Junior High

I was recently reminded of how old I am and how long it has been since I was in my children’s shoes. Just last month I saw in the newspaper that my junior high school was being demolished. In the school district’s defense, the junior high was very old and it had outlasted its purpose. A few days ago, I drove by the place of my memories and there is a new school in its place. The home of my awkward adolescent experiences has been replaced with a fresh school and a clean playground (the junior high was replaced with an elementary school).

It’s been a long time since I sat in a smoldering hot classroom during the last days of August and listened to my Health teacher talk about “The Birds and The Bees”, while my young friends giggled uncontrollably. It’s been 31 years since I ran the mile quicker than any student in the 7th Grade and my PT teacher place my name and time on the gym wall. But it seems like yesterday when I sat in class behind my first love (I’m sorry Mrs. Grouchy but you were not the first) and had her beauty messed with my young mind. Yes, Gina Peterson and I were a great couple, even though our relationship was just a figment of my imagination, and maybe some of my late night dreams.

I can still remember when Pat Wagner was caught smoking pot in a secluded area behind the gym. He had a great hiding place but it was the aroma that gave him away. Our assistant principal was making the rounds when he quickly recognized a familiar smell and tracked it down to the perpetrator. I’m still wondering how this guy was so familiar with the smell of pot vs. normal cigarette smoke. In 1980, smoking cigarettes in public was still considered acceptable. Somehow our young assistant principal, with a squeaky clean reputation, knew the difference between the smell of our janitor's Marlboro and Pat’s doobie.

One of my most vivid memories was of my friends making “Ninja Throwing Stars” in Metals class. Afterwards, they proceeded to test the weapons on the shop wall until Mr. Roundy discovered their actions and confiscated the stars. My shop teacher was a little angry and took the boy by the hair on the back of their heads and literally knocked their heads together. Yes, in today’s world Mr. Roundy would have lost his job, made the nightly news for child abuse and had been sued by angry parents. But in 1980, he was praised for being an effective teacher and my friends quietly took their corporal punishment because they knew the retribution from their dads would have been much more sever.

I must admit that when I was a young teenager going through the junior high experience I wondered if it would ever end. I usually dreaded the long days of learning and if someone had told me my school was going to be demolished I would have jumped for joy. However, life has changed me and today that time in my life just make me smile. The old school building was valuable to me because it was a part of my history. But progress must move forward and the old build is gone. However, for some reason I feel like I’ve lost a ugly-stinky-annoying old friend.

Yes, Today I’m feeling very old so I think I’m going to Sears and buy me one of those jumpsuits that every old guy owns. Those suits are versatile; I’ve seen them worn to weddings, funerals, church and around town. I believe Mrs. Grouchy will think I’m real sexy in one of those things and color cordination is always a snap!

The Wave

Once in a while we all do something stupid. It is inevitable. I blame my stupidity on being a parent. Honestly, I was not this absentminded before the kids.

Last week we went on a trip to a remote place in Arizona that is controlled by the BLM. For the past two years I’ve tried to get permits to this place. It is difficult to see because they only let 20 people a day into this area. This year, I was lucky enough to get permits through a lottery.

“The Wave” is in Northern Arizona and it has no defined trail to lead you to the site. You just use a map and GPS to find your way. The trailhead is 10 miles off a paved road and the hike is 3 miles each way. It is not for the novice hiker because and you have to navigate around a step mountain and through some sand dunes to get to the site.

Before we went on the hike, I told my sister to call the local sheriff if we did not report back to her that evening. Well guess what happened? We failed to call my sister as promised. This obviously made her worried and she started to make some calls to locate us. After a few tense hours, family made contact with us through a cell phone we had left in the hotel room. Yes, my sister was very upset at us and we apologized profusely.

This time I have no funny story to tell, just an apology to all involved!

Intelligence Can Be Overrated

In the military we have some folks that proudly carry the title MI (Military Intelligence). They do things like interpret and analyze, along with being proficient in multiple languages like Pashto, Persian-Farsi, Persian-Dari, Urdu and Swahili. These guys often have large egos, but for some reason they can’t even march or shoot a rifle.

I must admit, the whole idea of intelligence in any government organization just makes me laugh. For me the term "military intelligence" is a complete oxymoron. These "Intelligent" people are some of the stupidest people I've ever met. Let me give you just a few examples to prove my point.

First, is it every a good idea to announce your greatness in anything? Look at Charlie Sheen, Dwyane Wade, LeBron James and Mike Tyson. These guys all profess to be great, but they're just a bunch of bozos.

Second, is it really intelligent when someone dedicates a year of his/her life to learning an obscure foreign language for the reward of a low paying military job in the enlisted ranks?

Third, we’ve seen the movie The Gods Must Be Crazy and it was nice when someone could communicate with the confused little bushman, who was carrying a Coca-Cola bottle. But I never wanted to be that guy who spent the time to proficiently understand the clicking noise that the little guy in a loincloth was making. Honestly, how much knowledge can be gained from a guy who is toting around a pop bottle, because he can't figure out how to get rid of the thing?

Recently, we had a conference in our building that was hosted, and attended, by a large number of MI folks. These guys had some important stuff to tell each other. In fact, it was so important that they sent one of their young "intelligence" soldiers on a mission to make a large pot of coffee. It seems that MI people were falling asleep during these very important briefings. So the soldier came and borrowed our large coffee pot that holds about 5 gallons of coffee. Then he went and found a place to put the coffee pot while the coffee brewed. The task seemed simple enough, until we observed his plan.

In the area where I work is a series of conduit, circuit breakers, fuse boxes and transformers. These items collectively work to power the entire buildings electrical needs. Around this electrical equipment are warning signs that state the obvious dangers. Well, one young "intelligence" soldier decided these warnings were overrated and placed 5 gallons of liquid on top of the main transformer, which is partially unprotected. He said it looked like a nice surface to place a large coffee pot, and there was a 110 volt electrical plug nearby. I guess this guy didn't understand that electricity and water don't mix. After his mistake was discovered, there was one very angry safety officer that had a long talk with this young soldier.

Well folks, I know I'm not that intelligent, but at least I can make a hot drink without putting myself, and others, in immediate danger!

The Boy with an Itch

For the last six months boy #2 has been plagued with a severe rash on his little caboose. Often it created painful sores that brought the little guy to tears. The rash also caused constantly scratching. The little guy could be easily spotted in any crowd because he was always the one walking bowlegged as he’s tried to fix his itch.

Mrs. Grouchy was very concerned with the rash. More importantly, I was concerned the boy was going to be branded with a nickname that could follow him into adulthood. All I needed was a boy who was known as “The Butt Scratcher” or “Mr. Gold Digger”. You know how it is as a kid, once you get a nickname it’s hard to shake. So I knew the problem had to be quickly fixed before the boy was emotionally scarred for life and expensive psychotherapy was required to reverse the damage.

Therefore, we took him to the doctor and he was first diagnosed as having a heat rash and that required us to buy some overpriced prescription cream. After some time, we realized the treatment wasn’t working so we took the boy back to the doctor. The second diagnosis was a staph infection and he was given antibiotics. Once again, the treatment failed and the boy went back to the doctor for a third time.

The last diagnosis was pin worms. Once again, I found myself at the Walmart pharmacy standing in a line behind the “sick, lame and lazy” who all insisted on telling their lengthy medical histories to one young pharmacy tech who was manning the only available cash register. Yes, it was my own personal version of hell, I mean Groundhog’s Day, at the Walmart pharmacy.

After administering the de-worming treatment to the boy, he still had a nasty little rash. My boy’s butt had a well educated, and very skilled, Pediatrician completely baffled. Then one night the answer was revealed to me in an oddest of ways. I was preparing to use the bathroom when my eyes rested on an item sitting on the toilet. Yes, it is something that Mrs. Grouchy has used religiously for years on all the little butts in our family. She even has a two year supply of the product in case we have a natural disaster or run on the stores.

Honestly, Mrs. Grouchy wants our little family to have clean cabooses at all times, and in all situations. But what do you do when the rash on a little boy’s butt is telling you NO Kandoo!