Melted Wings --

Egos are a tender part of ones personality, which affects the delicate balance of ones self esteem: everyone wants to feel good about who or what they are. Now all of us make fools out of ourselves on occasions, so it’s hard to feel good about yourself all of the time.

I have written quite a few stories most of which have been met with good results, at least from other idiots like myself. Enough people have blown wind up my skirt to give me a bit of confidence. So I decided to see if someone with some sort of expertise thought they were any good. The problem is when you leave your little pool for other waters, and especially when those waters are swamps, lakes or oceans – it kind of like putting your soul or valuables on the chopping block. These people swing harder – so don’t be surprised you will get whacked across the side of your head and receive a few more scars. If you’re not careful, you could easily lose confidence, passion and most likely find out you’re just not as good as you thought – or in my case hoped.

This transition or metamorphosis hopefully isn’t complete. It started with the creation of a personal blog – now I don’t know what blog means or stands for, it’s not even in my spell check. A blog is on the Internet, and if someone looks hard enough supposedly they could find it. In my case you would have to search quite hard. Next came the letter to the editor – this resulted in a lot of response from my small area. This made me think that perhaps I really could swim in bigger pools – I had the right attitude I never thought I could make money at this stuff and still it was just for fun and to tell my stories to family and friends.

Now, let's see what the big boys think! I went to the top – the short story King, the Readers Digest. Well if you look at it logically I got what I should have expected – nothing. Come on you guys, you only get a trillion of these things a day you could at least tell me to kiss off. Then, I sent three stories to a newspaper – I know, a lot lower than the first try, but I got the same results. Where do you send these things? I’ve sent two others, one each to a T.V. show and a magazine. Then I received my first response – still no, but they were really nice about it.

Now this ego thing can be addictive when the results are positive, but rejection isn’t. I’ll admit I stopped writing stories for a couple of weeks but then I started to tell my stories to those in that little pool again. Ya it’s still warm water and no one's out to prove me wrong or try to ignore me. As a matter of fact, they are telling me they're great and I ought to get them printed somewhere – there goes that ego thing again. That’s all right, since I’ve already been there and know it’s not so easy. I guess I was kind of like that Icarus dude whose father crafted him some wings so he could fly, but who also warned him that he shouldn't fly too low least his wings dip into the waves and get wet - or that he shouldn't fly too high least the sun melt the wax to which the feathers were attached. I haven’t read the story since high school, but as I recall - Icarus started to think he was pretty great, became euphoric and flew too close to the sun and the wax holding his feathers together melted on his wings and it wasn’t a good thing. Such a rapid descent can be kind of hazards to ones health. Perhaps I should just sort of ride the waves - not going too high to melt my wings or too low to get discouraged or depressed. In time hopefully I'll learn to navigate at just the right altitude Maybe I just need to know my place - and think about what made writing these stories so fun in the first place.

I know that all of the stories are true and I enjoy the rush I get from writing them. Maybe I'll just have to hone my stills a little better to bring out the greatest of each story - you can't make this stuff up better than they already are. I guess I should just keep trying until they tell me to get lost. Back to the newspaper –a great place to start, because it hits such a small area. This time I sent two stories and followed it up with a phone call. Then came the return call – they wanted to print one of my stories. All right – a published author, even if hardly anyone read it. Oh well maybe some day I’ll have to write another section at the end of this one – but if not that’s Ok too.

Walking Dead--

Yesterday was Halloween; I saw a bunch of kids dressed up like Zombies. I guess a Zombie is a person that is dead but still walks around with their hands held out trying to kill other people – the walking dead. Why they are trying to kill everyone is beyond me, maybe they’re just mad they’re dead so they want to take it out on everyone else. I don’t know how someone came up with this concept – believers I'm sure would say because it’s true. I think there is a lot of people that walk around like Zombies: emotionally their dead to the world and the things that would bring them happiness. I think all of us fall into this category once in a while.

This week our son goes on an LDS mission. This is a two-year period that young men in our church are asked to go to another part of the country or world to serve, teach and support the growth of the church in that area. Missions are encouraged, but are not required of all young men when they turn nineteen year of age. This is a huge sacrifice and needs to be the young man’s decision otherwise it could be a waist of time. Our son has been called to Argentina, which as far as I know is in a different world. They gave him plenty of time to prepare, but the two or so weeks before he leaves have been terrible - it feels like a funeral. When my father died it was a great blessing – he had been in poor health for many years. I know that where he is now is a far better place. Even after fifteen years I still miss him tremendously. I would love to have another opportunity to sit down and talk to him or do something fun together. I believe we will be together at some point; we will embrace, laugh and want to know everything that has happened since the last time we saw each other - it will be a wonderful reunion. I’m sure he will ask about his grandchildren and how I have treated my wife and if I brought any shame to the family name.

Most of these things are the same thing that will happen with my son’s mission. The mission will be a great blessing to him; his spiritual strength will increase tremendously, why wouldn’t it - he studies, prays and teaches from the scriptures on a daily basis. I think a mission is the greatest training tool that anyone this age could do in order to prepare for life, marriage and providing for a family. What a great place to learn how to work, study and relate to people. It‘s hard especially for those that have to learn a new and difficult language. Like my father - at this part in my son’s life he will be in a better place. This will be one of the only times in his life that he will spend every waking moment looking outward and seeing what he can do to help others more than himself. I will miss him tremendously! Unlike death we will be able to talk to him twice a year – Mothers Day and Christmas. We will be able to e-mail once a week, because he will be so busy we will want to know more than he will have time to tell us. We won’t be able to do anything together but we will have a great reunion in a couple of years. I’m sure at that time we will embrace, laugh and want to know everything that has happened since we were together. I may ask him if he has done anything to disgrace the family name – even though I already know the answer. We have started to feel like Zombie emotionally in anticipation of the void that will overcome us when he’s gone.

My wife isn’t an emotional person and she has started to feel the pain. In reality it’s actually should be a celebration – he hasn’t died nor is he in prison and acting like an idiot doing something that would bring shame to the family. Most people agree that the hardest part is dropping them off. I went on a mission a long time ago so I think I’m more excited about him going because of this experience that will change his life forever. But I’m the crier in the family and I’m sure it will be hard. But unlike death our time apart will be short and he’ll come back a better person than when he left. I’m sure like a funeral it’s harder for those left behind than those that have started the new journey.

Wrote Letter to Editor --

I did something for the very first time – when you’re fifty years old it’s harder and harder to say such a thing without getting in trouble or having to buy a new kind of undergarment. I wrote a letter to the editor – and they actually printed it. After I wrote it I thought it was great – then I pushed the send button and my mind screamed out what are you doing? I even used my real name. I hadn’t thought of using some other name, the same day there was a letter from a Helen Waite, which some people were concern didn’t really live in the small town in question. My mother’s maiden name was Helen Hunt; she had a lot of stories about people telling someone to go to Helen Hunt for it.

I don’t know what came over me to write a letter; it had never crossed my mind before. You can ask my wife there are a lot of things that have never crossed my mind before – like doing things around the house. The letter I wrote had a point, and of course I thought it was a good one. As with many of my conversations it was written with a twist of humor, which my family points out isn’t always good because I’m not as funny as I think I am. I was just trying to show how ridicules society is becoming.

One thing I was unaware of is that people could respond or critique your comments in a “blog” on the papers web site. It was more than a week later before a friend told me that it was there. I had twenty-eight entries about my letter. A few of the comments were in response to other “bloggers” evaluations and not my original work. Some of them were very supportive a few even thanking me for the letter – or thanking me for poking fun of five different government agencies. Others wisely pointed out that I had made a serious mistake, now maybe that was writing in the first place, I had admitted in print that I had put soap in a public fountain – which I’m sure is against the law.

Now I will have to admit that I did this act more than twenty-five years ago, but it sounded like it was the last time such an act took place. This soap discretion was committed when I was still young enough to run away from my crime. Besides the “bloggers” I’ve had a lot of feedback from those that read the letter. One man asked me why I would have put soup in the fountain – I guess I could have used a couple of cases of Lipton cup a noodle. I was assured by the chief of police a couple of years ago that the statute of limitations has ran out on most of my youthful acts – of course that is the out going chief and I have no idea what the new regime will say. Since I’m coming clean, I might as well admit to all of my criminal behavior. I have toilet papered more than once – being caught twice. I have egged cars and jaywalked across Main Street. With the exception of jaywalking – all of these acts happened in the 70’s.

Anyone reading this article that thinks they have personal knowledge of other discretions I was involved in that aren’t on the list, there could be a couple of reasons: 1^st the statute of limitations isn’t up, 2^nd – I’m too old to remember that they ever took place, or 3^rd your mistaken and I wasn’t there. Now I’m sure that because I have admitted to these dreadful crimes I wouldn’t be able to run for any kind of political office. Can you imagine what the media could do with this information in a heated school board campaign – with the winner having authority over young impressionable minds? One “blogger” was astonished that I would participate in such acts of vandalism “which cost thousands of tax payer dollars in cleanup and repair.” Now the “blogger didn’t list their name and where I could find them – I’m sure it was because they were afraid I would put soap in their sprinkle heads (I wonder if that would work?)

Public Speaking --

I’ve heard a number of times that the two greatest fears that most people have is dying and public speaking. I don’t know much about the dying thing – but like the majority I’ve had fears of speaking in front of people. In my seventh grade math class the students decided to sing happy birthday to me – I was so scared and embarrassed that I accidentally stabbed my leg with my pencil under my desk. The lead broke off and left a grey dot that can still be seen today, I guess it’s like a mini tattoo.

On more than one occasion, I remember giving a speech or talk in school or church and having my leg shake so bad I looked like Thumper the rabbit in Bambi. I had a speech impediment that made it hard to say things the way I wanted too. At least most of the times there was a podium that I could hide behind. I think it’s helpful to be a little nervous before an important presentation or discourse – not only does it help you to prepare, but also it keeps you on your toes. I must have done all right in those early years since our primary leader at church used to call me her little patriarch – I didn’t know what a patriarch was but she said it in a pleasant manner so I knew it wasn’t bad. Every time someone didn’t show up to give his or her scripture, talk or prayer, she would recruit me to fill in. It seemed that people didn’t show up quit often.

As I was growing up, and even extending into my college years, I had a number of opportunities to speak publicly. Despite an occasional bout of nerves, it really didn’t scare me that much so I signed up for a public speaking class in order to meet one of my elective courses in college. It really was a fun class and was divided equally between men and women. About half of the men were on the university football team, I guess they needed to know how to speak to the media, or they may have aspired to become sportscaster after their illustrious careers. I took the class because I thought it would be an easy A. Most of the class members were communications majors and the course was required for graduate. Over the duration of the class, we were required to deliver approximately five speeches and had a number of assignments on how to prepare a speech. These were all important to your grade, but all of these together weren’t as important as the final exam. The good and bad part of the final is there was really no way to prepare. It was a two day, four hour event – and most of the time all we did was listen to the other students giving their speeches. The way it worked was that just before your turn you walked to the front of the class and picked a piece of paper out of a large bowl. On that piece of paper was a topic that would decide your fate or seal your ultimate doom.

We were given a few moments to collect your thought or to clean up the accident that you just had. Then you presented an extemporaneous speech that would basically decide your grade. We were graded on three criteria – composure, delivery and audience reaction. The content of the speech had little or no importance because you had no time to research the facts and details of the chosen topic.

When it was my turn, I approached the menacing bowl at the front of the room with trepidation - like everyone else. Hesitantly I picking my topic from the bowl, it read “The evils of Gossip.” What? I thought for a moment then I had the perfect idea. I approached the front of the class and started my remarks by saying; “What’s faster than a speeding bullet and sharper than a two edged sword?” I then hesitated, answered my own question by saying - “A woman’s tongue.” What happened was exactly what I expected; I received an instant reaction from the class, which was one of the judged criteria. The men cheered and laughed. The women were visibly offended and booed loudly. I proceeded to talk about how women were totally to blame for the problem of gossip and pointed out that gossip not only hurts people, but also wastes time and money as it destroys productivity in the business world. Now remember, facts were not important – I had no obligation to prove my hypotheses, I just had to present it. At the end of this impromptu masterpiece the men in the class gave me a standing ovation, the woman took it for what it was worth an opportunity to ace a college final. The professor then did something she said she had never done before; she gave the next speaker – a woman, the chance to pick a new topic or give the opposite view of my speech. Because the class was already worked up, she would have been crazy to choose another topic. I don’t remember what she said and it really didn’t matter because I had accomplished my objective and nailed the speech and in turn the class. I’ve given hundred of speeches since that day but never made up facts to get a reaction or in this case a grade.

Arrested --

In one of my stories I claim to be a nice guy – and that I have never been arrested. I encourage anyone that reads my stories and has a different opinion or recollection to let me know so if I’ve forgotten something it can be corrected. So I wasn’t too surprised my daughter called me on the recollection of my regurgitation of stories over the years, saying she recalls me telling a story about when I was arrested – so here it is and you decide. I’ve been taken into custody or detained three times in my life by law enforcement. One time I was given my rights – and there is no doubt they didn’t like my reaction! But I’ll save that one for last. First I’ll spend time on the other two. One of these is mentioned in one of my others stories and I don’t think toilet papering is a major crime, it is treated a little more severe when it takes place in a small town because there’s not much else going on, and when the police have a chance to be called into action it’s a serious matter to them. The reason we got caught is because half the school was there, which is too many to keep quite – just a thought if you’re making plans. When the police showed up they chose the four most vocal to talk too that would always include me. During the interrogation it became known that my father was the local judge - this required a lecture of what my dad would think of my involvement, which all of us knew the answer to that before the discourse. The heat was turned from me as soon as he realized that the city councilman’s son and the major’s son were in the car as well. He turned to the fourth young man and said who’s your dad the governor? Get out of here no one will believe this. We did have to clean up the toilet paper but no arrests or records with obtained. The next one was a little more serious and could have gotten someone in trouble. One of our extra circular activities included a fire extinguisher, this was one of those that shot water and became a tool for drenching innocent bystanders alone the side of the road. I don’t remember who was driving but it wasn’t me. Some of our victims decided to give chase and the driver didn’t want to be caught. He made a couple of illegal turns and failed to stop when the lights and signs said that he should – during this chase we recognized those following us were actually people we knew and so we pulled over to give them a hard time – by this time three cop cars were in a relentless pursuit, which isn’t good. This earned us a trip to the police station and a call to our parents – but no arrests and records were earned, but we did lose our fire extinguisher and I got grounded at home. Now for the feast of resistance! One day at school I received a note that I should report to the office as soon as possible. As I left class and started in that direction I met one of my best friends walking the same way as well. I asked him where he was going and he told me he received the same notification. When we got there we were taken to the principles office – we had no idea what was going on, maybe we were getting a citizenship award or student of the month. The principles office was empty, but not for long. When the principle entered he was accompanied by two uniformed police officers. Before anything else was said they began to give us our rights – now I don’t know what your reaction would have been but I started to laugh. This didn’t go over very well with the three adults but my friend looked at me and started to join in. Now I’ve watched Perry Mason enough times to know that I could ask what we were being charged with. They started to ask a couple of questions and I said no – what is it you thinking we’ve done. Apparently there had been a series of thefts and locker break-in at the school. Now maybe we should have called our lawyers or at least my dad, but I knew I had nothing to hide. My friend looked at me in bewilderment - then I figured out what situation had caused their suspision that we were the harden criminals that deserved such treatment. There was a young lady our age that always had plenty of candy in her locker and we always made an effort to beg or prey on her generosity. She decided, and who knows why, to give us her combination and she told us to help ourselves to what ever she had to offer. Now this is like giving the town drunk a key to the liquor store. I looked at our bloodthirsty vultures trying to break the case of the century and told them if we were reported in a locker at a certain location and we're together that this young lady had given us permission and that we were getting candy. This information required a huddle and then they excused themselves for a conference. As I recall we stayed in that office for almost a half-hour more as they questioned the young lady involved. After the cross examination of all involved we were released to our freedom – but no arrests were given of records earned. Now I can see why my daughter wrote the comment she did – but I don’t think I will change the other story for now.

IQ Test --

Being raised in a family with ten children has its advantages and disadvantages. It's easy to get lost if you want too. Despite each of us having so much in common, with so many people to do things you kind of evolve into your own little specialties. One of our sisters became the meat connoisseur; before any of us received a piece of meat at dinner she got the first choice. When questioned why, we were told she didn't like fat. I guess this meant the rest of us did. For some reason I don't remember any wars over gristle or sucking on a piece of fat for an extended period of time.

I believed that one of my brothers was the smartest of the group. For the majority of his life he hasn't disappointed that observation. If you had to choose the one with the dullest bulb - I would have been in the running. In today's school system I would have been earmarked "Special Education." This would have been because there is special funding for the kids in this category. I had a speech impediment, (which I will talk about in a later story). I took special classes and just barely seemed to slide by. So now you know why I was so excited to talk to my brother one day and found out that he had taken an IQ test on the Internet. Apparently he had proven his intelligence and done extremely well, way above the national average. Now I had always thought that these kinds of tests on the Internet were more like the shell games I have seen people playing on the street of New York. The game was really easy and everyone got it right until some guy decided to bet money on his choice, then who knows where that ball ended up. With each one of the test results you could order an evaluation to better understand how smart you really were. This sounds more and more like a shell game to me.

In order to confirm his family supremacy he gave me the web site and told me to check it out. The test didn't take that long and was a lot more interesting than what I was doing at work. There was a bit of anxiety as I was ready to push the final key and discover just how stupid I was in comparison to the rest of the world. Oh well, what did I had to lose; I was already married and had a bunch of kids that couldn't disown me and they weren't old enough to get jobs on their own. Finally I pushed the button; the computer started acting like it is tallying up my total, minus a few points because I was stupid enough to take the test in the first place. Then the final results - I had beaten my genius brother by one point.

All right, this isn't anything like the shell game - it was true! I was not only smart but all of the special education crap was bogus. I should go back to Adams Elementary and tell those stupid teachers they were wrong. Man I'm smarter than most of the country. Now to call my brother - there was a new intellectual chief among the family. After breaking the news and giving my brother my educated opinion, it was only fair to ask him what he thought. "Sounds like some shell game to me," he said.

Giving Blood --

There are a number of acts that are selfless and help those that can’t help themselves. These feats are many and can change the way you look at life and your existence. I wish I could say I have done so many of these selfless acts that I can’t number them but that wouldn’t be true, at least not being able to number the different areas that fall into this category. One of these events that I have done often is to donate blood. At least twice a year there has been a non-profit organization that has set up shop to conveniently entice would be donors to contribute. These locations are normally in the same proximity making it easy to find. In our city they are usually at churches or at the local university and high schools.

I remember the first time I gave blood. I think you have to be at least seventeen years old to donate. Giving blood isn't that easy for everyone, some are afraid of the needle, which is the size of a sprinkler pipe. Maybe it's the worker that acts like its no big deal and crams it in like their drilling for oil. Maybe it's the questions you have to answer in order to qualify to give this life saving substance. Every time I go they give me the list of things that disqualifies a donor, as I read them I can't believe anyone does those kinds of things. I’m sure it’s on purpose, but they also try to confuse you by asking the same questions twelve times with a different twist. Last time I answered the questions I felt like I needed to go take a shower and review the itinerary from our last cruise. If you haven't given blood before you have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm not disputing the need for these kinds of questions - if I were the one receiving the blood I wouldn't want getting it from someone who failed the quiz in order to donate. After you’ve answered the questions they give you a mini physical which includes your pulse, temperature, some kind of test will a drop of blood from your finger. Then if that works out all right - it’s time to do the deed.

Usually I don't care which arm they take blood from; I go with whichever chair is available first. Each chair has an attachment on the right or left side where you put your arm in order to extract this life sustaining liquid. I always enjoy it more when the person next to you is starting the same time, that's so you can race and see who can fill their bag first. Of course they have no idea you're racing, that would be a little weird. After you given your blood they patch you up with a bandage of some sort. You have the choice of a number of colors - blue, red, green and some times pink. The problem is they are florescent and they wrap it around your arm until there’s no more feeling. After your done, it's time to stand up, which can be a big concern as some people get real dizzy and it can scare away those waiting in line. Then you get to go over to the treat table to load up on juices, cookies, and some times trail mix. Our group usually has Fig Newton's, which is the only time I ever eat them, when I see them in the store I almost always think about giving blood. Don't get me wrong, I love Fig Newton's it's just no one else at home does, so if I bought them I would have to eat the whole bag. After this mini feast, it's time to walk out with your florescent arm in tow.

When you are giving blood they always give you a few instructions for later - don't lift anything heavy or don't do any strenuous activities. These instructions were the reason I decided to give blood in the first place, that might sound a little strange – but if it leads you to do good that’s a great thing. When they announced the blood drive at my high school, it was in the spring of my senior year. I was eighteen and could make my own decisions if I wanted to donate or not. It was the beginning of the baseball season, which meant conditioning. We had a coach that loved to make us run, I think just for his own enjoyment. During homeroom they explained the procedure and consequences, it’s then that I receives a brilliant manifestation, which usually didn’t happen in any of my classes. There is only one thing that could get me out of practice that beautiful spring afternoon, a florescent arm bandage!

Now like all spectacular ideas - they need to be shared with those with whom you love, or at least with a few friends so you will have company in your glory. So there we sat in the bleachers drinking water, which is what you do after giving blood, watching the rest of the team run their guts out. Now the coach wasn’t real happy that half of his starters were getting suntans and not subjected to his absolute rule. I have given blood ever since.

That non-profit medical organization that would set up a location for donating a few times each year was taken over by the Red Cross. Not much changed except they never kept track of the number of times I’d given blood with the first organization. Which doesn't matter, but it would have been fun too know. I would estimate I have donated blood a couple of times a year for close to thirty years. If correct that could be over five or six gallons of blood. I believe giving blood is one of the most selfless acts of service an ordinary person can do. I have never received any money or special award, just Fig Newton's and juices. I don't know who has ever received my blood or if it has saved any ones life. I just know that our bodies are able to replenish our supply and the pain or inconvenience is minor in comparison to the benefit it provides those that need it. In deed it is worth the sacrifice. I also know that once in a while it can get you out of something even worse like conditioning.

Big Head –-

I’ve always looked ten years older than I am. This is a problem, especially at the age of five and entering kindergarten. I’m sure it might have also given a couple of parents indigestion when their sixteen year old daughter was going out with some guy that wouldn’t have been ID’ed at the local tavern. The feature that has been my shortcoming is my head – it is huge! Over the years this has led to the nicknames of Dumbo and Potato Head, which evolved into Taters or Tate, which I rather enjoyed. Everyone wants a good nickname – it means that you have arrived. Now you see I said a good nickname. There were a few kids that had terrible nicknames and they sometimes eventually evolve to something that is tolerable. A great example of this was the kid that was called “Fat Dog” which eventually evolved into FD. Now FD isn’t the name most kids would choose, but it’s better than the alterative. The only reason I bring it up is he is the one that gave me my nickname. I think he gave it too me because I still called him “Fat Dog” when everyone else had moved on to FD. When people know your nickname they usually want to know how you got it. Not many people have ever asked me, which is kind of a confirmation in it’s own right. One year I got two Mr. Potato Head games for my birthday and I also have been given a tie with about thirty different Potato Heads on it. The one thing I can’t do that the real Mr. Potato Head can, is change my features with different pieces. If possible this would have solved my ear problem, which was the reason for my short-term dumbo name. My ears are in reality proportionately the size they need to be for what else I have been given, which would also make them a little large. When I was playing High School football I got a brand new helmet because they had it special ordered – which was worth the money because they could rent it out as a billboard. Some times my head gets in the way, in a moment of relaxation I have laid my head on my wives lap, only to be told it wasn’t that comfortable for her. We have a friend that is a mortician, I asked him to cut my head off after my demise to see how much it really weights. I think he said something about some kind of laws. Maybe I can donate my body to science or a medical school so such a test could be accomplished. If in reality it does weight the fifty pounds I have estimated, it may be some type of record. Another problem is the weight tables for ones height. I’m considered overweight when in reality the head factor should be considered. My wife has pointed out that the extra bulge around my waist has nothing to do with my head. Contraire – my beautiful young looking wife! Do you remember the “Weebles?” Remember they wobble but don’t fall down. The extra weight around my waist is in reality a counterbalance intended to make sure I don’t fall and hurt myself. The positive possibility of the size of my head, that isn’t considered much, is the amount of brain or gray matter that maybe lurking within this untapped cranium. If properly stimulated it could awaken at anytime with amazing results. Another blessing that has transpired is my loss of hair, if it was still there it would make my head appear even larger, It’s amazing how these things all seem to work themselves out. We have been told that the business of improving ones looks is a multi-billion dollar industry, breast implants, nose jobs, facelifts – maybe I would be more excited if they could reduce the size of my head. I saw a Gilligan’s Island episode where some witchdoctors could shrink heads, but I think it had to be off your body first. But aren’t you glade that all of us have unique features and look different so we can tell each other a part. You can just see me from a little further away.

Recycling-- Published 12/2009 HJ

Technically I was born in the fifties, now those two and a half months hold no recollection in my fleeting memory. As a matter of fact I have very little recollection until the mid sixties and most of them are vague and not pertinent to this story. Come the end of the groovy sixties and the early seventies is when the glory of my existence began to take shape. Through the Woodstock era of hippies, peace signs, Vietnam War demonstrations and the advice to “Make Love not War” began an environmental movement. This wasn’t the first time that recycling was possible, but a time when it started to get some wind behind its wings. But even at that time it wasn’t vogue or socially responsible to recycle, most people weren’t too concerned about global warming or saving the environment. That doesn’t mean we didn’t do it – it was just in fewer areas and for different reasons.

Being the eighth of ten children we seemed to recycle clothes quite a bit, we just called them hand-me-downs. As boys this was no big deal, as a matter of fact no one ever noticed if I wore the same clothes five days in a row, let alone if your brother wore it a year ago. But with girls it’s a whole different ballgame – I can’t wear that! I wore it three weeks ago. Six of my siblings were girls and if they had coordinated it correctly they could have acted like they had quite the wardrobe – I guess it wouldn’t have worked because they weren’t all the same size at the same time. This happened with our kids as well, which normally was all right, but occasionally one of our daughters wanted a hand-me-down without her sister’s permission. This would happen after the older one had already left for school and the other one had every intention to be home and changed before her sister came back, which didn’t always work as planned which led to an emotional melt down. The melt down usually come from the one that didn’t wear the outfit and now can’t for who knows how long. A co-worker told me that now-days the boys act more like the girls of old, we only have one son and as far as I know he never tried to wear his sister’s clothes. His sons try to wear each others clothes with out permission and the melt down can lead to fist-to-cuffs.

Recycling also happened with pop bottles – everyone recycled them because they gave you a nickel to do so. Of course I didn’t understand that the pop cost more than it should have and in reality it was my nickel I was getting back. The greatest is when you found a bottle that you didn’t buy - it’s like finding free money. When I had one I needed to protect it or my brother would cash it in for me. One year I was part of a organization that had a pop bottle drive to raise money – I guess if your planning to give something in the first place you might as well give pop bottles then you don’t have to pack them into the store yourself.

Another area was newspapers – you just needed a ton of them to make a difference. Every non-profit organization needs a way to raise money. Whether they’re trying to change the world by discovering a cure for cancer or a scout troop trying to change the lives of a few young boys around a campfire, there is a need to raise money.

Long before there were blue bins at everyone’s house to deposit your papers in, our scoutmasters came up with a brilliant idea. We built a shack that was about four or five feet square and about six feet high that had a swinging door on the front panel allowing anyone to donate their newspapers to the Boy Scout of America. These papers were then collected every other Saturday and taken to a company to make insulation. The problem was when the papers were deposited they would scatter in the shed making a mess. It took a lot of time to sort and stack the papers in preparation to be transported to the proper location. After a couple of months of this, our leaders came up with another great idea - I think they thought it was great because it made less work for them. The shack was in front of Smith’s market on fourth north and was approximately half way between the Junior High and our homes. Since we were walking home anyway, they needed volunteers to drop by the shack each day to stack the papers, making it quicker and easier to pick them up and allowed more papers to be deposited.

Now for the most part twelve-year-old boys don't volunteer for anything, unless food is involved, and this responsibility was to be done without the leaders that could provide such a treat. So you will understand that after a few weeks of pulling teeth for volunteers the scoutmasters were surprised at troop meetings that almost every scout was raising their hands to take a turn. Now at first I'm sure they thought we had rounded a corner in life and were becoming responsible citizens. Now deep down we were great responsible citizens in the making. But, at this time there was something else motivating the masses.

If I recall at that time USU had around ten to twelve thousand students. With more than half the students being male, occasionally some of them would look for a little entertainment or light reading. For that matter, with all the reading at school, many decided that they just wanted to look at some pictures more than read the articles, some of which folded out to be larger than the magazines itself. Now many such magazines seem to come out quite often, and after you have looked at one for a while some people wanted to get a new one. The question then arises what do you do with the old one? Being young intelligent minds and looking to the future you can understand why many were environmentally conscious and wanted to recycle or make insulation. Well the best way to do that was to donate to troop 5's newspaper shed. Why throw it away when you can enlighten the minds of twelve and thirteen year old boys trying to make money for their upcoming scout camp.

When it became common knowledge among the scouts that the college students were concerned about the environment, you can see why we scouts wanted to get involved and take our turn stacking papers on a daily basis. This worked well until our scoutmasters changed the locks for some reason, then it just took longer on Saturday mornings to stack the papers with their supervision. I'm sure it was just so we would do it right the first and only time.

Class? --

This writing thing has become something I rather enjoy – it’s not an obsession thing yet, but what the heck it’s replaced a lot of T.V. watching. Now don’t worry I still waste plenty of time doing that. I’m the first to admit that my stories have much to be desired and need some help – but where does an old dog go to learn new tricks? My family is already sick of my constant dissertations and asking for their opinions. Thus the reason I’m contemplating taking a class, I’ve been told many times that I need professional help, I just don’t think they meant this type. Now I don’t care about verbs – nouns – adjectives, I don’t even know the difference anymore. I guess if it makes sense and sounds good that’s all that matters. As I researched my options it came down to three: 1^st – There’s the Community Continuing Education classes. The local public school district gives these, but there seem to be only two choices – English as a second language, I have a hard time with it being my first language – and what looks like a basic class to help people to pass their GED. Now there’s nothing wrong with these two classes but they don’t meet the itch I’m seeking to scratch. But that Dutch Oven Cooking class looks pretty cool – maybe if I don’t win the Pulitzer Prize for writing, do they have one for cooking? 2^nd – There’s a local technical school, now they do have some English classes, but tech school aren’t designed to inspirer literary ignoramuses – part of one class was writing techniques, that seems like they would make me diagram a sentence, that’s an old trick that I just forgot a long time ago. Then I tried the local university; they have oodles of different options – basics, advanced, composition, foreign literature and then course number 3440 - non-fiction creative writing. In the explanation it even said that it would take your writings too a publishable finish. This is exactly what I’m looking for. It’s not a long class, 1-½ hours twice a week – or in university lingo, three credit hours. Now I just had to figure out how to register – apparently you can take classes for credit or not for credit. Now because I don’t want to take all the other classes why would I take it for credit? – I just want to learn how to finish the final masterpiece. Now the cost - $930, what! For one class? I guess the more credits you take the less it is per hour – but $930 is worth more than the old family van I still drive to work. Now my daughter works for the admissions office, so she decided to see if there was some sort of discount. There was, but only under two conditions; 1^st –you’re an employee of the university and then you can sit in for free. 2^nd – if your sixty-five years old or older you can take the class for free as well. So it’s from $900 to free. Well I have fifteen years before I can save a few bucks or I have to get a new job. If it cost $900 dollars for a twenty year old and free at sixty-five, shouldn’t it be $600 at thirty-five and $300 at fifty? I think I had a couple of story problem in elementary school math that taught me that logic. I might have gone for the $300, but $900 is a little rich for my blood – unless they could guarantee the publishable finish could be sold for as much as the outlay. The reason I’m writing these thing is just for fun and my wife would much rather spend the $900 at Disneyland rather than my signing-up for some class that fuels my evolving obsession. I guess the age-induced reduction would make sense if they had a lot of empty seats in the class. This is what hotels do, a discounted room is better than a vacant one. Maybe I should consider a tutor – then I could stop the tuition at whatever level I think it’s worth. When I was younger and went to school for free I hated to write, now that that’s not an option I think it would be great. I wonder if Adam and Eve considered eating the forbidden fruit before they were told they couldn’t. Either way I think I’ll still press forward in my mediocrity, at least for the next fifteen years then I will see what help the learned can really give me.

Early to Bed? – -

All of us have heard Benjamin Franklins famous quote “early to bed and early to rise makes a man health wealthy and wise.” The older I get the more I understand this concept. My teenagers are the last ones to want to go to bed early, and if we would let them they would sleep-in until noon. Maybe that’s why they’re so poor and are always asking for money. Despite this habit they seem to be quite wise – at least they think they know everything- just ask them. Over the years we have tried to stay up until they come home from their nightly activities – this is most difficult on the weekend when their curfews are a little later. The older children correctly point out that the younger ones get away with murder compared to what they did. I think over time we understand a little more what are the important battle that need to be fought – and to not fight every battle like I use too. For the most part staying up late has been my job and I rather enjoy it. Maybe that’s why I’m so poor, but I don’t have anyone to ask for money. Lori doesn’t mind it either because she likes to know what they have been up too. But she’s not a late night person and finds it hard to stay up too long. Now I wish old Ben had said early to sleep not early to bed – if that was the case I might be a wealthy man. I like to sit up late reading or listening to music on the coach waiting for the kids; sometimes it’s just nice enjoying the silence. The older I get the more trouble I seem to have completing the task. I sit down with good intentions, next thing you know I’m sawing logs – or reading the inside of my eyelids. Occasionally when the kids get home they have a hard time waking me up. A few times I’ve woken up at two or three in the morning needing to go to bed, I don’t think this qualifies for the early to raise part of the equation. Neither does the fact I need to get up to go to the bathroom all the time. This doesn’t only happen just at night – we sit down to watch a movie or a T.V. program and next thing you know I need to push remind it to see what is going on. I’m sorry to admit it, it also happen at church, I’ve been told I’ve missed a couple of great sermons, but I’ve also been told I was the lucky one as I’ve missed out on a few travel logs or ramblings. At least I haven’t been like Eutyclus – the young man talked about in Acts chapter twenty, the Apostle Paul spoke so long he fell a sleep and fell from his third story perch to his death. Thankfully Paul had the authority or power to raise him from the dead. Oh well – these aren’t the things Ben was talking about. In my case I really do have a clearer mind and can get more done early in the morning. This is very obvious as well when I’m saying my prayers – during those late night prayers you'd think I’m reviewing my whole life only to relies it’s hard to sleep on your knees. Occasionally half way through I wonders what it is I’ve even said. But in the morning I seem to get a little more inspiration and direction – I can think out my choices and problems with a clearer mind and resolve. Benjamin Franklin was a brilliant writer, inventor and statesman – how can I argue with his experience of what part of the day is the most productive.

Mt. Rushmore –-

There are a lot of famous spring break spots – South Florida, Cancun, San Padre Island, Las Vegas and much more. Normally they all have a couple of things in common – they are warm and there are a lot of other kids as well. Because of so many kids, there are always a few that are willing to do anything – I mean anything. This is the last place parents want to take their kids - if the kids wanted to go the last people they would want to be seen with would be their parents. But there are tons of other locations that would suffice – there are thousands of miles of warm beaches.

One spring break we came up with the perfect location and mode of transportation. We decided to make the great America trek that everyone should do in his or her lifetime. Mt. Rushmore – now because we have a big family and grandma and grandpa decided to tag along with uncle Donny we didn’t want to take two cars. Thus the reason we rented a fifteen-passenger van. One of our kids was overseas for a schooling experience, so there were nine of us. We could have gotten away with a smaller van but the extra space was a wonderful blessing – can you say sleep city baby? Because the adults were willing to sit up front and close together it left the back four rows for five people.

The problem in the Rocky Mountains and driving to the Black Hill of South Dakota is the weather in that area of the country doesn’t know if it’s spring or not. The problem my daughter saw is that this trip was headed north not south. From our house this trip is a dozy – farther than Disneyland and the sunny beaches of Southern California. Which would have been higher on most of the children’s – check that - all of the kids list of possible locations.

We stopped a couple of times each way and stayed twice in Casper Wyoming. It a little over half way from home, but most important is that I got a great deal on the rooms. We stopped at Independence Rock - kind of a cool spot that explorers and pioneers stopped to carve their names in the rock and to see if there was a message from those that went before. It got it’s name because those headed west needed to be there before the fourth of July in order to make it safely through the mountain passes ahead before winter storms could over came them.

The second day was a shorter dive into the Black Hills – we drove northeast and stopped at Jewel Cave. I love exploring any cave that has an elevator that takes you to the bottom. This is also when the weather started to be a factor on our journey. It started to snow as we approached the cave and then after the couple of hours under ground we returned to the surface to find a couple of inches of white stuff in the parking lot and on the van. Our then fourteen year old still talks about her lack of enthusiasm - sunny beaches or snowy canyons? We then drove to our home base Rapid City – we stayed at a new Hampton Inn that was really nice, I got a great deal on the rooms. Maybe that’s because there was no one else there – they had all gone south or had checked the weather reports. The indoor pool was great and the huge waterslide was a big hit. The only problem was that the water was cold – oh well I spent the whole time in the hot tub.

The next morning it was time to finish the journey to this massive American icon. We drove the thirty some odd miles passing all the tourist attractions and shops that were all closed since no one come to Mt. Rushmore at this time of year. We’re almost there! More than fifteen hours of driving, not to mention the ride home that is still ahead. Grandma and Grandpa had driven seven more hours just to get to our house to start the trek.

It’s kind of cloudy – but we’re having fun! We paid the entrance fee and went to the visitor’s center. Wait where’s the carving of the presidents? Behind the clouds! – Really? We couldn’t see a thing – nota – nope – nothing. We sat though a couple of films and displays – most of which I slept through. The rangers told us there have been times it stayed this way all day. Wow – did you really have to say that?

After about an hour and a half we found out that there is a trail that goes to the base of the monument – let’s do that maybe we can see something. We took a couple of pictures to prove that we saw a cloud on a mountain. As we made our way to the base – there I think that’s George Washington. It started to clear and yes it’s magnificent - we could see all four of them.

By the time we got back to the lookout it was as clear as a bell and we could now see the monument in its full glory. We had planned one day to see the mountain, we could have changed our plans and spent another, but that would have been a long ways to see a cloud! Our trip ended up being great, most of us still talk positively after all this time except our then fourteen year old – I think her friends came back from spring break with tans not frost bite.

Mom’s passing --

This story is one of religious significance and something that is one of my most precious memories. There’s a colonial children’s pray that begins - Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, should I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. The death of a loved one can be one of the most challenging and soul-searching events someone can go through. The way it happens can bring extra closer or leave thoughts of I should have or could have done certain thing before the unexpected event. When my father passed away it was after a seven-year battle with Alzheimer’s, there were no quality goodbyes or a chance to rectify regrets or sorrows. His passing was in reality a celebration, the freeing of his soul or spirit from his prison of confusion and forgetfulness. But the thoughts I’m sharing aren’t of his life or death but those of my wonderful mother. She was a widow for ten years and during that time she never lost her love or desires to be with my father again. She lived a full life and continued to enjoy her family and the events that were important to her. But after close to fifty years of a loving companionship there is no way to fill the void and loneliness that comes to anyone that loses their eternal companion. With such a large family I think most of us thought there was no time of possibility to be lonely, but that loneliness wasn’t because of not having someone to associate with - but for the loving interaction that comes with years of pains, joys and the personal relationship that is developed or earned over time. One of the tender mercies of my life was the night that I went to my mothers house to borrow her quilting frames for my daughter. We sat in her living room and talked for more than an hour, she bore her soul about how she missed my father and we talked about old times, we laughed and shared our love for each other. This was less than a week before she passed away from an unexpected heart attack. It was the last time I was able to talk with my mom. That hour reminded me of the times we use to sit up late together watching old movies, playing games and talking. That evening will be one that I will never forget – I’m so glad I took the time to spend with her instead of just running in and taking the frame as I had intended. Upon relaying this experience to my brothers and sisters you could see the envy and wanting they shared to have one last event like this. I wasn’t the last of the family to talk to her before her death but I was the last one to spend time talking about what she was feeling and the desires to be with dad. A couple of days after her passing I was up late preparing a talk to give at her funeral. I was struggling to formulate the message I thought needed to share. For years we had a family newsletter that all of us were suppose to write in. My wife kept them in a certain location down stairs. But that night I went to a cupboard in the kitchen and found three of these letters not in the proper location - all three were written months or years apart, each included a letter to the family from our mom in which she bore her testimony of the Savior and the truthfulness of the gospel. She expressed her love for each of us and talked about how proud she was of the way we had all turned out. I received the strongest feeling that this is what she wanted me to say at her funeral. At that moment out of the corner of my eye I saw her in the room smiling and knew that she was influencing the preparation of my talk to express her love and faith to those that she loved one last time. This event was only for a short moment, but one of the most spiritual event of my life. My faith of an after life is as strong as any belief that I have. I can envision the embrace and wonderful reunion that she had with my father and how they spent time renewing their love and excitement of being together again. Their lives have been the greatest influences in mine – their faith and example are the shining star to leads me in my darkest moments. Indeed they continue to influence my chooses and faith and will forever.

Nieces and Nephews –-

I talk a lot about my family. I have a lot of great stories about being a son, brother, cousin, husband and father – but more people call me uncle than any of the others. Well let me rephrase that – more could call me uncle, most of them call me Paul. Let me explain how many people this includes. On my side of the family my brothers and sisters have fifty-one children. Twenty-seven boys and twenty-four girls, when you add my four girls and one boy the numbers even out at twenty-eight a piece. One of my older sisters has been married twice and he new husband has three children from his first marriage – so when you add up all the columns then minus my kids (because they don’t call me uncle) there are fifty-four from my side of the family.

Now for the other side – Lori’s parent have twenty-one grandchildren, sixteen girls and five boys. When you add the sixteen kids that aren’t mine to the fifty-four on my side of the family – Lori and I have SEVENTY nieces and nephews. Now I’m not going to get into the ones that are already married and how their spouses can call us that too, or the fact that many of them have children of their own and what are their kids suppose to call me?

The part that is important is the roll that I have played in each of their lives. That roll has been drastically different on each side of the family. Being one of the youngest in my family I have nieces and nephews that are in the mid to last thirties – when they were littler I was the rowdy one, the one that would get them all wound up then let their parent try to settle them down after I was gone. We also have lived closer to my family over the years so they have seen me far more than those in Lori’s family.

In her family I’m an old man and there are uncles far younger than I am and who have taken the rowdy or awesome status that I once held on my side. That side still has babies being born and we have to go to Chucky Cheese and Disney Movies, the majority of them are still in elementary and middle school. Get together are more subdued and far less competitive than the Champlin reunions or get togethers.

The one that has the hardest time at my wife’s family function is our son because of the lack of testosterone – the closest male cousin is four years younger and there is a huge difference on four years as a teenage. At the Champlin functions there’s tons of male competitive energy – and we never see hide or hair of him. All of these kid's – teens - adults have special events and milestones in their lives. They have become old hat in my family, so if you can’t attend one of these events it really that that big of a deal. It may be that you can’t attend because you have such an event yourselves. But in my wife’s family it is still new and so it’s a big deal and if you can’t go you better have a note from your doctor or lose one of your appendages.

These kids are the same as most kids, some of them think the world revolves around them and others you wouldn’t hear a peep from them. Some are ugly and look just like me including the loss of hair – when it comes down to it looks don’t matter neither does what they do for a living or what they are studying in school. What matters the most is that they are family and we love each one of them despite their strengths and weaknesses.

Friends? –-

For the most part I think I’m a nice guy. I’ve never been arrested; I haven’t picked a fight for thirty-five years unless you count church basketball. I guess I’m quite opinionated and a little sarcastic – but I don’t think I force it on anyone. Maybe it’s just hard to be around some people for an extended period of time.

I’ve had a lot of friends in my lifetime – the ultimate word is had. Now before you start feeling all sorry for me I still have friends and some of them are ones that I want to associate with. But some of them are outright vocal that they’re my wife’s friends and I just come with the package.

Women just seem to have closer and longer-term relationships than men do. We had a group of friends that we use to go out to dinner with on occasion, after a couple of moves we still went out to dinner but it just not as often as before. It seemed that every time it happened I was the instigator – so at dinner I announced the next time we go out one of them needed to set it up and give us a call.

Well that was eight years ago, and literally we haven’t seen one of the couples since then. The other couple we bump into once very few years but they have never given us a call. I can envision their ride home from dinner that night – ALL RIGHT! He’s not going to call us again. In their defense we did move a couple of times, but we have always been with in an hour of each other. I wish this were the only example that I had.

There is a local politician that acts like we are the best of friends until the election is over then I might see him in four years. When he ran again I got a call from his wife and she wanted to have me write a letter to the editor for his campaign. I couldn’t because his opponent was a friend of mine as well.

I had a co-worker that I talked to a couple times a month for more than ten years; we even went to lunch at least once a month. He got a promotion and moved to another location and I’ve talked to him twice in five years – both times I made the call.

My two best friends in high school each live within a couple miles of our house, but we haven’t hung out or done something as a couple since high school. Some people could argue this is a gender thing because my wife doesn’t seem to have the same problem, but maybe it just a me problem. She sees someone that she hasn’t seen for a while and they start up right where they left off.

My wife has been going swimming with one friend three days a week for more than fifteen years. On more than one occasion I’ve asked her friend what she wants for birthdays and Christmas, I think they talk about every thing. I think there are some simple answers to this problem; my best friend by far is my wife and I really don’t need many more. I think this is true for most men, so I don’t make those friendships a top priority. Women on the other hand need to have close friends that think like they do and have the same interests.

My wife belongs to a quilting group or I think they call it a guild, they get together and make parts of each other’s quilts and talk about the kids and what’s going on in their lives. When men get together we talk about anything but feelings and what’s going on their personal lives. Thank goodness for sports! I grew up in a family with six sisters and my wife has four sisters and only one brother. That mean there are a bunch of women that will tell each other everything – the greatest is when they get on the birthing process. No I don’t want to trade them places, but I don’t want to hear about it either. The bottom line is that I have a lot of acquaintances that would say we’re friends of some sort – but don’t worry about getting together.

Ugly Brother -

Coming from a large family it’s amazing how much we are alike. I’ve been told genetics have a huge part to do with how we look, sound and act and even what our personalities trait may be. But there are a lot of things that are learned and are the results of our own choices. What we do with the circumstances we are placed in will dictate the outcome of our happiness and the directions in which we progress. I have three brothers and despite the fact we all have made our individual choices there are a lot of similarities between way we act and function in certain situations. I use to think they were pretty ugly until I realized I looked just like them. One day I got a call from my older brother who said he couldn’t do it anymore – I wanted to know what the “it” was. He said, “I can’t be nice to all these idiots that think I’m you.” Now this is hard to take because he is eight years older than I am – this is kind of like the story I told about my head and that I look ten years older than I am. One day I got a call from an acquaintance of mine that I don’t see very often that was a little offended. I’ve offended a lot of people in my life especially when I played sports, but I had no idea what he was talking about. He called to give me a hard time because I was so rude. He'd seen me at a local store and waved, apparently I didn’t wave back. He thought about it for a couple of days and it started to bug him. Now this is someone I actually like and would have waved because I wanted to, not just to be cordial. I started to apologize and then asked when it happened. He told me and I realized it was when I was out of town at a funeral more than a hundred miles away. I told him my excuse and who it most likely had been – then I asked him to do me a favorite, next time it happens walk up to me and slap me across the side of the head. I believe this is the perfect solution! First if it's me and I’m that rude then I deserved it and if not it would pay back one of my brothers for and the abuse they gave me over the years – either way it would make a good story for the next reunion. Now when we are all together you can tell us apart – I’m taller and better looking than the others and the one just older than me has more hair. The two oldest don’t have any more hair but they would have a big lump on their rear ends because of how money they have in their wallets. Now we all must have OK personalities because none of us married ugly women and for the most part our kids are cute. For being cousins some of them could be mistaken for brothers and sisters. Most of them have one thing in common they’re embarrassed by their dad’s. All of us are pretty competitive and we use to play sports together – when the kids started getting older it was them against the old farts. The bigger and stronger they got the weaker and slower we became and forget about being able to jump anymore, so we had to use other tactics to compete. Now they think it dirty, but it’s just that we know how to throw them off their game. But this is a little off the subject. The reality is that my brothers are great guys, men, friends and someone if I’m mistaken for is all right by me. They have become some of my idols, and someday I hope to be more like each of them especially the lump on their rear ends.

Humanitarian Service –

I’ve already written a story on Community Service – as I have donated a half a billion hours to a number of organizations. These are great and might get you listed on a program or plaque. Humanitarian Service is different in my eyes; this is when you do something directly to help someone else in need or who is less fortunate. This doesn’t make you noble or better than others, but it sure makes you feel good if you do it for the right reason and with a pure heart. There are a number of ways to do this; sometimes it’s by giving financial assistance to curtain organization that span the world looking for disasters and those needing assistance. For many years we have given such donations almost on a monthly basis. But these can also be done in every location in the world and especially where you are. I also love it when I’m able to do it anonymously. This isn’t the view of all philanthropists, we live in a small University town and half of the buildings on campus have the same name on it. Now I’m glad that they are willing to give to higher education and if I had that much money maybe I would do the same thing. One billionaire also donated for a building and named it after his father-in-law that didn’t have much money. My first anonymous humanitarian service wasn’t even my idea. My father knew of a family whose circumstances were desperate, so he bought a couple of bags of groceries and asked me to go with him to deliver them. Because he didn’t want them to know who did it, he asked me to take them to the door and ring the doorbell and run away. He said I was much faster and he would get caught. Now I had doorbell ditched before and now my father was telling me it was OK. In one of the bags was a large ham – I loved ham and when we got home the dinner mom made didn’t look as nice as that ham did. It took me a number of years to understand that my father was fast enough to get away and I was there for more that just my speed. I wish I could say I do this kind of service on a daily basis, but I don’t. I think all of us could do it more often. When I do it, it’s usually a small event that is only known by myself and those with whom it serves. This past year I was involved in an event that wasn’t small and was known by thousand of people. I’m a member of our stake presidency - this is a group of people that oversee a number of congregations within our church. In this stake we have approximately four hundred young men and women from the age twelve to eighteen. Every other year we have a youth conference where they all get together to sing, dance, play and hear some motivational speakers. Normally we go to another location so we have their undivided attention. A couple of years ago we decided to do something different – lets give them a chance to work their tails off. Now how do you get four hundred kids to be excited about working hard for a few days? 1^st – you need to have tons of food. Young men will do just about anything if they think they’re going to get a lot of food. The girls will come if they think the boy’s will be there. These are secondary reasons the main one is to let them know we’re going to help people that can’t do it for them. If we can help others, have fun and have a lot to eat – what great lessons they would learn. Part of our stake is in an older part of town where there are a number of disabled, widows, and single parent homes that need fixing up, painting, and cleaning up - basically doing something for someone who couldn’t do it for themselves. We wanted it to be done right so we convinced thirty contractor, professionals and knowledgeable individuals to over see each project. Our greatest challenge was to finance the project. It was my assignment to figure that out, it ended up being easier than you might have thought. After a few phone calls and personal appointments we had secured money from our churches humanitarian division, from individual members of our stake and also from Logan City. Apparently there are federal funds to fix up low income housing, as long as we met curtain criteria these funds are available. Why wouldn’t they want to donate – we match their funds with more of our own and then we provide all the labor and expertise. In all we spend sixty thousand dollars and donated six thousand five hundred hours of service. We worked on more than thirty different projects. We served by providing new roofs, sprinkler systems, painted houses, landscaping, new driveways and much more. Each family we served received a new quilt. A couple of months after the project I had the opportunity to go to one of the houses to talk to the recipients, they were so excited for the service that was rendered. He talked about the kids and how excited they were to be there. He said; “here we’re the ones needing the assistance and they are thanking us for the opportunity to work on our house.” When things needed to be done that we were unable to do, professionals were hired to make sure it was done right. Many of the workers after they knew what we were doing refused to accept payment for their services and others gave us a discount. As projects were being finished the kids wanted to go to the other projects to help them rather that to go home. Yes we still had firesides, motivational speakers, a dance and lots of food. But the greatest reward came from the faces of both the recipients and the kids as they helped others, those that couldn’t do it for themselves.

Bald -

There are a number of sayings about those having baldheads: bald is beautiful, there are only a few perfect heads and the Lord covered the rest of them with hair. I wonder if the guys that came up with these had hair? Tons of people love being bald; it has even become a fad over the past few years – many people shave their heads just to be vogue. If I were to guess I think most of them are hiding the fact it's leaving all by it’s self. Others of us don’t have a choice. I could start shaving the sides of my head and act like I’m bald by design, but doing so would negate what I think is one of the greatest benefit of being bald in the first place. When your bald it takes no time to primp – as a matter of fact in the shower there’s no use changing the soap used to wash my face to the more expensive shampoos my wife uses, that would take effort. Not everybody think like I do! Apparently the hair replacement – cover-up – restoration business is a billion dollar industry. Rogaine, hair plugs, weaves, transplants, wigs and toupees all cost a lot of money, time and in most cases delusional thinking. I’m sure thousands of these procedures are so good that I can’t tell it’s not their original hair. I may be wrong on my conclusions but despite not being able to tell in some cases – I believe they’re in the minority. Maybe these guys really think if they leave work one day and come back the next day with a full head of hair on one will notice. If it helps them feel better about themselves - more power to them. The one I can’t understand is the comb over! Believe me no one thinks it looks good – no one! I sure it started over time to cover–up the slight receding hairline and then evolved as more hair started to leave. Sorry but if you have a comb over - people are lying to you. I’m sure most women would like their men with hair, in shape and rich at least at first. The good ones would be willing to sacrifice these traits for honesty, faithfulness and hard working in a second. The way I look at it if they aren’t I know I wouldn’t want to be with them – of course I’m bald what else would I say. I’ve never had a woman say “man you would be hot if you had hair.” But I guess I’ve never had anyone say “your hot without hair.” Yes you have to be physically attracted to whom ever you’re with, if not it won’t last very long. Thankfully most woman aren’t as shallow as men, and are willing to over look men’s physical faults more than men are willing to do. This must be true, Julia Roberts married Lyle Lovett – maybe he’s not the best example he has hair, but I would compare his other feature to mine! This gave everyman in America hope. I guess I could have used the fact my wife married me, that was defiantly an act of mercy. Honestly being bald has never effected me or what I feel about myself, of course my kids would say I don’t ever care to much what I look like or wear for that matter. Socks with sandals – sure! My baldness is hereditary, which is easy to see as all my brother have the same hairstyle. I remember once I heard it your mothers father that baldness comes through – that can’t be true as my dad had lots of hair and my sisters boys are starting to look like me. Then I heard it’s your mother’s brothers that show if you’re going bald or not. In my extended family this theory actually works, now whether it’s a coincidence or if that the way it works it doesn’t matter anymore. What I have is what I’m going to keep, I haven’t heard of many people all of the sudden growing their hair again – unless they start one of those procedures.

Harold Lester -

Good thing each of us have different qualities, looks and abilities. It would be boring if we all looked, acted and did the same things. I had a lot of great companions on my mission – each of them was completely different than the rest. One of them was by far the smartest of them all; I think he had a photographic memory of sorts. He knew just about every scripture and where it was found – this was great when someone tried to show us we were wrong in the scriptures, good luck, you better know them pretty good to keep up with this guy. Then after we were done tracking an apartment complex and he would never know where the car was parked. I got along with all of them most of the time. But every once in a while a couple of us just didn’t click. Most people would say I’m pretty easy to get alone with - at least I like myself. It’s easy to get alone with someone that you have everything in common with: family, sports, schools - I just had a hard time with those that didn’t want to work. One of my favorite companions came out the same day I did so we helped each other in the MTC and then we later server together as Zone Leaders in Santa Fe New Mexico. We clicked almost to well, not only did we work hard but we had a lot of fun and success. While we were together there was a new missionary, Elder Brown that was assigned to our zone. He was from the Bear Lake area, which is only an hour or so from home. If you were to pick a complete opposite person from myself this would be him. I loved sports – I don’t think he has played any kind of sport, he was short and stocky – I was tall and slender, I didn’t wear glasses and his were about an inch thick. Personality wise I was very out going and he was reserved and quite. We were his leaders so we tried to make him feel at home as much as possible. I learned later that his mother had just passed away a few months before he came on a mission and that those first few months were very hard for him. A few months later I was transferred south to El Paso, Texas. At that time I was given one of my hardest companions – we just didn’t click. We were teaching a lot of people but no one seemed to be committing to the challenges we were giving. A couple of months later there was another transfer my new companion was – that’s right Elder Brown. At this time he had been out almost a year and I was close to going home. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see anyone baptized and was having a difficult time. This may seem like a formula for disaster – but it was the complete opposite. He was excited to be with me and was willing to work as hard as I would go. Apparently I wasn’t the only one that had a problem with my previous companion, all the people we were teaching started to commit to baptism. It seemed everyone we taught wanted to join the church. Elder Brown was like a kid at Christmas, eight people from three different families set dates for their baptisms in our first week together. These were some of the greatest weeks of my mission – the odd couple per says was clicking and changing the world one person at a time. There were some motivational tapes that we would lessen too on occasion - on one tape there was a man named Paul and his friend Harold Lester Brown. My companions name was Bruce – but the rest of it worked so I started calling his Harold Lester since my name is Paul. He liked his new nickname – but with what was going on he would have liked being called anything. While we were together – Elder Browns father happened to be in the Logan Temple and came across my father with his nametag on. He stopped my dad and asked him if he had a son on a mission in New Mexico – when he said yes my dad said he almost knocked him over to give him a hug. Elder Browns father wrote and told him they had met, he also told him he had met someone he wanted to marry. That made Harold excited and they had permission to visit him on their honeymoon – which happen to be right after I was transferred out of the area. I loved Elder Brown and will cherish our time together.