When I was little, there was a grocery in town called Honiotis (spelling?) on Jefferson street. I remember going there with my Dad and Grandma to get her groceries. They sometimes had the bagger push the cart of groceries out to the car while they finished paying. Now, the reason I remember this is that on at least one occasion, they had the bag boy push the cart out to the car with me still seated in the cart's child seat. Yeah, that was weird. I'm just sitting there, staring at some teen-age kid who is pretending there isn't a three year-old sitting twelve inches from his face while he pushes the cart across the lot. I really didn't know what to say about the situation. I still don't.
B
The first time I went to Kings Island amusement park outside of Cincinnati, I must have been about eleven years old. I remember very clearly how excited I was to ride the legendary roller coaster, The Beast. In fact, I was so excited that I couldn't eat breakfast at the hotel with my family that morning. If I had even tried to eat something, I would have been sick. Someday, I want to be that excited again.
B
When I was in fifth grade or so, I unknowingly went to school one morning with my uniform shirt on inside out. At about mid-morning someone noticed and of course the whole class got a huge laugh. I remember feeling very embarrassed. Things like that were a big deal to me back then. Nowadays, something like that wouldn't bother me at all. I'd just laugh with everyone else. Why didn't I act that way as a kid? By not enjoying the humor of the situation, I just distanced myself more from my peers. How unproductive! Why didn't anyone teach me to see things differently? Maybe God wanted me to be bothered by stuff like that so I wouldn't grow up to be so sure of myself.
B
Remember in kindergarten when they told you that you are special? I was the naive kid that believed them.
B
When I was about five years old, my parents took me to a children's museum. I think this happened on a trip to St. Louis. Anyway, I remember there was a large slide from the third level to the ground floor. I remember going down and then climbing the stairs to ride it again and again. Unfortunately for me, the last ride ended in a splash. Apparently, the kid that went down ahead of me had peed his pants and a small puddle had formed at the base of the chute.
B
On Easter, I suggested that the family visit the greenhouse in nearby New Lenox to see the spring flower show. The flowers were beautiful, and they made a great backdrop for a family photo. Anyway, upon pulling into the parking lot, my sister reminded me of something humorous.
When I was about seven and Jen about five, our parents drove us to the greenhouse. There, they dressed us up as Joseph and Mary and posed us in the garden with one of Jen's dolls which was made to look like baby Jesus. They snapped a photo or two, which I think was reproduced and mailed with Christmas cards the following December. Good grief, it was ridiculous. I can't wait to do the same to my kids.
B
When I was about seven, my mom was looking for a new way to punish me when I misbehaved. So, during my next visit to the doctor, she asked him what she should do.
I must go off on a tangent here. Growing up, I got the impression that my mother relied on a medical doctor's opinion like it was the word of God or something. She would ask for him advice about all sorts of child rearing problems while he treated me for chicken pox, pneumonia, etc. I thought it was foolish of her to seek advice about my behavior from someone who doesn't know me personally. The worst part about it was that they spoke like I wasn't even in the room. Perhaps my mother thought her seven-year-old son was too enraptured by the Winnie the Pooh wallpaper to pay attention to the ongoing conversation on child psychology. About the only time the doctor ever acknowledged that I was a human being capable of logical thought was at the end of the visit when he asked if I liked to read. He would suggest that I read Lassie because that was a favorite when he was a boy. Well, sorry, Doc, but I was a bit too sophisticated for Lassie. I preferred books about robots.
Alright, back to the story. So the doctor suggests putting a lock on my door so that I can be locked inside. I tried to hide the smile on my face; stupid adults didn't realize that my room was where all my toys were at, and I was far too smart to forget that fact and go into a fit of rage over simply not being allowed free range of the house. Still, I couldn't let them get away with it.
My dad put a hook on my door and the eye in the frame next to it. It only took a week or so for it to be put to the test. I misbehaved and got locked up. I soon discovered that I could still open the door just a crack before the hook held it back. It took me about 30 seconds to find a thin piece of plastic to raise the hook through the crack and open the door. I didn't leave my room, though. I had already proved my point. So I hung out in my room for about half an hour then walked right out. My parents were both home, so when one saw me free, they just thought the other one let me out. It was a good plan that worked for quite a while.
B
Seventh grade was about the time that I developed an attitude of superiority. This often lead me to challenge the means and motive of authority - often getting me into trouble. One day, I said something that really made the PE teacher angry. As punishment she told me to write, about a hundred times, something like, "I will not disrespect the teacher in front of the class." Yes, it was seventh grade and I had to write lines.
Not willing to let her get away with this, I thought of a clever plan. At home, I fired up our brand new Macintosh LC II and started Claris Works (ancient Mac equivalent of MS Office). I typed out the sentence once and then applied a new technique I recently learned - copy and paste. Yes sir, it took about one minute to type and print that out. The next day, I handed it to the teacher with the explanation, "I wanted to practice my typing, so I hope you don't mind my not writing it by hand." She gladly accepted it thinking it must have taken much longer to type than to write.
The best part, though, was that in addition to her being the PE teacher, she was also the librarian and computer instructor. That's right. She was in charge of teaching students about computers. Unfortunately for her, the school was still using Apple IIe technology. It was 1991 and she, the person in charge of technology, had never even heard of "copy and paste."
B
There is nothing to write about, yet I feel like I should type something. Hmm...a haiku?...an urban legend?...kid Brian and his adventures?
The other day I remembered the first time I was told the phrase, "point your toe." I was probably about two or three, and I believe my mom was trying to get me into some pajama bottoms. I was kinda confused at her command and, although I didn't see how it would help the situation, I responded by pointing at my foot. I think I got yelled at for being a wise-guy (Mom was not in a good mood that evening).
While I'm on the subject of childhood stories, I'll relay another.
I tried to be creative when I insulted my sister if for no other reason than to seem more intelligent than her, even if I was being just as immature. One time I called her a "dope on a rope." Never in my life have I heard my mom laugh so hysterically. My sister cried. I was happy.
B
Those that spend time around me have probably noticed that I'm fond of the phrase, "have fun." I'm not sure why I say it, but I have been saying it for a long time. How long? When I was two, and my mother had just gone into labor with my sister, my father put her in the car to take her to the hospital. Apparently, my parting words to her were, "have fun!"
B
When I was very little, and we lived in the old house in Joliet, there was a mysterious noise that would periodically manifest itself in the north-east section of the house. It sounded very much like someone sawing a piece of lumber with a handsaw very slowly. A deep, growling, grinding noise. And no one knew its source.
Apparently, my parents heard this thing for years when they first moved in. I assume that it continued after I was born, but by then they had stopped paying attention to it. I also assume that I must have heard it when I was little, but thought nothing of it. Then, one evening when I must have been about three, my mom was reading to me when she looks up and says, "sounds like The Grinder is back, John."
The GRINDER?!?!?!?! WHAT THE COOKIEMONSTER IS THE GRINDER?!?!?!?! Is what my now terrified toddler mind is thinking.
She then explains to me that they've noticed that noise before, but don't know what it is. I'm freaking out. I have to sleep in that section of the house! In what I can only imagine is an attempt to assuage my fear, my dad decides to determine the source of The Grinder once and for all. He gets a flashlight and climbs through the hatch into the attic. At this point, I'm confident that I'll never see my father again. He will be eaten by The Grinder for sure!
Of course, it turned out to be the electrical feed rubbing the inside of the conduit where it enters the house. Still, it was freaky. It's awesome when I remember things like that!
B
This post was supposed to initiate the use of categories by being another "urban legend" post. However, I thought of something more interesting.
It seems that I have a good memory. Indeed, I can remember first-hand accounts of events that happened when I was as young as two years old. One of the unique advantages of this, is that I can remember the replies my parents gave to my questions when I was very young. Clearly, they didn't always know what they were talking about, or (more likely) didn't care that they over-simplified just to get me to shut up. I couldn't tell, I was a little kid, I'd believe anything.
Brian: Mom, why will we get to Florida faster in an airplane than in a car?
Mom: There are no stoplights in the sky, so planes don't have to stop like cars do.
(Nevermind the fact that airliners move nine times faster than an automobile.)
Brian: Why is "Ambulance" written backwards on the hood of that ambulance, Dad?
Dad: To get people's attention. If they wrote it normally, people wouldn't stop to try and read it; but writing it backwards draws attention to the ambulance, which is good.
(As you know, it's actually mirror writing, so the ambulance can be identified in a rearview mirror.)
Those are the only two that come to mind now, but I know there's more. I love my parents.
B
Recently, a friend commented that I have become somewhat of an Ebeneezer Scrooge. That is, I'm not very excited at Christmas time. Eventually, I got to thinking of how Christmas was when I was a child. I'll share a few memories.
Preface: Somewhere, I was supposed to better explain the Scrooginess that has developed over the last few years. However, it all sounded so out of place that I'm just going to leave things as they are below...and await visits from some spirits.
One early December afternoon when I was four I took a nap. When I woke up, I wandered into the living room and there against the wall was a fireplace! I should point out that the old Joliet house had no fireplace. My Dad had purchased this fake cardboard fireplace complete with an electric lamp for the "fire" and two electric candelabras on the "mantle." Today, anyone would laugh at this arrangement, but to me it was the greatest thing I had ever laid eyes on. It's majesty at that moment was beyond compare. It was assembled next to the tree every Christmas thereafter until we moved out ten years later. By the time our current home was finished, the poor thing was an absolute wreck and I fear it met it's fate with the recycling bin. I thought it would have been more fitting to burn it in the new home's real fireplace.
I also remember every Christmas my Grandpa setting up my Uncles' old Lionel train set for me to play with. The enchanting sound of that little locomotive rolling on those tracks and the groan of it's horn will gleefully haunt me forever. Such sounds! He also started setting up the old Aurora slot car sets. These were nowhere near as cool as the train, but the old cars with vertical armatures and numerous gears would often break - an opportunity for me to fix something! Grandpa let me take them apart and learn how they worked. So much fun!
Then, of course, there's Santa Claus. Every year I thought I certainly didn't deserve to getting anything (I was quite mischievous most of the year), but there were always even more gifts than I asked for! It always amazed me. And I always used to think to myself on Christmas Eve: "try to stay awake so you can greet Santa when he comes." Which was always followed by the thought: "who are you kidding? there's no way your going to get the courage to talk to him!" I never saw him, but he always brought the most wonderful things for me and Jen (and always ate the cookies we left him).
There were so many other things, too. Grandma's Christmas Eve Polish feast, singing Christmas songs in church, gingerbread men, Baked Alaska pie, family picture time, watching Grandpa add color crystals to his fireplace, driving around to see decorated homes, decorating our own home, Christmas plays at school, and on and on! So many things to make it magical.
Time stands still at Christmas when you're a child. The wonder and enchantment of it all is like nothing else ever to be experienced again. Then one year you realize it's gone. It's kinda like The Polar Express, by Chris Van Allsburg. The little boy and his sister visit Santa at his workshop and he gives them a bell from his sleigh. When they return home, they find out that only children can hear it. Later, when they grow up, they no longer hear it (actually, perhaps the boy does, it's been a while. I think I just further illustrated my point). Like most everyone my age, I stopped hearing the bell years ago, but unlike most everyone else my age, I'm still listening for it.
So yes, Christmas certainly has lost a lot of its whimsy. Over the years, beloved traditions have faded away with little to replace them. I guess that's just the way time works, but I don't like it.
The great thing though, is that now I understand the truth of Christmas and how wonderful it is. As a child, I knew it was about Christ's birth, but I never really understood what that meant. Now I know exactly what it means, and it makes me indescribably happy. Just think, the greatest gift at Christmas is simply the gift of Christmas itself!
Christmas is about the birth of The Savior. Christmas is about sharing the love He taught, not only with friends and family, but with everyone - especially those who do not know His love. Christmas is about remembering that God loves us always, and will bring us home if we simply believe in the gift He gave the world on Christmas.