sam's mother asked him to go to the store to buy some groceries. Sam went and picked up the bag of groceries his mother asked for. On the way home it started to rain. Sugary Sam started to run, but he never made it home. No one ever saw Sam again, they just found a bag of groceries sitting in a puddle of melted sugar."

And that is why you should do what your mother tells you!

Sharing a mother

Sometimes sharing is hard. For the first 4 years of my life I was an only child. Then one day, 22 years ago, my parents got another kid. A sister! At first I thought it was great because I would have a playmate built into my family. Then I realized that babies don't do much. Well, they do eat and mess their diapers. They do cry too. Sharing a room with a crying baby at night is not fun. I don't think I handled the first sister too well, but I've had plenty of practice since then because my parents decided to give me 3 more little sisters after the first. Oh boy... er, girl!

Eventually my mom taught me that I did have built in friends in our family. It took moving to another town and living in isolation for 6 months to convince me, but I'm glad we did it. I sure am glad today for moms and sisters.

How I learned to never tell a lie

When I was little I had a nap nearly every day. Usually sometime in the mid afternoon my mom would have me go take a nap and then she would take a break and maybe nap too. I remember one day when my mom was occupied I snuck out of my room during nap time and went into her room. I don't remember too many specifics but I know that I took a Vitamin C without permission. I liked those big chewable vitamins because they were like candy. My mom knew that I had taken one and she confronted me on it. I told an untruth and said that I had not taken the vitamin.

I don't remember exactly what the consequence was, but I remember that my mother knew the truth and she was very disappointed in me. I think that all children want to please their parents and I was no different. I felt bad that I hadn't told the truth and that I had let down my mom. I was very remorseful. Later in life when I felt like not answering honestly to my mom I remembered that experience and quickly changed my mind. Honesty really is the best policy.

General Conference Weekend

I remember being a little kid and going to watch general conference. I remember the first time that it was on TV at our house. That was a blessing, I felt. When I was little we would walk around the block to the stake center building to watch general conference. My parents usually took me into the Relief Society room where they would watch the conference on a televisions screen. I remember mostly just playing around on the floor. There was a metal heating grate that I remember running my cars over and almost dropping cherios down. I don't remember any of the talks really, which is unfortunate because I was around for some great ones, I just didn't pay too much attention.

I do remember listening to President Benson tell all of us to read the Book of Mormon regularly. I remember hearing that while sitting in the overflow/gym area of the stake center so I guess we didn't always go to the RS room, probably just when I was a little noisy kid. I think I was pretty noisy on the hard wood floors of the gym too though. Well, now I love conference and I'm glad that my parents helped me to establish a pattern of listening to the prophet when I was young.

The music is always good too!

Lost and Found

When I was little my family would usually get a real tree at Christmas time. One year while we were shopping for one I found myself all alone in a big parking lot forest. Boy was I scared. I'm pretty sure that I cried a little (you know, like little kids do). This older couple saw me and asked if I was lost. When I admitted I was they took me towards the front of the are a and then lifted me onto one of the crates. I stood there and looked around for my parents. It was really dark and scary. My parents found me though and I was very happy for the reunion and for the old couple who helped me.

I wish that I could say, "after that I didn't leave my parents any more." But that would be untrue. In the grocery store I loved to chase the reflection of the florescent lights down each isle and jump over then as they approached my feet. Another habit of mine was to pretend like the clothes racks at Target and VF Factory Outlet were forts. I would crawl into the middle of the rack and pull my feet up on the middle bars. I would also duck so that no one could see me from above or below. This frightened my mom a few times. A combination of these events led my mom to purchase a wrist to wrist leash. Oh, I hated that thing. The first time I had to wear it we were in the grocery store.

I decided to take my usual jaunt down the isle. I hit the end of my rope about three steps into my takeoff. The tether pulled me sideways and smashed my knee into the shopping cart. OUCH! My knee was black and blue for a long time after that, but I didn't run away any more. I guess I was pretty dumb to think that the blue strap around my wrist and connected to my mom's wrist would make no difference on my range. I'm sure my kids will have to learn this same lesson. Good thing they make more humane straps now!

and

and my favorite

Haircut!

I have a video of my first haircut. The cu was given to me by my aunt who is an amazing beautician. I'm told that my first haircut was a result of some young men asking my dad if he was letting his son grow a tail. That didn't sit too well, so a haircut was ordered. My aunt thought it would be funny to say something about not moving my head so that she wouldn't cut my ear off. Aaahh! That's a scary thought for a little kid. My aunt cut my hair for the next 18 years or so. It was pretty difficult, when I moved away, letting someone else cut my hair. The fear of losing an ear still lingers in my subconscious every time someone takes scissors and trims around them.  Maybe Van Gogh was just trying to cut his own hair!

I'm Tough!

When I was little I went to get one of the shots that little kids get, some vaccination or something. I think they put it in my leg or arm. I remember this story basically because it has been retold to me. The doctor who was administering the shot said, “ok, close your eyes and count to 10.”

I did as instructed and at about 3 I felt the sharp jab of the needle and I started to cry. I cried and I counted, “1, 2, 3… 9, 10.” I was sobbing.

The doctor told my mom, “wow, I’ve never had a kid who actually made it all the way to 10." See I’m tough!

One Candy Bar Every 5 Minutes!

When I was little, 5 years old, my dad would take me to some of his work sites to help him do some surveying. He would set up the equipment and mark spots for me to hold the measuring rod. When I was 5 it was about all I could do to stand the rod on end and hold it upright. It probably weighed about ½ as much as me. Some of the places I remember going were churches and schools. I remember the San Carlos high school site the best. Since my father was putting me to work he said that I could choose my own wages. I remember thinking well if I made 5 cents a minute then that would be one candy bar every 5 minutes. So I made the proposition to my dad. He said sure, and my $3/hour wage stuck with me for the next 10 years. I had to fill out my time card too. I don’t think I was very accurate and sometimes I forgot to write my time down so I think my dad got a pretty good deal.

Over the years my dad and I made a pretty good team. We developed hand signals for when to move the pole and tape. My favorite hand signal was the signal for “all done” (the baseball “safe” sign). I think the project that I did the most for was Skyline High School. When I got to college I meant to take a surveying class so that I would maybe understand what I had been doing all those years, but I never got around to it. I will someday, maybe.

Peter Pan's Plant Pans

When I was little, and my family would go to visit family in Idaho during the summer, there were lots of fun things to do. One summer my favorite activity was to go out and walk along the top of the fence that surrounded my grandpa's house and the cow pen next to it. The old fence was made of 2X4's on 6X6 posts about 8 feet apart. My cousins and I would spend hours just walking around on the fence. Trying to challenge our balancing skills by passing each other and going faster. On the very last day we were there I went out for one last walk on the fence and I slipped and fell. Usually falling wasn't a very big deal, but since I slipped and fell it was. The top rail of the fence slid all the way up the side of my body and pretty much skinned my ribs alive. Ouch! Man, that hurt so bad.

Another thing I liked to do was go outside just before the rain storms. The wind would pick up and there would be lightning and thunder. One day my cousin got the idea that we would try to use the wind as a mode of flight. We tried climbing up the fence and jumping off into the wind or with the wind. This didn't equal very long flights. Next we tried using grocery sacks as parachutes--also fruitless. So finally we found some old plant flats (a shallow plastic pan used to hold small plants, flowers or vegetables, before they are sold to plant in the earth). We found that the sturdy plastic pans provided a little greater lift. So we commenced our flying exercises. I'm sure non of our "flights" lasted longer than 2 or 3 seconds, but to feel the resistance of the wind on our arms made it super fun. Hooray wright brothers!

ps. I do not endorse experimental modes of flight, especially from heights greater than 4 feet. Unless you're these guys:

Mac and Cheese!

When I was little I remember going to the bathroom one night because I felt the need to throw up. I ended up throwing up—I wonder why little kids throw up so much? I’m pretty sure that after I puked I didn’t feel as bad as before I did. Either the next day or the day after I went to either church or school and somehow the topic came up when I was talking to one of my friends. I explained that I had thrown up and that you could see the macaroni and hot dogs. And she said, “No wonder you threw up. Eating hot dogs with macaroni and cheese is gross!” I guess that seems like a pretty logical explanation to a little kid. I think about that every time I eat franks with my macaroni and cheese. Yummy!

Super Bowl Sunday!

Guess what? I've never watched a Super Bowl on Sunday! I watched one tape delayed on a Monday. That's it. I guess I'm not into the pro sports too much or at all when it comes to NFL. I do have a "super bowl" Sunday memory from when I was a little kid though. I remember going to church and hearing the super bowl buzz in Sunday school. Mostly all the kids talking about funny commercials they had seen in year previous. Well, that afternoon while the big game was on, my family went to the visitors center at the Mesa, Arizona temple. We enjoyed walking the grounds, watching a short gospel narrative and running into another family who we knew. It was a great day. I have no idea who played that year, much less who won. But I know exactly where I was, who I was with, and the joy I felt.

Rattlesnake Roundup… no, not the world famous one in texas.

Another roundup story that my dad told me was when he was out there and after a long day he decided
he needed to use the toilet. They were in a spot where there was an outhouse available. My dad
entered the place and began his preparation when he heard the distinctive buzz of a rattler! Quickly
he pulled out his belt as a weapon and, in the complete dark; he jumped up on the seat and started
hollering for help. The rattler rattled and by dad stood guard until someone finally heard the cries and
came with a shovel to decapitate the creature. Maybe my fear of rattlesnakes is somewhat genetic.

Ps. I have never seen anyone as skilled in decapitating a snake as my grandpa. He is simply like a ninja
with a garden ho. I’ve seen him take off a head mid-strike!

Keep the Sabbath Day

My dad comes from a western ranching family. Both sets of his grandparents owned and operated large
ranches in the southwest. He was raised riding horses and working cattle. I once asked my father what
he would do for a living if money was no object and he said that he would go back to being a cowboy.

Every year the there would be a roundup out on the ranch. All the boys would participate in gathering
the herd for the annual maintenance. Most of the cowboys were pretty stereotypically rough around
the edges and very “manly”. The roundup usually lasted several weeks. Each day started early and was
filled full of cows, horses, dust, and food. One Saturday my dad decided that he would stay out on the
ranch and work through the weekend while his father, my grandfather, headed back to town to go to
church the next day.

My father woke up that Sunday morning with an aching conscience. He knew that he should be in
church that day too, but all the rides back had left the day before. Fortunately my grandpa had a feeling
that he should go back out on Sunday morning. He did and they were both able to attend the Sunday
services. I’m thankful for these men setting a good example for me when it comes to Sunday worship.
We never miss a meeting.

No Really, Don’t Play With Matches!

One night Gilbert and Dad were out camping on the foothills. They made a fire and cooked a rabbit and
then went to sleep. As the desert night wore on it got colder and colder. My dad was using a denim
blanket as a sleeping bag and he kept moving closer and closer to the fire. It got colder and colder
and Dad moved closer and closer. The blanket caught on fire and warmed everyone up. Luckily they

were able to put out the blaze and save both boy and blanket… well, most of the blanket. That blanket
became our family picnic blanket when I was a little kid.

Don’t Play With Matches!

This one has to be one of my favorites. My dad was over at Gilbert’s house and they were playing. They
were also supposed to be babysitting Gilbert’s little sister. What were they playing with? The boys had
decided to have some fun with some matches and caps from their cap guns. This was great fun.

Eventually Aunt Jackie, Gilbert’s mother, returned home to find her little girl standing out in the coral
under a horse. Gilbert’s sister was unharmed but Aunt Jackie was plenty mad. She came looking for the
boys who should have been watching the sister. As she came Gilbert quickly stuffed the matches and
caps into his pockets so he wouldn’t get caught.

Aunt Jackie used a barrel stave for discipline that day and as she took it to Gilbert his pants started
smoking. Next thing they knew the back pocket of Gilbert’s pants was burning. That was quite the
beating!

My Dad’s Knife

When my dad was growing up he had a best friend named Gilbert. He and Gilbert spent a lot of time

camping, hiking, hunting, and doing other boy things. One day they decided to take a hike up into the

foothills behind my dad’s house. As they hiked up a small canyon they found a tree and in the tree was

a mountain lion or a bobcat. Gilbert, being an avid hunter, took out his knife and threw it at the cat. The

knife then lodged in the trunk of the tree just below the cat.

This presented the boys a unique problem. If the knife was one of theirs they would have left it and

hopefully remembered to get it back on the way home if the cat had left. The knife, however, belonged

to Gilbert’s dad, Uncle Harry. I imagine Gilbert felt like Small’s on sandlot. He knew he had to get the

knife back.

The boys devised a plan. My dad would cover Gilbert, by throwing rocks at the cat, while Gilbert climbed

the tree. Brilliant? I don’t think so, but it worked. The knife was recovered safely and the boys continued

the hike.

Bedtime Stories

When I was little my father used to put me to bed by telling me stories about when he was a little kid
like me, but who played and lived in a rural community. His stories always have fascinated me and so I
thought that I would share a few with all of you. So these are stories from when I was a little kid that I
remember my father telling me before I fell asleep.

Disclaimer: These stories are according to my memory and are true or untrue as such.