Day 286: "The Safety Kids"

It was a blast from the past for me the other day when I was at the Bountiful library and by chance came across a copy of my elementary school musical The Safety Kids - which also gave me my first acting role, back in the third grade. It all happened . . . well, many moons ago. I had one of the speaking parts as Gregory, the black boy pictured here on the CD cover:

There were no black kids in my third-grade class, so the part went to me. It was a nice trip down memory lane hearing the songs once again. Ahh, the good old days.

Day 160: Soaking Up the Sun

The other night, before I headed off to my sleep test, I stopped in the driveway to observe Jackson both riding his bike and running through the sprinklers in the front yard:

He then volunteered to help me finish my Frosty from Wendy's.

It was all in a summer day's work for a four-year-old.

Day 73: Monkeys' Uncle

Following our bi-monthly family dinner over the weekend, Dad, Mike, Ben, and I took the kids over to "the park" (aka the playground at Hannah Holbrook Elementary School, located next door) to play. It's the same field and area where I spent many of my own recesses when I was in elementary school a few years back. One of their favorite things to do was to climb across and through these bars.


I'll be a monkeys' uncle, indeed!

Pyromaniacs on the Loose

It's time for Pyromaniacs,
And we're zany to the max.
So just sit back, don't relax;
Your eardrums will collapse.
We're pyromaniacs!

That little takeoff on the "Animaniacs" theme song, or some words akin to them, have been running through my head over the course of the weekend as I've been hearing a myriad of very lound sounds and explosions coming through my window, all caused by neighborhood kids trying very hard to blow up a large chunk of the city in honor of Pioneer Day.

These very loud fireworks - many of which definitely came from Evanston or some other place with more-liberal fireworks guidelines than Utah has (that's, of course not hard to do - being more liberal than Utah, I mean) - have been getting on my nerves. They may have come from Beirut, for all I know.

It's not just me, though. I know for a fact that many of my neighbors have been getting annoyed by these flagrant displays of pyromania. Last night, I overheard my neighbor Jerry confront some of these kids and essentially threaten them with juvenile hall. Since I only heard this conversation, I would like to believe that he picked at least one of them up by the shirt collar and relayed the information with an extremely red face.

Then again, my getting annoyed at these 'splosions leads me to wonder aloud: Is this some kind of a troubling sign that I'm getting old?

As a kid, I used to love to blow things up - using legal fireworks - on July 4 and again on the 24th. The magic and appeal of this, however, began to fade by about age 14 or 15. Now, watching fireworks go off is appealing in that I love to watch my nieces and nephews' reactions to it. And that's about it.

Will the ghost of an old friend, Jacob Marley style, visit me tonight to try to get me back on the bandwagon of fireworks? That thought has crossed my mind, as well.

A Spicy Meatball!

Ever since I was a kid, going to the dentist has been one of my least-favorite things to do. Today, I learned that there is something even more frightening than going to the dentist: going to the oral surgeon.

My story begins many years ago, when I was in the sixth grade at Hannah Holbrook Elementary School. I was running up the slide on the "Big Toy" at recess - something only "cool" kids like me did - when one of my classmates slid down the slide toward me, knocking me off my feet and face forward onto the slide. As a result, I chipped one of my front teeth and also managed to get a lot of blood all over the slide and my shirt.

Whether or not my classmate slid into me on purpose is a debate that, in my mind, has never been properly settled.

At any rate, to make a long story short (too late!), I have had many problems with that tooth over the years. Here and there, it has chipped again. Six months ago, as I posted in November, the whole tooth came out and had to be reattached. Last week, the tooth came out again, and it came out a third time just this morning.

My dentist referred me to an oral surgeon for a permanent solution: getting the remainder of the tooth extracted and having my mouth prepped for an implant. I went to see the oral surgeon this afternoon, and to my surprise, he wanted to extract the remnant of the old tooth right then and there.

If you've ever had the misfortune of having to go through this, then you know that having a tooth extracted an and implant is a costly procedure. To help cut down on costs, I elected to have this first part done under local anesthetic - in other words, I would be numb but awake for the experience.

If you've not had the misfortune of having to go through this, I'll give you a nickel's worth of free advice: Choose being knocked out over the local anesthetic.

The procedure unfolded like this: I was first given a rather painful shot to numb the area where the oral surgeon would be working. Thinking it was fully numb - it wasn't - he began to yank on the tooth, and all the while, tears are pouring out of my eyes and I'm screaming from the bottom of my throat. Fortunately, he noticed this and gave me another numbing shot. For some reason - go figure - I began thinking of Steve Martin singing "Dentist!" in Little Shop of Horrors, especially the line about "causing great pain."

Once I was fully numb, he extracted the tooth as blood spurted out of my mouth and onto the surgeon and his assistant. The next step was to insert small bone fragments - taken from either a cadaver or a cow (yes, really) - into the now-empty tooth cavity to clear a path for later inserting the implant. To do this, he used either a hammer or a chisel (again, really) - remember, I was under the influence of not one but two numbing shots - to pound it into my mouth, shaking my skull and head and basically making what was really about 90 seconds of hammering feel like a half-hour.

At any rate, I survived to tell the tale, and I have been at home resting since, replacing the gauze in my mouth every 20 minutes or so, because I keep bleeding from my wound. After this, I have to wait eight-to-twelve weeks for the bone fragments to heal in my mouth, and then I go back to have the implant inserted. To cover up the large gap in my smile, I am going in to my dentist tomorrow to be fitted with a retainer, or "flipper," with a temporary tooth, adding a whole new level of sexiness to me.

Some guys have all the luck!

A Word about Mothers . . .

Since today is Mothers' Day, and well-deserved tributes to mothers all across the country are being given, what can I possibly say about my own mother that will do any kind of justice to her?

In a word, she is amazing.

I think Abraham Lincoln said it best:

All that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother. I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life.

She has taught me more about selflessness and sacrifice - in addition to dozens of other virtues - than anyone else.

When I was in the sixth grade, none of the fathers of the boys on my soccer team volunteered to coach. So, Mom stepped up and volunteered. How many boys can say that about their moms?


At the time, being an 11-year-old kid, I initially allowed myself to be embarrassed by this. But when I look back on her courage, I have the deepest respect and love for her efforts.

By the way, she led us to a second-place finish in our division.

To Auld Lang Syne

Thanks to Facebook, I have recently gotten back in touch with several old friends from my elementary school (Hannah Holbrook in Bountiful) and junior high school (Baldwin School in Bayamon, Puerto Rico) days - some of whom I hadn't seen or spoken to in 15 or more years.

It's been great catching up with these people and finding out about what has transpired in their lives. Many have gone on to successful careers (or are working towards it); most are married with kids; some have fallen away from the Church; a few have, unfortunately, known the pain of divorce or become widowers/widows.

One thing that we all share in common is that we got to go through those carefree, formative years together. Gas prices, the economy, the Internet, gay marriage, and terrorism were the farthest thoughts from our minds. We shared many good times in the classroom, in assemblies, on the tetherball courts, or in jacks tournaments. (Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I used to be a champion jacks player.) Each of these people has, in one way or another, influenced me for the better over the years.

I was saddened to learn today that one of my elementary school buddies, Steven Barber, passed away not long ago, leaving a wife and two young children. I didn't learn about it in time to be able to attend the funeral.

Reading Steven's obituary, however, also brought back good memories, such as shooting hoops on the basketball standard at his house as Glenn Frey's "The Heat Is On" blasted from a neighbor's radio and staying up until what we thought then was late, watching cartoons at a sleepover.

If there is any kind of a lesson to be gained from this, it is perhaps to tell my friends, both old and new - before it is too late - that I am grateful to have you in my life. You do more good for me than you will ever know. I have been blessed to be surrounded by people who influence me for the better.

It is close to the time of year when we sing "Auld Lang Syne," a traditional ditty for New Year's. Loosely translated, it means "the good old days." (Jamie, you will have to correct me if I'm wrong. I believe it's an old Scottish toast.) I would like to think that it refers to good times past, present, and future. Thanks for letting me come along for the ride.

Green Eggs and Comfort Zones

As I came into sacrament meeting today, I found a copy of Green Eggs and Ham that had been left on the bench.

I had a few minutes to kill before the meeting began, so I picked it up and flipped through its pages. One of the members of the bishopric gave me a funny look from the stand. A couple of the girls seated across the aisle giggled in my direction, too.


You can really learn a lot from Dr. Seuss if you're in the right mindset. On its surface, Green Eggs and Ham is a story that teaches rhyming and shows children how fun reading can be. A deeper meaning - at least one that I get from it - is that it is okay for us to come out of our comfort zones every now and then and try something new. You never know what you will end up enjoying once you have tried it.

In high school, I went to just two school dances. Generally speaking, I pooh-poohed the idea. It wasn't that I didn't want to go; I had just never learned to dance and felt like an idiot when I was out there on the dance floor.

Time passed. I went on a mission to Peru. Missionaries obviously don't - and shouldn't - dance, but with awe I would occasionally observe Peruvians at their parties. The concept of having a party and not dancing does not compute in their minds. They are practically born knowing how to salsa. Little kids would blow me away with their ability to cumbia.

More time passed. I returned home and got back into school. On a whim, I decided to sign up for a Latin dance class. To my own surprise, I was able to (eventually) pick up the cha-cha. Then, I learned rumba, merengue, samba, and tango. I took another dance class, and then another. When I graduated, I had taken five semesters of ballroom/Latin dance.

What had once been a weakness had become a strength and a favorite pasttime. It is fun, and it is great exercise, too. It has helped my social life more than any other course I took in college, I might add.

So, you think you can't dance? If I can learn, then anyone can.

It's nice to sit in the hot tub for a while. We like the feel of it and the temperature of the water. But there is warmth to be found in other places, too.

Incidentally, I have tried green eggs and ham. And I liked them. All it takes is a little bit of food coloring . . . and some will power.

Pepe-roni

It was my good friend Pepe's birthday Thursday. On Friday afternoon, I was invited to help celebrate Pepe's big day by joining him, his sister Sarah, and Sarah's friend Jolene at Chuck E. Cheese in Layton.

Yes, that wasn't a typo: Chuck E. Cheese, a place I hadn't visited in perhaps two decades. You're never too old to get back in touch with your childhood - right? - so I was happy to tag along for the excursion.

The pizza was good but not great, and more video/arcade games than not were geared toward the elementary school-aged set. I think we were the only ones our age there who didn't bring their kids along. But, at Chuck E. Cheese, it's all about the environment.

We particularly enjoyed posing in front of the blue screen - similar to the kind that TV weathermen use for their forecasts - which put us in the middle of some sort of Chuck E. Cheese music video. (I don't remember the names of all of the creatures involved, but one of them, we agreed, was a cross between Barney and Cookie Monster.)

Here's Pepe, showing how it was done:



Here's my attempt at it:



I also tried to do my best Phil Connors (the weatherman played by Bill Murray in Groundhog Day) impersonation:


We are on our knees for these shots because, well, we were about twice the height of most of the kids who used the screen.

As we ate lunch, it suddenly became "birthday parade" time (or whatever it's called) at Chuck E. Cheese. This involved the kids who were celebrating birthdays joining Chuck E. for a song and dance in front of everybody. We encouraged Pepe to join with them, but he declined. As these kids' ages were shown on the TV screen, we noticed that none of them was older than 14.

Pepe is, well, a few years older than that.

After lunch, we played several of the games in the arcade area. Sarah and Jolene won several tickets for our gang - which we later traded in for Pop Rocks - with a "Simpsons"-themed pinball-type game. It turns out that Pepe is quite the skilled skee-ball player.

"It's Me, Batman!"

I met a superhero today. It happened in an unlikely place.

My day did not get off to a great start. Already feeling a sore throat coming on last night, I felt it even more so when I woke up this morning. I felt terrible, and I was convinced that I had strep throat. So, my doctor squeezed me in for an appointment.

The strep test was negative. I was told that I probably have a viral infection and that I should ride out the storm at home with Vitamin C, Tylenol, and by drinking lots of water. Before going home to rest, I had one other errand to run. I needed to to put a small package in the mail at the post office.

That's when I met Batman. I don't mean Christian Bale or Adam West, but Batman himself. This particular Batman must have been four or five years old and did not wear a mask, but he did have on a dark blue cape. He ran up to me as soon as I walked through the doors.

"It's me, Batman!" was his enthusiastic greeting.

Who was I to argue? He said he was Batman, and I believed him.


"You sure look like him," I replied.

Batman was accompanied at the post office on this day by his grandfather, who may have been there as Batman's guardian and butler, Alfred, for all I know.

As I waited in line, Batman, with great energy, ran around the post office, flapping his cape and greeting everyone he saw with the same line: "It's me, Batman!"

Funny thing is, that was me at about the same age. I don't remember too much about what life was like when I was four or five. But I do remember (mainly due to my mother reminding me about it) that I frequently dressed up in my Superman costume and wore it around the house, all over the neighborhood, at the grocery store - everywhere but church. Fortunately, I didn't do anything too stupid, like thinking that I could fly and then jumping off of the roof.

Batman didn't cure my sore throat. But he reminded me of a cherished part of my childhood I sometimes forget about. He got me excited for Halloween, which is really one of the few times each year that most of us unabashedly get back in touch with that inner child.

When we have . . . become as a child in our capacity to love and obey, we are on the sure foundation.
-President Henry B. Eyring

Batman also made me smile, which was something I didn't think I was going to be able to do today. And that made me feel a bit better.

You rescued me when I needed it, Batman. And that makes you a true hero.