Counter

I mentioned having a counter story to the boy gone dog story my mother loves to tell. I don't remember anything about her story - I was too young. I do, however, remember a very amusing story that took place some years later with my mother, both of my sisters and I being at a shopping mall somewhere in Southern California. My mother would say she remembers nothing of what I'm about to share here - which makes me think it's selective memory. My mother has never been afraid of someone having a belly laugh at her expense, consequently, neither are any of her grown children.

I may have been around ten when this little incident happened. I remember watching it all unfold and thinking things were about to get interesting. Nobody had easy access to video means of documenting such events in those days. For crying out loud, a treat was spending an evening viewing slides of family pictures on the wall of my grandparents' living room. Yes, we were that old school. Nobody said "Old School" in those days. Forgive me, but I don't remember what was hip then - well, other than things like viewing slides on the wall of a living room with the lights turned off. That seemed hip back then, at the very least it was a treat. My Lord does that ever make me feel every one of my fi......never mind.

So this story, which I rather like - and I swear did indeed happen, had my mother, my sisters and I heading down the middle aisle of a store, Sears comes to mind, but that's really not important. We may have even passed the place where all things child retaining/restraining were kept - I suspect that things like that are kept at various & sundry key locations in all stores - much the way fire extinguishers are placed. You just shouldn't be far from either should the need arise.

 As much as I recall, we were heading down the middle of the store, Lynne - my older sister was probably a bit to the right and in front of my mother. I was a step or two behind them both and Kerrin, my younger sister, was just off to my left. She was little then - remember this, it's important. When I say she was little, I mean she was under four feet tall. I know my height references from this time period because I intended to become a professional basketball player when I grew up - and I constantly monitored my height progress. I even had a bet with Lynne about what point in my life I would reach a height of six feet. The details of that bet are sketchy - but there was no money exchanged.

My mother would regularly assess where her children were in relation to her. Very aware of her surroundings, seeing things out of the corners of her eyes and being mindful of where we all were. Ready to act on anything quickly - you know, like a child needing to be restrained. Kerrin had started to drift a bit off to the left, which, surprisingly, gave way for a woman who appeared to be about 60, heading up to pass my mother on her immediate left. This woman was no taller than my sister Kerrin was. My mother, seeing what she thought from the corner of her eye to be her youngest child, put her arm around the shoulders of this very small adult woman. It didn't take long to realize this was a mistake.

My mother instantly gave an embarrassed apology as this poor woman looked up at her. I can still see this woman's face and still hear my mother saying, "I'm so sorry" - I was too young to comprehend much here - had a I been in my teenage years, I would've razzed my mom about it. Not at ten - I wasn't raised to be anything but respectful of my parents - but the teenage years often disregard the values given up to that point. The whole incident took about 3 seconds to play out. I remember watching it unfold and being very interested as I knew what was about to happen. Three seconds is a fairly long time for this kind of a scene. One and a half seconds is a very long time to have your arm around what you think is your youngest child, but is instead an adult woman who is old enough to be your mother.

I might block something like that from my memory too - then again, I think I might laugh it off. Nothing against the little woman here, it was an honest mistake - my mother didn't mean to offend this woman, I don't mean any offense in sharing the story. There you have it - my story pales in comparison to my mother's favorite story, but I have gotten some laughs with this one.

A boy gone dog...and a little person

My mother has a favorite story about me when I was a child of perhaps two or three years old. She absolutely loves to share this story and I absolutely love it when she does. My stepfather, Steve, seems to feel that mom is embarrassing me when she shares this story with company in my presence. He needn't worry on my account, I'm not the least bit embarrassed when my mother tells this story. This really isn't my story to tell, it's my mother's story and she tells it much better than I. When I share it, I feel like I've stolen the world's funniest joke and the entire world knows it. I share the story because I love the way my mother's face and very kind eyes light up when she tells the story. They light up the same way when she's around her grandchildren - or even speaking of them for that matter.

As the story goes, my mother was in a store with my older sister, Lynne and her younger son, me, and things were not going well for her - mostly because of me that day. She says she reached a point where she couldn't stand it any longer and by it, she means me and my attempts at running amok in the store. How does a mother reach her boiling point and instantly know what she needs to do about it? I have no idea, but my mother had done exactly that.

My mother says she "Marched right over and grabbed a child harness that had a leash on it, and put it on him - right there in the middle of the store, in front of everyone." - What? First of all, when your mother is either marching, or telling you to march, this spells trouble. Mother's have no reason to march or tell their children to march unless they have reached their boiling point. Secondly, how in the world do you know where to find a harness to put an unruly child in? Does every mother know where to find these things in a store? Should they? For anyone who might be wondering where they might find such an item should they need it, I'm going to suggest you look right in the middle of the store - in front of everyone. They just might thank you.

So into my new harness I went. Mom didn't have to ask a store employee where to find the harness - she knew. She acted. The harness had a leash. Problem solved - or so she thought. According to my mother, what happened next was completely unexpected. Legend has it that I immediately seized the opportunity to capitalize on being in this harness with a leash. Quick thinking young lad that I was then, I got down on all fours shouting to everyone, right there in the middle of the store, the exact location where all child-restraining products are stocked, and announced that I was a dog. Then I started barking like one. I guess this numbed my mother, but before she could think of what her next action should be, a total stranger came to her rescue. Up walked a man who grabbed me, stood me up and smacked me on my ass and said, "now listen to your mother!" and in an instant he was gone.

I don't remember any of it. I love hearing my mother tell this story, and I hope to again soon. Another reason I'm not embarrassed to have this story told in front of me? I have a pretty good counter story, but I'll put that one in the next post.

The Safest Place On Earth

There is a place from my childhood where I always felt safe. In this place, I never had any reason to be afraid of anything or anyone. The world could pass by me and I always knew I would get to where I was going safely and perfectly on time. Nothing could harm me in this, the safest place on earth I thought, and I wonder how I knew this as a boy. Sometimes you just know things and there is never any reason to question them. You just know and nothing can change that.

The place I'm referring to is my grandfather's car, with my grandfather driving it. My grandfather used his car the way anyone used their car - to drive himself to work, to the store, errands - all the normal things one needs and uses a car for. My grandfather, along with my grandmother, brought eight people into this world and in doing so created my perfect model of what a family should really look like. Any time I questioned my own immediate family, which I seemed to have to do a lot as a child, I would look towards the family that my grandparents created and take comfort in knowing that I was a part of that.

I felt safe around my grandparents, and most importantly, I felt loved every second of the time I was around them. I suppose that's why I always hated leaving their house. Even after moments where I would be scolded by either my grandmother or grandfather, I knew I was loved and I knew I never had to question that - ever. There was something different about being in the car when my grandfather drove, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone drive with such a sense of control and calm as my grandfather did.

He drove the speed limit, stopped at every stop sign, slowed at the exact moments he needed to, never panicked at the wheel, never drove in a way that would make anyone riding in his car nervous about a single thing. Although I didn't know why as a boy, it amazes me to this very day that I never felt safer than I did riding in my grandfather's car when he was driving. Think about how many possibilities there are for accidents any time you get behind the wheel of your car. Endless really - either on a ten minute drive to the store, or a lengthy drive to whatever destination you may have, more opportunities than any of us think about for disaster of any number of levels to happen. Yet my grandfather drove so perfectly that an accident and his car were like opposing ends of magnets - disaster of any kind seemed to head in the opposite direction.

I felt as safe riding in the car with my grandfather as I did sitting on his couch. Nobody could ever get me someplace more safely than he could. He saw everything, though he never really spoke about it. His every move was deliberate, nothing happened by accident or chance. I think about riding in my grandfather's car as a child, when things get too crazy and seem to go too fast. I try to slow my thinking and soak up how unflappable my grandfather always was. It's my warmest memory of a man I loved but foolishly never told him enough while he was here. His very being held me and looked at me calmly telling me that I would always, always get to where I am supposed to be, and these days I give that more thought than ever before. I miss those rides in my grandfather's car. Many years later, as a grown man of 30, I wanted to take my grandparents and my sister who was in town from California, out to dinner at a new restaurant that a friend and former coworker opened. Since my car was small, I didn't think my grandparents would be comfortable riding in my car, so I just assumed that they would follow me to the restaurant.

As we walked out of their house, I said they could follow me and that I would be sure to drive cautiously so that my grandfather didn't lose his way. I remember thinking to myself, 'wow...this man has never lost his way anywhere, and here I am talking to him as though such a thing were even possible'...and then my grandfather said something that I'd never imagined he would say to me:

"Chris, why don't you just drive us all up in my car?"

Oh.No.He.Didn't. Oh yes, he did. I can't even describe the feeling I had all of a sudden. Me, drive my grandfather's car, with both of my grandparents in it? My grandfather, the most patient and calm man I've ever known. The man who made me feel safer in his car than any other place on earth, the man who made the best barbecue chicken I'll ever have, the man who lived his entire life with the most incredible sense of calm I've ever seen - is asking me to drive his car?

I could live my whole life and never ask my grandfather if I could drive his car, or if I could drive him anywhere. He was the world's best driver, the world's safest driver. Never a close call, never a sudden stop. Patience, I'll wait, we'll get there and we'll get there on time. My grandfather always knew the way to anywhere he needed to go and as far as I could tell, he never questioned that. Now he was trusting me, his first grandson, now a grown man, to get him there. This man saw me try, saw me fail, helped me get up, and repeated this process many times during our years together. I didn't realize it then, but my grandpa was telling me, in the same calm way he walked through everything in his life, that he was trusting me to get him somewhere and to get him, and my grandmother and my sister and I somewhere safely, and he trusted me behind the wheel of his car, still the safest place on earth I have ever known. I hope he felt as safe with me driving as I did when he was driving - and yes, we got there and back, safely.

Sharing?

I have this neighbor, George, who passes by in front of my apartment every day. Nice enough guy, always waves hello, says hello and remarks pleasantly about the day if I actually cross paths with him at the mailbox or in the parking lot. He's one of the handful of people that my dog, Bentley, barks at every time he sees him pass by our front window. I don't know George well, I have no idea what he does for work, fun or anything else. I barely know his name and I think in the four years I've lived here that I've only heard him use mine a time or two. That's fine - I can handle the existence of friendly waves in the parking lot as he goes about his day and I go about mine.

I've had very few conversations with George and they've been very brief. Things like a pleasant remark about my dog, my new car, the weather - nothing other than passing formalities. I'm fine with that. I do my best to be a good neighbor and be considerate of those living in close proximity to me. Having said that, I was a little surprised by the interaction I had with George as I was leaving for work on Monday night.

My job requires me to wear the following: black pants, black socks, black shoes, a white collared shirt and a red tie. Since this is my job right now, and I like keeping a roof over my head and food on my table, I comply.

So I'm dressed for work, heading down the sidewalk to my car and I look up to see George heading towards me from the parking lot. I give a friendly nod of the head not really expecting anything more in return - perhaps a "have a good one" or some other brief passing remark and then I'm on my way.
 Before any of what I thought would happen took place, George says:

"You look like a NERD!....just sharin'"

Hmm, I thought. This guy must've killed 'em in kindergarten! I wasn't so much insulted as rather surprised that this kind of remark came out of him, and that he thought it was appropriate to voice that, but it didn't really bother me. I chuckled a bit to myself and replied, "why do I look like a nerd??" as I opened my car.

"Because you're wearing a necktie!" said George. I smiled and said, "well I have to wear one at work, so I guess I'll suffer through it....have a good evening!" and I got in my car and headed to work. Again, I wasn't really bothered by what George said so much as I was a bit curious as to what his idea of appropriate "sharin'" seemed to be. Seems a little odd, but whatever. I may just let Bentley bark his fool head off at George when he walks by. Tell him boy!