I woke up running for my life down Beaver Ave. I didn’t know who I was or who was chasing me. A bullet winged my earlobe and then. Oh wait, this isn’t a suspense short story.
He loved the lilt of her laugh, but had misgivings about her bobbing Adam’s apple that went along with it. Opps, this isn’t a Romance with a Twist story.
Let’s begin again, eh? A permanent rainbow was arcing over State College. It’d been there almost a week. AccuWeather was sending a team of meteorologists downtown to study it. Oh boy, this is not a One Fine Day in Happy Valley story either.
Excuse me again. This is your all-knowing narrator. The hopeful author has just informed me that this is a so-called comedy short story. So a priest, a rabbi and a parrot walk into a bar….
OK, OK, Bill I’ll begin anew. It was Valentine’s Day and a huge blizzard was blasting towards Centre County. Mt. Nittany was shrouded in an icy mist in the shape of Jo Pa. The Nittany Lion statue on campus had grown a second coat in anticipation. It was 8:30 a.m. and a brick office building in downtown State College started filling up with glum employees, slumped over trying to cuddle with themselves to keep warm. Breaths frozen outside turned to drool inside.
The office manager, Brad, walked in first. He was a 6’5” and with his badly slumping shoulders and downcast head looked like a question mark. In fact, he had more questions than answers, but had to pretend he knew it all.
Janice from clerical entered next and Brad nodded hello and headed for his first cup of coffee in the lunch room, even before taking off his coat. If he could, he would have hooked up a coffee IV drip straight into his arm. But alas, Star Bucks had not developed that technology yet.
Soon the full complement of 10 had arrived, hanging their coats up like a second skin to shed and put on as needed.
Brad only came alive with his second cuppa as he walked around the small office taking attendance. Brad told Jenny how pretty she looked, which caused Linda to leap up and shout “Crossing the line! Crossing the line, boss!” This was based on some sexual harassment training they’d just had that nixed almost all personal comments to co-workers, leaving only grunts of appreciation.
To cover his tracks, Brad told Jeremy how pretty he looked too, so as not to appear sexist. Linda sat down in a huff, which covered her like a shroud, but she was excitable as an exclamation point and was coiled ready to pop up immediately whenever offended again.
Tim, a short squat bull dog of a man, who at 25 looked 40, was the first to ask Brad, “Any chance of us getting off early due to the storm, Brad?”
Brad assured Tim that he’d keep on top of it.
This stirred up the staff to start staring out the small slit windows searching for the first flake to fall, hoping for an early release. This was not unlike prisoners getting out of jail for good behavior.
They started quoting the AccuWeather forecast of 10 to15 inches by tonight, gusts up to 50 miles per hour with blizzard white-out conditions predicted. And a freezing night without power was possible if the power lines fell like dropped watermelons during a David Letterman TV stunt, from his theater’s roof.
A steady stream of staff trooped into Brad’s office to ask if he’d heard anything from the home office about getting out early. He said he was checking his computer constantly to catch any updates on office closings. He thought they were like school kids pestering Mom and Dad constantly about school closing the next day. He didn’t feel particularly paternal, as several were older than him and all were adults.
Brad called a quick staff meeting in the board room. They sat there talking and laughing at this unexpected break from work. At the podium he told them that the home office was again warning them against sending any e-mails that could offend someone that would get them suspended or even fired.
John shouted out “How ‘bout the e-mails telling us to do more with less. They certainly offend me.” People hooted and hollered in agreement.
“John, quite sending out all those jokes. This isn’t ‘The Last Comic Standing’ show here. It’s an office. OK?” Brad shot back. “Your e-mail is really their e-mail to be pulled up any time they need to. If they wanted to cut half the staff, all they’d have to do is print out your inappropriate e-mails, fire you, then you’d all be applying to greet shoppers at 3 a.m. at Wal-Mart so fast your head would spin like Linda Blair’s in ‘The Exorcist’.”
“Can you show us how that’d look, Brad?” joked John.
Brad suddenly remembered why he seldom held staff meetings. On the rare occasion they were actually listening to what he said, they’d just make wise cracks about it.
“And only work related internet use. Buying and selling baskets on eBay isn’t part of your job description, Polly. Now get back to what you laughingly call work”
Brad returned to his office, leaving them talking and catching up on what everybody had done in the last 15 hours, since they’d left work. Apparently, their lives were very eventful because they stayed awhile.
As soon as everyone had gotten back to work, the lights flickered and the computer screens went shut eyes black. A general hub bub erupted with exclamations of outrage and joy. Once the system went down it was virtually impossible to do anything. Your computer just became a paperweight to see your own reflection in. Cyber space creates a black hole when it orbits elsewhere.
Jenny walked into Brad’s office and plopped down in a chair. She was young, perky and full of promise, a willowy 25 year-old, who saw the glass as full when it was actually empty. Brad hated perky, but appreciated willowy.
Jenny became wiggly as a puppy at the mention of snow and wanted to share her thoughts with Brad.
“Don’t you just love a snow storm, Brad? That sheet of quiet white lying on God’s great canvas. It’s like spiritual. For sure.”
Brad responded less than enthusiastically “I absolutely hate winter. I have since I started to work. It was great when I was a kid. Now I have to drive to work when school snow days are called and snake down the treacherous roads and streets hoping to get home alive, when all I want to do is stay home.”
“But that first flush of freshly fallen snow is so serene and clean. Everything just slows down and that fast paced life you lead takes a breather.” Jenny glowed.
“Sure, unless you try to stop at a red light or a stop sign, then you just glide your way into incoming traffic that can’t stop either. On the third day the snow’s turned to gray icy snot that doesn’t go away till spring. Then it turns black, like everyone’s mood at the end of a long hard winter.”
“But you can go sledding and ice skating with your kids” Jenny rambled on.
“What, and tear them away from their iPods, Wiis, Play Stations, cell phones and the internet? They’re more plugged in than a power plant.”
“Oh, you’re just an old grump, Bradly.” Jenny growled.
“Hey, wait a second didn’t your car get wrecked or something last winter in all that wonderful white snow?” Brad suddenly remembered.
“Yeah. So?” snapped Jenny as she stormed out.
The smokers snuck outside to light up. The snow was falling hard, but landing lightly. They cupped each lighter like it was the Olympic torch to set their butts on fire and get that blast of nicotine deep into their lungs. They soon looked like Frosty the Snowmen on fire. They hadn’t been able to smoke in the office since it’d been banned on September 11th, their own personal 9/11 tragedy. They were edgy and jumpy, till they could get out into the frosty flakey air and start puffing furiously.
Like airport runway lights shutting down, State College clicked off for the day. There was nary a pizza shop or a bar left to lift the soul. Closings on the radio came faster than rabbits running across a road, but Brad’s office still hadn’t heard anything.
People monitored the radio like a jealous girlfriend watching her cheating boyfriend and they called their friends and families complaining that they were still at work.
Jenny sat there soberly remembering how a snow plow had smashed into her car on Route 26 as she sat there taking a scenic shot of a snow covered possum last year. Her date for Valentine’s Day had just cancelled due to the storm. They’d only had two dates before and she was afraid the momentum would stop, as he hadn’t mentioned a make up date. She hated winter!
It was 4:10, about the time the winter sun wisely gave up and went somewhere else to get warm. Joe ran into Brad’s office shouting that Seven Mountains was closing. Brad had several workers that needed to go over the mountain to get home. He tried one more time to reach the home office where everyone had probably gone due to the storm.
He waited ten minutes and then made an executive decision. He announced that he was closing the office. There was a rush to the back door with people yanking on their coats, while calling home on their cell phones. Thus proving they could multi-task, when so motivated.
Most had left their brushes inside their cars, so when they opened a door to get them to brush the snow off, a wall of white fell on a car seat to soak it. And they did this for every snowstorm. The learning curve must be very steep for this.
By the time Brad left the office he was alone in the parking lot. He got into his car, turned the key and heard a plop, plop, plop hitting it. He looked around and saw a gang of kids pelting him with snowballs.
At first he swore at them. Then he popped it into gear and took off after them. They scattered like crows at a hand clap. He started to laugh. Then he drove in circles around the lot, slipping and sliding like a lunatic. He twirled. He swirled. He stomped on the gas and spun out of control in circles, till he was dizzy and giddy as a school girl with a five o’clock shadow.
He burst into a big smile remembering his gleeful boyhood days. Breathlessly he called his wife on his cell phone to tell her he was coming home and that this weekend they should all go tubing on Tussey Mountain. They’d just grab the kids, unplug them and go. And maybe he could learn to ski. He’d always wanted to. He loved winter!
The moral of this slight tale is don’t get old, and if you can’t stop the aging process, keep the embers simmering on your inner child, because that flame can be lit in an instant. And don’t wear white after Labor Day because in a blizzard you could become invisible and get run over by a snow plow.
Sunday, February 22
Monday, February 16
JACK RODDEY'S JOURNAL
The following is my grandson Jack Roddey’s Journal, an 8th grade class assignment. It’s the last thing we have of him. It was found when they cleaned out his locker.
He was shot and killed Jan. 16, 2009. A big part of our life ended that day. He was 14 and a sweet kind boy who visited us monthly, usually for the weekend.
This is my feeble, but ultimately futile effort to keep him alive by posting his final words on my blog to bring him back briefly for those who knew him. Or to bring him to life for those who didn’t.
With his personality and gifts, his potential was unlimited. He had been on the honor roll consistently and made the distinguished honor roll his last marking period. His parents found this out just before his viewing at the funeral home.
He was a great kid! Here’s Jack Thomas Roddey.
Jack Roddey period 4
Things I am Thankful for
I am extremely thankful for a bunch of things. I am thankful for not being poor. I am thankful for having shelter. I am thankful for Thanksgiving.
I am appreciative for my family being alive. They help m when I need help. They care for me when I’m sick. The are always there for me no matter what I do or how
dim-witted it is. They love and care for me and teach me wrong from right. They defend me from harm. They just flat out love me. J
I am thankful for having food and drinks. I never go hungry in my house. It is impossible. We constantly have food. I never thirst either. We ceaselessly have drinks and running water. I am happy and thankful for that because there are people out there that can’t come up with the money for food and running water.
I am thankful for not being deprived of money. My parents have jobs so that we don’t have to depart to a poor house. I earn money by doing chores. I buy loads of unnecessary things with my money.
I am thankful for having shelter over my head. It protects me from the scorching hot sun in the summer. It protects me from the freezing weather in the winter. It protects me from the rain and the snow. I love having a roof to sleep under at night.
I am thankful for Thanksgiving. I love seeing all of my family. I like the mountains of food that are on the table. I love thanksgiving turnkey. J I love having conversations with family associations I haven’t seen for months. I like to eat till I can’t eat no more. I like sleeping after the big meal. I like getting away from school for thanksgiving. I like going to family members houses for gigantic thanksgiving meals.
Jack Roddey
September 2nd
My favorite thing this summer was going to Hershey Park at the end of the summer. I took one of my friends and we rode a bunch of rides together. The best thing we rode was the Ferineheight roller coaster. My friend really was freaking out on it. When it started going up she started screaming and swearing and my parents just stared at her while this was all happening. It was the best rollercoaster I’ve ever rode and I plan on riding it every time I go to Hershey Park. The one time we waited in line for a long time like an hour and right when we were about to get on it broke down so it was depressing. I rode every roller coaster there at least once. It is a good place to go with friends and family. I can’t wait for the class field trip there at the end of the year.
September 5th
My Future plans are to get good enough grades so I can get a scholarship to some college so I can go to college and be able to afford it. Maybe I’ll get a really good paying job and be rich and be famous for doing something. I will live as long as I can. I will try to do something important. Of course I will try to win the lottery.
September 10th
I get everyone I can to be my friend. I have friends in a 7th 8th 9th ,and 10th grade. It is good to have as many friends as possible. I have so many friends because I like having friends to help me when I need help. The more friends the better social life you have.
September 15
I get on the internet and play some games. I play PS2 or Wii. I go hangout with my friends under the bridge and hangout for hours. I like to talk to people on the phone. I also like going over to someone’s house and hangout there for a couple hours.
September 18
I would hate to give up ice-cream and popsicles. In the summer they are helpful for cooling down. Popsicles are good for walking around town and places like that. Ice cream is better for when your sitting at home on a hot summer day. I love trying new flavors of ice-cream and popsicles.
September 23
If I won the lottery I would give a lot to charity. I would buy good company’s to get more money. I would spend a about 10,000 dollars a month. 1 million dollars a year to charity. Things like the Red Cross and important people like that would get a lot a money. I would definitely go to the best college.
9/26/08
My dad’s side of the family is crazy. We don’t have much money but we have enough to get by. We have all kinds of family get togethers. My family isn’t embarrassing like most families. Tomorrow we are having a get together and are playing cards and having fun. All of my family likes different types of music.
10/1/08
We don’t have any house rules. This is because we’ve never needed any because I use common sense. Also I’m always somewhere that isn’t home. I’m only home long enough to eat and do homework. That is why there are no house rules.
10/6/08
Some things that make me happy is hanging out with friends. Waking up alive each morning. Having my memory and free will. Not being poor. Having a family where most people are still alive.
10/14/08
There is no one I want to meet. I don’t have any idols. I have no goals in life. Well there is one person I want to meet but that isn’t till I’m like 100. That is Jesus and God.
10/17/08
My birthday is my favorite holiday. It isn’t a national holiday but without it I wouldn’t be alive. All of my friends and family celebrate it. I love getting presents and money. My birthday is on October 26. I can’t wait. J
10/22/08
If I could do anything in computer class it would be getting on stuff like myspace. We would still learn how to type. That is how I learned most of my typing skill. Sending message and IM each other helps with typing and reading. It is a good way to learn to type and to meet new people.
10/27/08
Over the weekend I did a lot. On Friday I went to this really dumb dinner then went over to the football game. On Saturday day I went to the field of screams. It was really scary. Yesterday was my birthday and I went to Hershey Park in the Dark.
Jack Roddey
Marking Period 2
10/30/08
I want to write about computers. They are very helpful with information and research. You can find anything on the internet. You can to talk to friends. You can play fun games also.
11/4/08
I am thankful for waking up in the morning and not being dead. I’m glad that no one in my family that was alive when I was born is dead. I’m thankful for having a house. I’m thankful for having food to eat and liquids to drink. I’m thankful for having a perfect Earth.
11/10/08
I don’t have plans yet for thanksgiving. I’ll probably eat a big dinner. I’ll probably see some family members. I’ll sleep in every day. I’m sure there will be some party that I’ll be going to.
11/13/08
Today I want to talk about people’s attitudes and people lying. Never let a friend borrow money even if they promise to pay you back. DO NOT BELIEVE THEM!!! Why are people always blaming me and yelling at me? I asked a friend “Can you move please? I need to sit down.” Then he called me rude! I hate people like that.
11/21/08
The 4-sight tests aren’t exactly, Fun. The reading one is the one I don’t like. I don’t like reading things that don’t interest me. I like the math ones better because we can use calculators. Math is my best subject.
11/26/08
My favorite school “subject” is lunch. It is a time in the middle of the day that we can relax. We get to talk to friends without worrying about getting in trouble. We get to go outside and hangout. It is the only real “fun” time of school.
12/5/08
The best thing I did over break was everything. On thanksgiving I ate 2 full plates of food. I went to the movies and saw “Role Models”. It was funny. I hung out with family. Of course I went hunting.
Jack Roddey
MP2-2
12/10/08
If I could fly I would all the time. I would fly places instead of walking or driving. I would help people. I would visit my relatives in England a lot more. I haven’t seen them forever.
12/18/08
I don’t have a new year’s resolution. Maybe I should get into shape. I don’t know. I never really pick one. I don’t know what I’ll do.
1/8/09
My holiday break was great. I hung out with friends. I got everything I asked for on Christmas. I was at my one friend’s house on new years. We stayed up till 4 or 5 am. I had a lot of fun during the holidays.
1/12/09
I don’t know what to write about. I like free topics days but I never can decide what to write. It is easier when you give us a topic. I don’t know how to get 5 sentences out of nothing but I’m doing it. Good-bye.
Jack was killed in a friend’s house a block or so away from his home four days later. His last word in his journal, as you can see, was Good-bye.
Goodbye, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy (he’d always take his shoes and socks off the minute he was inside a house).
Jackson, we will always miss you and love you so much till the day we die,
Granddad and Nancy
He was shot and killed Jan. 16, 2009. A big part of our life ended that day. He was 14 and a sweet kind boy who visited us monthly, usually for the weekend.
This is my feeble, but ultimately futile effort to keep him alive by posting his final words on my blog to bring him back briefly for those who knew him. Or to bring him to life for those who didn’t.
With his personality and gifts, his potential was unlimited. He had been on the honor roll consistently and made the distinguished honor roll his last marking period. His parents found this out just before his viewing at the funeral home.
He was a great kid! Here’s Jack Thomas Roddey.
Jack Roddey period 4
Things I am Thankful for
I am extremely thankful for a bunch of things. I am thankful for not being poor. I am thankful for having shelter. I am thankful for Thanksgiving.
I am appreciative for my family being alive. They help m when I need help. They care for me when I’m sick. The are always there for me no matter what I do or how
dim-witted it is. They love and care for me and teach me wrong from right. They defend me from harm. They just flat out love me. J
I am thankful for having food and drinks. I never go hungry in my house. It is impossible. We constantly have food. I never thirst either. We ceaselessly have drinks and running water. I am happy and thankful for that because there are people out there that can’t come up with the money for food and running water.
I am thankful for not being deprived of money. My parents have jobs so that we don’t have to depart to a poor house. I earn money by doing chores. I buy loads of unnecessary things with my money.
I am thankful for having shelter over my head. It protects me from the scorching hot sun in the summer. It protects me from the freezing weather in the winter. It protects me from the rain and the snow. I love having a roof to sleep under at night.
I am thankful for Thanksgiving. I love seeing all of my family. I like the mountains of food that are on the table. I love thanksgiving turnkey. J I love having conversations with family associations I haven’t seen for months. I like to eat till I can’t eat no more. I like sleeping after the big meal. I like getting away from school for thanksgiving. I like going to family members houses for gigantic thanksgiving meals.
Jack Roddey
September 2nd
My favorite thing this summer was going to Hershey Park at the end of the summer. I took one of my friends and we rode a bunch of rides together. The best thing we rode was the Ferineheight roller coaster. My friend really was freaking out on it. When it started going up she started screaming and swearing and my parents just stared at her while this was all happening. It was the best rollercoaster I’ve ever rode and I plan on riding it every time I go to Hershey Park. The one time we waited in line for a long time like an hour and right when we were about to get on it broke down so it was depressing. I rode every roller coaster there at least once. It is a good place to go with friends and family. I can’t wait for the class field trip there at the end of the year.
September 5th
My Future plans are to get good enough grades so I can get a scholarship to some college so I can go to college and be able to afford it. Maybe I’ll get a really good paying job and be rich and be famous for doing something. I will live as long as I can. I will try to do something important. Of course I will try to win the lottery.
September 10th
I get everyone I can to be my friend. I have friends in a 7th 8th 9th ,and 10th grade. It is good to have as many friends as possible. I have so many friends because I like having friends to help me when I need help. The more friends the better social life you have.
September 15
I get on the internet and play some games. I play PS2 or Wii. I go hangout with my friends under the bridge and hangout for hours. I like to talk to people on the phone. I also like going over to someone’s house and hangout there for a couple hours.
September 18
I would hate to give up ice-cream and popsicles. In the summer they are helpful for cooling down. Popsicles are good for walking around town and places like that. Ice cream is better for when your sitting at home on a hot summer day. I love trying new flavors of ice-cream and popsicles.
September 23
If I won the lottery I would give a lot to charity. I would buy good company’s to get more money. I would spend a about 10,000 dollars a month. 1 million dollars a year to charity. Things like the Red Cross and important people like that would get a lot a money. I would definitely go to the best college.
9/26/08
My dad’s side of the family is crazy. We don’t have much money but we have enough to get by. We have all kinds of family get togethers. My family isn’t embarrassing like most families. Tomorrow we are having a get together and are playing cards and having fun. All of my family likes different types of music.
10/1/08
We don’t have any house rules. This is because we’ve never needed any because I use common sense. Also I’m always somewhere that isn’t home. I’m only home long enough to eat and do homework. That is why there are no house rules.
10/6/08
Some things that make me happy is hanging out with friends. Waking up alive each morning. Having my memory and free will. Not being poor. Having a family where most people are still alive.
10/14/08
There is no one I want to meet. I don’t have any idols. I have no goals in life. Well there is one person I want to meet but that isn’t till I’m like 100. That is Jesus and God.
10/17/08
My birthday is my favorite holiday. It isn’t a national holiday but without it I wouldn’t be alive. All of my friends and family celebrate it. I love getting presents and money. My birthday is on October 26. I can’t wait. J
10/22/08
If I could do anything in computer class it would be getting on stuff like myspace. We would still learn how to type. That is how I learned most of my typing skill. Sending message and IM each other helps with typing and reading. It is a good way to learn to type and to meet new people.
10/27/08
Over the weekend I did a lot. On Friday I went to this really dumb dinner then went over to the football game. On Saturday day I went to the field of screams. It was really scary. Yesterday was my birthday and I went to Hershey Park in the Dark.
Jack Roddey
Marking Period 2
10/30/08
I want to write about computers. They are very helpful with information and research. You can find anything on the internet. You can to talk to friends. You can play fun games also.
11/4/08
I am thankful for waking up in the morning and not being dead. I’m glad that no one in my family that was alive when I was born is dead. I’m thankful for having a house. I’m thankful for having food to eat and liquids to drink. I’m thankful for having a perfect Earth.
11/10/08
I don’t have plans yet for thanksgiving. I’ll probably eat a big dinner. I’ll probably see some family members. I’ll sleep in every day. I’m sure there will be some party that I’ll be going to.
11/13/08
Today I want to talk about people’s attitudes and people lying. Never let a friend borrow money even if they promise to pay you back. DO NOT BELIEVE THEM!!! Why are people always blaming me and yelling at me? I asked a friend “Can you move please? I need to sit down.” Then he called me rude! I hate people like that.
11/21/08
The 4-sight tests aren’t exactly, Fun. The reading one is the one I don’t like. I don’t like reading things that don’t interest me. I like the math ones better because we can use calculators. Math is my best subject.
11/26/08
My favorite school “subject” is lunch. It is a time in the middle of the day that we can relax. We get to talk to friends without worrying about getting in trouble. We get to go outside and hangout. It is the only real “fun” time of school.
12/5/08
The best thing I did over break was everything. On thanksgiving I ate 2 full plates of food. I went to the movies and saw “Role Models”. It was funny. I hung out with family. Of course I went hunting.
Jack Roddey
MP2-2
12/10/08
If I could fly I would all the time. I would fly places instead of walking or driving. I would help people. I would visit my relatives in England a lot more. I haven’t seen them forever.
12/18/08
I don’t have a new year’s resolution. Maybe I should get into shape. I don’t know. I never really pick one. I don’t know what I’ll do.
1/8/09
My holiday break was great. I hung out with friends. I got everything I asked for on Christmas. I was at my one friend’s house on new years. We stayed up till 4 or 5 am. I had a lot of fun during the holidays.
1/12/09
I don’t know what to write about. I like free topics days but I never can decide what to write. It is easier when you give us a topic. I don’t know how to get 5 sentences out of nothing but I’m doing it. Good-bye.
Jack was killed in a friend’s house a block or so away from his home four days later. His last word in his journal, as you can see, was Good-bye.
Goodbye, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy (he’d always take his shoes and socks off the minute he was inside a house).
Jackson, we will always miss you and love you so much till the day we die,
Granddad and Nancy
Sunday, February 1
TWO SPECIAL DAYS WITH JACK T. RODDEY
“The stuff of life tis bittersweet, like burnt sugar, long on the days of toil and short on the eves of rest, but tis all we haveth twixt breathing and naught.” Shakespeare.
That’s Billy Bob Shakespeare, William Shakespeare’s loser brother, who wrote the flop play “Hamlet and Juliet”.
We all tend to count down the days till a vacation, short changing the day drift in between. I have a friend who’s always charting maps to his next vacation destination, living for the sudden spray of surf, the splurge of sunshine and the ringing rain of slot machine coins in all-you-can-eat buffet casinos.
Many of us look through the photo albums of our last family reunion, while waiting anxiously for the next one. We take tons of photos to capture the Kodak or digital moment that marks the highlights of our lives.
Some of us fill our days with dreams of moving to a better neighborhood, where life’s rewards increase with the taxes, or out of town to the bucolic countryside of squirrels, skunks and bears attracted by birdseed.
We sometimes proudly show pictures and home movies of our vacations where we lived a week or two as the residents of a paradise picked from brochures or from the Internet.
Some of us find a sense of reality in the reality TV of others who scheme for a better life, backstabbing and betraying for a bigger piece of the pie. There but for the grace of a producer god, go I. What we have is never enough, or so claim the commercials.
Many of us merge with the movies showing worlds of wonder and magic like “Harry Potter”, “The Lord of the Rings” and “Spider-Man” fighting crime and dead end jobs.
We follow our favorite professional sports’ teams whose stars follow the money, playing for and against teams they just went to or left. Their loyalty is to the biggest paycheck, while we fans root for our favorite uniforms, full of former enemies and gypsy heroes.
As parents we often try to stay in the lives of our children, who both need us to baby sit grandchildren and want their independence from us. We probably spend too much time worrying about what will happen when they don’t follow our advice. There’s nothing like the mistakes of your own experiences to move you to a different path, because what do your parents know? They’ve only lived forever.
There’s so much to worry about and wait for that I try to treasure the moment of the here and now, before it’s there and gone, and let it linger a little in my mind. Take last Tuesday, for example.
If it’s Tuesday, it’s Jack, my grandson visiting us. Jack and I hit a bucket or two of balls at a local driving range and then we all walked down the road to see a new bridge.
At the end of the evening, Jack and I sat on the back porch under a whirling fan; the ZZZT ZZZT song of the bugs looking for love in the breeze through the leaves of the trees was loud and constant as a buzz saw.
Our cat, sprawled like a fluffy dust mop on my lap, purred as I petted him under the chin. Home grown tomatoes lay ripening on a table, while bunnies bounced about the yard in the dark. A single table lamp lit up a portion of the porch as Jack read a story from his new “Nickelodeon” magazine in a strong and steady voice.
I rocked slowly beside him listening and drifting in and out of the dark with half closed eyes. The fragrances of our backyard flower bed wafted to and fro on the wind. My barefooted wife puttered around in the kitchen listening to Jack’s story telling too. Our dog kept rolling a tennis ball to my feet hoping for a toss and a chance to retrieve.
Everything bad that could happen to us was put off to another day, all deadly diseases and awful accidents in abeyance, as I spent a few precious moments with my beloved grandson, my loving wife and loveable pets. It was a special night like any other. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
IN SEARCH OF A CLEAN MAILBOX
It was a warm sunny autumn day in my home town and my grandson, Jack Thomas, and I had a letter to mail and we had all afternoon to do it before dinner. It was obviously time for an adventure.
Jack held the letter tightly in his little hand. Several blocks away we saw a mailbox. A ten-minute three-block walk wasn’t much of an adventure, so as we approached the blue squat tub and I declared that it wasn’t clean enough. I explained that if a letter were mailed in an unclean mailbox, it would arrive as a dirty letter and no one wants to get a dirty letter. In Jack’s six short years he has learned to humor me. So we had to find a clean mailbox. This was way before
anthrax airmail attacks, where dirty mail now has a deadly meaning.
Our long hot search had started. I saw several receptacles that I thought might be mailboxes like a birdhouse for airmail and a crate in a yard. Jack patiently explained “Granddad, that isn’t a mailbox.” I trusted his judgment there, but when he pointed out that a person’s porch mailbox could be our mailbox because you put mail in and the mailman picks it up, I had to stop the silliness a tad. Not wanting to be caught messing with someone’s personal mailbox, we had to pass up many promising porches in our pursuit of a clean mailbox, hygienic though they may be.
Heading toward Juniata College I stopped a student to ask him where there was a clean mailbox. He didn’t seem to truly grasp the sanitary concept, but pointed to a mailbox on the corner that ended up being too dirty.
We decided to take a break on a bench outside the college campus. Jack wanted to sit alone on his bench, but I wanted his company, so I sat right beside him. Whereas, he jumped up to sit on the other bench, where I immediately joined him. This game of musical benches continued for a while, till I said we were going on campus.
Jack didn’t want to do this as it was a school and his experience, as a first grader, was that strangers just didn’t walk into a school. I assured him that my father had paid them several thousand dollars in the 60s to send me there, so they all knew me. In fact, they still write me a lot, asking for even more money.
Finally, he went on campus with me. We felt we needed sticks for our hike, so we picked two sturdy tree branches for our gnarled walking sticks. On campus, Jack was very reluctant to climb the steep stairs to Founders Hall to continue our clean mailbox search, but he followed me, rather than be left behind at the bottom. On the porch we had a nice rock and talk in the rocking chairs, before setting down our sticks and going inside.
I asked a lady hurrying down the hall where we could find a clean mailbox, because we didn’t want to send a dirty letter. She seemed puzzled, almost took our letter to mail, but thought better of it and said there was one close off campus.
We left and walked across campus to the gym, which Jack loved. We went down to the basketball court where I told him I had played intramural b-ball with our team the Sneaker Squeakers. We were at the bottom of D league, the lowest league, and I was the co-captain because we needed two captains to share the blame. We only won one game when the other team failed to show. We celebrated for days.
While there I asked a young lady where we could find a clean mailbox on our adventure. She smiled knowingly and said she thought there was one in Ellis Hall. So off we went with our sticks. On the way I showed Jack how I could fly on my stick. While watching me he stated that I was only standing on my tippy toes. I assured him that I was indeed off the ground, only flying very very low. First graders can be so skeptical at times.
We didn’t find a clean mailbox at Ellis Hall, but did find a snack bar where I bought Jack a candy bar and a bottle of pop. We then continued our search off campus, where I showed my grandson the scientific principle of fizz. I held out his pop and let it drop to bounce off the sidewalk. I picked it up frothing at the cap, twisted the cap off and a Mountain of Dew erupted. He had seen this phenomenon before, but only by accident, never on purpose. He wouldn’t let me hold his pop from then on.
We meandered down Moore Street, trying to fly on our magic sticks, but getting no airlift due to gravity. I explained that Moore St. was so named because it had more street than any other. It could go all the way to Lewistown, some 35 miles away. But Jack had seen no such street on his ride here, so he doubted me. Hey, if you can’t trust your grandfather to tease you, then who can you trust?
Finally we found a clean mailbox, amazingly only two blocks from where we had started. I held it open and Jack slipped the letter in, where it would arrive sparkling clean at its destination- the garbage company. Then I tried to grab Jack’s pop bottle and drop it to see it fizz again.
FOREVER FOURTEEN
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see, now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends say Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should never have to be said to a 14-year-old boy. Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing , flirting and hugging, joking and helping people long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dark grave.
Oh Jack, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now the circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try to go back and get you, but the present's too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
Goodbye my sweet sweet grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never really see you again. Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your precious face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you or ruffle your hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad and Nancy
That’s Billy Bob Shakespeare, William Shakespeare’s loser brother, who wrote the flop play “Hamlet and Juliet”.
We all tend to count down the days till a vacation, short changing the day drift in between. I have a friend who’s always charting maps to his next vacation destination, living for the sudden spray of surf, the splurge of sunshine and the ringing rain of slot machine coins in all-you-can-eat buffet casinos.
Many of us look through the photo albums of our last family reunion, while waiting anxiously for the next one. We take tons of photos to capture the Kodak or digital moment that marks the highlights of our lives.
Some of us fill our days with dreams of moving to a better neighborhood, where life’s rewards increase with the taxes, or out of town to the bucolic countryside of squirrels, skunks and bears attracted by birdseed.
We sometimes proudly show pictures and home movies of our vacations where we lived a week or two as the residents of a paradise picked from brochures or from the Internet.
Some of us find a sense of reality in the reality TV of others who scheme for a better life, backstabbing and betraying for a bigger piece of the pie. There but for the grace of a producer god, go I. What we have is never enough, or so claim the commercials.
Many of us merge with the movies showing worlds of wonder and magic like “Harry Potter”, “The Lord of the Rings” and “Spider-Man” fighting crime and dead end jobs.
We follow our favorite professional sports’ teams whose stars follow the money, playing for and against teams they just went to or left. Their loyalty is to the biggest paycheck, while we fans root for our favorite uniforms, full of former enemies and gypsy heroes.
As parents we often try to stay in the lives of our children, who both need us to baby sit grandchildren and want their independence from us. We probably spend too much time worrying about what will happen when they don’t follow our advice. There’s nothing like the mistakes of your own experiences to move you to a different path, because what do your parents know? They’ve only lived forever.
There’s so much to worry about and wait for that I try to treasure the moment of the here and now, before it’s there and gone, and let it linger a little in my mind. Take last Tuesday, for example.
If it’s Tuesday, it’s Jack, my grandson visiting us. Jack and I hit a bucket or two of balls at a local driving range and then we all walked down the road to see a new bridge.
At the end of the evening, Jack and I sat on the back porch under a whirling fan; the ZZZT ZZZT song of the bugs looking for love in the breeze through the leaves of the trees was loud and constant as a buzz saw.
Our cat, sprawled like a fluffy dust mop on my lap, purred as I petted him under the chin. Home grown tomatoes lay ripening on a table, while bunnies bounced about the yard in the dark. A single table lamp lit up a portion of the porch as Jack read a story from his new “Nickelodeon” magazine in a strong and steady voice.
I rocked slowly beside him listening and drifting in and out of the dark with half closed eyes. The fragrances of our backyard flower bed wafted to and fro on the wind. My barefooted wife puttered around in the kitchen listening to Jack’s story telling too. Our dog kept rolling a tennis ball to my feet hoping for a toss and a chance to retrieve.
Everything bad that could happen to us was put off to another day, all deadly diseases and awful accidents in abeyance, as I spent a few precious moments with my beloved grandson, my loving wife and loveable pets. It was a special night like any other. It just doesn’t get any better than this.
IN SEARCH OF A CLEAN MAILBOX
It was a warm sunny autumn day in my home town and my grandson, Jack Thomas, and I had a letter to mail and we had all afternoon to do it before dinner. It was obviously time for an adventure.
Jack held the letter tightly in his little hand. Several blocks away we saw a mailbox. A ten-minute three-block walk wasn’t much of an adventure, so as we approached the blue squat tub and I declared that it wasn’t clean enough. I explained that if a letter were mailed in an unclean mailbox, it would arrive as a dirty letter and no one wants to get a dirty letter. In Jack’s six short years he has learned to humor me. So we had to find a clean mailbox. This was way before
anthrax airmail attacks, where dirty mail now has a deadly meaning.
Our long hot search had started. I saw several receptacles that I thought might be mailboxes like a birdhouse for airmail and a crate in a yard. Jack patiently explained “Granddad, that isn’t a mailbox.” I trusted his judgment there, but when he pointed out that a person’s porch mailbox could be our mailbox because you put mail in and the mailman picks it up, I had to stop the silliness a tad. Not wanting to be caught messing with someone’s personal mailbox, we had to pass up many promising porches in our pursuit of a clean mailbox, hygienic though they may be.
Heading toward Juniata College I stopped a student to ask him where there was a clean mailbox. He didn’t seem to truly grasp the sanitary concept, but pointed to a mailbox on the corner that ended up being too dirty.
We decided to take a break on a bench outside the college campus. Jack wanted to sit alone on his bench, but I wanted his company, so I sat right beside him. Whereas, he jumped up to sit on the other bench, where I immediately joined him. This game of musical benches continued for a while, till I said we were going on campus.
Jack didn’t want to do this as it was a school and his experience, as a first grader, was that strangers just didn’t walk into a school. I assured him that my father had paid them several thousand dollars in the 60s to send me there, so they all knew me. In fact, they still write me a lot, asking for even more money.
Finally, he went on campus with me. We felt we needed sticks for our hike, so we picked two sturdy tree branches for our gnarled walking sticks. On campus, Jack was very reluctant to climb the steep stairs to Founders Hall to continue our clean mailbox search, but he followed me, rather than be left behind at the bottom. On the porch we had a nice rock and talk in the rocking chairs, before setting down our sticks and going inside.
I asked a lady hurrying down the hall where we could find a clean mailbox, because we didn’t want to send a dirty letter. She seemed puzzled, almost took our letter to mail, but thought better of it and said there was one close off campus.
We left and walked across campus to the gym, which Jack loved. We went down to the basketball court where I told him I had played intramural b-ball with our team the Sneaker Squeakers. We were at the bottom of D league, the lowest league, and I was the co-captain because we needed two captains to share the blame. We only won one game when the other team failed to show. We celebrated for days.
While there I asked a young lady where we could find a clean mailbox on our adventure. She smiled knowingly and said she thought there was one in Ellis Hall. So off we went with our sticks. On the way I showed Jack how I could fly on my stick. While watching me he stated that I was only standing on my tippy toes. I assured him that I was indeed off the ground, only flying very very low. First graders can be so skeptical at times.
We didn’t find a clean mailbox at Ellis Hall, but did find a snack bar where I bought Jack a candy bar and a bottle of pop. We then continued our search off campus, where I showed my grandson the scientific principle of fizz. I held out his pop and let it drop to bounce off the sidewalk. I picked it up frothing at the cap, twisted the cap off and a Mountain of Dew erupted. He had seen this phenomenon before, but only by accident, never on purpose. He wouldn’t let me hold his pop from then on.
We meandered down Moore Street, trying to fly on our magic sticks, but getting no airlift due to gravity. I explained that Moore St. was so named because it had more street than any other. It could go all the way to Lewistown, some 35 miles away. But Jack had seen no such street on his ride here, so he doubted me. Hey, if you can’t trust your grandfather to tease you, then who can you trust?
Finally we found a clean mailbox, amazingly only two blocks from where we had started. I held it open and Jack slipped the letter in, where it would arrive sparkling clean at its destination- the garbage company. Then I tried to grab Jack’s pop bottle and drop it to see it fizz again.
FOREVER FOURTEEN
My grandson Jack was the future I'd never see, now he's the past I see over and over and over again in my mind. That past started horrifically on 1/16/09 about 1:15 pm with a split second shot that took away his life and everything he'd ever be. Jack made our world so much brighter with his presence, but so much bleaker with his passing.
His school friends say Rest in Peace, Jack T. Roddey. Rest in peace should never have to be said to a 14-year-old boy. Ever! Jack, you should be running and jumping, laughing and playing , flirting and hugging, joking and helping people long after I'm gone. Instead, you're still and silent in your dark dark grave.
Oh Jack, my heart is shattered and scattered to the ends of the earth and I see you everywhere; wherever there's video games, Dr. Pepper, popcorn chicken, a playground, sour candy, birthday cards, a backyard trampoline, kids and a boy's mischievous grin. Fun followed you around like a circus. Now the circus has left town, leaving behind misery and bittersweet memories.
Jack, I see you behind me stuck at that terrible January day waving and shouting at me, "Granddad stop! Wait Granddad! Don't leave me here! Please, Granddad! Please!" But I can't stop. I try to turn around. I try to go back and get you, but the present's too powerful and it pushes me forward, hurtling me thru life weeping without you, as you recede and get smaller in the distance.
Goodbye my sweet sweet grandson, I cherish every moment we had together. It went by in the wink of an eye and I'll never really see you again. Even if I could search the seas and wander the world endlessly and fly from planet to planet in every galaxy in the entire universe, I'd never find you and see your beautiful smile and your precious face again. Or hear you laugh, tease you or ruffle your hair ever again. You are gone forever and the enormity and weight of that crushes me.
I love you and miss you so so much, my sweet sweet goofy barefoot boy.
Granddad and Nancy
Thursday, January 1
SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE IN HARRISBURG, PA.
I got into a less than spirited political discussion at The Spot greasy spoon on Second Street in Harrisburg last Saturday night ordering two Spot dogs with cheese please, fries and a diet Coke. A young woman with “God is the greatest thrill ride.” or “Religion is an adventure.” on the back of her sweatshirt, I don’t remember which, was talking politics with The Chef who was grilling the dogs to greasy charred perfection.
The Chef pontificated that if John Kerry becomes President it’ll set the country back 17 years. How he calculated that exact amount of retro-retrenchment of America he did not share, but he repeated it several times with much authority. So I guess he must be right.
He said he liked Kerry’s other guy more, meaning John Edwards. At which point I entered the conversation with “Oh you mean the Breck Girl.” I clarified with that he’s so pretty they call him the Breck Girl on TV.
Rita Religion indicated that they had just zoomed over her head like a low flying fighter jet zipping to its insurgent target inside an Iraqi slum. I added the fighter jet part. Then she said that someone at her church had come and told them that George Bush had started something that God wanted finished. Yeah, Armageddon!
She thought that was very profound and something to pray about, no doubt. I refrained from saying the Armageddon thing aloud knowing that it’s better not to argue, unless you have nothing else to do with the rest of your life, with someone who stencils their deepest religious convictions on their sweatshirts.
After she left, The Chef told me that, until that brief exchange, he could have sworn Gilda Godly was a Democrat. I replied that if she connected George Bush with God, then she wasn’t a Democrat. He eyed me suspiciously as he slapped cheese slices on my buns.
The Chef and political pundit then said that if Kerry gets in it’ll be good for the hombahahs. He said it so low I couldn’t understand him, so I guessed “ Homeboys?” and said so. He corrected me and said “Homos. Good for the homos.” He next guaranteed that then there’d be gay marriages, subtly suggesting in the millions.
He said this probably believing that, because my big belly makes me less than buff and I’m too bald for a gay date on a Saturday night, that I was straight. The fact that I’m married to a woman would solidify that leap to a conclusion of his.
My feelings about gay marriages is that why should all the gays be single and happy? Why not let them be as miserable as many of the married people you meet all the time? Allow them to share in the agony and financial ruin that divorce entails. I’d like to point out that I’m very happily married and any disparaging remarks about marriage would refer to my first wife- Ruby Runaround.
Finally El Chefo said that if gays can marry, then the mother of his girlfriend could get married. I replied “Congratulations” on their impending nuptials in the new Kerry administration, ignoring my initial shocked reaction that this fat sloppy greasy guy has a girlfriend! He looked at me suspiciously and repeated this declaration, not really sure which way I was swinging now.
I took my Spot dogs, fries and drink outside to sit in one of their rock hard plastic chairs at a wobbly sidewalk table and watched the parade of tight jeans, pert butts, jogging cleavage, short dresses, high heels trying to stay out of the sidewalk cracks, sneakers, team t-shirts, baseball caps, muscle shirts, smirks and smiles all hurrying from bar to bar searching for sex, laughs and intoxication. It was dinner with a curbside view.
A super-sized woman in a motorized wheelchair rolled up like a beached whale, packed protectively in a pile of blankets like she was fragile cargo in a container to be shipped half way round the world. She had slippers on and her poor feet were scaly and red rashed. The hand that controlled the knobs of her wheelchair was frozen in a fist with gnarled fingers. We exchanged greetings and pleasantries then she began speaking with the grubby guy that accompanied her.
He mentioned that he’d been sleeping on park benches at night awakening wet with the morning dew. Being a celebrated poet, I added the morning dew part. Then he started yelling for service that was only available in the restaurant and not on the sidewalk. How he fared I do not know, as I left for the Harrisburg Hilton to use their facilities.
Inside the Hilton I encountered black ties, suits and cigar smoking people, and that was just the women. Of course, I don’t mean that, there were some men there looking like that too. Obviously, it was a gala for the rich and powerful of the Burg. In other words, it was a perfect place to take a piss.
Such were the highlights of a Saturday Night Live on Second Street in Harrisburg.
The Chef pontificated that if John Kerry becomes President it’ll set the country back 17 years. How he calculated that exact amount of retro-retrenchment of America he did not share, but he repeated it several times with much authority. So I guess he must be right.
He said he liked Kerry’s other guy more, meaning John Edwards. At which point I entered the conversation with “Oh you mean the Breck Girl.” I clarified with that he’s so pretty they call him the Breck Girl on TV.
Rita Religion indicated that they had just zoomed over her head like a low flying fighter jet zipping to its insurgent target inside an Iraqi slum. I added the fighter jet part. Then she said that someone at her church had come and told them that George Bush had started something that God wanted finished. Yeah, Armageddon!
She thought that was very profound and something to pray about, no doubt. I refrained from saying the Armageddon thing aloud knowing that it’s better not to argue, unless you have nothing else to do with the rest of your life, with someone who stencils their deepest religious convictions on their sweatshirts.
After she left, The Chef told me that, until that brief exchange, he could have sworn Gilda Godly was a Democrat. I replied that if she connected George Bush with God, then she wasn’t a Democrat. He eyed me suspiciously as he slapped cheese slices on my buns.
The Chef and political pundit then said that if Kerry gets in it’ll be good for the hombahahs. He said it so low I couldn’t understand him, so I guessed “ Homeboys?” and said so. He corrected me and said “Homos. Good for the homos.” He next guaranteed that then there’d be gay marriages, subtly suggesting in the millions.
He said this probably believing that, because my big belly makes me less than buff and I’m too bald for a gay date on a Saturday night, that I was straight. The fact that I’m married to a woman would solidify that leap to a conclusion of his.
My feelings about gay marriages is that why should all the gays be single and happy? Why not let them be as miserable as many of the married people you meet all the time? Allow them to share in the agony and financial ruin that divorce entails. I’d like to point out that I’m very happily married and any disparaging remarks about marriage would refer to my first wife- Ruby Runaround.
Finally El Chefo said that if gays can marry, then the mother of his girlfriend could get married. I replied “Congratulations” on their impending nuptials in the new Kerry administration, ignoring my initial shocked reaction that this fat sloppy greasy guy has a girlfriend! He looked at me suspiciously and repeated this declaration, not really sure which way I was swinging now.
I took my Spot dogs, fries and drink outside to sit in one of their rock hard plastic chairs at a wobbly sidewalk table and watched the parade of tight jeans, pert butts, jogging cleavage, short dresses, high heels trying to stay out of the sidewalk cracks, sneakers, team t-shirts, baseball caps, muscle shirts, smirks and smiles all hurrying from bar to bar searching for sex, laughs and intoxication. It was dinner with a curbside view.
A super-sized woman in a motorized wheelchair rolled up like a beached whale, packed protectively in a pile of blankets like she was fragile cargo in a container to be shipped half way round the world. She had slippers on and her poor feet were scaly and red rashed. The hand that controlled the knobs of her wheelchair was frozen in a fist with gnarled fingers. We exchanged greetings and pleasantries then she began speaking with the grubby guy that accompanied her.
He mentioned that he’d been sleeping on park benches at night awakening wet with the morning dew. Being a celebrated poet, I added the morning dew part. Then he started yelling for service that was only available in the restaurant and not on the sidewalk. How he fared I do not know, as I left for the Harrisburg Hilton to use their facilities.
Inside the Hilton I encountered black ties, suits and cigar smoking people, and that was just the women. Of course, I don’t mean that, there were some men there looking like that too. Obviously, it was a gala for the rich and powerful of the Burg. In other words, it was a perfect place to take a piss.
Such were the highlights of a Saturday Night Live on Second Street in Harrisburg.
AN ANONYMOUS APOLOGY
Recently, we went to the number one movie in the world, not just America. There was my wife and I with her sister Joan, her husband George and their grandson Jay O’Neill. It was a comic book summer movie with excellent reviews and we all thought it was just OK. Considering I haven’t read a comic book in over 50 years I guess that’s a pretty good review after all.
Then we went to a State College restaurant where you can eat peanuts and throw the shells on the floor while you wait for a table on a bench in a long side room. It’s always fun to make a mess in someone else’s place.
However, we picked the worst night of the year to eat there because it was both graduation day and prom night. We had to wait over an hour to eat with some very well dressed teenagers and their proud parents.
The meal was delicious and the conversation fun. We parted company to go grocery shopping then we returned home. All in all, it was a grand day. The telephone answering machine in the kitchen flashed a message waiting. So I pushed the button and the mystery began.
The waiting message said, in a stranger’s voice, “Bill, ah (Silent pause) Ah. Can’t even say it. Huh. Sorry buddy.”
It made me stop in my steps and sent a slight shiver down my spine. I played it for my wife and she stopped talking, which is rare. I told her I had no idea who it was and our caller ID just listed it as an Unknown Caller.
I hurried up and called my 92-year-old mother to see if she was alright. She was. I told her about the call and she was worried that someone was apologizing for something he was going to do to me. Then I called my grandson to see if he was OK.
As we put the groceries away we tried to think who in the world made the call. It almost sounded suicidal. An anonymous apology had shaken up the Roddey household like a small tremor.
What’s so odd is that this is not notably an apologetic country. It seems like everybody’s right and nobody’s wrong these days. At times, it’s like one continuous cable news show with everyone shouting at each other. If you do make a mistake and tell the aggrieved person about it they could sue you, if it’s something serious.
Insurance companies warn you not to apologize after an accident because that’s like admitting guilt and then they can’t fight their pay out. Almost nobody apologizes anymore unless it’s a politician whose poll numbers have dropped because of something he or she said somewhere that offended someone.
Drivers cut you off in traffic then make an obscene gesture if you beep in protest. Teenage girls tape themselves beating up on other teenage girls then post it on the internet with pride. Murderers blame their victims for making them kill them. Red states blame the blue states for the state we’re in.
There’s not a lot of apologizing going around, just righteous indignation if you don’t agree with someone. So an anonymous apology can throw you for a loop wondering aimlessly about who apologized and why.
Maybe it’s a remorseful school bully who stole your lunch money and beat you up at recess years ago. Maybe it’s your ex who dumped you then went into bad relationships afterwards and is now having second thoughts. Maybe it’s your former mean boss who’s looking back on his career thru too many shot glasses and feels badly about the way he treated you. Maybe it’s the man who refused to give you his zip code at the store with his purchase and you got in trouble from your boss because you didn’t type it in, like you were told.
Maybe it’s the person who broke up your marriage. Maybe it’s the hit and run driver who put you in the hospital. Maybe it’s a relative who’s on his death bed and is afraid of going to hell for the way he treated you. Maybe it’s the teacher who flunked you because you talked back to him and that stopped you from getting into an Ivy League college. Maybe it’s Earl, from the TV series “My Name is Earl”, trying to make amends on his list.
I think everyone deserves a multitude of apologies over the vagaries of life’s slings, arrows and body blows that come our way. Perhaps it’s best never to know where my anonymous apology came from and just accept it as one of life’s little blessings that blunts the harshness of reality a bit and shows some measure of justice in this world, before my inevitable demise.
I just hope you get your anonymous apology some day so you can apply it to everyone you thought did you wrong.
An edited version of this was published in the Winter ’08 edition of COMMON GROUND magazine.
Then we went to a State College restaurant where you can eat peanuts and throw the shells on the floor while you wait for a table on a bench in a long side room. It’s always fun to make a mess in someone else’s place.
However, we picked the worst night of the year to eat there because it was both graduation day and prom night. We had to wait over an hour to eat with some very well dressed teenagers and their proud parents.
The meal was delicious and the conversation fun. We parted company to go grocery shopping then we returned home. All in all, it was a grand day. The telephone answering machine in the kitchen flashed a message waiting. So I pushed the button and the mystery began.
The waiting message said, in a stranger’s voice, “Bill, ah (Silent pause) Ah. Can’t even say it. Huh. Sorry buddy.”
It made me stop in my steps and sent a slight shiver down my spine. I played it for my wife and she stopped talking, which is rare. I told her I had no idea who it was and our caller ID just listed it as an Unknown Caller.
I hurried up and called my 92-year-old mother to see if she was alright. She was. I told her about the call and she was worried that someone was apologizing for something he was going to do to me. Then I called my grandson to see if he was OK.
As we put the groceries away we tried to think who in the world made the call. It almost sounded suicidal. An anonymous apology had shaken up the Roddey household like a small tremor.
What’s so odd is that this is not notably an apologetic country. It seems like everybody’s right and nobody’s wrong these days. At times, it’s like one continuous cable news show with everyone shouting at each other. If you do make a mistake and tell the aggrieved person about it they could sue you, if it’s something serious.
Insurance companies warn you not to apologize after an accident because that’s like admitting guilt and then they can’t fight their pay out. Almost nobody apologizes anymore unless it’s a politician whose poll numbers have dropped because of something he or she said somewhere that offended someone.
Drivers cut you off in traffic then make an obscene gesture if you beep in protest. Teenage girls tape themselves beating up on other teenage girls then post it on the internet with pride. Murderers blame their victims for making them kill them. Red states blame the blue states for the state we’re in.
There’s not a lot of apologizing going around, just righteous indignation if you don’t agree with someone. So an anonymous apology can throw you for a loop wondering aimlessly about who apologized and why.
Maybe it’s a remorseful school bully who stole your lunch money and beat you up at recess years ago. Maybe it’s your ex who dumped you then went into bad relationships afterwards and is now having second thoughts. Maybe it’s your former mean boss who’s looking back on his career thru too many shot glasses and feels badly about the way he treated you. Maybe it’s the man who refused to give you his zip code at the store with his purchase and you got in trouble from your boss because you didn’t type it in, like you were told.
Maybe it’s the person who broke up your marriage. Maybe it’s the hit and run driver who put you in the hospital. Maybe it’s a relative who’s on his death bed and is afraid of going to hell for the way he treated you. Maybe it’s the teacher who flunked you because you talked back to him and that stopped you from getting into an Ivy League college. Maybe it’s Earl, from the TV series “My Name is Earl”, trying to make amends on his list.
I think everyone deserves a multitude of apologies over the vagaries of life’s slings, arrows and body blows that come our way. Perhaps it’s best never to know where my anonymous apology came from and just accept it as one of life’s little blessings that blunts the harshness of reality a bit and shows some measure of justice in this world, before my inevitable demise.
I just hope you get your anonymous apology some day so you can apply it to everyone you thought did you wrong.
An edited version of this was published in the Winter ’08 edition of COMMON GROUND magazine.
Monday, December 15
CHRISTMAS DOLLS
The Wii and X-Box 360 are two of the hottest toys this Christmas. Video games’ popularity changes however from year to year, but dolls are perennial favorites year after year. New for this Christmas are some dolls for you grown up boys and girls.
There’s the Gov. Rod Blagovich auctioneer doll that sells senate seats, funding for children’s hospitals, his soul and the Governor’s fine china and silverware to the highest bidder.
There’s the President-elect Barrack Obama doll that leans to the left, but turns right with each cabinet selection.
There’s the Brittany Spears’ doll that can’t keep its pants up or its top down.
There’s the George W. Bush doll that just shrugs when asked hard question about his presidency and legacy.
There’s the John McCain doll that spins 180 degrees every time it assumes a new position.
There’s the Sarah Palin doll that turns itself on and can’t stop talking until totally ignored by the Time Passes doll.
There’s the Hillary Clinton doll that won’t take dictation but will give dictation as a Secretary.
There’s the Bill Clinton doll that hits on the Brittany Spears doll, even if she’s on her period. Comes with a cigar and a squeegee.
There’s the Plaxico Burress doll that dances and screams at the sound of gunfire in his sweatpants.
There’s the Big Three Auto Makers’ Dolls that cry, sniffle and wet their pants begging for a Bail Out and a golden parachute for when they bail out.
There’s the Boy George doll that handcuffs his Ken doll to the wall and beats the crap out of it with the leg irons from the George Michael doll.
There’s the Amy Winehouse doll that gets drunk and throws up on her Barbie dolls.
There’s the “Twilight” doll that just sucks.
There’s the Keanu Reeves alien doll that shows the same vacant emotions as the Keanu Reeves action human doll.
Batter up and play doll, this Christmas.
There’s the Gov. Rod Blagovich auctioneer doll that sells senate seats, funding for children’s hospitals, his soul and the Governor’s fine china and silverware to the highest bidder.
There’s the President-elect Barrack Obama doll that leans to the left, but turns right with each cabinet selection.
There’s the Brittany Spears’ doll that can’t keep its pants up or its top down.
There’s the George W. Bush doll that just shrugs when asked hard question about his presidency and legacy.
There’s the John McCain doll that spins 180 degrees every time it assumes a new position.
There’s the Sarah Palin doll that turns itself on and can’t stop talking until totally ignored by the Time Passes doll.
There’s the Hillary Clinton doll that won’t take dictation but will give dictation as a Secretary.
There’s the Bill Clinton doll that hits on the Brittany Spears doll, even if she’s on her period. Comes with a cigar and a squeegee.
There’s the Plaxico Burress doll that dances and screams at the sound of gunfire in his sweatpants.
There’s the Big Three Auto Makers’ Dolls that cry, sniffle and wet their pants begging for a Bail Out and a golden parachute for when they bail out.
There’s the Boy George doll that handcuffs his Ken doll to the wall and beats the crap out of it with the leg irons from the George Michael doll.
There’s the Amy Winehouse doll that gets drunk and throws up on her Barbie dolls.
There’s the “Twilight” doll that just sucks.
There’s the Keanu Reeves alien doll that shows the same vacant emotions as the Keanu Reeves action human doll.
Batter up and play doll, this Christmas.
Saturday, December 6
A CHRISTMAS ANGEL FLY BY
My name is Angel, the Christmas Angel. Yeah I know, Angel the angel. I got that a lot in flight school. I’m the angel in charge of Christmas spirit in the northeast quadrant of North America. In fact I’m related to Clarence the angel in It’s A Wonderful Life on my mother’s side. He’s got his wings now and is charge of the Mid East. He’s about ready to quit and bomb everybody himself.
I come down here once a year to instill a little Christmas spirit into the crass commercialism that big business has crammed into your Christmas. How do I do that? Well, I fly around up here looking down on you and… Excuse me a minute. I see something. Gotta go.
Sorry about that, I spotted a lost child, separated from her mother at the Nittany Mall in the crush of the crowd. There was a man watching the little girl way too closely and he was hurrying toward her like a hawk diving on a mouse. I swooped down to turn the mother’s head just in time to see her baby crying next to the Orange Julius stand. She’s hugging her little girl now like she was the best Christmas gift ever. The man disappears into the crowd.
I hate to brag, but I’m the one who puts the bug in the ear of the TV network honchos to run those old Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer Christmas cartoons every year. The toons may be primitive animation, but they’re timeless and touch the child in you baby boomers in your peak earning years for the advertisers. And that’s what Christmas is- timeless, childlike and holy… cow gotta go again.
I’m back now. I was just sunning myself on a cumulus cloud when I noticed an echo empty Salvation Army kettle outside of Wal-Mart. So I flew down there to bump some pockets and jingle some change to remind you shoppers to give to the less fortunate this time of year.
But my best flights are when I soar into your fleeting thoughts and make you curb your tongue, swallow your pride and forgive your family and friends for all the wrongs they did to you this past year. So you can clasp them to your bosom like a too tight t-shirt.
I hover here to remind you that you never know who’ll be around to share your next Christmas with you. Always cherish Christmas with your loved ones like it was your last, because someday it will be. I get estranged sisters talking to each other. I make mad husbands kiss their angry wives under the mistletoe and I even cause children to be considerate of their parents, an even bigger miracle. Niger.
I fill your hearts with the spirit of forgiving and giving. It keeps the shoppers happy and the economy going. It gives children their first puppies, girls their engagement rings and dads bad ties. I help to pick the perfect Christmas tree with your spouse without having to file for divorce. If you don’t hang your stockings by the chimney with care, I re-hang them for you. I find you parking spaces in packed mall parking lots after only 15 minutes of driving up and down looking.
I bring grown children back to their parents, sisters to their brothers and crazy aunts and uncles to your homes for the holidays. I get everyone flying and driving all over the country to return to their roots once a year, no matter how embarrassing that may be to them. I help get you hugs and kisses from your past life by lassoing old loyalties, that then tug at your heart strings and go ping, ping, Cherie.
Look there’s Hank who’s 100. He’s outlived everyone he loves and loved him. He’s sharing the holidays with some wet adult diapers and a nurse’s aid at the home. Do you see that small smile sneaking across his face? He’s five years old and it’s Christmas day with his long dead parents. The turkey is basting and the pies are baking. He and his ghost brothers and sisters are tearing into their presents under the tree. His first dog Princie is licking his face.
Everyone is laughing and so is Hank because he’s having the best Christmas of his life… again. I did this.
I come down here once a year to instill a little Christmas spirit into the crass commercialism that big business has crammed into your Christmas. How do I do that? Well, I fly around up here looking down on you and… Excuse me a minute. I see something. Gotta go.
Sorry about that, I spotted a lost child, separated from her mother at the Nittany Mall in the crush of the crowd. There was a man watching the little girl way too closely and he was hurrying toward her like a hawk diving on a mouse. I swooped down to turn the mother’s head just in time to see her baby crying next to the Orange Julius stand. She’s hugging her little girl now like she was the best Christmas gift ever. The man disappears into the crowd.
I hate to brag, but I’m the one who puts the bug in the ear of the TV network honchos to run those old Frosty the Snowman and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer Christmas cartoons every year. The toons may be primitive animation, but they’re timeless and touch the child in you baby boomers in your peak earning years for the advertisers. And that’s what Christmas is- timeless, childlike and holy… cow gotta go again.
I’m back now. I was just sunning myself on a cumulus cloud when I noticed an echo empty Salvation Army kettle outside of Wal-Mart. So I flew down there to bump some pockets and jingle some change to remind you shoppers to give to the less fortunate this time of year.
But my best flights are when I soar into your fleeting thoughts and make you curb your tongue, swallow your pride and forgive your family and friends for all the wrongs they did to you this past year. So you can clasp them to your bosom like a too tight t-shirt.
I hover here to remind you that you never know who’ll be around to share your next Christmas with you. Always cherish Christmas with your loved ones like it was your last, because someday it will be. I get estranged sisters talking to each other. I make mad husbands kiss their angry wives under the mistletoe and I even cause children to be considerate of their parents, an even bigger miracle. Niger.
I fill your hearts with the spirit of forgiving and giving. It keeps the shoppers happy and the economy going. It gives children their first puppies, girls their engagement rings and dads bad ties. I help to pick the perfect Christmas tree with your spouse without having to file for divorce. If you don’t hang your stockings by the chimney with care, I re-hang them for you. I find you parking spaces in packed mall parking lots after only 15 minutes of driving up and down looking.
I bring grown children back to their parents, sisters to their brothers and crazy aunts and uncles to your homes for the holidays. I get everyone flying and driving all over the country to return to their roots once a year, no matter how embarrassing that may be to them. I help get you hugs and kisses from your past life by lassoing old loyalties, that then tug at your heart strings and go ping, ping, Cherie.
Look there’s Hank who’s 100. He’s outlived everyone he loves and loved him. He’s sharing the holidays with some wet adult diapers and a nurse’s aid at the home. Do you see that small smile sneaking across his face? He’s five years old and it’s Christmas day with his long dead parents. The turkey is basting and the pies are baking. He and his ghost brothers and sisters are tearing into their presents under the tree. His first dog Princie is licking his face.
Everyone is laughing and so is Hank because he’s having the best Christmas of his life… again. I did this.
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