Nostalgic Moment #30

It took me a long time to get here, but finally I have arrived at 30. Geez, when I first started with Nostalgic Moments I figured I'd be sittin' around 100 at this point. It's amazing how side-tracked your life can get you. It's been a little over 2 years since the first one hit the blog and I wont lie to you, I often forget what I've told you. It's like that in my regular life as well. I'm always telling people, "Hey did I tell you the one about the..." and then I tell them regardless of whether or not they've already heard it. Is it my ego that drives me to tell stories? Maybe. Not that I have any really self-praising stories from my past. Most of my nostalgic moments border the line of embarrassing. The way I see it, if you can't laugh at your mistakes, then you'll probably make so many you'll end crying all the time. Since I'm not much of a crier... I'll insert a moment right here for you...

We've just had yet another patriotic weekend. Mine was a fun one filled with lots of exciting events and good people. I have many fond memories in the summer. My kids have year round school and so I don't think they (and when I say they I really just mean my oldest) truly grasp the awesomeness of a summer vacation. Remember the jingle-jingle of the ice cream truck? Oh I hear it now all the time, blaring it's obnoxious music through my neighborhood, but it's not the same. Back then, you could afford one of those sherbet ice cream feet with the bubble gum ball covering the big toe. We even had a dude driving around a slushy mobile and regrettably it started a turf war with the ice cream man. But that's an entirely different story that I would probably fabricate beyond any recognition.

Family summer vacations was the stuff of legends. We never really went anywhere exciting (other than Disney World). Most of the time, we took long 3 day drives, in barely any air conditioning, sleeping on the floor with our feet on the windows, out of our seat belts trips to places like Utah.  We played the staring games which usually consisted of trying to make the other person blink while spitting luke warm water in their faces. Ah good times. Some of the best trips were to NYC. My dad was born in Queens, lived in Brooklyn, and my grandparents had a third story apartment on Palmetto Avenue. That was an adventure.

When I was in second grade... (oh I'm starting the nostalgic moment now, in case you were wondering.)
my great-grandma Lukikas passed away. She was like 99 years old and about as tall as a hobbit. I used to cry whenever my parents made me go in say hi to her. I was such a pansy... Well, she passed on and it was decided we would drive the 16 hours to attend the funeral. I'm a little shaky on the actual memory of whether or not this happened in the summer, but for the sake of continuing, let's pretend it was. A winter trip really wouldn't fit in to this blog post.

We spent most of our time at the funeral home as my parents and grandparents visited with relatives and friends and preparations were made for the burial. I still remember the funeral director. She was a nice, elderly lady with a thick foreign accent. I'm not even sure where was she from, but she made us feel right at home. After the services were finished everyone filed out of the funeral home and hopped into their limousines. Everyone was going to ride in a limousine. Everyone, that is, except for my family. We had a big black Subaru station wagon (the same I would end up driving my senior year of high school) and they saw no need to spend the $100 for us to drive in style.

I threw a fit! It was epic. Complete with weeping, wailing, and I'm sure some gnashing of teeth. The sidewalk received it's punishment as I rolled around on the ground, screaming because I needed to drive in a limo. What was wrong with me? I was normally a fairly tame child, but the limo deal rubbed me the wrong way. Good for my parents; they didn't back down. After all, the trip to the cemetery was only a couple of miles and we were there to mourn the death of a family member not to gallivant around as celebrities. Still, I persisted and eventually caught the attention of the very nice funeral director. She could see my predicament and wanted to calm me down. So she offered to let me ride with her in her limousine. Immediately, I stopped crying and begged my parents to give in. Oh how I wanted to stick my head through the sun roof while sipping some cold beverage from the mini-fridge. I had seen movies and I knew limos had special buttons that could make all of my dreams come true.

My parents surrendered and I was permitted to ride with the lady. She was my new best friend. I joined her outside of her limo and she opened the front passenger door for me. I had been hoping to ride by myself in the back, but riding shotgun in a limo had to be better than riding squished in the back of our station wagon. As we pulled away from the funeral home, I was a little disappointed. The limo was nothing special. It was long and black, but there were no fancy buttons or tasty beverages. In fact, the front of the limo looked suspiciously like a normal car. What was going on? I wanted an explanation, but didn't know how to ask the funeral director who was now forced to ride in the center of the front seat practically straddling the gear shift while the driver drove the vehicle. That too was weird. Wasn't there enough seating where she could sit comfortably? And wasn't there supposed to be a cool, automatic, tinted window blocking the view of the back seats? There wasn't one in this limo. Instead there was a pink, frilly curtain.

I don't know if you picked up yet on my subtle hints, but I'm terrible at giving clues. The truth is, I wasn't driving in a limo. I was riding in the hearse. Great-grandma Lukikas was enjoying the full amenities of the back seat and I was crammed in the front. What a crock!

The funeral director, trying to be nice, handed me a roll of candies and suggested I share them with my brother and sister. I thanked her for the treat and crammed them in my pocket. Later, I ate the whole roll. Now you could say I did this out of spite. I was angry with my poor luck in not actually riding in a real limo, but to be honest, I don't think I really knew how to share. Plus the lady was hard to understand so I played that card to my advantage. Yep, I scarfed down the whole package. Turns out, they weren't really candies. Nope, they were antacids.

As a side note, a few antacids are quite lovely, a whole package... well, they didn't leave me feeling fresh and gas free. My dad said I actually turned green and he was worried I might pass out.

That was a pretty lame vacation. I don't remember much after the funeral. I'm guessing we might have stopped and saw the sights, but I'm not really sure. All I can remember is the hearse and the Rolaids. But isn't that all that matters.

Memories.

Nostalgic Moment #14

Road Trip #2

I have made the long trek from Alabama to Utah several times in my life and I have had many different traveling companions on those journeys. A while ago I told of my experience with "Sid" (not his real name, mom) and now I'll tell of that memorable trip I made with my brother Michael. Despite having nearly a 5 year age difference between us, Michael is my best friend. We've gone through a lot together, have made different choices throughout the years, but if you were to have a long conversation with either of us, you would swear that we were twins. We both have anger issues involving technology (sorry Michael, but yours is a tad more severe,) and for the most part we both have the same outlook on life. So it seemed fitting that a week or so before I was to get married to Heidi, Michael and I should take a road trip together.

A few days before we left, I had the brilliant idea of going to the tanning booth... salon... crisper... whatever you call it. I wanted to look nice for my future wife and thought that it would be the best choice. Of course, there was no way in Hades I was going to the booth by myself so I convinced Michael that he could use a little bronzing as well. This was our first time and no one explained to either of us that a tanning bed was the equivalent of the surface of the sun. Both of us burnt to a crisp, my skin was so bad it turned a sickening shade of blue and we actually had to call the emergency room for suggestions.

Our toasted skin made the trip a tad more difficult, partly because it hurt so bad and also because we started shedding skin like pythons, sending up clouds of dust in the car. Now Michael was no Sid in the since that he stayed awake for the entire trip, but he was still a little rusty behind the wheel of a car when it came to open road. When it was his turn to captain my little Ford Contour he generally drove 10-15 miles under the speed limit and would slam on the brakes randomly for reasons only known to him. Because of this, I opted to drive the bulk of the trip, but only on the condition that Michael stay awake and keep me company.

We shared many long conversations about life, school, friends and so on as we traversed the 30+ hour journey through flat, boring landscapes. When we arrived at our first stop, some inexpensive hotel in one of those mid-United States locations, we were exhausted and starving. The problem we discovered was that there was no real food locations to eat at except for a Chucky Cheese. Of course, Chucky Cheese is not known for having delicious cuisine, rather it is a haven for screaming children and robotic animal bands. Neither one of us had a real tolerance for screaming babies, so we ate our disgusting pizza in silence, occasionally looking up at each other in frustration. The only highlight of our meal came when Michael was engrossed in his food and did not notice the large grey mouse amble up to our table to, I don't know, do a little jig. Michael casually glanced up at the approaching rodent and literally flung his food and drink off the table screaming in shock.

"I'm done, dude! I'm done," Michael said, flashing a threatening fist at the fat rat. We called it a night and headed back to the hotel. After shedding about a pound of skin all along the hotel floor, we went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, I had a sleeping episode (see previous post for details on my condition.) I dreamt that an old man was in our room and was attempting to smother Michael with his pillow. This obviously was very bothersome to me and in order to stop this from happening, I bellowed at the top of my lungs while I flung my own pillow at the old intruder across the room. The action startled Michael and he had trouble getting back to sleep. That next morning when he asked me what the heck I was doing last night and I laughingly explained, he got a strange look on his face and said. "That's great Frank, now I'll be sleeping with you in your bed tonight."

Still we ventured on, exhausted, but determined. After a few hours of driving, Michael started to nod off. Normally, I would have let him sleep, after all it was my fault he got very little rest the previous night, but I was starting to get drowsy myself. I needed something to keep him awake. On a side note, I need to explain something about my brother. He has to be the most gullible person I have ever known. He'll believe anything you tell him. Once when he was younger (not a whole lot younger mind you,) Michael was sick and taking his temperature with a thermometer. For some reason he wanted to see what would happen when you stuck the thermometer against the hot light bulb of the lamp. Of course it exploded. I then had him convinced that we were all going to die from mercury poison and even started to gasp for air and writhe on the ground. To which Michael screamed and begged for forgiveness for murdering us all.

With that being said, I glanced over at Michael as we drove and saw his eyes fluttering, I then noticed a rather large dog trotting up in the distance. There was no mistaking it for anything but a dog, in fact it was probably a Golden Retriever. I slapped Michael on his arm and pointed at the dog in amazement.

"Look at that thing!" I yelled.

Michael's eyes grew large and he gasped. "Oh my gosh, what is that?"

To which I answered, "It's a hyena!"

"No way, man! No way! Ah man, what do we do?" Michael bought the whole hyena bit, and he was clearly disturbed by it. I suppose I would be too, had there really been an animal indigenous to Africa bounding up the freeway in Kansas.

More memories happened on that trip than I can list, and it will always go down as one of my most fondest road trips. Michael and I grew closer as brothers and as friends, a friendship, of course, that might be ruined because of this revealing post.

Michael a.k.a. Super Mario

Tribute to Jackson

I was watching some Brian Regan clips on Youtube the other day and he had a funny skit about tackling the "Me Monsters." These are people that just talk about themselves and always try to one-up the other person by telling a better story. This got me to worrying. Am I a "Me Monster?"

I do love to tell stories and I enjoy laughing. This Blog is definitely an outlet for me, but I want to make sure I don't fall victim to becoming a Me Monster. So, now I will periodically break up my nostalgic moments and usual posts by paying tribute to someone of influence in my life. Of course, this will be me telling a story and thus I could still be considered guilty of memonsterism, but what are you going to do? Heidi thinks I should try my luck at writing romantic vampire passages. I don't see what's so hard about it other than the fact that every time I open one of those books I read a paragraph that makes me want to drown myself in Pepto Bismol. Anyways there I go again on a rant.

I now pay tribute to my son Jackson.

Last night I witnessed one of the most amazing things I have ever seen as a father. Allow me to set up the scene. Jackson joined karate this past year and it finally appeared that we had found something he enjoyed. The other sports just weren't as interesting and there was no desire to continue once the season ended. Karate changed all this. You see, since he was really young, Jackson has been obsessed with Star Wars. Karate for him is a way to use his inner-Jedi skills.

Recently, Jackson had grown a little frustrated with having to practice his moves. He advanced to the next belt, and the practices became harder. Along with going over particular punches and kicks, the students are now expected to spar with someone else every other week. Jackson's first clash with sparring did not go well. He wasn't aggressive, in fact, he didn't try to use any of his moves at all.

Last night was to be his second opportunity to spar and Heidi and I were worried that he might get hurt. After all, although the instructors are monitoring the fights, injuries can happen. We tried to cram as much practicing in for Jackson before we left and frankly he was rather annoyed by it. Gavin was having a rough day, so Heidi decided to stay home with him and Camberlyn leaving me to take Jackson to his practice. I helped him get on his gear and I sat down on the front row to watch.

It's actually somewhat frightening for the students because all of the parents are right there in the room as you combat against your opponent. The sparring matches last for 2 minutes and each student is only allowed to punch or kick in their opponent's target zone (between the neck and waist.) They are wearing padded gloves which softens the blows and they are not supposed to hit as hard as they can.

Jackson's first match was with a girl and as soon as it started it was clear that he wasn't really into it. He laughed as did she as they tiptoed around not doing much of anything. By now I was starting to hunch down in my chair trying not to show my frustration. 2 minutes were up and they sat down in the corner. I wanted to be a good and supportive father so I brushed off my embarrassment and waited for the class to be over.

After about 15 minutes, Jackson received another opportunity to fight. This time it was with a boy his own age, but slightly bigger than Jackson. I have to admit, I was a little worried that Jackson might get hurt so I leaned in closer to watch. The instructor had them bow to each other and then to him and the fight began.

Something snapped in Jackson. Suddenly, his eyes changed. He was no longer a 6 year old annoyed by the fact that he was having to do anything structured. He was now a fighting machine. Jackson attacked. The other kid didn't know what to do. Jackson was throwing a flurry of punches and blocking anything the kid could throw at him. Plus Jackson was loud. At the beginning of the sparring practice the instructors, or senseis, explained that they wanted the students to be as loud as they could when they attacked. Jackson seemed to not have any problem with this. In fact (now I'm beginning to brag) Jackson was so aggressive and so in control of the fight that the sensei had to periodically halt the match to give some advice and instruction to the other kid. Finally the whistle was blown and Jackson went and sat down. What the heck just happened? I thought. Maybe it was a fluke, but I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

As other students sparred, Jackson and the kid he just whooped up on started talking which is a big no-no in karate. Of course, they were caught and the punishment for this offense, they each had to fight a bigger kid with a much higher degree of belt. Oh no, Jackson was in for it. Both he and his friend were brought out to the middle of the room and Sensei Mom, the main instructor gave them their opponent. Jackson's was a blue belted 10 year old at least a foot taller than him. I had seen this kid spar earlier and he was a little rough. I braced myself for the worst as the kid glanced down at Jackson and smirked. They bowed and Sensei Mom started the fight.

Holy crap! Jackson attacked! He attacked so aggressively that he pushed this kid back into the stands where we were sitting. By now everyone in the crowd was laughing at what they were seeing. Jackson is by far the smallest kid out there and he was not backing down. He was loud and his moves were actually good. He even threw in a couple of kicks and was able to block some of this other, more seasoned student's attacks. Eventually, the older kid realized how much bigger he was and was able to fight back, but it didn't matter. Jackson would not be pushed around.

Usually, after these fights that involved teaching the younger kids a lesson to not talk, the instructor would say something like "See, this is what happens when you break a rule. You don't want to fight these bigger kids anymore do you?" Which is exactly what Sensei Mom said to the other kid after he was done getting worked over. To Jackson however, she said, "You stepped up to the challenge!" She actually gave Jackson some more tips on how to more effectively beat his opponent.

After he sat down I was starting to glance around at everyone else to make sure I was actually seeing this. Everyone was smiling and shaking their heads in disbelief. Jackson was in the zone. He didn't want to go home right away when his practice was technically over. He wanted to stay as the older kids continued their sparring. Why not, I thought.

Finally, as it grew closer to 8 o'clock, I told the senseis that I needed to take him home. It was a school night after all. They asked me if he could fight one more time. I agreed and the instructor asked the class which kid wanted to fight Jackson. A whole slew of hands went up from older boys that wanted to fight him. An 8 year old was selected, also at least a foot taller than Jackson.

The result: Jackson literally dismantled the kid. In fact, I don't think the other kid threw a punch. His parents were yelling at him to block himself and to fight back, but Jackson was just too doggone loud and too doggone quick. By now I was laughing at how absurd this was. I was not expecting this at all. After the fight the instructor told the older kid that he needed to be better at blocking and that he shouldn't be backing away from someone as small as Jackson.

"You need to punch back," the sensei said.

"I would've, but he wouldn't stop punching for one second," the kid said, clearly frustrated with his defeat.

I kept a low profile as I walked my son out of the building, I didn't want to come across as someone who boasts (which is exactly what I'm doing now.) On the way to the car, I leaned down and hugged Jackson and told him how awesome he was. He told me that next time he wanted to fight a black belt. I then said, "You're getting ice cream."

Nostalgic Moment #10

ROAD TRIP

I had just turned 22 years old, I was engaged to Heidi and I was headed back to Alabama from Ricks College for the Summer. As many of you may know, the trip from Rexburg, ID to any of the southern states is long and boring, unless, of course, you have a suitable driving companion. I was fortunate in the fact that a good friend of mine, Sid (due to some recent concerns from someone who will not be named... mom, I was obliged to change the name of this person to protect the innocent. So if you had previous read this post and are confused, that is the reason why,) studying at BYU, needed a ride home and we planned our trip together.

I left out of Idaho early on a Thursday morning and arrived at BYU campus just after 11:00 a.m. When I pulled up to Sid's dorm I was shocked to find him waiting outside with all of his stuff. To say he had a lot of stuff is an understatement. Sid had piled up what appeared to be everything he ever owned. There were more boxes then the actual size of my car.

When I asked him what he was thinking, he told me that he really wanted all of his stuff. I quickly explained to Sid, that all of my belongings were crammed in the trunk and he had enough space for whatever he could fit in the back seats. Sid was depressed, but he agreed to mail some of his stuff home. He then asked me if I wanted one of his sweaters. I really didn't, but he persisted.

"Look man, this is a great sweater and I'm just going to have to throw it away."

With that being said, I convinced myself that I guess I could use one more sweater and I thanked him for it.

When we arrived at the post office to mail a bunch of his boxes and he discovered that the cost was going to be well over $20, he promptly asked me for the money.

"I'm not paying for that!" I said.

"But I gave you that sweater!" Sid said. "It's worth well more than $20." I then remembered that Sid was notorious for pulling tricks like this and I chucked the sweater back into his lap.

"I'm not paying for the postage, pal."

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of dickering, the boxes were mailed and we set out on the road with the full intention of not stopping until we traversed the entire 30 hour drive. I immediately discovered that Sid was a terrible driving companion. From the moment we set out on actual highways, Sid slept the entire time. I was forced to entertain myself by listening to the radio and telling myself jokes. After 6 hours of driving, I was getting hungry and I thought it was a good time to switch. We pulled into an Arby's and Sid started driving.

I enjoyed my sandwich and stretched out my legs for what I thought was my chance at redemption. I was going to sleep for the next six hours while Sid drove in silence. After about 15 minutes on the road, however, my plan changed drastically.

I hadn't fallen asleep just yet and I was staring at the map to get our bearings when the car jerked rather forcibly toward the shoulder. I looked up, expecting to see some animal that we just missed and when I looked at Sid he was wide-eyed.

"Whoa, man! Whoa!" Sid exclaimed.

"What happened, did you fall asleep?" I asked almost jokingly.

"Yeah, I did," Sid said, rubbing his eyes violently.

"What?!"

"Don't worry man, I'm awake now," Sid assured me.

I was a little wary, but he seemed to be awake, so I went back to reading the map. After a few minutes we came upon some road construction and the traffic was thick. I just happen to glance up and I noticed that we were inching rather rapidly toward a semi-truck directly in front of us. When I looked over at Sid to see what he was doing, he was out cold! Snoring even!

"Sid!" I yelled, to which he bolted awake and almost ran us off the road. I decided since there was no way in heck I would be getting any sleep while Mr. Ambien was driving, I switched him places and drove for another 6 hours. All the while, Sid slept.

Now it was well past midnight and I was exhausted. I thumped Sid on the arm to wake him up and I asked him if he felt rested enough to drive for awhile. He assured me that he definitely had enough sleep and he took over at the wheel. Unfortunately after about 15 minutes (I hadn't even gotten comfortable in my chair), Sid told me that he was too tired to drive and we were going to have to pull over. This was not what I wanted, but I didn't want to die either.

We found the cheapest motel we could find in a tiny little town and checked in for the night. I was pretty frustrated that I had to shell out an extra $25 of my own money because Sid had narcolepsy. After going to the bathroom, I walked out toward my bed and noticed Sid laying in his bed and watching television. That's not all I noticed. On the floor were Sid's clothes; his shirt, his shorts, his shoes, his... underwear! WHAT?

"Sid what are you wearing?" I asked.

"Oh, I always sleep naked," he said, staring indifferently at the tube.

"Not tonight you don't!" I ordered. Man was I ever glad we checked into a room with 2 double beds. What do they teach youngsters at BYU?

The rest of the trip went rather uneventful although, as you've probably guessed, I drove the entire time. Sid turned out to be a slightly better passenger on the days that followed, sleeping only 75% of the time. Sid if you're out there and reading this, you know that I love you man and it's all in good fun.