Stripes and Solids

The only rule we followed was never play anyone who brought their own cue stick. Otherwise, we had no problem taking money from students at Weber State College. All winnings went straight into the jukebox or the Space Invaders pinball machine. You know, the one with 4 flippers and extra wide lanes. Back when games were a quarter, 500k secured a position on the High Scores board and free games were easy to come by.

My next door neighbor was cool. He even had a cool name: Guy.

Guy had his own paper route. I filled in for him one week and he gave me five bucks and a Guinness Book of World Records paperback. I would have done it for the book. Who can forget the guy with the longest fingernails? I thumbed through the book until the pages fell out.

Guy was going to be an architect. So, of course, I wanted to be an architect although I had no idea what one did.

I don’t recall how we got started hustling students, but I remember Guy telling me it was easier than landing papers on porches from the sidewalk on his Schwinn Stingray. The key was to select the right hits, and jocks were an easy target. They couldn’t back down from an 8-ball challenge. And we certainly didn’t look like a couple of pool sharks. The tables were located near the bowling alley. The perfect hit was a jock who could bowl a 225 or better. Then we knew he had little time between studies and bowling for a little “stripes and solids”.

That was our brilliant line of reasoning.

We didn’t lose very often. I’m surprised we were able to find students willing to play us through the summer. I suspect many were embarrassed they got hustled by a couple of teenagers and decided it was best to keep it on the low.

No more than few dollar changed hands, but that was enough to keep the jukebox going. Any 6 songs for a buck. If we had a few quarters left over for pinball even better.

We couldn’t play pool without queuing up tunes on the jukebox. Bennie and the Jets was always part of the mix. Those first few piano bars Elton laid down were magical. We had no idea what the lyrics meant. It was the music that grabbed us. It was impossible to listen to and not imagine myself pounding the keys while the crowd clapped and whistled.

When the jukebox stopped, it was time to jump on our bikes and race each other home. As we crossed Harrison Boulevard it was all I could do to keep up with Guy. Occasionally I’d catch him along the curve bordering the hospital parking lot. Nearing the home stretch, we’d be neck and neck until I slammed on my breaks at the stop sign just yards from my house. Guy never stopped. He celebrated each win by doing a wheelie in front of my house.

He wasn’t just cool. He was lucky.

Photo 1 by Sean Wakefield
Photo 2 by Thomas Hawk

Technorati Tags: Elton John,Bennie and the Jets,Pool,Weber State,Pinball

No Problem

I grabbed Luca and jumped in our Honda Odyssey. She needed a break from her brother and sister. I needed a break from the computer.

But it was Christmas day. Well, it was Christmas night by the time we slid our way off snow covered Lea Hill and into town looking for something to eat besides corn flakes and nachos.

We weren’t picky. Pretty much anything with a drive thru would suffice because the only thing covering my feet were a pair of Land’s End slippers.

We drove by McDonalds. Closed.

Taco Bell? Closed.

Dairy Queen? Closed.

Arby’s and Taco Time? Closed and closed.

Only Jack-in-the-Box was open. As I pulled around the parking lot all I noticed was a line of cars snaked around the building. We got in line and waited our turn to order. About 20 minutes later we pulled up to the window.

Finally, a young man opened the window and said, “I’m so sorry. I just gave your order to the car in front of you. It will be a few minutes longer”

In years past I probably would have let out a loud *sigh* to express my displeasure. At the very least, I would have directed a frown his way.

But I didn’t do either.

I smiled and said, “No problem. It happens”.

He said, “Well, it’s happened a few times today, and I’m sorry it happened to you”.

I could see he was working hard to remake our order. But it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t upset. It was Christmas and here I am out driving around snowy roads in a minivan with my daughter wearing slippers.

And it gave me more time to chat with Luca who told me all about the sewing kit Santa brought her. I glanced at her cute smiley face in the rearview mirror as she explained how Santa knew exactly what she wanted. Her words sprang with joy, and she paused only to catch her breath between details.

Our food arrived hot and stuffed into two bags. I handed Luca the vanilla milkshake she received by promising not to tell her brother or sister. One lick of the whipped cream on top told me I should have ordered myself one.

As we slowly made our way up the hill to our home, I told myself that I’m going to give people the benefit of the doubt this year like I did tonight at the drive-thru. I’m not going to jump to conclusions and assume I know all the details. I’m going to listen more and talk less.

Even in those situations where a response or reaction is warranted, I’m going to do the unexpected and say, “No problem”.

We turned off the main road and slid around our neighborhood before making our way down to the end of our cul-de-sac. As we pulled into the driveway of our little yellow house, Luca said, “Dad, I’m glad that guy didn’t give my milkshake away”.

Technorati Tags: Christmas,Jack-in-the-Box

Big Purple Chair

Some days my body doesn’t want to go to work but my mind convinces it otherwise. Occasionally it’s the other way around. But when both protest it’s best to take a day off instead of fighting a winless battle.

Yesterday was one of those days.

Luca and Lincoln had Halloween parties at school so I headed there to volunteer my skills which included sweeping the gym floor, tying shoes and and reminding a rambunctious little boy to refrain from putting a half licked Tootsie Roll Pop up his nose.

I finished volunteering in Lincoln’s class just in time to help Luca’s class carve pumpkins. As I walked through the door to her classroom, several students approached me. One little girl said, “We’ve been expecting you”. I looked across the room and saw a table full of carved pumpkins as Luca grabbed my hand, leaned into my leg and said, “I thought you were going to help me carve my pumpkin”.

I picked her up and held her tight as the tears streamed down her face and onto her new glasses. The teacher approached and apologized for writing down the wrong time. But it didn’t matter to Luca. She’d told everyone in her class that her dad was going to carve the best pumpkin ever. I asked her to show me the pumpkin she carved. It looked fantastic. She had taped purple strands of yarn along the top to give it hair. “I’ve never seen a pumpkin with purple eyebrows”, I told her in my lame attempt to entice a smile.

That afternoon I picked her up from school and drove to our favorite hang out joint: Starbucks. Luca ordered a small hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and a plain bagel. She showed me how hot chocolate connoisseurs use three stirring straws instead of one. “Just make sure it’s not hot before you do this” she warned me.

We relaxed on a big purple chair with giant comfy cushions. Just the two of us. Side by side.

She told me bagels are her favorite food. Except for pizza. And potatoes with melted cheese.

I could listen to her talk for hours. I wish I could make time stand still. But moments like these come in unexpected short bursts. One can’t force them. That’s what makes them special.

I took the glasses off her face and wiped away the salty residue left over from the earlier tears. I placed them back on her cute face and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Her smile returned.

I’d like to take the credit for that.

But I believe it was the magic of the big purple chair.

Technorati Tags: Halloween. Pumpkin Carving

Brain Freeze

I closed the door to my apartment, took a few steps towards the sidewalk and started to shiver. Only a two block walk to meet the bus. Felt like two miles. Each breath felt like a pin prick to the lungs.

By the time I arrived at the bus stop by toes were numb. I curled my fingers into a fist inside my gloves to keep them from the same condition. I told myself I could keep my body from shivering. But that came at the expense of my clenched jaw muscles.

And then I waited. In the dark just off Orchard Drive for the bus to arrive and transport me to the University of Utah. If the snow was packed tightly to the road I would stand still in wait. But if even the smallest patch of slush was on the road, I had to duck and dodge whatever dredge passing cars would toss my direction.

When I look back on these years I’m surprised I didn’t drop out of college. Or, at the very least, find a school far away from Utah’s cold long winters.

Yet, I was reminded why I stuck it out as I interviewed a recent college graduate this afternoon. I could see it in his eyes. That unbridled excitement. I could also sense his fear and uncertainty on a day the DOW dropped 733 points. There’s no way he could predict our current economic crisis when he enrolled four years ago. Yet why now? Did he waste four years of his life?

I don’t think so. He related his reasons for going to college. It wasn’t to get a job. It wasn’t a springboard to another degree. Nope. It was to be challenged. To make himself a better person. To study subjects that challenged his beliefs. To grow up outside the safe confines of home.

And now he sat in front of me asking for a chance. Almost begging for an opportunity that may kick start his career. “I don’t know everything. I wasn’t a straight A student. But give me a chance and I won’t let you down.”

That could have been me begging for a break into the computer field nearly 14 years ago. I interviewed for a job at a local ISP and convinced the interviewer that I could learn Windows 95 although it wasn’t on the market yet. “I really want this job. I won’t let you down. Just give me a chance to prove myself.”

I laugh when I look back on those days. I loved the work so much I would have done it for half the salary. Remember Milton from Office Space who shows up to work each day long after they stopped his paychecks? That’s me minus the red stapler.

What I learned at that first job was far more valuable than any check I took home.

Part of me misses those frigid cold mornings waiting in the dark for the bus. And the professors who challenged my beliefs. And feeding quarters to the Addams Family pinball machine between classes. And cramming all afternoon and into the evening until Seinfeld flickered across my old Magnavox.

Technorati Tags: College,First Job,Pearl Jam,University of Utah

12 Items or Less

Seems like every Saturday morning I find Kim adding items to her grocery list. When I see her doing this I’ll say, “Hey, I’ll watch the kids while you go the store” and she’ll nod in agreement.

But I know how this plays out. Kim loves to make lists. She likes to modify lists. Sometimes she’ll start a list upstairs on a Post-It and another downstairs next to her computer. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a list in each room of our house.

I’ve learned a thing or two in our 11 years of marriage. When it comes to shopping I’ve been able to distill what I’ve learned into the following 4 scenarios:

If the list contain items found at Target, Kim will do the shopping.
If the list contains grocery items, I will do the shopping.
If the list contains Costco items, my only involvement comes in the form of car to kitchen transportation.
I don’t get to create lists. I can only add to existing ones.

So like clockwork, I found myself at Fred Meyer tonight looking for pizza sauce, sourdough bread and pineapple tidbits. Not crushed pineapple. Not pineapple chunks. But pineapple tidbits. The kind you toss on pizza. I had to call home to confirm.

I couldn’t do the shopping without a cell phone and I call Kim at least three times each trip. I get 3 life lines before I’m called home. I call to ask which type of cheese I should buy. I call to ask which yogurt flavors the kids like best (peach bad, vanilla good). Sometimes I just call to chat and to let her know I’m “testing” the grapes or bulk cashews.

Over time, I’ve refined my methods. I carry the consolidated list around with me and make a small tear next to those items I’ve put in the cart which I’ve tested to ensure it doesn’t sport the crazy wobbly wheel from hell that vibrates your entire body. I save the hard to find items for last. Like El Pato sauce. I can never find that stuff. Last week I spent 20 minutes looking for lemon juice too. I get through 98% of my list in 30 minutes and then spend the next half hour playing hide-and-go-seek with the last few hard to capture items. I’ve just plain given up looking for “Jet Puffed Marshmallow”. I don’t believe it exists and I’m convinced it’s Kim’s way of sending me on a snipe hunt.

But the real fun comes during check out. No matter how many items I have in my cart, I head for the 12 Items or Less line. Some trips I might have fewer than 12 items. Sometimes I have more. As long as the number of items is divisible by 12 I feel I’m keeping the spirit of the law.

If there are items already on the conveyor belt I never know how far I should let them travel before it’s safe to start mine on their journey. I’ve noticed that women are vigilant about putting down the little black divider even if they have only gum and a People Magazine to purchase. We wouldn’t want my Wheat Thins fraternizing with her Big Red. And when I’m done putting all my stuff on the belt am I supposed to put a black divider down behind the last item? I feel like I’m drawing a line in the sand if I do, but I don’t want to go home with a stranger’s set of size 13 Dr. Scholl’s insoles.

I enjoy shopping on my own. I find it relaxing. And I’m starting to feel like a regular because a few checkers call me by name now.

And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact I can’t reliably count past 12.

Technorati Tags: Fred Meyer,Albertsons,Grocery Shopping

The Kindest Words

I couldn’t have been more than 13 years old at the time. This was the time in my life when it was cool to grow my hair over my ears and wear OP corduroy shorts and Hobie Cat T-shirts. I liked bottle rockets and Space Invaders more than girls.

So there I was at church wearing my light blue suit that my mom bought for me at Sears. I had been ordained a Deacon in the Mormon church which means I could pass the bread and water but couldn’t be trusted to prepare or bless it.

After one meeting ended I bounded up the stairs, two or three at a time, to the last class of the day. As I got to the top I came face to stomach with a lady I barely knew. She was wearing a fancy red dress I doubt she found at Sears.

I stopped and waited for the inevitable lecture about how this was the Lord’s house and how dare I run through it. I flashed a goofy grin hoping to lesson the blow.

But it never came.

Instead she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Your smile makes my day. I just love it”

As I continued into my class I was stunned yet thrilled. My whole body was tingly with joy.

Those few words brought so much joy to a young boy many years ago.

And it still makes me smile whenever I think about it.

Technorati Tags: Mormons, Church, Smile, Kindness

The Missing Six Years

Just over 14 years ago I moved from Salt Lake City to Seattle.

And just over 13 years ago my marriage went up in smoke. Poof.

Six years of marriage brought to an end with a few papers, a few signatures and a few hundred dollars.

I’ve never written a single paragraph about those six years. It’s as if Agent K from Men in Black showed up with his "neutralizer" pen and wiped the years, 1990-1995, from my mind.

Yet it’s never that easy. Even though people with good intentions act as if those years never existed. But I don’t blame them because I’ve tried to forget those years too on many occasions.

Time heals most wounds. Over time most of my anger turned to reflection. I learned to trust again. I gained friends whom I’d lost. Most importantly, I learned to love again. Never underestimate the sheer strength of the human heart.

But it did take time. For years I felt isolated and lonely. Divorce isn’t a topic one brings up among friends watching SportsCenter. It’s a "black cloud" topic. It was difficult to admit that I had failed at the very decision I’d been taught was the most important one I’d ever make.

But somehow I bounced back.

In hindsight, it was a blessing that I lived 900 miles from family during this time. I didn’t have friends or family to feel sorry for me and say everything would be fine. I had to pick myself up and get on with my life. That’s a valuable skill.

Six years.

They are a part of my life. They include moving to Seattle and working for some of the largest technology companies. They include meeting many of my best friends. And they put me in a position where I was lucky enough to meet Whim.

Yes, they include many memories I’d prefer to forget. But with the bad comes good. Even when it’s hard to find under a pile of mixed emotions.

That’s how life works.

I no longer look back at those years as a miserable slice of life I’d soon forget. It was a time of growth, pain, learning, and humility.

All of which are worth keeping.

Technorati Tags: divorce, marriage

An Overwhelmed Father

There are times, probably more than I’d like to admit, that I feel absolutely overwhelmed at the thought of raising four children. Each of them breezed into our life and I love them dearly.

But there are days when the idea of raising them gives me the chills. What did I get myself into? I feel like I’m in a cockpit full of poorly labeled buttons and switches while the passengers are yelling at me to safely land the 747. Most days I grab the throttle with both hands and pray I don’t jam the nose of the plane into the runway.

There are times when I feel like my kids are the passengers on that plane. And when I look back to see how they are doing, I realize they parachuted to safety shortly after takeoff.

I don’t recall receiving an owners manual when I walked out of the hospital with our first child. No tests, no interviews or drug tests required. I had to meet more requirements to obtain a library card, and I may not possess the wherewithal to raise a couple of goldfish. Yet I can walk into the hospital with my wife one day and walk out with a tiny human being two days later and the only skill I must prove is that I can install a car seat without strangling anyone with a belt buckle. Not exactly setting the bar high.

With no owner’s manual I’m left with the only choice available: I wing it. Like a bottle of Children’s Benadryl I wish Nintendo, Scooby Doo, and Polly Pockets came with a “recommended dosage”. Just once I’d like to look on the back of a Nintendo game to find, “Do not exceed more than 70 minutes of Super Smash Brothers. Doing so may cause player to body slam younger sisters”.

I’m often perplexed when I’m faced with two options. For example, when Lincoln runs off the soccer field to check out the bugs on the flagpole, should I be upset he’s not following the coach’s instructions or do I encourage his curious nature? Do I teach him how to follow instructions or allow him to learn more about nature? I’m afraid that by the time I know whether my decision was correct it will be too late.

When I’m asked to explain my decisions as a parent I never know what to say because I don’t want to admit I’m merely following my gut. There are times when I wish I had an owner’s manual to fall back on. Year’s later I could point to the manual and say, “Right there…on page 25 it says the benefits of learning to play the piano outweigh any athletic endeavor”. I’d have a scapegoat lined up if things didn’t turn out well and I was raising a Joe Montana all this time.

In the meantime I continue to father my children as best I can. There’s no one waiting on the bench to give me a breather. I make mistakes and hopefully learn from them. I play with them. I pray with them. But most important, I make sure they understand how much they’re loved. That means being on the bottom of many dog piles, tying lots of shoes, and wiping lots of boogers and tears off dirty little faces.

And just maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll look back one day and say, “I didn’t need no stinking manual”.

Technorati Tags: Fatherhood, Parenting

Living Away from Family

Back in 1994 I decided to move to Seattle. I had recently graduated from college and was just starting to feel that I might know enough to find a job in the computer industry. It wasn’t an easy decision. I grew up in Ogden, Utah and had spent my entire life there except for a few years serving a mission in Germany. My siblings and grandparents all lived within with a 30 mile radius. I still remember the snowy evening when I pulled up to my parents home in a U-Haul with all my possessions while towing a Mazda Miata. I don’t recall my parents being against the move but they didn’t exactly encourage it either. Given the circumstances at the time, I don’t blame them.

So here I am 14 years later still living in the Seattle area. Other than a year we spent in Utah, our family has lived nearly 1000 miles from my parents. Kim’s family lives nearly 1400 miles from Seattle. But living in Seattle has provided many good experiences. My parents and inlaws love visiting and seeing this gorgeous area. We’ve taken them to our favorite restaurants and forged many great memories during these visits. It’s also fun for our kids to have their grandparents undivided attention.

Yet there are challenges that come with living away from family. We are not as close to our siblings nor do we have the same degree of input on family decisions. We are out of the loop much of the time. Out of sight, out of mind. Also, when relatives live with you for a week or two, they see the good and the bad. Unlike a visit where it’s easier to put on a happy face for three hours, when someone is living with you 24/7 they will inevitably see us at our worst. They will see the day you sleep in, let the house go and allow the kids to eat three meals consisting only of Cap’N Crunch. They will see kids screaming, piles of laundry, and a family who is late for church. In short, they SEE THE REAL US.

Sometimes we wake up grouchy and don’t feel like doing anything. We don’t always eat three balanced meals and occasionally we watch Paradise Hotel and the Real World back to back! When we visit Utah we don’t feel like we fit in anymore. We’ve probably removed “heck” from our vocabulary and replaced it with the real thing.

So if you come visit us, expect more Simpsons less Brady Bunch. We aren’t perfect, but we don’t expect you to be either. And we promise never to hit you up for free babysitting when we visit your home. Deal?

Technorati Tags: Family visits, Seattle, Utah Jazz

The Error of My Ways

As a dad, I’ve made a number of mistakes. I’ve failed to use fabric softener on a number of occasions which means the kids clothes come out of the dryer looking like a gigantic cotton bolus. I’ve given the kids Diet Coke and filled the bath water to questionable depths. I’ve even been known to let the kids watch the Forensic Files with me when their mom is running errands. Call the Family and Social Services hotline if you must.

Most of my mistakes are quickly forgiven or forgotten by the next morning. But the mistake I made two weeks ago has lingered, and the kids continue to point out my big blunder. If they had access to a large, red capital “L”, I’m sure they’d paste it to my forehead.

You might wonder what I could have done that would cause my oldest child to proclaim, “Boy, dad, you blew it”. Well, in my defense, I didn’t intentionally try to disappoint anyone. All I tried to do was update our DirecTV programming from their website. DirecTV recently sent me a notice saying my programming package had changed and that I needed to select one of their new packages. I logged in and selected what I thought was a comparable package.

But it wasn’t long before the error of my ways was brought to my attention by my son who asked, “Hey dad, how come that one station that shows Scooby Doo doesn’t work anymore?”. That was soon followed by my daughter telling a friend “My Dad broke the TV”.

No Boomerang is making me very angry

Well, I’ve broken a number of things around the house but I’ve never been accused of breaking the TV. But I did make the mistake of selecting the “wrong” programming package that didn’t include the Boomerang cartoon channel and several others the kids were accustomed to watching.

So Scooby Doo is back. So is Sylvester and Tweety. And who can forget Marvin the Martian. Next time I need to update our programming, I’ll just ask Luca to take care of it. I’m obviously not the skilled internet wonder dad I thought I was.

Technorati Tags: Cartoons, Bommerang Channel, DirecTV, Scooby Doo, Forensic Files