I'll take good news where I can get it

The second school term ended and the boys got their report cards. I'm amazed, proud, and pleased as punch at all three. Doc has been struggling with sitting still and cooperating. First grade has been a challenge - they expect results! But his teacher says he's doing much better. He's reading and comprehending above grade level and likes to go to school.

Kit made the honor roll for the second time in row. Unbelievable! Wonderful! He struggled so hard last year just to keep up and now he's coping better with all his subjects and making a better go of it with his social life, too. We'll find something really special to do to celebrate this.

Tio is B average, not as good as he could do but in the past couple of weeks he brought several of his grades up from C. So this is improvement. We've struggled a lot to stay at the top with his academics even though he keeps insisting that he can be an A student. He just doesn't knuckle down to it. He knows how and I told him tonight to prove it. We still struggle with concentration issues but maybe this is a good time to stand back and see what he's learned and can do on his own.

In a month of turmoil and bad news all around, these reports are the best thing that has happened so far this year.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 10)

Poor little John. On Saturday morning he narrowly escaped from a harrowing chase and being lost forever in a strange neighborhood. When he finally found his way home, he discovered that not only was he just in time for lunch, but no one even he'd left the house...

CHAPTER 13

It wasn’t even lunchtime. I thought I’d been gone for days!
I stood in the door for a couple more secs. Through the glass doors to the livingroom, I could see Kate and a couple of friends playing records. They didn’t even notice me come in. I was so beat and sore and scared I couldn’t believe I’d only been gone a couple of hours.
 I dragged myself upstairs to the bathroom and washed up. I didn’t think I wanted to tell anyone what happened to me. Mom would understand but she was still far away in Scotland. I wished I was with her. I sure couldn’t tell Alec. Not after he wanted so bad for me to go to the graveyard in the first place.
I stuffed my torn jacket in a drawer and quietly ate pea soup with everyone else. I told everyone I tripped and scraped my face. They all thought I was clumsy anyway and didn’t ask another thing.
After lunch, Alec and I started our project. We rummaged through Mom’s sewing room and grabbed fabric scraps, scissors, needles and thread.
“Do you think the fairies can afford to buy all the clothes we’re going to make?” I asked. “What if they don’t have three dollars? What if they need to pay with instalments?”
Alec had it all figured out. “Will you stop worrying. You think they go to the bank to get nickels to put under the rug? Not a chance. Fairies manufacture money by magic. They can make as much as they want.”
“Some kids at school say their moms put money under the pillow, not the fairy.”
That just made Alec laugh. “Well, that’s stupid,” he said, “Yeah, I’ve heard that, too. Lots of kids say their parents leave the money. I guess that’s alright, you still get paid. If they had a little patience and waited a bit, the real fairies would show up. I mean, how can the fairies buy your teeth if your mom buys them first?”
That was smart thinking. “Does that apply to clothes, too?”
“Let’s hope so.” He shut the sewing drawer. “Come on, let’s take it all downstairs to the livingroom. Kate and her friends have left by now.”
On the way down, he explained the scheme. “We’ll charge a dime each. I think that’s very fair. At that price, we need to make at least twenty pieces of clothes for a total of two bucks.” He dropped the works in a pile on the couch and gave me a needle and spool of black thread.
I knew how to thread a needle because I’d made clothes for my G.I. Joe before.
“I think I’ll make skirts,” I said. “That’ll be easiest.”
Alec said, “Fairies don’t wear dresses. They dress like Robin Hood, you know, in tights.”
“Even girl fairies?”
“Sure. Besides, we should make a variety. They won’t want to buy twenty skirts.”
They will if they don’t have anything else to wear, I thought. I squeezed my tongue between my teeth and stabbed the thread at the needle hole about a hundred times until I finally got it through. “How big do we make things, anyway?” I asked.
Alec had an answer for everything. “My guess is you want the stuff to fit an average fairy about two inches tall.”
Alec wanted to be a cobbler and make pointy shoes. I started on pants. I folded the cloth and cut two identical layers. Then I stitched them together for a front and back- not so easy to do. After I made a few of those I tried some hats and shirts and a scarves.
Dad came in to see what we were doing. He stood behind us and tamped tobacco in his pipe while we told him the plan.
“Sounds like good business sense.” Dad said. “I don’t see why the fairies would want to go around naked.”
“Where do you think they already get their clothes?” I wondered.
“Doesn’t matter,” Alec said. “We’re offering them a variety, maybe even better quality than what they get already. You can see it’s top shelf stuff.” Alec showed him some green felt boots and a long sleeved shirt. “With winter coming on, they’re bound to need warm clothes.”
“Good luck with it,” Dad said and went back to his study.
Fortunately, none of the big boys came in. They would have teased us and Alec would have started something with Eric.
By the time we were done it was almost supper. I’d stuck myself a thousand times with my needle, sewed my finger to a shirt, and I was starting to see double with all those tiny stitches. We had ten pairs of pants, eight skirts, six pairs of shoes, five shirts, and a couple of hats and scarves. It added up to thirty-one things. By the shape of these clothes our fairies had spindly legs, fat bodies, tiny heads, and huge feet.
Alec stuffed it all into a brown envelope and wrote a fancy looking bill to the fairies for two dollars and eighty cents itemizing every garment. We only needed two fifty so that gave us thirty cents extra.
The night before we’d finished the last Sunday dinner. So Dad made fried eggs, home fries, and corned beef. It was like having breakfast for dinner. Kind of nifty. Then, just before bed, we put the envelope in the corner of the living room rug that was always reserved for teeth.
Neither of us could sleep after lights out. “I forgot to tell you,” Alec whispered in the dark so that Dad wouldn’t hear us still talking this late, “Theodore told me that Seymour got hit by a car yesterday.”
My heart skipped. Tiny Seymour? “Is he okay?”
“He says he broke his leg.”
I was devastated. Poor Seymour. I couldn’t believe one of them was hurt. He was so small. I imagined this huge full sized car running over a leg no thicker than a bee’s. That had to hurt. “Where is he?”
“They took him to a hospital. He’ll be there at least a week. Theodore will come and tell us more when he gets a chance.”
“Tell him I hope he’s okay.” I said.
We whispered a bit longer until Dad yelled, “Boys! Go to sleep.”
 I rolled over thinking about broken legs and tombstones and odd shaped fairies strutting around in our handmade clothes. It had been such a strange day. Going to the boneyard and seeing graves with my name on them. Then getting beat up. I spent all afternoon with Alec and didn’t mention one word about it.
I woke up at five and ran straight to the fairy corner of the rug. The envelope was still there. My first thought was that maybe the fairy bank was closed over the weekend. But when I lifted it, it was flat instead of puffy and jingled. I looked inside. There were two green bills and change! I ran right back up and started shaking Alec.
We didn’t have papers to deliver on Sunday but no way was I going to let him sleep through this.
CHAPTER 14

After school Alec met me at the boy’s gate with the superbike. The Payson creeps were lurking around but they left me alone. They didn’t even yell anything. I still didn’t want to say anything to Alec about it. I don’t know why. I guess I thought it would jinx me worse. Maybe I was just ashamed.
Debbie and her friends walked by and she said, “Hi, John.”
My heart thumped in my mouth and the air temperature shot up to six thousand degrees.
Alec hit my arm. “Don’t just grin like a goofball, say hi back.”
“Didn’t I?” They were already crossing the road. I muttered, “Hi.”
I waited for him to start teasing. He rarely passed up a chance like this.
“She’s cute. Let’s go,” was all he said.
I let out a huge breath. “Thanks.”
Mike’s was straight down Balsam and we were there in no time.
“Hey there, boys,” he said. “I wondered what happened to you.” He was wiping grease off his hands.
Alec said, “We had to raise some money.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Good point. Well, let’s have a look.” He bent down and looked at the bike. “I remember now. You need a bar across the top here to keep the whole thing from pivoting and a pedal assembly attached up here for the little brother.” He knuckled my head which I normally hated and took a quick look at his watch. “If you boys don’t have anywhere to be, let’s get to work.”
He actually wanted us to help him? We exchanged a couple of real excited grins.
We wheeled the bike behind the counter and into a back workshop. It was a big room crammed with full drawers and racks of tools hanging everywhere. There were half fixed bikes covering the work benches in the middle and others propped up on the floor. Hanging on a peg beside some kind of ventilator was a torch and tank. Th room smelled great. Like rubber and burnt metal and mystery. There was too much to see in just one look. It was like a grownups version of our bedroom with tons of projects laid out for whenever you wanted to play with them.
“You guys don’t mind if I make a couple of suggestions, do you?” Mike’s deep voice was sort of nice once you got used to it.
“No, sir, we don’t mind at all,” Alec said. “We had to work with what we got.”
He left the cigarette between his lips while he talked. “And a good job, too. But, I bet we can improve on it a smidge.”
Alec beamed like his teeth would burst out of his braces and his eyes would pop. Mike told him where to put the bike down and what tool to fetch and what we’d be doing first. Then he sawed up pieces of frame with power tools! He pawed through drawers to find the coolest whatnots and hammered them all together . The whole time Alec held the bike steady and paid real close attention. I just watched.
We had ten dollars on the nose. Not a ball bearing’s worth more and it looked like Mike was doing more than ten bucks work. What if he wanted more? My stomach started to flip. Man, I wished I didn’t worry so much. Alec didn’t care, why should I?
All I could think was what if Mike wanted fifteen bucks and kept the bike until we had the rest of the money? Every time he picked up a rubber washer or piece of sandpaper, I was sure that would throw us over the line.
“I only have one extra face shield, John,” Mike said, “so you’ll have to wait out in the shop while we weld. That okay with you?”
“Sure.”
I was glad to go. I hung around the showroom looking at the new bikes. When they called me back in, I got my first glimpse of our super bike. The basic design was still the same with Alec’s seat hanging over the back wheel and me down low but Mike had bent a banana seat in the middle for me to sit in so my feet could stick straight out front and reach a set of pedals they’d welded on the front frame. It now had long handlebars that curved down for me to hang onto like a Harley motorcycle. It was fantastic. It was more than fantastic. Not even Fantam could have designed a better bike.
The bad news was we had to be looking at way more than ten dollars work.
“Isn’t she a beauty, John?” Alec crowed. “How great is this?” He spoke in a reverent whisper while he gingerly stroked the frame.
Are you kidding? It was the greatest achievement of our lives. I hardly felt worthy even looking at it. And it was actually ours!
Mike said, “She’ll sail like the wind once she gets moving.” He belched. “Let’s get the wheels back on her and screwed together,” he said.
We spent the next while bolting the rims, pedals and seats back on and set it on its wheels for the first time. It was some machine. Both wheels were the same size so my seat looked like the coolest hot rod spot in the world.
“I bet there isn’t another bike in the world like it,” Alec said.
“You got that right, little friend,” Mike said.
“What do we owe you?” Alec asked as we rolled her out front.
Here it comes, I thought. Twenty? Thirty? I’ll be an old man before we pay it off.
“What did I quote you?”
“Ten,” Alec said.
Mike scratched his chin like he was thinking. “Really? Tell you what I’ll do. You got some talent with bikes. I’ll take the ten. You come see me next spring and you can work off the rest. Then I’ll pay you to work here over the summer.”
“I’d love to work here,” Alec said. He tried to sound cool but I could see he could hardly stand still he was so thrilled.
“Then we got a deal. You got some talent and it gets real busy when the weather’s warm.”
There’s no way to really describe the relief I felt! It was like learning you were getting a birthday present instead of told you just flunked a whole grade. I emptied the ball of cash onto his counter before he could change his mind. All our crumpled bills and coins clattered onto the glass or rolled on the floor. I scooped it back up and pushed it into a pile.
Mike looked at his watch. “You boys better get on home,” he said. “Test it out then bring ‘er back and show me what she can do. We’ll work out any kinks then.”
We headed straight down to the beach. I imagined everyone on the street staring at us. We didn’t dare get on before we got to the boardwalk. I felt such a wave of relief that we weren’t going to jail for not having enough money, I could have flown there.
Alec yakked away about how fast we’d go and how easy it would be to win the race and where we’d go after that and how we could deliver papers together on it and then we’d ride all around the world. Before we knew it we were standing on the boardwalk facing west.
It was the moment of truth.
CHAPTER 15

“Let’s Christen her right away,” Alec said. “I say we call her the Tidely-Idley because she feels like a sailboat more than a bike.”
“The Tidely-Idley it is,” I agreed. That was the name of Burt Dow’s boat.
“Then let’s go.” I couldn’t believe how excited I was. “Let’s see how she tacks.”
He straddled his seat with his feet on the ground and I climbed in front. I grabbed the bars and got both feet on the pedals.
“Steady the mains’ll!” he called.
“Aye, sir!”
“Lower the mizenmast!”
“Ready on the poop, sir!”
“Issue cheese to all hands and cast off!”
He pushed off with one foot and I started to pedal. His knee hit my shoulder. The handlebars pitched around. We crumpled up like a pop can under a wheel and landed on our butts before I could throw a hand out to keep steady.
After a lot of laughing and a couple more starts, we were racing along those boards so fast that I could hardly keep her straight. Either one could stop pedaling while the other kept going but only Alec had control of the brakes. He’d yell ‘brakes’ and I’d stop pedaling.
Well, he didn’t yell brakes. We whipped past the trees in a blur. We passed some poor guy who had to yank his a dog aside to keep from getting hit.
“Slow down!” I yelled out. “We’re going to crash.”
“This is amazing!” he yelled back. “We need a speedometer. We must be making forty miles an hour.”
“STOP US!”
In a flash we covered the entire length from Kew Gardens to Silverbirch. We were coming up fast on the jog in the boardwalk at the Balmy Beach club. That was sure disaster. I’d snagged up there a couple of times on my own already.
“You have to stop!” I screamed. I’d stopped pedaling back around the life guard post but Alec was cutting loose. “Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!”
He didn’t know the danger. Our two choices were worse and worse. Veer off right to avoid slamming into the ice cream stand. Lean too far and spin out for a road burn so bad the thought of it was already making my skin crawl. It was like coming up on a waterfall in a speedboat.
By the time Alec came to his senses it was too late.
“Oh, crap!” he called out and hit the brakes.
The boardwalk dipped and we were airborne. I’d managed to point us clear of the building before we left the ground but that was all I could do. Re-entry was going to smart.
BANG! We hit the boards, bounced, and skidded for a few feet. We wobbled and slid right off into the sand, both of us flying off the bike together. The whole mess rolled for a second and rattled to full stop in ball of arms, legs and wheels. Alec got thrown clear but I was tangled up in the handlebars and came down under the bike. It all happened in such a rush I couldn’t even tell if I was hurt.
Everything was quiet.
“You alright?” Alec groaned out.
“Don’t know. You?” I replied.
“Don’t know, either. Can you move?”
I crawled out of the bike’s reach like it was some kind of monster that had attacked us. I sure hoped we hadn’t killed it. I had a couple of bruises and my ribs were real sore, but there were no cuts. Alec had a sore wrist. Other than that we seemed okay. We limped back to look down at the bike. Alec kicked it lightly like he was seeing if it was still alive.
“That’s some machine you got there,” said a voice. We turned to see at a fat man standing on the edge of the boardwalk looking on. “You might want to think about getting some brakes.” He laughed and walked on.
Alec was laughing, too. He was thrilled. “What a ride! And not even a popped a tire! This is so great.”
It hurt my side to laugh but I couldn’t help it. Happy as meatballs in spaghetti, we wheeled the Tidely up to the street towards head home. Alec stopped and motioned for me to get on.
“Can’t be afraid now, can we? Let’s take her up to Queen.”
“You got to promise you won’t go so fast,” I said before I took one step closer. “The cars on Queen Street will cream us.”
“Scout’s honor,” he said and held up some fingers. We’d never been scouts but it was good enough.
We pedaled easily up to Queen and walked the rest of the way home like a couple of heroes back from battling a whole cave full of dragons. That race was in the bag. It was only five days away. Plenty of time to get the hang of it. Alec couldn’t believe that he’d got a job out of it, too.
“It’ll be great working at Mike’s. I could have my own bike shop one day. Maybe even invent new designs. We could be in business together - you and me.”
We rolled up the walk to our house, parked it beside the kitchen door, and ran smack into the family finishing dinner.
Eric smirked like he was in for a good show. Jeff kept eating. Kate looked scared like we were for the jumps. I didn’t dare look at Dad. Only Gully was glad to see us. He barked and wagged and licked. I told him to sit like I’d trained him to. Fat chance.
Dad growled like an angry bear. “Where have you two been?”
We were done for.

I owe my wife an apology

Dear Light of my Life,
These past few weeks have been hell on Earth for you and me both. But perhaps harder on you. We both joke that we'd rather die before the other because neither of us wants to be left alone. There is a very serious undertone to that because we love each other so much. That's what makes this cancer such a terror. I can face whatever comes, but only because it's me, not you.

As you know so well, one way I deal with pain and uncertainty is through humor. I guess it feels better to laugh than cry. It relieves my tension and, when it works, the tension of those around me. So this week, I wrote a blog about going to the hospital that was intended to express humor in a difficult situation. Some of it was at your expense and you took offense. For that I am very sorry. It is my job to look after you and I let you down.

It was never my intention to hurt your feelings or make you feel like I don't appreciate you. On the contrary, you have been by my side and inside my head and heart through this and every ordeal in my life for close to 30 years. To offend you stings me to the bone. In a cheap attempt to be funny, I made you feel like you weren't sensitive to my pain. But that is anything but true. When I collapsed, you were right there. You got me to the hospital, stayed strong and lucid throughout and never asked for a thing. Now we're both on pins and needles waiting for test results and a hopeful positive prognosis. I know it's tearing you up inside even while you're dealing with everything with your usual outer calm.

I apologize for treating you badly. We're partners in this mess of a life we share. You always do and always will come first.

Between Heaven and Earth

I had to suspend both boy's Facebook for a while. I keep an fairly close eye on it all the time because it is not built for children and they can easily spiral out of control. They treat it like a free for all gaming and social site but I have told them many times it is only there for keeping in touch with friends. The rest is out. So from time to time they lose that perspective and need to be reined in. At one point, Tio posted something so offensive that the police showed up at school to talk to him about it.

Earlier this week, Kit reposted something disturbing and revealing about his feelings toward my new medical condition. I have no idea where the post originated but it was a quote from a young boy who said he would commit suicide a couple of days before his mother died of cancer so he could meet her in heaven. It was supposed to be an expression of love but it was nothing of the kind.

Auntie saw it first and commented right away that no mother, dying or otherwise, would want their child to die before she did. She rightly pointed out that this is not an expression of love, it's an expression of desperation. I followed up her comments by explaining that, as I said the other day, a parent wants their life to continue through their children. That is how life goes on and if a mom has to die, she would be devastated to know that her child had killed himself because of it.

Kit is obviously thinking about losing someone from cancer and how he might deal with it. He's transferred my mortality to his mother, which is more visceral for him, and he doesn't think he could cope. It's an honest reaction, but a misplaced conclusion.

This is one reason I have a problem with imagining there is a heaven. Kit is thinking heaven is s place for those who have died to be together living a human life. So why not live there instead of here? He needs to understand that, in all Christian faiths, heaven is not a substitute for life on Earth. God wants us to survive and live life to the fullest until our time comes.

However, the underlying issue for him right now isn't Heaven and Earth. It's that the idea of cancer is scaring the bejesus out of him and I need to reassure him that no one is going to die suddenly.

Notes from hospital bed

It had been a very long time since I spent so much time in a hospital. Within a 10 day span I was an embed for 6 nights on 2 occasions (Hmmmmm... maybe it was 5 - I was pretty groggy the whole time). Still, it was more than anyone wants. I prefer my 5 star hotels a bit less, um, invasive.

Just getting there was agony. By the time I decided the death rattling pain I was in was not indigestion, it was 2 in the morning. Tish fired up the Jeep, the ER knew we were coming, and off we rolled. Now, my wife is not the fastest driver in the world. In fact, the word cautious might sometimes be considered an understatement. She's the car at the front of a mile long line of irritated drivers trying to get home after work only to find that 30 is the new 50 for a speed limit that day. But that night she was settting new records. There was a bit of drizzle coming down and the roads might have been slippery so she decided it best to exercise caution and slow her usual reckless abandon of shredding the speed limits into fractions and travel at, as comedian Ron White so aptly put it, "half the speed of smell".
'We drive a Jeep Wrangler, facrissake,' I was thinking. 'You got it in 4 wheel drive and the snow tires are brand-goddam-new. This beast is built to drive anywhere in any conditions. There is hardly a car on the road and my guts are spilling out all over the floor. Can we possibly kick it up a notch.' I tried groaning and smacking my head against the window to transfer the pain and hint subtlely that I was really looking forward to a double morphine and orange juice when we got there. But, I swear, she actually slowed down to oncoming cars and pulled over to let other cars pass us from behind. I should have splurged and ordered the ambulance. By the time we got half way there I was ready to get out and push.

Fortunately, the hospital staff was more swift. They walked my straight down to an exam room where I promptly tossed up everything I'd eaten in this and any past lives. I swear an egg salad sandwich I had back in 1985 was somewhere in the mix.

"Are you in pain?" the nurse asked as calmly as he could while trying to dig my fingernails out of his arm. They stuck in the IV and gave me a dose of something. I slapped the bar and said 'hit me again' or words to that effect until they hauled out the major medication and I went on a field trip to Disneyland. I knew this was the good stuff because I heard them tell Tish to keep an eye open in case I forget to breathe.

We were in that tiny room for almost 12 hours with a brief trip to the catscan machine. I don't remember much of it except for 2 things. First, Tish never left my side the whole time. At one point I notice her sleeping in the chair beside me, one hand on my chest diligently making sure I was breathing, and her face pressed into the side rail of the hospital bed like it was a pillow. I imagine the adrenalin drip she was giving herself was bigger than the sack of fluid they were draining into me.

The second thing was the stomach pump. I wouldn't wish that on - well, maybe I would. Still, the medics stuffed a hose up my nose and fed it down my throat while telling me to 'swallow and swallow and keep swallowing and you're doing fine'. Doing fine? All I could think while this is going on was that the folks at Disney were on the wrong track if they thought this ride would attract the kids. This was the nastiest trick I'd had pulled on me since a throat surgeon stuck a needle in my uvula for a full minute without anesthesia 5 years ago. I'd agreed to let her do it but it was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced my whole life. (When she was finished and tears of pain were rolling down my cheeks, I said "Usually when a woman hurts me that bad, she buys me dinner first.")

So now I have a vacuum cleaner down my throat making sucking noises like the icy remains you try to slurp up at the bottom of a sodapop, a liquid lunch stuck up my arm, I'm wearing a washcloth that is laughingly referred to as a hospital gown (it even had the audacity to have 'property of...' stenciled on it like anyone would want to take that home as a fashion statement), and a stressed out wife with a sack of coffee grounds under each bleary eye.

The anesthesiologist popped her head in to guess my weight, she must have been good because I didn't win a prize, and then three masked strangers wheeled my bed out of the room and through every hall in the place like some kind of parade until we hit the O.R.

Humility, thy name is surgery.

101 uses for a cancer diagnosis: #86

Kit forgot to take his homework this morning and I asked if he had to do it again.
"Nope," he declared proudly at the supper table. "I told my teacher that my grampy has cancer and things were in such a muddle that I forgot to bring my homework."

All jaws dropped around the table before turning to laughter.
"Really?" Grammo was incredulous. "You used your grandfather's illness as an excuse to get out of homework?"
"I only told her we were upset and I forgot," he said.

Well." I shrugged. "Glad I could help."

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 9)

Poor John! Stuck between a gravestone and a curse. He had to go visit the deaders to beat the curse of Witch Hatten. Let's rejoin him on that Saturday morning....

PART 9

CHAPTER 11
Since we didn’t have a bike anymore there was no riding after our routes. That was too bad. I was getting good at it. I told Alec that I was going to meet a friend for a while and we could make fairy clothes after lunch. I snuck twenty cents from our stash for streetcar money and headed up to Kingston Road.
I’d never been a sneak. I never kept secrets. And I really never go off on my own like this to do something dangerous. The whole thing was wrong. There was a chance I may never come back. But I had to go. Better that than get the whole family cursed, or get chopped up by the witch and buried alive in her backyard.
Kingston Road was always busier than Queen Street and definitely outside my world. I only ever went up there to a couple of stores and never took the Bingham streetcar alone. I sat right behind the driver as it rattled along past a blur of unfamiliar shops and apartment buildings. I tried to watch for a Woodbine street sign but they went by too fast. Maybe I’d already gone too far. Maybe I was already halfway downtown. How would I know when to get off? Why didn’t I think of that before I got on? Should I ask the driver? I was too scared. He looked busy. My chest felt like some fat guy was sitting on me.
Each time the stupid trolley stopped I felt like making a run for it. But then I’d be worse off because I wouldn’t know which way Woodbine was. I know, I thought, I’ll just cross the street and go back. It can’t go past the Bingham loop where it turns around. I know how to get home from there.
I thought I was going to puke. Sitting on this rail rocket, headed deeper into trouble with every rattle and stop. Too scared to even get off. I must be crazy.
“Woodbine!” the driver called out.
Ohmygod. He just called my stop! Did I imagine that? Did he really say Woodbine? Should I ask? I dinged the bell and hopped off. The instant my feet hit the ground a load got lifted off my shoulders like you can’t believe. I looked up and read the street sign. It was Woodbine alright. What a relief.
Before I noticed anything else, I saw the graveyard. It was real big. The wire fence went off in both directions from the corner like it took up a whole city block. It looked like there was a gate in both directions.
I fingered the last dime in my pocket. My ticket home. I could just get on the return car and forget the whole thing. The light turned green. No turning back now. I crossed and stared through the fence at the rows and rows of stones. Then I dragged slowly along like I had lead weights in my shoes. No sense being in too much of a hurry. I was already breathing deaders just being this close.
Down Kingston Road a bit was a big arch with open iron gates. On the stone arch it read ‘St. John the something something cemetery’. All I could see was the name John. If I had any brains I’d turn around now. If I had any brains I wouldn’t have come. But I didn’t. I didn’t turn around and I didn’t have any brains.
I stepped close to the gate without going in. There was a wide road that went up to and around a big building straight ahead. On either side of the road I could see gray and white stones all lined up like teeth. I gulped.
“Maybe the fairies use our teeth for something more sinister than building houses,” I mumbled aloud.
I stood there like one of the stones. It was sunny and blue skied. Everything looked safe. Nothing to worry about, right? Maybe that was just to trick me. My legs weren’t budging. They knew better.
“If we have to hold our breath when we drive by, imagine what kind of a dose I’m taking in now,” I told myself. “Isn’t that enough?”
The answer in the pit of my gut was a loud gurgley ‘NO’. Something told me I had to go in and maybe even touch one of the graves.
“So, go already!” I took a step. Stopped. Then another. This was brutal. It was like trying to get used to cold water by wading in slowly and letting your legs adjust. Alec always said it was better to dive in and get it over with. I never believed him.
I kept my eyes on one grave stone near the gates just off to the right. It was still a ways in but if I could make it that far, touch it and leave, I’d be cured. One more step. I was at the gate. Two more and I’d be through. My skin tingled like I was crackling and popping in the deep fryer. I was breathing so fast, I must have sucked in half the deaders already.
 All of a sudden, the whole world went quiet. All the honking, whizzing traffic on Kingston Road behind me just disappeared. All there was left was me playing chicken with that snapped open gate like a corpse’s mouth waiting to swallow me whole. Do I run in, slap the stone and run out before it has a chance to slam shut on me? I was pretty fast. Was I that fast? When I ran a race, I could feel my legs take over, like they were on their own, pounding away with me along for the ride. It’s hard to explain but it worked like magic. Maybe I could outrun anyone at school. But could I outrun the deaders? Or a bad spell? I took another deep breath and held the potent stuff in my lungs as long as I could stand it.
“I didn’t come here for nothing, you know. I’m not afraid of you.” I lied and I took off running flat out before I had a chance to think again.
I got to the stone I had my eye on in a gut flash. It was old and thin and mold gray. I slapped it hard and grabbed a couple more big swigs of graveyard air. “Take Miss Hatten’s spell off me, you ghosts. Take her back where she came from. I hereby give you back the curse!”
I heard a voice somewhere. I don’t know what it said but it sounded bloodthirsty.
I beat it back out of there fast and kept running. I don’t even remember what direction. My lungs were on fire, my legs were pounding and my brain was deranged. I had to stop soon. I had to.
Finally, I fumbled to a stop and leaned my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Panting away like a dog, my mind whirled around what I just did. The gate, running in and slapping that stone, all replayed like a slow motion dream. Suddenly, I could see the writing carved into the flaky old stone plain as day. Jonathan Vie, age 8. It was a kid’s grave. A kid about my age. A kid named John. A graveyard named John.
That sealed it. The deaders worked for the witch. Not the other way around! They were letting me know they had me. “She’s going to lock my soul up in that place forever. I’ll be clawing my way out of a dirty grave for eternity.”
I slumped down against a wall. I was real thirsty. I wished I had some money for a pop.
“Hey, beaver face!” a boy’s voice called out. I looked up. John Payson and Puny Adams were coming out of a variety story on the corner!
I just blinked. Were they even real? Did  the witch transport them here? I looked around. Where was I?
“What are you doing here, loser?” asked Puny. “We waited around for you last night. You snuck away like a chicken.”
They were getting closer. I couldn’t run another step. I was too pooped and I had a cramp in my side. I pushed myself to my feet and Puny grabbed my arm. He was shorter than me and meaner than a starving dog. He dug his claws into me real hard.
 I yanked hard. “Lemme go!”
“Go ahead, you little weasel, pull all you like. This time you can’t run away.”

CHAPTER 12
It was all over in a flash. At the same time it felt like hours went by. It’s hard to explain.
The three creeps shoved me into an alley and started to push me around. I don’t remember what I did. I know I didn’t fight back.
“Next time we tell you to do something, you do it!” Puny ordered. Then he hit me.
“You understand?” Payson added with a kick.
“Crap like you doesn’t deserve to disobey us.”
“You’re face is messed up because you’re a loser.”
“We’re the boss of you from now on.”
“Why don’t you fight back, you sissy?”
They kept that up for a long time. Hitting and pushing and shaking me until they were tired or bored or both. They stole my jacket and left me lying on the road.
I stayed there for a long time. Better to be sure they weren’t just out of sight waiting for me. When I sat up it hurt like crazy. My arms and chest were sore and there was blood on my face. My leg hurt, too, but I didn’t bother to look. I didn’t really want to see.
I guess they were right. I was no good. If I was any good, I would have fought back. I could have been Fantam and punched them out. Instead, I was just weak little John getting beat up.
I limped out of the alley and found my jacket down the street. The pockets and sleeve were torn and my dime for the streetcar was gone. I was lost and far away from home. I didn’t even remember which way the graveyard was.
I shuffled along until I found a main street with traffic and stores on it. I didn’t even remember which way the corner store the two creeps came from was. I just walked. I came out on Woodbine where cars were whizzing by pretty fast. There weren’t any stores but I knew that Kingston Road couldn’t be too far off. I wonder which way?
I was going to have to walk all the way home. That could be miles. It might take days. I wonder how long it’ll be before they miss me? Will Alec make fairy clothes on his own? I saw a traffic light way down the street and headed that way.
Boy, was I in luck! It was Queen Street. All I had to do was figure out which way was home. What would Fantam do? How would he figure it out? I squatted down in the dirt in a used car lot to draw a map.
“This line is Woodbine and this line crossing it is Queen. I came down from here so that means that Kingston Road has to be the other way up Woodbine. Kingston runs the same direction as Queen so...” I mumbled all this to myself and drew a line that ran the same way as Queen. Now I had three lines. “Which way is home?”
“Let’s see. If I turn this way it’ll take me to the... On the other hand, if I go down that way I”ll be on...” This was too confusing. If I had a coin, I’d a flipped it and taken my chances. I decided to be more scientific than that. I stood up and closed my eyes and spun around a few times until I didn’t know where I was. I opened my eyes and was looking down Queen Street.
“That’s the way I’ll go,” I said and started walking and walking and walking. It was busy. Lots of cars and people and open stores. I didn’t go in any one of them. But I looked in lots of windows. Groceries, clothes, records, restaurants. I didn’t recognize any places.
I stopped a few times and wondered if I was going the wrong way. Should I go back? I was too scared to go back, I’d walked so far. But if I was going the wrong way I was just getting further from home. I was too timid to ask anyone so I had no choice. Keep on walking.
My knee hurt. There was dried blood on my face. Dad was probably out looking for me by now. I should have told Alec where I was going. What if they never find me? Would they blame John Payson for my disappearance? Would he confess to what he and Puny did?
Wait a minute! “There’s the Goof!” I called out.
It was the Chinese restaurant at the corner of Beech and Queen. We called it the Goof because of the missing letter in the sign ‘GOO  FOOD’. The good old Fox theatre where we pick up our paper bundles was right across the street. And there’s Mike’s Bikes!
“I’m home. It’s really home.”
I ran. That was stupid. By the time I got to the top of our hill I was practically crawling. After everything I’d been through, I felt like I just escaped from Devil’s Island and hadn’t been home in years.
I got to the house. No cop cars out front. That’s strange. Maybe they already started the manhunt.  As I walked through the door I heard girls voices and music inside.
Down the hall in the dining room was Dad with a stack of bowls in his hand. He smiled.
“John. You’re just in time. Call everyone down for lunch.

“A very merry un-birthday to you!”

My birthday came and went this week. I turned 54 on Thursday without much fanfare. There was too much going on. Sugar and Danny brought over a lasagna and the whole family was together. I got no presents and no cake and nobody even thought to sing Happy Birthday.

I gotta say, though, it was probably one of the nicest birthday’s I’ve ever had. In light of my new health issues and the love and support that came to me from  family and friends all around the world, I couldn’t be a happier or richer man. I was surrounded by everything that matters and maybe anything further would have spoiled the moment.

To know I am loved is the best birthday present there is.

Immortality comes from within

Last night, I spoke about finding the right way to discuss mortality and death to Kit, while he struggles with the concept of my having cancer. I posed both secular and a religious path and asked readers to weigh in before I posted what I actually told him. Several posted comments on my facebook page facebook page which is where many of my readers link here from. Most spoke from a position of faith but didn't suggest that I speak from anywhere but my own heart. This is what I said.

"I don't believe in heaven or life after death in the way many people do, Kit. But Grammy does so you should talk with her to find out more. For me, I believe immortality comes from inside us and moves through time through our children. When you look in the mirror who's face do you see?"

"Me."

"And your mother's. You look just like her. The shape of your face, your expressions, the way you hold yourself. It's her. You are her piece of immortality. She will live well beyond her years through you, through your children and everyone else down the line."

He smiled at that.

"Back in 1775, the American Revolution was just starting and there was a famous battle at The Old North Bridge in Concord Massachusetts where it all began. At that bridge stands a statue of a man called Isaac Davis, one of the solders who fought and died there. He is a direct bloodline ancestor of yours through Grammo. You are related directly to a hero of the revolution 240 years ago. How's that for immortality?"

"Really?"

"Really. And it goes back further. You've heard of the Mayflower, right? The ship that brought the original pilgrims to New England? Well, Davis's ancestors, Grammo's ancestors came over to this country on the next voyage that followed the Mayflower, in a ship also called The Mayflower. So your relatives, direct blood relatives, were the first Europeans to settle in New England 400 years ago. There's immortality for you."

"For me the connection to our future and past is how we lead our lives here, how we leave the Earth a better place for those who follow. Who knows, your great grandson might be the first to farm the ocean floor or find a cure for cancer or be a world famous artist. Believe me, someone will say one day ﾑyou have your grandpa Kit's hands' or ﾑyour talented just like great grampa Kit.'"

"But why not live forever?" he persisted.

"Well that is living forever. But I take your point. Where would we all live if nobody died? What would we eat? Besides that, you get bored if you have a couple of hours loose time. What would you do with hundreds and thousands of years with nothing to do and an endless road of time still stretched out ahead of you? Life being finite means you have to live the share you're given to the full and cherish it, That makes it all the more sweet."

I could tell he wasn't satisfied with that. But there would have to be other times to continue the thought. When he was older and more prepared, perhaps.

"So there is no heaven?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not living my life with any hope that there is but you will have to decide for yourself about that."

Sally from "The Nightmare Before Christmas"

He grinned one of his mother's grins and asked, "Do I still get your Sally doll when you die?"

"You'll have to wait a very long time for it. Goodnight, sweetie," I said as I always do and kissed his forehead, as I always do.

"Thanks, Grampy."

Would you want to live forever, Grampy?

Last night, I tucked Kit into bed for the first time since my surgery. We hadn’t talked about cancer yet and it was time. The big question on his mind was: “If you could, wouldn’t you want to live forever?”

That is, to say the least, one of the most important questions from the lips of man since we first sparked to self awareness so many millions of years ago. That is: why do we only live so long and why not forever? Big stuff from a ten year old.

I am not a religious man. While I recognize that 93% of humans on Earth do, I do not believe in an afterlife, or God. I do not believe in eternal redemption or rewards to come should we behave well here on Earth. I believe we must make of ourselves what we have here and answer for it here as well. I can’t tell you if that’s right or wrong but it is where I stand on the big questions and it is where my strength and faith in human nature, good and bad, come from.

Now a ten year old has just asked me if I would want to live forever, or if his grandfather, who now has what is universally accepted as a deadly disease, is mortal and could be lost forever.

Conundrum: should I make something up to comfort him or do I try and share the strength of my convictions in the hope that it will give him strength? It would be so easy to say there is a heaven and we will all go meet there later and be happy and never worry and so forth. But I don’t believe it. If you truly do believe it, you have every right and obligation to share it. But if you don’t? Should you spread it anyway because it might make him feel better tonight?

Let me make my argument in three basic points, your honor. First off, I don’t lie. Can I tell him what I don’t believe?
“Lie, milord?” says the opposing counsel. “My learned opponent has said in past blogs that while he doesn’t believe in God, neither does he deny the existence of the Deity. Therefore, it would be no lie for him to tell the child what might be at least considered ‘an alternate view to his own. That is no lie.”

Okay, I counter, that may be but if I give him both sides, it might only serve to confuse him. But moving on to my second point, your honor, I draw comfort in knowing life comes to an end. Death is part of life and without it life wouldn’t be so sweet or important to us. This is important to me and would rub the grain badly should I attempt to advocate something I don’t believe.
“Surely,” speaks my learned opponent, “you don’t suggest that you burden a young boy who is merely worried about his own and his grandfather’s mortality, that you tangle him a complex argument that will leave him unsatisfied, confused and possibly still frightened? Especially as he just lost his maternal grandmother weeks before and worries about what has become of her immortal soul. You mentioned that over 90% of human beings follow a religious path in life. Perhaps it is so, not only because it may just be true, but because it is the most tangible way for us to understand and accept our own deaths.”

I contend, sir, that the 90 some percent look to faith to quell their fear of the unknown and the unknowable. There may be a point to that but when faced with such things in life we all need something to give us strength. Which brings me to my third point, Your Honor. These boys don’t believe in God or Jesus Christ, nor have they been taught consistently about it through their lives. Only last month Kit thought that Christmas was to celebrate Christ’s death - and even then he couldn’t say who Jesus Christ was. So why fall back on religion with boys who have had but a spattering of it in their lives so far? Shouldn’t they find strength in other ways rather than tell them a mishmash of religious concepts that they have never learned the underpinnings of? Why bolster their insecurities through some hope that they have an unprovable immortality in a religion they have absolutely no understanding of or faith in?
“My colleague seeks to muddy the waters by giving these children the rationale of adults,” said counsel for the defense of faith. “Faith is not something you find under the couch nor is it something you learn through church. You feel it. You seek it out, even if you never enter a chapel your whole life. A church is the college that teaches you how. In itself it doesn’t supply you with faith. In fact, it is when we need it most that we find our faith. Faith requires no proof of fact. Otherwise it would be fact and not faith. So it is in moments like these that we can best teach children to have faith and to believe in an afterlife and redemption so that they may have comfort when tragedy and disaster do strike later in life when, perhaps, they have no one but their faith to turn to.”

Arguments were closed and I turned back to Kit’s eager face.

Well, my readers, I’ll post tomorrow how I handled this well balanced anvil on a pin. In the meantime, what say you? Would you like to weigh in with some comments about how you might talk to Kit about this fundamental question? I’d love to hear your ideas.

I am now a member of a club that everyone truly wants to avoid.

I have cancer. What a thing to say aloud. To think and try to comprehend. Tio asked, “Is it weird or what to know you have cancer growing inside you?” Weird? It’s positively creepy.

The lab tests were positive on the tumor but negative on the lymphoma. So some good, some bad news. We have a long way to go before we know the depth, damage and potential lethality of this thing that is growing inside me.

So be it. Creepy as it is, scary as it is, and potentially disastrous as it might be, is not the first issue we have to tackle. I say “we” have to tackle because I’m not in this alone. There is a famly of people here just as worried and just as confused as I am about this. We need to face it together, learn together, and recover together. There are so many layers to accomplishing this that I can’t fathom them in my mind’s eye. Tish’s first object is to look after me, Buddy sees his role as to make sure the household will function, the three boys all need to protect themselves from pain of possible loss and I feel my job is... um, there you have me. For the first time, I don’t know what my place is here. Victim? Not a chance. Humble and compliant patient? Not likely. Rogue tough guy unwilling to admit pain or defeat? No.

Regardless of my condition, I’m still the head of this family. As such, I need to make sure that everyone still feel safe no matter what may come. They need to know I am not giving up, I am not frightened, and that I am there for each of them. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t plan to sacrifice myself for the family. That’s nonsense. I’m a member that needs looking after, too. But to survive this together we need to be a team and this may be the event that finally makes us one.

Ex vis malis venit. (From adversity comes strength)

Forget talking about drugs and sex... how do you tell your kids you have cancer?

Sorry for disappearing for a few days, dear readers, but I ended up back in the hospital for emergency surgery to unblock my intestines. After a resection surgery where they cut 10 inches off my bowels and the hernia surgery a week ago, that makes 2 major abdominal operations in 8 days. Kinda takes the poop right out of a fellow, if you’ll pardon the pun. I got released from the hospital yesterday and I’m still reeling. It was an adventure of multilayered proportions, not the least of which was pain and sudden midnight skulks to the emergency room followed by days of dazed and confused. Sifting through the rubble like a forensic examiner has given me several stories to share here. I’ll start with two.

First, a trauma in the family is a game changer that you simply can’t prepare for. You can’t say “Grampy’s going to be very sick for the next 2 weeks so buck up and deal.” Instead, the urgency of now takes precedence when an unspeakable pain or injury forces you to the hospital. Now, instead of prepping the kids for a shock they wake up in the morning to find Grampy’s been spirited away in the night and no one knows what’s wrong. This happened twice inside of one week.

The boys did alright considering. They shut down. They’ve each had so much trouble and change in their lives that continuing their lives as if nothing happened is the only protection they have. Buddy stepped right up and took time off work, took the boys completely in hand and made sure nothing changed at home for them while I was gone. However, underneath it all is a subdued tension and agitation that isn’t normal. Tio is displaying concern but he doesn’t know where to place it.

This was a real wake up call to how quickly change can put the lives of everyone into a completely different place. Which brings me to my second point: the CT scan found several iffy nodes and tumor-looking-things inside me, not the least of which was the one obstructing my bowel. I may be the next victim on the cancer merry-go-wheel that we all spin at some point in our lives. I planned to keep this part from the boys until we had the lab results and could have better answers to their questions. Not to be. This new world we inhabit has no rules that we already know. They asked Tish the “Big C” question and, in good faith, she didn’t lie. She told them it is a possibility that we are still waiting to learn.

When she told me the cat was out of that bag, I better understood Tio’s heightened attentiveness and anxiety. I did not want him to think I wasn’t able to talk about it so I sat down with him and laid it all out. The pros and cons, the possible bad and hopeful good. “I’d rather you knew the real dark side, than invented one that could be much worse,” I said. He had questions. I gave answers. They’ve just lost a grandmother, Tio’s mom has moved away again and I may have cancer. So much for a 13 year old to grasp and accept.

No matter what happens next, our lives have started down a new path that none of us has much experience in. I’m going to spend a few days blogging the ins and outs of what happened and how I see us going forward. I told Tio that I’m not afraid of death. When my time comes, I’ll be ready but I’ll not go easily into that dark night.

But, man, I don’t want to pull my family through a meat grinder of pain and uncertainty. Here’s hoping we just had a scare and no more.

Primary Day in New Hampshire

I'm a liberal. I believe that society is about shared responsibility. Liberal doesn't mean big government. It has nothing to do with government - that's just an opposition smokescreen to make conservatives squeak. Liberals believe in responsible and responsive government, a government that takes on the needs of the collective. That includes police, fire, infrastructure, healthcare, education, and social security. These are all jobs better handled together because we can't pay for them alone and we can't afford to be without them. Plus there is no reason anyone should make a profit off the common good.

As a liberal I want better government, not more of it. Right now the American political system is totally dysfunctional and out of control. Money controls politics so much that it appears our choice has come down to letting the politics of money rage on or dismantling government altogether so that we're at the mercy of those who control the private sector. There must be a middle ground.

Not according to the slate of Republican candidates on today's primary ballot. I can't believe the selection of squabbling, self serving, men that have floated to the top of the charts. Mitt Romney will change his view three times a day to get votes. Newt Gingrich is so bloated with his own self importance that he believes that his extreme ideas are acceptable simply because he spouts them. Rick Santorum is so socially conservative that it doesn't matter what else he thinks. Then there is Ron Paul, who wants no government. No civil rights, no women's rights, no clean air, no consumer protection and no social security. I've seen the yellow skies over Beijing. Believe me, we don't want to go there. Nor do we want to return to lead paint, devaluing women and segregation.

I'll grant that President Obama has his problems and has had trouble navigating this really divided government. But really, are any of these guys really capable of holding an honest debate with him on how to get out of the deep slump the country is in? Gingrich suggests we solve the poverty problem by making poor black children clean the toilets for the affluent kids at school, as if a poor work ethic has anything to do with poverty. Romney will spout what is convenient that moment so the concept of 'debating his position' is an oxymoron, and Ron Paul wants to return to the gold standard and get rid of money altogether. Got change for a ducat?

Why is any of this relevant to a grampy raising 3 boys? Our school system, our health and our ability to financially fend for ourselves are all at stake. Meanwhile these characters are discussing cutting hundreds of billions out of a federal budget that would leave 80% of the population hanging out to dry. Is this really what the Republican Party wants or are they just holding their noses long enough to vote because this is all they can get?

I hope when November rolls around voters take the future of our country more seriously than they do. Please, if I'm missing something about these candidates, let me know. I long for reason to think better of them.

Do bad things come in threes?

I spent the last couple of days in a daze. It appears I got in a serious knife fight with a surgeon and he won. He hired an anesthesiologist to sap me before I saw it coming. One thing for sure, next time I'll bring my own pharmacologist and they can duke it out without me.

Something biggish happened while I was out. On Friday, Marcia (Tio's mom) and Dave and Liz all headed back to Arizona. She'd come here a year ago to look after her parents and be closer to Tio. A reasonable enough proposition. However, none of them expected the kind of troubles they all ran into. First off, Marcia was no match for her parents. She'd had a bad childhood with them and somehow thought things would be better now. Big mistake - huge. Second, it wasn't so easy finding jobs and they'd both left good ones in Phoenix. So expenses got out of hand and, third, Liz went from the security of friends and a city school she knew to suddenly being thrust midyear into a rural, and rough, school district. Add in all the other details about making a huge move and it's emotional trauma and I'm surprised they made it a year. They came to the realization that their roots are really in the southwest and they need to return there to get back on their feet.

So where does that leave Tio? His natural mom returns after many years away saying she won't leave him again and a year later she's gone. That's one way to look at it. The other way is that they reconnected and will stay that way, regardless of where they each live. I think he understands why she had to go back and that it has nothing to do with him. They have made a positive reconnection and it is up to them both to build a working relationship from it.

Tio hasn't spoken about how this feels to him. He's not all that good sharing plus a lot of not so great stuff has gone on of late. He lost a beloved grandmother, I got seriously sick, and now his mother has moved away, all leaving him wondering what's next.

I guess that's life. We're all wondering what's next.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 8)

I think I"ve been dishing you chapters from an earlier draft of this book. Sorry about that. I hope this reads a little smoother.
Mom had just left for Scotland and the big boys had dispersed leaving John and Alec in the cellar building a bike. John went up to make sandwiches...

Part 8
Upstairs was quiet and very bright. It was nice outside but you’d never know it from the cellar. I made peanut butter and jelly. Alec took a bite and acted as though it’s just what he ordered. He perched on top of a busted stool with his knees up under his chin while I sat on the freezer case.
“That hits the spot. Say, I figure you should dress up as Charlie Brown on Halloween.”
I forgot all about the Halloween plan. “I like Charlie Brown,” I said.
“The first time, you go as a ghost like in the TV special - you know with too many eye holes cut in it. Then, when you go out again, you go as a baseball player, you know, with a sideways baseball cap, a glove, and a shirt that says ‘MANAGER’.”
“Didn’t Charlie Brown always get rocks instead of candy?” I asked.
“That’s because he’s Charlie Brown. Believe me, on Glen Manor you won’t get rocks.”
I thought about pouring all that candy onto my bed and eating myself sick. Next to Christmas Eve, Halloween was the best night of the year. “You think Mom will mind if we cut holes in a sheet?”
He tapped his head like I was stupid. “Where did she just go?”
I grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
He finished his sandwich and pointed at the bike. “I switched the back wheel with the frame we sawed off last week so we don’t have the steering problem. But we’re going to need a second set of pedals.” Now his seat was almost behind the back wheel and way up even higher. “We’ll have to buy a special sprocket to put up here where your feet go. Then we add a longer chain, a bar up here for support, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“Bob’s your uncle. Right. Just where do we get all that?”
He shook his head like he couldn’t believe I was so stupid. “Have some faith, my little brother.” “We’ll go to Mike’s.” He scanned the room looking for something. “What time is it?”
“Mike’s? What’s that?”
You know, Mike’s Bike’s next to The Goof Restaurant on Queen.”
“Oh, yeah. The bike repair place. We’ve never gone in there before.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. You think it’ll cost much?”
He shrugged. “Only one way to find out. Grab an end.”
We lugged our invention out to the street and rolled it down the hill towards Queen. We both had to hang on tight to make sure it didn’t get away from us. I didn’t even have time to peek at Debbie’s house. I hoped she was watching.
On Saturday afternoon all the stores on Queen Street were busy and people were everywhere. Not like when we delivered our papers at dawn. This was my turf. I knew all the streetcar stops, every store, every alley, where all the gumball machines were, and every crack in the sidewalk from the Neville Loop to the Balsam Ave.. That was eight whole blocks. You could smell the sidewalk all mixed up with traffic and the deep fryers in the Willow fish shop. Summertime was when the smell was the best.
In the front window of Mike’s was one of those Stingray bikes with small wheels, high handlebars and a banana seat. I always wanted one of those bad ever since our cousin William got one. It was just my size and I’d never be afraid to learn on that. That all changed now. Our contraption may look like a road accident, but I was itchy to try and ride it.
We wheeled through the door and got met by a noseful of rubber and grease. Kind of like a hardware store smell only better. Hanging on the walls were different style bars, wheels, stacks of chains, and inner tubes, and sprockets and you name it. Some real slick bikes were parked in the racks, all metal flake enamel paint and polished chrome. Lined up and ready to ride away. Yum.
“Can I help you boys?” said a gruff voice from the back.
I jumped. From out of nowhere, a man with gold rimmed granny glasses, a bushy moustache, stubbly chin, and long tangled hair under a blue striped bandana stared at us from behind the counter. He was an honest to god pirate. I’d never seen guys with hair that long. Not even the Beatles.
He was wiping something off with an oily rag and left a black smear on his face when he scratched his cheek. My eyes went to the door and I wondered if maybe we should bolt. Alec took over.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “We’re looking for a sprocket and pedals for this frame.” He pushed our bike forward and the man leaned over to take a look. I stayed back where I was. After a long pause, Alec added, “We’re building a special bike.”
The man snapped his Zippo and lit up a cigarette.“That so? Want to tell me more or do I guess?”
I kept my mouth shut while Alec explained what we were doing and how far we’d got. The man listened with his arms folded, sucking his teeth and rolling the smoke in his fingers. He asked a couple of questions, then walked around to a big drawer and pulled out a couple of new pedals and a ball bearing something or other.
“Problem is, you got no way to mount this on your bike without a weld,” he explained. “Either of you boys got a welder?” We shook our heads regretfully like it was something we should have had, something everyone should have. “Didn’t think so.”
“It’s a real cool bike,” Alec told him.
“I see that.” He used his cigarette for a pointer. “You’ll need a support strut between the two seat poles. Tell you what,  I’ll provide all the parts and weld mount it together for ten bucks. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds fair,” Alec said. His tone sounded like it was an amazing deal.
I thought he might as well have said five hundred bucks. We didn’t have it and we had no idea what was fair. “We’ll be back as soon as we raise the money. I’m Alec Lunn and this is my little brother John.”
“Mike Welton,” said the man and he sat back down behind the counter. “Call me Mike.”
I held the door open while Alec wheeled our bike out. I whispered, “Ask him how long it will take.”
Mike’s voice growled from over the counter. “Depends on how busy I am when you come in. Could give you same day service. Otherwise, it’ll be a couple.”
“Thanks,” we both said. A second later we were back on the street.
Alec was so excited. He was practically dancing as we walked along. “We’re going to have the greatest bike in the whole city. For speed and design and everything. It’ll be sooooooo groovy.”
“Where are we going to get ten bucks?” We’d have to break my piggy bank to get the remaining fifty cent piece out. “I make a buck fifty a week on my route. You only make six dollars and you owe two to Chris on top of what we pay to use his bike.” I tried to add it all up. “I get a dime for my allowance and you get a quarter. Figuring all that, we maybe scrape up half of it in time. Where do we get the other four?”
“We’ll find it.” That was Alec: always scheming and dreaming of glory while I worry about what could go wrong. “It’s a beautiful day. We have a plan. Lighten up, little brother. Meantime, let’s get some fritters. My treat.”
It was about to say we should save the quarter. But I didn’t. We stopped at Willow and got salt and vinegar on them. We climbed the hill planning what we’d do when we got the bike working. I felt it would be okay because Alec made it okay. So did the greasy fritters.
So, for a while, I didn’t worry so much about what could go wrong.
CHAPTER 9

When Alec was scheming hard, he’d go all quiet. He wanted the bike real bad. He wanted to win the race. It was more important to him than anything.
I was happy just to fantasize about winning the race and leave it at that. I imagined us sailing ahead of tons of kids to the roar of a huge crowd with our family leading the cheers. We breeze across the finish line in the nick of time against John Payson riding a loser of a bike. Waiting right up front for me, all happy and excited, is Debbie.
We were up in our room on Alec’s bunk with blankets hanging from above so it was like a tent. He sat cross legged at one end, staring at nothing all misty eyes under a crumpled brow. “I bet Jeff will lend us a couple of bucks...” he mumbled. “can’t ask Eric... Kate stashes her allowance...then there’s Steve...”
“Geez, Alec,” I complained, “We’re going to owe everyone for the rest of our lives.”
“No we’re not. Didn’t you see? We get twenty bucks when we win. We’ll pay them back with that.”
“Twenty dollars? For real? Where does it say that?”
“Right on the entry paper thing that I brought home that day. Didn’t you see?”
“No.” But before I could even imagine paying everyone back and spending the rest, my guts got tight. That feeling I always got when Alec had a plan all ‘figured out’. “You mean, IF we win.”
“We can’t lose with this bike,” he crowed. “I’ll pedal, you steer.”
“Then let’s ask Dad,” I suggested. “He could lend us the whole fiver, right?” As soon as it was out of my mouth I knew neither of us would dare.
By Sunday night we’d been laughed at by everybody. We even tried asking Dad for odd job money. But around our house you do jobs because you’re part of the family. There wasn’t any cash in mowing grass, folding laundry, or cleaning. That left us four dollars short.
“I told you we shouldn’t have bought fritters yesterday,” I said.
“No you didn’t.”
“I should have.”
“We just need a stroke of luck.”
The next morning, back on the boardwalk with Chris’s bike, I was starting to get the hang of riding. After crashing all weekend I could finally roll a ways on my own. All I needed was to learn to stop without using a tree or just falling off.
At school, everyone was talking about the pet show. Mr. Pratt had posted a list of all the kids names with their pet beside them. There were going to be eleven dogs, six cats and two birds. I saw that Debbie Bell was bringing a siamese cat named 99. I figured it was after the girl spy in Get Smart. Alec said maybe it was 66 turned upside-down like the number on her house. The only other dog I knew was Dinah’s mutt, Luger. Gully and Luger knew each other because our two families were friends.
During social studies, I started a new daydream where Gully and 99 were in the pet show. I let 99 win and Debbie helped me break the witch spell. She suggests we go right to the source: the witch herself. We go right up to Miss Hatten’s house and ring the bell. An old hag answers all hunched over with one closed up eye and the other one rolling loose around the socket. With a cackley voice, she invites us in. We can’t say no if we want to. I tell Debbie to run but she’s under the spell, too! We hold hands and take slow shaky steps inside. The door slams behind us.
I hear laughing.
“John!”
I blink a couple of times. Mr. Pratt was standing over me with a cheesy smirk. More kids laughed. He made me stay in for recess and do extra spelling for not paying attention. I wished Gulliver was there to bite him.
One thing was for sure, I had to break Miss Hatten’s spell. Alec kept telling me I better go breathe in the deaders soon before it was too late. The longer I put it off the worse my luck got.
I found a message in 19 when I got home from school. “J.otch.N. 67". That meant to go look in the hollow book. We hid it on a different shelf just to be sure. I slid it out and inside was another note. “3@5.” Translation: meet in 3 at 5 O’clock. He must have left all this at lunch because he wasn’t even home yet.
I loved secret meetings. It made even the stupidest things feel special. One time we met in the door room after a chain of notes about winning a strawberry Great Shake off Jeff. We shook the whole thing up in a jug of milk and drank it straight from the bottle. The added flavour of being secret made it the tastiest shake ever.
I had more than an hour until five. I grabbed the leash and called, “Come on Gully, let’s go out back and work on your tricks.” He was already right beside me. I gave him some of my toast. We took off out the side door and around to the backyard.
Alec and Chris and I had built a wooden hut out back last summer. It was big enough for 3 bunks, a window and a door. It was a great place to sleep out in the summer. It took us forever to haul all the wood for it from a lumber store way up north of Kingston Road. Today, it was quiet with no squirrels for Gully to chase. He kept jumping up for my toast so we finished that first.
No one could tell what kind of dog Gulliver was. The man Dad got him from said he was a Beagle. But he didn’t look like any beagle I ever saw. He was a chunky black and tan middle sized mutt with a bow tie patch on his neck. Dad called him a Polish Pointer.
“Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit.” I kept saying it while I pushed his rear down until he stayed sitting. That seemed pretty good. Then I told him to lie down but he got out and started sniffing around the yard and wouldn’t do anything I said anymore. Bigelow was out prowling around, too. I wondered if it would be better to take him but everybody knows you can’t teach cats anything.
Gully and me went back inside the house. Dad was cooking Sunday dinner number five. We were eating them all in a row. Tonight smelled like pot roast. It made me miss Mom even more than I already did. We’d talked a couple of times over long distance phone. That only made it worse hearing her voice from so far away.
“I see you’re trying to teach Gulliver some tricks,” Dad said.
“It’s for the pet show.”
“You might try using treats to get him to cooperate. He’ll lie down if he knows there’s a treat waiting.”
I could tell Dad didn’t know anything about dogs. That was backwards. Gully only jumped up on me when I held up a treat. “Thanks, Dad. When’s supper?” I asked.
“Six. Get your homework done first.”
“I don’t have any tonight,” I lied. We ran straight upstairs and crawled under the bed and through the tunnels. Alec wasn’t there yet. I flipped on the light and read Spiderman vs Doctor Doom. I wondered if I should do my homework but decided I could wing it. It was only fractions. A couple of minutes later Gully wriggled back out the tunnel.
I heard Alec say, “Easy, Revillug. Easy boy. Coming through.”
“Where have you been?” I asked when he finally got past the dog.
He stayed stretched out, half in the tunnel with 67 clutched in one hand. “Take a look at this,” he said and gave me the book.
I popped it open. Inside was an official looking slip of ivory coloured paper with a red stamp on it and a bunch of writing. It said we were officially entered in the bike race as #155. I fingered it and read it over several times. It was like a special ticket on thick paper with a jaggedy edges all around.
“Wow. It’s for real then, isn’t it?”
“Dad asked what it was when he gave me the envelope. I told him I’d sent away for a brochure about Centre Island.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him?” I asked.
“We’ll tell him this weekend, after he’s had Saturday afternoon to relax.”
I looked at the entry form again and put it carefully back in the book. “This is so cool. Now all we need is that last four bucks.”
“I have a way we can make a couple more bucks,” he said.
“Sell our bottle collection?”
He chuckled. “Who would want that? No. I was talking with Seymour last night after you fell asleep and he suggested we get it from the tooth fairy.”
My brother just lost his mind and I was there to see it. “The tooth fairy? You want to knock all my teeth out?”
He looked like he was considering it. “Maybe as a last resort.”
“Hey!”
“Relax. Even if we pulled them all we wouldn’t make four bucks.”
“Then what?”
He raised his brows up and down like Groucho Marx. “Fairy clothes!” He said it like he was revealing the secret of King Tut’s tomb. ‘We make fairy clothes.”
“Fairy clothes?” What in the world was he talking about?
“Sure, you know how we always wondered what the fairies do with the teeth.”
“Yeah...” We used to figure they made fences or building blocks with them.
“We assumed they built a fairy town but what we missed was that the fairies must need clothes, too. Like they’d need cars, furniture and everything.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy like a duck. They pay money for teeth and we have no idea what they use them for. Do you think they walk around without any clothes on?”
I was having a hard time imagining the tooth fairies, or teeth fairies, walking around or doing anything. “Seymour said they needed clothes?”
“Not exactly. He was just talking about needing new ones himself and that they were hard to find when you’re that small.”
Seymour and Theodore were tiny friends of Alec’s who visited late at night. He couldn’t even see them, they were so small. They would climb into his ear and tell stories about where they’d been and stuff they did. Then Alec would tell me. They had fantastic adventures. Once they got washed down a drainpipe in a drop of water. They got back up by harnessing a piece of thread to a daddy long legs and riding it back up the spout. Another time they traveled through the wilderness in the fur of a lynx. In that adventure they nearly got shook off in the north woods every time the cat scratched. So every morning they lashed themselves to a hair on its back like it was a ship’s mast. Then they rode him right into an Eskimo village where they caught a plane back south.
If those guys knew what the tooth fairies needed, then it was okay by me. “How much do you think they’ll pay?” I asked.
Alec’s sly schemer grin spread across his face. “We’ll figure out how much after we make them. What do you think? Is that smart or what?”
I thought it sounded like a lot of work. “Is there a third choice?”
“Supper’s ready.” Dad’s voice rattled the whole house. “Wash up.”
Alec crawled backwards through the tunnel. I followed him out and down to the kitchen.
“How many pairs of pants do we have to sew for them?” I asked.
“Shhh.”
Kate got Mom’s place at the end of the dinner table as the oldest girl. Usually I was squeezed between her and Alec so I got elbow room tonight. Supper was when I missed Mom most. She loved to cook and lots of afternoons I’d hang around the kitchen and help make supper and we’d talk. She’d been gone a while now and I wanted real bad to see her serving potatoes and beans while Dad sliced the pot roast. Since she’d been gone we’d already had meat loaf, pork chops, and chicken fricassee. I wondered what we’d be eating once we ran out of Sunday dinners.
“I was down with the laundry this afternoon and saw you boys are building some kind of bicycle?” Dad said.
“Not me,” Jeff said.
“Yeah. Me and John are tinkering around,” Alec said.
“Looks like a tandem bike?”
I nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I sit up front.”
“It’s still kind of in the planning stages.” Alec elbowed me to shut up. “We’re a bit stuck.”
“It looks moronic, if you ask me,” Eric said.
“Well, nobody did,” Alec shot back. He looked down the table at Dad. “Actually, we’re thinking of entering a race.” His voice was real quiet.
“Really? Where?” Dad asked. “And finish up, Alec. Everyone else is ready for dessert.”
Alec was the slowest eater in the world. Everyone else in the family could finish thirds before he’d even got to his potatoes.
“What is dessert?” I asked.
“Fruit cocktail,” he said.
“I’m in the mommy’s place,” Kate announced. “I serve dessert.”
“Yeah, and you’ll take the cherry for yourself,” Alec complained.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Where’s this race, Alec?” Dad asked.
“On Centre Island.” Alec replied cautiously. “Can we go?”
The room went silent while we all waited for a referees decision. I kept my eyes on my empty plate just hoping it wouldn’t be no. We’d been working so hard and now it all hung on Dad’s next word.
“We’ll see.”
A split decision! Not a no but not really a yes. Alec and I exchanged a flickered glance of relief while I wished he’d told him that we’d already entered the race. CHAPTER 10

Thursday was always collection night for our paper routes. We had to knock on all the doors we delivered to and ask for money. I only had six papers so it didn’t take long but Alec had thirty doors to bang on. Usually after I was done, all that money made me feel too rich and I’d buy a couple of chocolate bars but not tonight.
After we subtracted what we owed our manager, George, and then added in our allowance for the week, we were only three bucks short of our goal. Not bad. Could we make that much in fairy clothes? It had to be the weirdest scheme Alec had ever come up with.
I couldn’t concentrate on the bike to save Christmas. All I could think about was that stupid curse. It didn’t help that Alec kept rubbing it in. I’d been trying to forget it but he wouldn’t let me. I had awful nightmares and a terrible gut ache. I didn’t even care about eating anymore.
I slammed into a couple of walls and fell off more than once. After riding down to Kew Gardens on my own I hit a snag and tumbled into the sand. I was so mad I kicked the bike for treating me that way. Man, did my foot hurt. On the way back to Alec the bike made a strange noise like it was dragging a couple of leaves or a candy wrapper. There wasn’t anything there when I reached Alec.
“Maybe it got loose and fell off.”
He pinched the tire. “Or maybe you got a flat, you dope.”
I gave it a squeeze. The tire was dead alright. He spun the wheel slowly until we spotted a big splinter of wood poking through. Alec pulled it out. It left a real hole.
“What did I tell you? Miss Hatten is working you over but good.” He groaned. “We have a patch kit at home to fix the tube but Chris’ll want a new tire. There goes our welding money.”
“Maybe he won’t notice.”
He noticed. It took him all of five seconds. He must have examined the bike with a magnifying glass every time he got it back. He told us we owed him a new tire and we couldn’t borrow the bike any more.
“That could happen to anyone. He knows that,”Alec complained.
I felt miserable. On the way to school, I was locked in mortal combat with Miss Hatten’s evil spirit. Standing outside the graveyard at midnight while jagged bolts of lightning lit the sky, I draw a wooden stake from my cloak just in case her minions are lurking. She’s in there - I know it. Maybe not in body but her brain sucking soul that’s wrapped its tentacles around me is through these gates.
I must face this alone. No Gulliver, no Alec, no Debbie. I push open the huge black creaky iron gates as a loud crack of thunder booms overhead. I hear the voices of the trapped souls of thousands of children that must be freed from her curse. I’m the only one who can save them. There’s no time to lose! I squeeze through and run straight to the small church lit only by lightning strikes. The door resists, like there are hands holding it shut on the other side. I put all my strength into it --
“Ow!” Something sharp hit my head. I looked up. I was coming through the boys gate at school. How’d I get there so fast? I sometimes lose track of time when I daydream, but not that bad.
Ow! Another sharp smack on my head.
“Hey, Chipmunk,” yelled a voice, “I thought you’d like some lunch.”
I stopped and looked up the perimeter wall. John Payson and his creeps were perched on top throwing acorns at me. He stuck his teeth out like a rodent and made chewing sounds. They all laughed and threw a pile more nuts. They really stung.
“Stay there, Chipper,” Dozer Faraday warned. “or we’ll pound you to hamburger.”
 I was sick to death of them calling me a chipmunk or squirrel or rat or whatever. I spit a string of swears at them that would have got my mouth washed out with soap at home. It stunned them long enough to make a run for it.
“Get him!” Payson yelled. They all jumped down and came after me.
I zinged around the schoolyard like Ricochet Rabbit. Zipping around football huddles, kids throwing cards, and alley board competitions. No way those pudgy creeps would catch me out there. I was way too fast for them. I was one of the fastest kids in school.
They were serious today. It got kind of scary. They were organized and spread out to dragnet me into a corner. I squeezed through their line just in time. It was close.
It took forever for the bell to ring and reminded me not to get there on time again. Puny Adams pushed me in line but there were teachers around so he didn’t do anything else.
Before recess John Payson dropped a note on my desk with a really badly drawn skull and crossbones on it. The note said ‘Enjoy today - after school you die.”
At lunch they didn’t touch me. They just walked by smacking their fists into an open hand saying: “Three o’clock and we puff up the other side of your lip, freak.”
I was terrified. There was no way to escape. What if they caught me? Would they really beat me up? There wasn’t anyone I could tell. Pratt would probably help them do it and my sister would only get hurt, too.
I decided to get a detention and stay after school. No way the rats would wait around. I told Mr. Pratt that I didn’t do my math homework, even though I did. He called me stupid in front of all the other kids and gave me extra homework for the weekend. Now I had to face the creeps and do extra homework. I was done for.
After school, I snuck out the girl’s door while it was still busy. Then I crossed the yard to climb the north fence and up Balsam to Kingston Road. I don’t think anyone saw me but I went all the way around to Bracken just to make sure. It took me forever to get home. At least I didn’t get pounded out. That gave me till Monday to figure out what to do about them.
I knew what I had to do before then. I had to visit the deaders.

You can never see a shit storm until it hits

Last night, I made a big pot of split pea soup with the leftover Christmas ham bone. It was yummy. I went to bed at my usual way too late hour and woke up at 5 am with spasms bone rattling pain in the guts that set me on the edge of passing out for the next 4 hours. I thought I had food poisioning from my own hand!

Long story short, Tish and I spent the day at the hospital getting a battery of tests. In the end a catscan told the tale and here I am spending the night in the hospital with an early morning wake up call for a hernia operation. The damn thing twisted my colon and blocked me up worse than flushing a stuffed Spongebob down the toilet.

What a relief. After a day of nailbiting it turned out to be benign enough but it could have been life threatening, or something that needed long term care. It's amazing how 24 hours has the potential to so completely change the direction of a life.

The other great thing? I don't have to throw away the soup!

Don't stir things up from the bottom of the pot

First day back at school. I got startled out of sleep at 7:am by Kit and Doc fighting followed by Buddy rattling the floorboards shouting "Will you be quiet! You‘ll wake your grandfather up!"

This routine is now a solid 2 years old and I'm really tired of it. After they left for school I couldn't get back to sleep so I spent the day in a 4 hours worth of sleep trance. Since I'm going to be woken up anyway, I guess it's time I get up in the morning again and realign the stars and planets. I told Kit and Doc that I'd be up keeping them in line and getting them off to school. I said I'd be keeping them both on separate floors while they get ready for school. They were not pleased. They like winding each other up, they like winding their dad up, and they like winding up Grammo. They definitely don't like to wind Grampy up. Stirring the Kraken from his slumber only makes things worse. You see, the great and powerful Oz holds too many markers, throws too many privileges their way, and holds all the cards. You don't want to screw with the forces of nature. They'll have to behave, they'll have to smarten up, and they'll have to earn back their mornings.

I've heard wielding power is intoxicating and glorious, that those who have it are loath to give it up and only crave more. Personally, I'd rather get the sleep.

Does saying no to video games make me a bad role model?

As we start the new year and the next learning cycle for the boys I'm going to mention a couple of things that I'll be talking about in upcoming posts. There are several issues brewing for each boy - both near and long term. The issues themselves aren't always the trouble but how to responsibly approach them so they understand can be tough. How do you talk sex ed with a possibly homosexual boy? When talking drugs, should we be honest about our own participation in past drug use? Should an athiest support or even encourage religious beliefs? How much does bowing to name brand fashions encourage an ego driven adolescence? And so forth.

Today's straight talk...how strongly should I oppose something that is very popular but I fundamentally believe is harmful to children? In this case - electronic devices, specifically, video games. Doc came home with a tablet computer for Christmas from his uncle. It's a nifty machine with lots of games and wifi capability and so forth.

I have a serious problem with it because I believe the fast moving interactive imagery, progressively questionable content as the age levels rise - all alluring as they are - can stunt mental growth and contribute to hyperactivity and aggressive behavior - both short and long term. There are a many studies to support this and plenty that will refute it. However, since 2006 prescriptions for ADHD drugs have risen 86% mostly for children. Hell, I still believe that violent TV and movies contribute to the high violence in our society, and that handguns are responsible for hangun crimes, but what do I know, right?

I'm fighting off a mountain of advertizing, product pushing, peer pressure, dismissive (and submissive) parents, and - in this case - a well intentioned uncle who just wanted to give his nephew a nifty gift. But it's historically problematic that everyone jumps on a new bandwagon and accepts whatever comes along, complains when someone tries to place limits, and then act shocked when something bad happens as a result - something that could have been forseen. Society does this with every fad, every new trend, every new superdrug. We don't know where to draw the line and collectively we go to extremes until something bad happens.

But this one seems to me like a no brainer. The human mind has been evolving for millions of years, adapting and growing with its environment. Electronic stimulation is barely sixty years old with the advent of TV, and barely a couple of decades with computers. The speed of video stimulation to the mind is staggering while the human brain is still the same as it was when the printing press was invented, the Roman Empire fell, and Noah built the Ark. I hardly believe we can cope with it as adults but a child's mind really isn't designed for that kind of stimulation.
So in this house, we don't have a Wii, no PS3, no handhelds with a gaming technology, no children texting, and very limited daily time on games they do have. I won't deny gaming can be fun. But that argument can be made for cocaine, reckless driving, and any other dangerous activity if you take it to extremes.

I guess my bottom line argument is this: If I'm wrong, then the boys lose a few years of mindless video games (which I'm sure they can catch up on if they work hard at it later). If I'm right, I may be protecting them from brain damage that could irreparably impair their ability to concentrate, focus and otherwise achieve long term goals in life.

What parent wouldn't want to protect against that?

The Twilight of Christmas

Tish took this picture just before she took down the tree. The wistful reflection of the lights in the window at snowy dusk illustrate perfectly the transition from the jaunty Christmas season into the arrival of deep winter - a time to hunker down to endure the short blustery days and crisp hearthbound nights. Here in northern New England we won't really come out of hibernation until the beginning of May when the jaggedy ski slopes of snow finally melt off the top of Mount Sunapee, just to the left of this shot.

So long, 2011

This is the last post of 2011. The ball just dropped on Times Square, the kids counted down and we all said happy new year. I don’t have any New Years resolutions. I think more along the lines of a bucket list or long term goals. Besides the things I’m already doing here’s a short list of a couple of things I wouldn’t mind achieving - even if the bar is high.
- get all three boys through college. (I’d like them to do better than their parents, better than we did and move up the ladder to a fulfilling life)
- understand subatomic particle physics and high energy mass well enough that I can converse directly with the formulas and not just in layman’s terminology.
- reach a 50th anniversary with Tish. (We hit 25 in 4 months)
- Visit Mars or Jupiter (a long shot, I’ll admit, but always been one of my dreams)

I asked the boys what they might think of as resolutions or goals for the future. Here they are, all good and worthy aims, from the oldest to youngest.
Tio said:
- land a flat ground tail whip every time (that’s a scooter/skateboard accomplishment)
- raise a family (he’ll be a good dad someday)
- throw more parties (we haven’t had any - I’d like Buddy to take charge of that)
- write a rap CD (probably a longshot for him, but who knows)

Kit’s turn:
- go to Lady Gaga concert (money and time are the only obstacles there)
- live with mom again (he has missed Debbie the most and is torn about it)
- have my own dog (he’s becoming quite the handler - more on that later)
- not be bullied (that’s a biggie that we’re working hard on)
- have a real birthday party (I sense a pattern developing)

Doc rounded it off:
- play with my Nabi all day long (his new tablet computer that has daily time limits)
- watch TV all day (another daily restriction)
- go see Justin Beiber concert (he is a big fan)
- an electric scooter (he got a push scooter for Christmas and has dreams of power)
- sleepovers with boys at home (that’s three for three on that one)

I hope you and yours have a bright look towards the coming year and have set some high goals to reach for. Because, after all, it’s the reaching that makes it all worthwhile.

Tio. One cool dude.