Nobody’s Fool: A Brief Dating History

I remember vividly my first crush. Kelly. It was the 1st grade. She wore a checkered dresses with matching ribbons, I wore hand me down jeans and a pair of Pro-Wings. She sat in the first chair, in the first row, next to the door and the pencil sharpener. I sat somewhere in the middle back of the class. Anonymous. Unknown. I must have sharpened every pencil I owned 6 times an hour trying to catch her eye. I volunteered to sharpen anyone’s pencil, I brought extra from home. All to no avail. I began to doubt she would ever know I existed, much less the way I felt about her.

And then it happened. To my utter shock and disbelief she walked up to me on the playground one day…and then she spoke. To me!

“I am putting on a play about the Wizard of Oz. Would you like to me the Cowardly Lion?”

I grinned from ear to ear. Of course, the Cowardly Lion was a crap part. I would have been a much better Scarecrow or even Tin Man, but at least I wasn’t being asked to be a Flying Monkey. The Lion was a major character! Perhaps she noticed me after all. But this, this was bigger than the play, or the part, this was my window of opportunity!

I blushed and stammered my consent. I am not sure I actually spoke any English. She smiled and whirled around to assemble the rest of her cast. I immediately began planning.

The play was only a few days away. Not exactly a Broadway production, but hey it was the first grade. I would show her how much I cared. I would be the best Lion ever! When she saw me in costume, locked in character, doing my very best whimper, snivel and roar she could not help but see me as the missing piece from her young life. And, we would live happily ever after. That’s what I thought at the time anyway.

I ran home after school and immediately started assembling my costume. Let’s see there’s a 2 year old pair of yellow footie-pajamas. Cut the feet out, the arms and legs will be a little short, I’ll have a bit of a wedge, but for lion-yellow skin you cannot beat it. Hmmmm….a mane. I needed a Mane. AH Ha! A paper grocery bag cut with my Mom’s good scissors into a fringed collar! Now for the tail……Into the shed I went, and I emerged with a frayed piece of rope. My costume was complete. Now I waited.

The day of the play, I secretively packed my costume in a bag. I didn’t want anyone to else see it. The secrecy, of course, doomed me. Perhaps someone would have stopped me if they had only known. My plan was to change in the bathroom just before class began, so as to maximize the surprise. Besides, I didn't want to get upstaged. When I came into class, and my Love saw me (after all, she sat right next to the door) she would know how much I cared and instantly be smitten with me. Victory was in my grasp!

But when I burst into the door wearing my too short PJ’s and my rope tail with paper mane and with what I thought was an excellent roar, stunned silence greeted me. I looked at Kelly, and she lowered her eyes. Then the laughter came. First the back of the room, then the front. Kelly, even the teacher was laughing. People were crying they were laughing so hard! Come to find out, there was no play! There never was a play, none that existed other than in my deluded, love-addled mind and perhaps in the fleeting thoughts of one Kelly Napier. Thoughts she quickly forgot and discarded, along with the tattered remnants of my heart. I scuttled back to the bathroom humiliated.

Some time later, she had the gall to ask me to perform in her production of Little Orphan Annie. I icily refused.

“I am not your fool anymore.”

My bitterness over this issue, while somewhat cooled today extended long into high school. Regrettably, my future with the opposite sex did not give me cause to forget. But rather, it was a parade of humiliation and heart break well into my late teenage years. A pain that I stoked and nutured like a small fire, a pain that was as damning as it was formative.

The Great Pee Contest of 1982

I cannot remember how it all started, but I vividly remember exactly how it all ended. It was primarily me, Jeremy Woods, Mike Cobb and I think one of the Flerlage twins, probably Kevin, but really it was open to any and all first graders. During bathroom breaks, especially after lunch, we would all gather in front of the troughs and face off.

The boy’s bathroom in my elementary school had two long trough-style urinals. They weren’t really that long, maybe 3ft each, but when you’re 6 years old they seemed really big. They ran along the wall and were sandwiched between the sinks and the stalls. There was just enough room on either end for a little boy to stand.

I had waited all day for this moment. Last week I was edged out by Cobb and I was determined to win this week. The preparation was Olympic in nature: I drank lots of water, and I waited. I sweated, shook and crossed my legs through lunch hoping today would be the day of my triumph.

I dashed into the bathroom as soon as I could, awkwardly running trying not to bounce too much lest any of the precious liquid and the thrust it would provide escape. I was the third up. Kevin was squeezed between the urinals and the sinks, his back arched and on his toes, he let fly an amazing steam that cleared the first urinal and splashed loudly into the second. The crowd murmured in approval at the very solid showing. Pride flushed his face as he zipped his pants and took his place in the crowd. Mike stepped up, and I knew right away I would have my work cut out for me. Without even making the appearance of effort, he broke all previous records and thoroughly painted the drain! Not the first drain, but the drain of the second urinal! It was unheard of!! Applause broke out and some in the crowd left not believing such a feat could be duplicated much less broken. He smiled in modest satisfaction and joined the dwindling crowd to see what I could do.

My confidence was rattled, but I stepped into the gap and took a deep breath. I close my eyes, focused and let it fly. I opened my eyes, I was one with the stream. It cleared the 1st urinal, it cleared the drain! To my disbelief, it cleared the second urinal and began splattering the stall wall!!! It was the mother of all pees! It was unbeatable! A huge grin filled my face and I turned to see the look on the faces of my classmates.

What I saw instead was the horrified face of the Special Ed teacher, Ms. Wolfe. My classmates had scattered upon her entrance, leaving me all alone. My grin quickly faded.

“What are YOU doing?!”, she screamed.

There was no appropriate response. I hung my head. I wasn’t sure what was worse, the trouble I was in or the fact that no one would ever believe me. During the march to the office, I tried in vain to tell someone to check the stall wall to verify the record, but I was silenced by my captor.

The Pee Contests stopped that day, and for the rest of the year Mike Cobb held the bragging rights for the Longest Pee Ever. The students talked about it in whispers and hushed tones of admiration over Fish Nuggets and Mexican Fiesta’s. Mike was a made man over it and would from that moment on be one of the cool kids. My claims on the title were uniformly rejected due to a lack witnesses. Worse yet, The Big Bad Ms. Wolf had seen my little dog which was a source of great amusement for all. I cannot say for sure that moment marked the beginning of my descent into the social abyss that is Nerd-dom, but was certainly a major landmark on the way.

Timing is Everything

How was I supposed to know? The simple fact is, there was no way for me to know. So why do I feel like such a jerk, yet find the whole thing funny at the same time?

I was totally dragging yesterday at work. Coffee alone wasn't doing it. I said hello to Sandy who sits next to me. I tried to be nice and start a little conversation. Sandy would have none of it and was giving me these really short, curt answers. I assumed it was because she was pissed I was sitting next to her and she knew that peace and quiet in the workplace was completely and totally over. My old cube was upstairs where the cool sales people all sat and we had a pretty good time. Since I started back part time, I had been cast in the pit with the other part times and CSR's. If I was going to survive, I needed to wake up and I needed to get the party started down here. A little rockin' music was needed. Since I was recently moved from the fun floor to the no-fun first floor, I decided Billy Idol's Dancing With Myself was an appropriate theme song for the morning. I quickly found the song on You Tube, cranked my speakers up and got my groove on.

To make the morning even better, the Internet was working poorly so the song kept stopping and starting, right when I was really starting to feel it. So I had no choice but to keep starting it all over. After 15 minutes of Billy and (finally) a complete playing of the song, I wheeled around in my chair, "Billy Idol totally rocks!" I looked around the office to see who was with me on my love of Idol. To my surprise, there were no high fives waiting, just a lot of blank looks. In fact, Sandy was now crying. I though, "What the Fuck? This floor sucks....who doesn't like Idol? Something must be up."

So I emailed one of the ladies upstairs, "Dude, whats up with Sandy, she's like crying and all I did was play some Idol."

She replied, " She's a wreck. Her husband left this weekend!"

I quickly typed back, "Are you kidding me?!! Jesus Christ! I've been playing Dancing With Myself since like 8:05 this morning!"

Seconds later her response flashed across my screen, " You IDIOT!!!!!"

I suppose the dissolution of a marriage is grounds for a temporary loss of love for Idol. It would also explain the looks I got from everyone else, who was in the know. Although, I think the song is clearly appropriate for the situation. It could be argued that my timing was probably a bit off. It might be appropriate for the Acceptance phase of grieving. At the moment, she's clearly in the Depression stage of grief. When she hits Angry I could play Alanis Morisette, maybe next week I should focus on Patsy Kline or Billy Holiday. I have no idea what to do for Bartering. Maybe the Lets Make a Deal theme music???

The Sponge

We’ve grown up in an age of media bombardment and so most of us have a filter that allows us to ignore most advertising. My five year old has no such filter. While a 2 hour movie, or even a 30 minute cartoon might not command his rapt attention or completely sink in, a 30 second TV spot is perfect. He’s always been quick to pick up an advertising jingle, but we’ve advanced in the past few weeks. Every toy commercial he sees is the toy he most urgently wants at that moment. 45 seconds later, it’s a different toy. Lately at appropriate times, he has even been recommending products to me based on the commercials he has seen.

While Working in the Garden

“Dad, You need an Aqua Globe.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s this thing you fill with water and it’s a snap! (he tries unsuccessfully to snap his fingers) All you do is place it in the soil (yes, he used the word soil) and it does all the work. You don’t have to lift a finger! They can work as many as 10 days!!! They come in all sorts of funky colors, but they are not available in stores. "

“Wow, I should get one of those.”

“Yeah…but they aren’t available in stores so you should call now.”

While Discussing Work

“Dad, Are you going to work tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, yes I am.”

“Well,” He looked at me very seriously and nodded his head sagely as if he were about to give me some really good advice, “ You should talk to your work about Aflac.”

“Aflac?” I said, “What’s that?”

“Insurance, Dad. Ask your work.”

I am not sure how a 5 year old sounds patronizing but my son can do it.


Waiting on Pizza Delivery

My son, currently dressed as Batman, asks me if I have ordered the pizza yet, to which I reply that I had. He looks at me and squints his eyes through his mask, points his finger and in his deepest voice growls, ““You’ve got 30 minutes!”

“ What should I do?” I asked him.

“Dad!” He looked at me impatiently, and then answered gravely “That’s your decision.” He then took off down the hallway, cape flying behind him.

Wrap Up: Worst Vacation Ever

We were released from the hospital at roughly the same time. The official diagnosis: One case of heat stroke and one case of badly bruised kidneys. The remedies: Less sun for him and less fun for me. My father in law was advised to stay out of the heat and drink lots of water. I was advised to lay off the booze and stop chasing lizards. This was difficult news to take because during the testing, I was plotting my vengeance on the lizard.

The week’s events had taken their toll on us all and the wind was taken out of our collective sails. The remaining days were very, very low key. By Friday, my father in law was feeling much better, and my urine was a nice pink color, like white zinn, which while shocking was much better than the merlot from earlier in the week. We had endured bulldozers, surprise guests, heat stroke and kidney damage on top of all the struggles that go with living with a large group of people for several days. It was time for the vacation to be over, probably past time.

Amazingly the week didn’t dampen our enthusiasm for family vacations. Almost every year we load up and caravan to the same part of Florida. We’ve never stayed at the same place, but we talk about The House all the time. My friend and I reminisce about the Perfect Day that came to an abrupt end when we all ran to the hospital. In spite of several attempts we’ve never been able to recreate it. Perhaps the sun’s a bit brighter, the beer a bit colder and the water a bit blue-er just before disaster. I still remember how damn good that shrimp was before Gary showed up. We’ve endured each others personality quirks, kids, bad cooking, bad weather, crappy and/or small houses, but nothing has compared to Worst Vacation Ever. Every time we get together when vacation comes up, we talk about it. Now, several years later we can all laugh about it. No matter how bad it gets we can always fall back on, “Well….Dad still’s still conscious and Chris isn't peeing blood, so we got that going for us."

Worst Vacation: The Hospital

My father in law was immediately admitted and they began to run a tests. We did what everybody else does in the hospital, we sat there and waited. At some point, I excused myself to go to the restroom. I was standing at the urinal when I noticed something odd. I was pissing dark red, kinda the color of a nice Merlot. I puzzled over what could be the cause. Could it be the accumulated red dye from all the daiquiris? I didn't hurt anywhere, of course I was still I little tipsy.....I decided to get a second opinion. The last thing I wanted to do was alarm everyone else when they were already all freaked out.

I went to my wife and tried to explain it to her using the wine metaphor. Her eyes widened in concern, then narrowed in accusation," Did you hurt yourself when you jumped off the deck?"

"What?" I asked, " No way! It was only 15 foot jump! Besides, I think it's getting better. You want to see it?" As I walked away I began to get concerned, " Hmmmm...Could I have hurt myself trying to catch that damned lizard?"

I took a huge McDonalds cup with me the next time I had to pee. I rinsed it out, and started to take a sample. It was still a dark winey red. I thought that maybe the bigger the sample, the less red it would be. I'm not typically very girlish or anything, but I was sorta getting freaked out. So I kept peeing, and it just kept getting redder. So I filled that cup to the brim with warm, wine-red urine. That bastard was so full it had a meniscus, and it was still dark red.

"Fuck....."

Jill was waiting for me outside the bathroom.

I opened the lid, "See, its not that bad! I think its already getting a little better!"

"Ah....Chris....Goddamn it! What the hell is that?! You have to show the nurse right now!"

So I carefully walked to the nurse's stand and began to explain that I might need some help, but wanted a professional opinion. I told her the whole story about the daiquiris and the lizards, and then I placed the 44oz, warm, dripping paper cup on her desk.

"What is that?" She asked.

"Its a urine sample, I though you'd like to see it, you know maybe analyze it."

"Get that outta here!" She gave me a look like I was some sort of idiot. I was just trying to be helpful.

And so I found myself admitted to hospital.

Dropping Like Flies Continued

A few more sips of my Corona and I began to formulate a plan. A lizard would never, ever anticipate an aerial assault. If only I had a net....wait...I could use my hat....that'll work!!
I sat my book down and intently watched the dunes below. My target darted out of the grasses, and I dove off the deck, hat in hand.

I hit the sand really hard and rolled down the dune. I quickly checked my rolled up hat.....nothing. My friend look down from the deck at me laughing. It was a much bigger drop than I had anticipated and the lizard much, much quicker and more devious than I had anticipated. Shocked and more than a little pissed I didn't catch him, I dusted myself off and started walking up the steps. I was thinking about how I would alter my technique on the next dive when I heard screaming from inside the house.

"Now what?!" I thought

"Oh My God! Dad's had a stroke! Someone call 911!" It was sheer panic inside the house.

We could hear the ambulance coming from down the beach. My father law was dizzy, disoriented and weak. He didn't know his own name. Which was pretty scary. We all sobered up quick. The EMT's checked his vitals and loaded him on a gurney and zoomed off to the hospital, sirens wailing. We all piled into various cars to follow the ambulance to the hospital. The definition of what a good vacation would be had just changed, and none of us were worried about sleeping quarters, bulldozers or who was cooking dinner that night.