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.