Don’t Upset the Potato Cart

  I have been talking about being thrifty as of late. I guess as Christmas and bad weather gets closer I start to think about how to tighten the financial belt.
   My dad used to head out into the early Fall to pick up potatoes north of Prosser. I remember those day, it was still warm and we would get up early and make a day of it.
   We used my dad’s truck to collect 500 lbs of spuds. They weren’t the little ones either. Those were up to three time the size of the potatoes you find the supermarket. They were fresh and we loaded them into potato sacks.
   The summer when I we eleven we went out and dad asked me to take the wheel. This was a great honor; it was my first time driving a vehicle of any kind. My dad sat in the passenger’s seat and everyone else got in to the back and I started down the field.
   he asked" okay James let's go a little faster."
   I looked back and lee was riding a sack of potatoes like a surfboard.
   We were on our way to the end of the field where the machine had trouble picking up the potatoes. I driving, dad guiding, mom sitting and there was lee standing like he was in his own captain Morgan commercial.
   Well he shouts, "Stop!"
   I put both feet into that brake like I was trying to kill a rat.
The truck stopped sliding a little to the left and lee did not. He came forward at 25 or so miles an hour and over the cab he went and didn't stop until his hand and arm was touching the hood. I looked him in the eye through that windshield. He had outrage in his eyes and I quickly closed the window and locked the door. He climbed off the cab and reached for the door. It was locked and he ran to the other side where I had crawled over my dad to roll the window up and lock the door.
   "You have to come out sometime," he screamed.
   "You said stop," I yelled back through the locked door.
   Dad laughed and opened the door, baring him from killing me out right. I wonder to this day if I wouldn't have been sporting a black eye if it wasn't for my dad.

Oh, Canada.

  I as a parent try to make a good life for my family. I haven't been eating truffles or caviar, but we do well with what we have. Besides, I never developed a taste for the finer things.
   I guess I inherited my frugalness from my parents. I save a little each month after I pay my bills, always thinking of the future; While remember the past.
   Back, when I was six years old, my dad and mom wanted to go on a trip that they could remember for a lifetime. Mom didn't want to go on a long car ride. So dad planned one of those trips that would call for planes, trains and automobiles. He also threw in a boat at the last minute.
   We left the house early one morning bound for the Yakima airport. We parked the car there and took a plane ride to Seattle. I can remember the wing and how blue the sky was, it was breath taking. I don't fly much. Never felt the need, but when I do I make the most of it; I sit back and try to take it in.
   When we got to Sea-Tac, we took a cab to the Seattle docks and caught a ferry to Vitoria, British Columbia. I can remember my mother getting sick. Even through the motion of the boat didn't seem to bother anyone else.
   We enjoyed 5 days in Victoria. The Wax museum, was what I remember the most, although the Butchart Gardens was something else. I think mom like that best.
   We came back on the ferry and took a train from Seattle to Yakima. Back then the train went through Stampede Pass. The views were spectacular the ride was rickety, but come on, it was a train ride every boy dreams about. Today, my son is the same way, crazy about trains.
   When got back to Yakima really struck. Dad held a secret, he had no more money. No cab fare, no money for food and no one to call. Dad left us at the train station and walked to the airport. It must have killed him. It is around 7 miles from the train station to the airport and he did it without complaint. So I guess this is my point. We as parent do things for our kids that they may never understood. It might be as easy as giving them a Happy Meal and sharing a fountain drink with ourselves or as difficult as letting a car be repossessed so that we can afford mortgage. We do it because we love our kids and nothing else is important.
   Did I understand why my dad left us at the train station, no not at the time. But when I did understand it taught me that you do things for your family even if it means walking a crossed a city in the middle of the afternoon on a summers day.

Matlock

  So I know, I said I was going to write about my family’s past and maybe release a few short stories through this blog but I think I need to share what just happened.
  Well, actually, it started a few weeks ago, when we were called to Darrel’s classroom by his teacher for a special intervention. She was concerned about Darrel falling behind. He isn’t going to flunk out of 1st grade or anything like that, but he does need to work on a few things, math being the most important.
   I thought about it and decided he spends too much time on the Xbox playing violent games. We are a high tech modern family there are 4 Xbox 360, 3 lab tops, 2 desk tops, and Tweety in a pare tree in my house at any given time. Not to mention the HD TV’s in almost every room but my own.
   So starting with the Xbox, I looked through the family game folder for any games that are what I consider Violet. They included: Call of Duty, Halo, Borderlands, and many more. I left games like Star Wars Lego’s and Acme Arsenal. It is violent but not as violent as Call of duty.
   Last week was fine, he didn’t miss any of the games and his school work has really improved. The teacher has told us as much.
   Today, is Friday and the start of a new weekend. I get three days off, Friday through Sunday. Darrel started to whine about Halo 3, early this morning. By far Halo 3 is his favorite. So this went on for about hour before I asked him to sit with me and watch some cartoons.
   “Why can’t I play Halo 3,” he asked, between fits of tears.
   “Because that game is violent and I want you do better in school so you can make something of yourself when you grow up. If you don’t stop asking you are going to your room,” I answered, thinking well this is going to be a long day.
    A few minutes past and he got quiet. We watch Dora curled up on the coach. I was beginning to think it was over. (I win, no not exactly.)
    “Dad, what is a violent game?” asked the young attorney.
    “It is game that I have deemed as unhealthy for you to play,” I answered trying to sound smart.
    “So what makes a game violent?” asked the young lawyer.
    “It is a game that you play by going around killing things,” I answered. Not really realizing I was on the witness stand and he already had where he wanted me.
    “When I play Halo 3, I don’t fight monsters or people. I shot things that aren’t alive. Like boxes and tanks, But no people or monsters,” said the lawyer.
    SO! What he really meant and was getting at in such a logical way was, “Your Honor, my client Darrel does not play Halo 3 the traditional way. He doesn’t fight on matches and play the story mode. He plays on his own map by himself with no one else, AI or otherwise. So he plays Halo in a non-violent way and should be allowed to play the game.”
    I was set up I tell you. I really can’t believe I just lost this argument with my 6 year old. He set me up like a set of pins and bowled me over.
    I as his parent and the judge, decided to let him play the game after he did his homework. He got quiet again and I waited for the argument and worried if I was going to loose on appeal, but after a few minutes he said he was ready to start his homework.
    So later, he sits playing his Halo 3 in a non-violent way, when his uncle comes into the room. He said,” You better turn off that game before your mother comes home.”
    “No, I said he could,” I answered.
    “Did you ask your wife?” his uncle asked me.
    “Who do you think the man of the house is?” I answered, puffy out my chest.
    “Mommy,” said my son.
   If I do get into trouble with my wife for letting him play, I’m sure I can get off. I have a good lawyer.

The Village Idiot

  Have you ever had a class that you just got? I am talking about a class that helped you with everything. It might have been in high school, college, church or at the gym. I had such a class and I remember it like it was yesterday.
  It was my first year in college and I was scared. I had signed up late and registered for classes late. So if you haven’t every done this, it isn’t fun. First you get classes that no one else wants and you won’t need for two years, if you need them at all. You do your best to find the needed math credit, the right seminar, and hopefully they are not at the same time.
  That first quarter, I ended up with a class at 8 and two in the afternoon. So this gave me all kinds of time to do nothing, but homework and play chess. However, that 8 o’clock class was something else. The instructor’s name was Dave White, he taught critical thinking.
  I showed up that first day and he watched us move to the high school style seating.
  “This just will not work. Please grab your things and come with me,” he said, leading us from the room.
  We stood and followed him to this lounge not far from the original location of the classroom. It had the feel of a library with a round table and windows over looking the wooded grounds of Shoreline CC.
  I remember thinking “Now, this feels like college.” Funny, I never had that thought about another class.
  I met my first college friend in that class, Dan “something“… Funny, I used to call him the suburban cowboy… He wore plaid like my dad and was older than me, maybe ten years. He had a family of his own.
  The class was memorable we talked about how things we do effect what we are, and what we are effects what we do.
  The first time I heard something like that his guy in the class spoke up, in a loud voice. “That’s deep Dave.” (Think how ‘HAL’ would say it off ‘2001, Space Odyssey‘)
  He said it the first time, and then the second and this continued until the last day of class. If the young man would have told Mr. White that he was going to come back to repeat the class. I am sure the man would have taken early retirement.
Day after day, after every comment, he said at the top of his lungs, “That deep Dave.”
  I even find myself from time to time repeating that phrase just to be a pain in the ass. Someone will be trying to tell me something important and I will find myself going back to the class, Mr. White, Dan Whatisface and that “Deep” guy.
  The three people in that class defined for me the three types of people that you will run into, the intelligent person who helps you grow, the person who you want to become, and the village idiot. Who just because he thinks he understands a point will still say, “That’s deep; Dave.”

They Had a Reservation

  My father was a construction worker until 1976, when he was hurt working in a major construction project. Before then he had a whole oral library of history to share with everyone. I can only recall a few of the stories, but I am willing to share what I remember.
  There was a story he used to tell about a car pool trip that if it happened a few years before 1960 or after ‘911’ it would have got him killed along with everyone else in it the car. It was Friday night and my dad was driving home from a jobsite.
  In the car were four other workers, their names escape me, if I even knew them in the first place. They needed to take a ferry home. Today, a bridge stands at the site call Vernita Bridge, but back then the only way to get across the Columbia River was a trip across the ferry.
  When they turned the corner to the ferry they noticed a long line of travelers waiting to get on to the ferry. It wasn't long before dad found out that the ferry was broke down and no one had a clue when it would be repaired.
  That’s when someone in the backseat of the car made a suggestion.
  "Why don't we go across the back side of Hanford?"
  Everyone paused for a few seconds to think about it.
  "Well, that sounds like a good idea," said another voice from the backseat.
  Dad at this point always stopped to point out it might have been the same guy that suggested it in the first place. But it really didn’t matter a few minutes in that line of angered commuters and my dad was ready turn that car around and head for the old side road across Hanford nuclear reservation.
  They ignored the signs that read, "Trespassers will be shot"
  The road was your basic dirt path. The weeds over grew it years before do the lack of use. Dad applied an ample amount of gas and the car hit 50 plus miles an hour. Plums of dust and dirt kicked up into the air as they sped down the dirt road. All was well, until they had travel about ten miles. When an airplane flew a crossed my dad’s path; he slid to a stop and the men jumped out of the car. They watched the plane bank back, but this time it landed on the road way.
  Two men jumped out and produced weapons.
  "Why are you here?" ordered a man with a gun.
  "We just want to go home," someone said, probably the same guy that suggested that route.
  They waited there for an hour as the pilot called in their names and waited for orders.
  As I said before if this would have been in the 40's the gun emplacements would have blew that car into pieces. They built parts of the bomb that was dropped on Japan out there. If it would have been after '911' they would have found themselves in Cuba with a new black hoodie.
  Lucky it was the 60's and my dad and his friends didn’t look like hippy protestors. The armed man came back to the car and told them that their only option was to head off the Hanford area as quickly as possible. If they stopped they wouldn't see daylight for months.
  "What if we get a flat tire?" asked the familiar voice in the back seat.
  "Just keep driving or you will be seeing me again," he answered them handing them their IDs and pointing to the closes exit. However, that was the direction they wanted to go in the first place.
  That old car of my dad hit at least eighty on that little dirt road and they never saw the armed men, the plane or anyone else. But they all got the feeling that they were still being watched. When they made it home they found out the ferry started working again a few minutes after they had headed for the dirt road and destiny. If only they had waited in line like everyone else they would have saved them the trouble on the reservation, the long trip home around Hanford and the FBI file that had been started on them.
  Then again if they had waited in that line, he wouldn’t have had that cool story to tell.

Part Five of the Cub Scout Chronicles

  Tonight started like any other Cub Scout night. I got home, dropped my stuff, grabbed child, and headed off to the meeting. Darrel and I were the first to arrive at the church. It was dark inside and no one answered our knock. We stood waiting for a few minutes until someone else showed up. He was getting ‘antsy’ waiting in the dark but found tossing stones at the fountain amusing. 

  It is the first of November and it was dark outside this evening. We stood there keeping ourselves company and I was beginning to worry if the meeting had been cancelled. We waited some more, watching the cars go by on the street. As we waited, I figured out that the worried feeling was from the fact I looked forward to this time each week with my son. I know it is a mixed feeling, because I have to deal with his kicking others, playing table games, and the sound effects coming from his mouth. However, I do enjoy the evening with my son.
  I was relieved when the parking lot filled with cars and someone with a key should up. Inside I felt more comfortable with in the group; my son had made friends with a couple of older scouts. They played with a little football for a few minutes before the meeting began. I watched the little ball being tossed back and forth. I thought about making him stop and come back to the table, but he enjoys himself. I want to make this as fun as possible.
  He needed to learn eight things for his Bobcat badge, and as soon as the meeting started, the Den Master headed to our table and asked Darrel to go through what he has learned. He was the first to pass test along with three others. I can’t convey how proud of him as I was listening to his oral test. He raised his voice to make sure the Den Master heard him. He spoke as clearly as I have every heard him. I mouthed the words that came out of his.
  He passed his test and will get his Bobcat badge at the next Pack meeting.
  We left early because I realized that he seemed too sugared up to sit still. I have to learn the limitation of my six year old, because once he has reached them he just can’t go back. It is funny that the next activity in the Cub Scout book is about getting to know your Family and how they work together.
  I am finding this Cub Scout experience is good for both of us.

Redirect.

  I would like to redirect you to my other blog for just today. Chapter one, of Serenity Lost has been published on that Blog. It is PG, so you will get a warning before you enter.
  Tomorrow, I will be back with the another story from my family’s Past. But for now check out what I have been working on. It will be released as an Audio book or Podcast on Itunes in December 2010. http://theserenitylost.blogspot.com/
Stay shiny,
 James Farnworth