Technology: Apple IIc

The first computer that I ever wanted was the Apple IIc - with its snow white case and small monitor. Growing up in Roswell in 1984, the biggest thing to hit Valley View Elementary was the new Apple II compact. It's snow white case and Not only was it as cool as the Apple IIe but it was tiny in comparison. It was a sign of the times that we were able to build computers smaller than ever before. I would purposely stay in the class room at lunch so I could play on the IIc. There was trivia games and simple games like hangman. Some games would run off a 5 ½ floppy drive. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I remember asking my mother if we could buy one. She was all for it until she called the Sears and discovered the price of $1300. To us, that was the cost of a car. It was food for a year. It was a life time of clothes and books. The closest I would come to owning a IIc was the one sitting in my 6th grade classroom. The world of computers at that moment was the coolest thing to my 12 year old eyes. I asked my mother for a subscription to Computer magazine. I would design smaller computers on my lined notebook paper. Sometimes I would move those designs to graph paper and make them look real technical and realistic. Later, I would take a computer programming class in the 7th grade. We worked on the Apple IIe’s -- spent an entire semester logging and writing code to a graphic that would run only 20 seconds. I remember plotting the color and pixel locations on graph paper and translating them into code. My graphic was a Japanese Zero dropping a bomb on the USS Arizona followed by a U.S. Flag honoring the sailors who died aboard. I think I got an B+. I would later envy a friend when his Dad brought home the brand new IBM PC in the late 80s or early 90s. Yet, I still wanted my own Apple IIc. I think I’ve said it before. Even though it was primitive to today’s machines, it still has a magic to it. Perhaps because it was my first true appreciation of a computer and realizing that they are getting more complex and more sophisticated. I have even gone to ebay looking for a functioning IIc. I know they exist. I visited a school back in the late 1990s and the classrooms still had functioning Apple IIe’s and IIc’s. I was amazed. I should have grabbed one and ran away with it. Those computers would later disappear with the new iMacs. Yes, I look at the IIc’s 2 Mhz processor, 1MB RAM and no hard drive, but wish I had one right now. I would sit in the dark classroom and type my answers, watching the green letters and cursor floating across the monitor – flashing bright. The mini laptop I write this entry on is less than half the size of the IIc and has a memory of 1 GB of RAM and 1.66 Ghz processor and a hard drive of 160 GB. Operating at over 1000 times the power of that IIc, the little Acer is strangely not as cool as that Apple IIc was back then. (not to say I don’t love my tiny Acer.)

Technology: Pre-VCR

The first show I ever recorded was 1983's G.I. Joe: The Real American Hero mini-series. Later I would record the Transformers mini-series as well. It took 3 tapes to get all five episodes. I remember racing home every week day from Vally View. After letting myself into our apartment at Valle Encantada, I would grab a fresh tape from my bedroom. Making sure the tape was completely rewound, I loaded it into the recorder. I would hit the record button along with the pause button and wait for the show to start. I flipped the channel on the TV to Channel 13 -- KCOP. The credits would be rolling on the previous show. I don't recall if it was the Jetsons or the Flintstones. I would call my mother and tell her to let herself into the apartment quietly as I was recording G.I. Joe. My mother would always be considerate and do that very thing. To insure the best recording I would have to balance the recorder near the large speaker on the front of our 1977 Zenith television. With a kitchen chair pushed up to the TV stand and the recorder balancing on its end right in front of the speaker, I would wait. Finally, the announcer would foretell that G.I. Joe was starting next. Clicking the pause button, the recorder would begin recording. Then for the next 30 minutes I would wait and make as little noise as possible. I remember replaying those tapes over and over. I knew those shows backwards and forwards. The shows were all perfectly played in my mind and imagination. Yet the audio was exact in every detail on magnetic tape. I would sit on my bed and play them over and over. I would even play them while I took baths and ate my dinners. Each and every show, along with all commercials, perfectly archived on the best Memorex tapes...or was it Maxell. Each tape was only 60 minutes so I had one episode on each side. Although, primitive, I loved it. The magic behind it was stupidly simple. Pre-VCR. Recorded on audio tape with my single cassette recorder that was the size of a lunch box. We didn't have the money for the Sony Beta machines or the new VHS recorders. Those were over $500 back in 1983. Yet this way, I could own a small piece of G.I. Joe or Transformers. The only thing I regret is not keeping the tapes. It would be a time machine to go back and listen to them with commercials of the day. The remastered DVDs that I have today, still remind me of watching those shows from back then but being able to hear those mono recordings would be the true treasure...

4th Grade: The Lunch Ticket

My daughter is in the 4th grade (soon to be the fifth grade) and we buy the hot meal plan from the school. So she gets this little debit card and she swipes it to receive a lunch in the lunch room. If she can’t swipe the card, she has the 8 digit number memorized (ie her student number) so she can enter it via a key pad. The computer monitors her balance and when she gets below a certain dollar amount and letter is generated to notify parents that she only has x dollars left in her account and we send in a check to recharge her fund.

Now, this got me to remembering how we bought our lunches when I was in the 4th grade. I will say it wasn’t with fancy debit cards and bank accounts. At Valley View Elementary School, we had to bring good ol’ coin. Yep. Two quarters. And I think it later became 75 cents. If you wanted milk without a lunch that was 10 cents (later it would be 25). Now we didn’t pay at the cafeteria. During the early morning roll call, the teacher would ask for any lunch buyers. She would collect our 50 (or 75) cents and hand us a little red ticket. The little red ticket. One would trade one lunch ticket for one lunch. It was the prized Lunch Ticket.

Ms. Anderson sits at her desk at the back of the room. She calls out to the class, who wants lunch tickets. Collecting quarters and making change from crisp $1 dollar bills. The big manila folder fills with clanging and jingling change. Some pay in dimes and nickels. She sets the big roll of lunch tickets on her desk. Bright red tickets sharply torn from a long strip of tickets. Tiny numbers printed on the sides, and the words One Ticket printed boldly in the center. The lunch bell rings. We race to the cafeteria (cafeteria at lunch, gym all the other times). At the front of the lunch line, a big wooden box sat, with a little slot. Dropping our tickets in the box, we grab a napkin and fork. The lunch lady fills our trays with the Spaghetti, peanut butter bars, roll and green beans.

Some kids had the issue of loosing the Lunch Ticket. If that was the case, you were out of luck unless you wanted to purchase another lunch ticket. There even were rumors of bullies taking Lunch Tickets from the weaker kids too. I can’t recall ever having my lunch ticket stolen from me but I know I did loose it from time to time. And when it happened you just suffered through. I never admitted to loosing it. I would make something up like I didn’t feel like eating that day or I was going to use the money to play a couple rounds of Karate Champ. But for a few seconds as you check your pockets, a small fear would arise if you didn’t find it right away.

Yes, there’s a more efficient way of doing today but there was something cool about buy that ticket and trading it for your lunch…(oh and we pay a $1.85 for my daughters lunch today, wish it was that 50 cents of yesteryear)...

Toys: Kenner’s Star Wars 12 Backs

Summer 1978. Star Wars opened on May 25, 1977. I remember seeing it but it most likely was not May 25th. It was summer. It was hot. I remember my mother loaded me up in the family car in my PJs and went to the Drive-in. She was seeing some guy. Not my dad but I don’t recall his name. I could ask but I don’t care. Its not like he stuck around. But we watched Star Wars on the big screen. I was 5 ½ years old. I don’t remember much about that first viewing but I do know I loved the opening sequence with the Stormtroopers blasting into the small Rebel ship and the firefight that followed. I remember the tall Dark Sith Lord demanding stolen plans. I think I fell asleep sometime around the Cantina scene. I don’t blame myself. I was 5 and at a Drive-in past 9 PM. I’m thinking it was August 1978.

Flash forward to Spring or Early summer 1978. My great aunt and uncle Viv and Wade were on their annual trip to New Mexico. I don’t know why or exactly when yet I have a strong visual of standing in the Kmart toy department eyeballing a plethora of Star Wars figures on the pegs. The cards had the pictures of the characters from the movie. Everyone was there. Luke, Leia, Darth Vader, Han and Chewie. My favorite was the Stormtrooper. That image of two troopers standing in a door and firing what looked to be a red/green blast right at you. I tugged my mother’s shirt and asked if I could have one. She said yeah. I then asked for two. She reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t much money. $1.98 a figure. My great uncle Wade walked over and I remember saying that he’d heard how popular Star Wars was. I wonder to this day if he had gone to see it. He asked how many different ones there were. The back of the card showed only 12 different figures. He asked if they had all 12. I said, I think so. He said, then grab yourself a set. That’s right. My uncle was offering to buy all 12 figures. I clearly remember him buying all 12 figures right there in the Kmart. We couldn’t get home fast enough. I opened them all. The rest of the day, the house was a whirlwind of blaster and light sword sounds. Not sure if I had even saw the entire movie by then. I was six.

With owning all 12 that day, I wished I had them still on the card. Or at least begged for a 2nd set. (the market for them in 90s skyrocketed) But I do know, that I had the holy grail of Star Wars figures, the vinyl caped Jawa. Yep, I had it. Loose of course. I also remember loosing its gun at a babysitter’s house. And it would eventually disappear later at that same babysitter’s house. I was mad and distraught over it. My mother tried to calm me and say it was okay. She promised we’d go to the store tomorrow and buy another one. I wiped the tears away and we went to ALCO to buy its replacement the next day. This might have been sometime late ‘78 or early 1979. When we got there, I was surprised to find this new Jawa had a cloth cape. Not a cape but a whole little robe and hood thingie. I flipped out. Even in my 6 year old mind I knew it was much cooler than those dumb old plastic capes or coats that Vader and Old Ben had. I cherished that new Jawa. I never lost its gun and I never lost it. It wasn’t until I was 24 or so that I wished I had the original one again. Knowing that even a verified and authentic loose one would go for around 800 bucks. Oh well…at six…I was happy I lost the first one…

Bikes: Silver Racing Huffy

In 1983, every 11- year old wanted a BMX racer bike. Race down streets. Go to the Pits. Speed down dirt pathways and up and over hills. Jump over ditches and tiny ravines. Pop wheelies and skid stops.

Intro: 1983 Silver Racing Huffy. Cool metallic silver frame. Bright fire engine red pads on the cross bar and handle bars. Mag wheels and trick sticks. Dirt tires. She was fast. She desired air jumps.

She was a Christmas present. The sharpest BMX-like bike I’d ever seen. I rode her to school, rode her to Craig’s house, rode her to the Tastee Freeze, to Daylight Donuts, rode her to Pits and rode her to Chewning’s.

This was the first time I had something that other kids actually envied me about. They begged to ride it. They begged to go down Dead Man’s Drop (at the Pits). I was selfish and mostly said no. I did let a few ride the Huffy behind the Park Twin Theater.

Peddling her as fast as I could. Zooming through the ALCO parking lot. Whipping in and out of parked cars. Hopping it up and over the curb to race down the huge side walk in front of the Plains Park Shopping Center.

Then the dark day happened. I was riding her home after an afternoon at Craig’s house. I remember the day as though it happened yesterday. I remember cruising down the fire lane of Roswell High School. I rode over Washington Ave and into the long parking lot of Columbia Manor Apartments. I turned the handle bars and round the end of the building and up onto the sidewalk. Zoomed into the patio of our apartment and popped the kickstand. I went into the sliding glass door and sat on the couch where my mother was watching TV. Probably some old western on KCAL. Not a few minutes from the time I sat down, the phone rang. It was a neighbor from 3 apartments down stating he saw a couple men walking my bike to their car. My mother told me to check my bike. I whipped the curtains back and she was gone. My Silver Racing Huffy was gone. We called the police. The good neighbor told them the make of car, license plate and description of the men. The police caught them. But there was no Silver Racing Huffy. She was gone. We searched the open fields and looked to see if they dumped it somewhere. Nothing. Never saw her again. One of the saddest days of my life. I still get pissed to this day. I dream of taking my Rawlings bat to the punks head.

I got a new bike right after that. My mother didn’t have to pay the entire amount. When friends and family heard how it got stolen right off our patio, they helped her buy me a another bike. But it wasn’t no Silver Racing Huffy. Her replacement was a Black and Gold Street Huffy. The mag wheels gone; replaced by spokes. She had a black frame and antique gold accents. I remember calling her the Wasp as her tires made this cool buzzing sound as I rode down side walks. It was just the tread on the tire but I imagined that she was a combat ready and mean like a wasp.

I loved the new bike too but I still would give a week of Sundays for the chance to had a childhood with only my Silver Racing Huffy…

Eats: Tastee Freeze

I can’t remember the last time I had a banana split but when I was a kid the best ones were from Tastee Freeze.

The Tastee Freeze was the bomb. Not sure if it still exists. It was across the street of the Columbia Manor Apartments. More or less it backed up to the apartment complex. It was one of the places I could easily walk or ride my Huffy to. There on South Main Street next to the Sherman Williams paint store.

Sunday afternoon. Watching KCOP. Rin Tin Tin and reruns of F Troop. My mother would ask if I wanted to run over to Tastee Freeze and grab a couple banana splits. She would give me the cash, check or even one time we were so broke we used a couple tubes of my rolled pennies from my penny collection to pay for them. That’s how much we loved those things. Actually, I think we borrowed from that penny collection on several occasions. My mother would always repay the rolls of pennies on payday.

A banana split from Tastee Freeze was huge! Using a full size banana cut down the middle. Chunky pineapple and strawberry sauce. Thick molasses-like chocolate syrup. Whipped cream. Sprinkle of pecan pieces. Cherry. The price was only $1.29 I think. (I know it couldn’t be much more than that as it took exactly 6 rolls of pennies, with change back, to pay for two.) I think I tried a Sonic banana split once and I was amazed I paid $2.99 for a tiny little cup with only half a banana.

Its these little simple things that make me want the 80s back. And Tastee Freeze wasn’t just about ice cream. They had a great chicken finger basket and savory French Fries that I still haven’t found a similar look or taste.

You wouldn’t believe how excited I was when one day driving down Colorado Blvd. here in Denver and I see the Tastee Freeze logo- the red and blue T/F logo. It was attached with a Hamburger Stand. I was later disappointed when it was nothing like that Tastee Freeze back home, 25 years ago….

3rd Grade: Latch Key Kid

Remember when you could allow your kids to walk home, let themselves in with the key attached to their belt and not get in trouble with Social Services?

I remember the first time I became a Latch Key Kid. Third Grade. Columbia Manor Apartments. Ms. Richardson's class. I think her name changed after she got married. I really need to find my grade school book with all my photos and notes.

My mother originally thought the best idea was to place the key around my neck. It was on a cheap silver chain. The chain survived until second recess, you know the one after lunch. I was swinging on the monkey bars. Running after soccer balls. Somehow the chain snapped. Key was missing. I was so worried and nervous. I asked Ms. Richardson if I could go look for it on the playground. I swore I was out there for hours combing the ground back and forth, like how search parties search for missing bodies. I never found it. The first day as a latch key kid and I lose the key. Kinda a big deal.

I had to call my mother. I lost the key. Its okay. I won't be able to get in. Don't worry about it; I'll get you. Will we have to change the locks? Someone may have the key to our house. Don't worry about, my mother said. I still think about the day I lost the key. That's the way I am. Thinking if I had done something different so my mother wouldn't be disappointed in me. If she was mad or upset, she never let me know it. I guess that's what makes my mother a better parent than I sometimes.

On day two of being a Latch Key Kid, my mother put the key on a key ring and I put it in my pocket. To this day, I never lost that key ring nor another key. I remained a Latch Key Kid for the rest of my days in school. If you ask my mother today she will say I was much older--5th grade at least--before I was a Latch Key Kid. I disagree as I know it was 3rd grade because Valley View's playgrounds were separated by 1-3rd grade and 4-6th grade and I was definitely on the 3rd grade side on the big set of monkey bars.

Back then it was something kids did. Today, it would be the sign of bad parents. Wow, how times have changed...

Video Games: Pitfall!

Summer 1983. Sitting in the floor of my bedroom, I pop the cartridge of Pitfall! into the Coleco Gemini. 8-bit graphics on a 13-inch B&W TV. The back of the Pitfall! box states that if you score more than 20,000 points you can send a photo in of your score and become part of the Pitfall Harry's explorer club. 20,000 points in under 20 minutes should be easy, right? Two hours later, the screen shows a score of 20,150. Pause. Game over. Grandma can I borrow your Polaroid? What ever for? I need to get a picture of my high score so I can get a Pitfall! T-shirt...no...a Pitfall! patch! So many vines. So many scorpions avoided. Do parents of 1983 know how hard it is to jump from crocodile to crocodile while avoiding them from snapping my legs off? Gold bar. Silver Bar. Platinum Bar. And bag of money. I always thought it odd that a bag of money lay in the jungle. Yet, Harry would swing and pick it up. Rolling logs. Jump. If you get hit, Harry is thrown to his knees and proceeds to make the sound of flatulence. Da da-da dum dummmmmm, as I fall into the disappearing and reappearing tar pit. It was the highest I ever scored. The first photo, the screen is blurry. Will ActiVision even know that's a 20,150 score? Better take another. The print slides out of the camera. Wait. Wait. Fan the picture. Fan. The print is dry yet the screen of the TV has a curvy line thing through the score. Third picture will be the charm. Sure enough. Its close enough. Mailed. I waited six to eight weeks. I gave it another six to eight weeks and nothing. I never got that t-shirt...or patch. Yes, I did break 20K in Pitfall! and I'm damn proud of it. I click the off button and that score fades to black.

Comic Books: Batman #307 January 1979

Sliding the book from the Mylar sleeve, I stare at the cover. The image still gives me goosebumps. I'm not frightened by it but it intrigues me. When I was little, I stared at this cover for hours it seemed. The woman with gold coins over her eyes. Batman struggling with a mysterious man with a red scarf over his face, eyes in shadow under a green fedora. The edges are worn. The pages yellowed slightly. The cover has a crease on the front cover where I would fold the book back to read it. The pages smell musty and aged. I flip through the pages and look at the panels. I haven't read this book in nearly 30 years. I can for a fact state this is my very first comic I ever read and ever owned. There are no comics that date farther back and I can clearly remember they day I got it.

Being the only child to a single parent that worked everyday to support us, I found myself in the hands of a babysitter on most Saturdays and after school. One such Saturday I was in the care of Kristen. She was a lanky teenager that would watch not only myself but my best friend Shawn. I was a well behaved child and could entertain myself easily with a Star Wars figure or a box of crayons and paper. Shawn on the other hand was a bit more rambunctious. I can remember on that day, Shawn was giving Kristen an extra dose of behavior. Jumping around and yelling things like never fear Mighty Mouse is here!. Kristen in an effort of giving something for Shawn to focus on decided to take us both to ALCO. She promised both of us that she would buy us something if we remained good for the rest of the day. In the toy department there was a rack of comic book packs. My eyes fixed on that cover of Batman fighting some unknown thug in a green coat and the lady with coins for eyes. I picked it up and held it in my hands. Kristen asked if that was something I would want. I said, yes. It was a pack of three comics. The entire pack was only 97 cents. A Whitman Value Pack. Yet, I would have to share it with Shawn. He got one issue; I took the other two--including the one with the mysterious lady with coin eyes. (the other issue was #306 and I would assume Shawn got #305 or #308. 30 years has purged it from my memory) I think we got some penny bubble gum that day too. I went back to Kristen's house and read both issues. I was re-reading them when my mother arrived to pick me up.

The book rests in my hands. I feel magic tingling in my finger tips as I know this comic is a piece of my history. It was the first of many more comics. I scan the pages. The ads were different then. Crosman airgun rifle by Coleman, a Superman The Movie contest where the actual cape was the grand prize, a Star Wars digital watch if you joined the youth Opportunity Sales Club and footlocker of 100 toy soldiers for only a $1.75! The classified ads are also a incredible flashback-- ads for X-ray spex!, Kids, build your own flying saucer! and Muscles Fast! Free book for only 25 cents!

I must really stop and re-read this book again soon. But for now, I slide it back into the Mylar sleeve. It still holds the place of the first comic in my collection...

Video Games: Kathy's Arcade

Before Playstation 3’s and Xboxes, the only way to play a video game was to get on your bikes and go to a place that had dozens of tall wooden cabinets that also housed a array of circuits, micro chip processors and electronic wiring. Back in 1981 or 1982, we would go to a small local business called Kathy’s Arcade. To remember Kathy’s Arcade is to remember a piece of 1980s culture and technology.

It was an average day. School was out and it was around 3:30 in the afternoon. C——— and I rode our bikes to his house and figured we just hang out and watch TV. A few months prior his family had purchased the new Atari 2600. Oh, I so envied that Atari 2600. So we started to play the 2600. He had all the classic games too: Breakout, Centipede, and Yar’s Revenge. Unfortunately, I would never get an Atari 2600. I would get the Coleco Gemini system-an Atari clone-for Christmas ‘82. I would enjoy it just as much as C——— did his 2600 but I was still the kid that did not have an Atari system but the knock off. I mother bought it from Sears and it came with the game Donkey Kong. My grandmother would even enjoy playing the DK.

Yet, even the 2600 failed at being ultra cool. The best video games were the big console games down at the arcades. Games like Karate Champ, Joust and Tron were just a few that had superior graphics and game play. The closet arcade was a place called Kathy’s Arcade.

It was that afternoon way back in 1982 that C——— and I desired to go to Kathy’s Arcade. Yet, we didn’t have any money. C——— insisted it was no problem. He knew of his parents emergency money fund. He disappeared to the back of the house and reappeared about five minutes later. With his return, he showed off the crisp $20 bill he now was shoving into his pocket. Now that we had come into a small fortune, we ran outside and hopped on our bikes and peddled toward Kathy’s

Kathy’s Arcade was a small stuffy business on the corner of Main and Poe, a few blocks away from C———’s house. Once inside, it was a utopia of beeps and bleeps, 8-bit synthesized music, and cigarette smoke and billiards tables. The front of the establishment was the home of 12 pool tables. In the center was a small bar and concession area. Next to the concession was the beloved token machine. The machine ate $1 and $5 bills and spit out small brass tokens. C——— pulled the $20 bill from his pocket and traded it for four $5 bills from Kathy. Exchanging the five dollar bills for 30 tokens—cling, cling, cling— it was off to the back half of Kathy’s Arcade. The back half was the area shrouded in darkness with over 20 arcade games. Flashing screens, the sounds of beeps and bings, the room was a casino for children yet there were no payouts—unless you count the hours of entertainment.

Kathy’s Arcade was owned and operated by a grouchy old lady named Kathy (who’d thunk, huh?) She was a lady that had a Marlboro face, heavy lines and wrinkles caused by decades of smoking. I don’t recall whatever happened to Kathy but I do know she ran her little arcade for several more years. I know we would go there in high school and rent a pool table by the hour. We’d play until midnight. A place to go on Friday nights when cruising was just too boring.

Although there are a few arcades around today, they are not the arcades of the 1980s. They aren’t the smoked filled holes in the wall. They don’t just have games with joysticks and fire buttons. Today, we live in a world of 1080p Playstation 3 games and first person shooters, life simulation and MMORPGs. Yet, when I think of an arcade, I think of Kathy’s Arcade—something the 1980s created and something the new millennium destroyed.

Flash Fiction: Pop Tarts and Coffee

Soft, platinum-blonde pony-tail swings from side to side. She walks like a ballerina. The ball of her foot first then her heel. Her name is Joni. We met at the mall candy store. I was digging in the Carmel Apple Jelly Bellys, she was reaching for the Pina Colada ones.
Behind us, a child holds his Power Ranger to the sky. He shouts "Mighty morphin time" at the top of his lungs. Hands sticky with the residue of licorice and jaw breakers, he makes fighting noises and karate moves. I look at the innocence and wish for a time long ago, a time when I was his age. Six Million Dollar Man, Star Wars, and GIJOE; heart and mind at play. I'm glad I don't have to shake the young man's hand.
I accept being an adult and all the privileges there of and all the pains as well. I look at Joni floating though the green chlorinated water of the apartments pool and wonder where we'll be in six months. I wonder what it would've been like to have known her as a little girl when I was a little boy. What would I think of her then? Now we're grown-ups. She walks over to the patio table. Pleated mini skirt, soft white swimsuit, velvet scrunchy, and sandals like those worn by ancient Greek Amazons. Her hair is wet and bound in a pony-tail. Her hand warm in mine, her nipples poking through the delicate cotton, her moist lips against my cheek, she whispers in my ear. It was the night my parents were out of town. We're alone; eighteen; senior year; prom; going off to college. We spend the night just sitting in the floor and watching TV. The flickering television plays reruns of I Dream of Jeanie; Brady Bunch; Partridge Family; Saturday Morning Cartoons. The house smells of Pop Tarts and coffee; Joni's favorites. She sits in front of the TV watching the Smurfs with a coloring book the size of the telephone directory. A sixty-four count box of Crayons is at her reach. Each and every color of the spectrum awaits to be used. I loved her quirks and I thought we would be together forever. She loves to color. I love to watch her. With the Prussian Blue in hand, she sits Indian style on the tan carpet, scribbling color on the page never wandering outside the lines. She asks to stay the weekend.
She takes a shower, I sit and listen to Depeche Mode's Somebody. I hear the jingling of shower curtain rings; shower stops. She exits and stands only in a large fluffy towel tied tight at her breasts. Water beads on her shoulders. She asks if I have something she can wear. I say she can help herself to what ever is in my closet. When she comes out, she's wearing a pair of my flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. I sit with her and massage her bare feet, until she falls asleep. I whisper to her unconscious ears, "Let's get married." She ignores me and rolls over.

draft: 6.22.97

TV: Tranzor Z

Summer 1985. School’s out. Nothing to do but be a kid. Sleeping in was almost a waste of time. I awake with the sound of the air conditioner’s soft rhythmic hum above me. Its cool breeze blows down across my body. Mother’s clanking make-up bottles and hair spray cans as she gets ready for work. I rub my eyes and jump from bed to run down the hall to the living room. I push the on button to the 1977 Zenith television and rotate the dial to channel 13 – dup, dup, dup, dup. The credits to The Flintstones roll:

Someday, maybe Fred will win the fight, And the cat will stay out for the night. Yabba dabba doo time. Dabba doo time. Wiiiilllllllmaaa!

I run to the kitchen and grab the box of Cap’n Crunch with crunch berries and pour a bowl. Milk glugs from the carton down onto the crisp peanut butter crunch bites. White droplets splash down to the counter top. The spoon clanks as it hits the blue and white Corningware bowl. Jumping back to the sofa and placing the bowl of cereal on the coffee table, the commercials end and the announcer booms that the following show starts next. Tranzor Z! My mother gives me a odd stare as I’m the kid up at 7 AM on a summer day. Yet, robot shows totally rule and I don’t dare miss an episode; it’s serialized. Each day the following show continued the story. Tranzor Z was just like Voltron but Tranzor Z could launch its fist to punch through galactic monsters. Not to mention a nice catchy theme song...

2nd Grade: Flings

Sitting in Ms. Carol's 2nd grade classroom, my desk is sandwiched between two girls, Kelly and Jamie. Small desks with storage under the seat. I work on math problems. The two girls look across me at each other and snicker and giggle. Recess bell rings and I run outside. We play soccer on the playground. My cub scout uniform covered in grass and dirt. Jamie and Kelly sit in the cubbies writing on their girly pink and yellow writing tablets. I walk by on my way to the steps back to class. They giggle and stare. I pretend its the uniform that has these two girls so enamored. I push out my chest and stride past like I'm Col. Steve Austin from Six Million Dollar Man. Back in the classroom, Ms. Carol's small AM/FM radio plays something by Air Supply--Lost in Love. Kelly and Jaime continue to stare and giggle. The invitation to Liz's birthday party sits on my desk. I look to see who else has one. There's only 5 or 6. Shawn and I are the only boys invited. Afternoon literature. Girls pass notes. Monday night TV--That's Incredible! Jamie nudges my arm and passes one to me. She nods as to confirm I can open it. Inside the note: who do you like better Jamie or Kelly, check the box by the name. Second Grade flings. I look to both and flush red. Day of weirdness. 3 o'clock bell rings and I grab my backpack. Jamie looks to me and smiles-- seeya Saturday at Liz's. I swallow and immediately become nervous.

Baseball: The Day the Magic Died

My daughter's baseball team almost won their first game of the 2009 season on Monday night. Although they were playing better than they did 6 weeks ago, they had met a team on that field, that raining Monday night, that was their equal. For the first time all season, my daughter Bree knew what it felt like to be a winner. Unfortunately, the game would flip the other way on one crucial error in the 2nd inning. (I should also state that little league games are 5 innings or an hour, 45 minutes. And most these games rarely get past the 3rd or 4th inning.) The other team would pull off three runs in the bottom of the third and leave the field on a walk off win-- 12-11.

So, when I was her age, I played baseball every spring. My mother's boss and owner of Chewning Footwear sponsored a team. Usually made up of the children of his employees and friends, the team performed very well. We were never a champion winning team but it was fun. The first year I played I was so young that I could barely hit the ball off a tee. I wasn't the greatest player in the field either and delegated to Left Field (although my desire was to play 3rd Base). When you hit off a tee, the ball rarely, I mean rarely goes past the infield. Thus, the outfields are pretty quiet during games. Year Two, nearly the entire team moved out of the pee wee class and now were hitting off a pitchers throw. Again, I wasn't that good but I managed to hit a few dingers, run to first. But what I do remember is that little league baseball in 1981 had something it no longer has -- chatter. Hey batter batter batter, hey batter batter batter, swing! The coaches weren't afraid to tell us that we sucked and we failed to play baseball when we lost games. The coach would load us all in the bed of his pickup to take us to the Tastee Freeze for ice cream if we won. If we lost, we got nothing, unless you count the laps around the bases we had to run at the next practice. Our uniforms were gold and black. we bought Big League Chew or Fun Dip candy from the concession stand. I remember going behind the concession stand to put a cup that was about five sizes too big into my pants so I could gear up as a catcher one game because Chad wasn't able to play. I remember that little league was extremely competitive. Parents would yell at the umpire, sometimes yell at the coaches. When I finally reached the age to go into the minors (that's what we called the 12 year old division) Chewning's no longer sponsored a team. Thus, I was now in a pool of kids being assigned to teams sponsored by other local businesses. That was my final year of little league baseball. Not that I lost the love for the game but because I lost interest in a team and league that cared more about winning than teaching and improving one's skills. That final year was 1983, I was playing for the Albertson's team. Our uniforms were a baby blue which I always hated. I wanted to play for the Gibson's team. Their uniforms were red and gray. During that final year, I was getting better. I won't lie, I wasn't a great hitter but I could make contact. It was that year that I broke my arm and would nail the fate of my baseball career. I remember that game to this day. I was on second, runner on first. Some kid named Scott hit a nice chopper to short stop. Being forced to run, I headed for third base. Yet the opposing team's third baseman which I think was the Gibson's team, was blocking the base and standing strong in the baseline (an illegal action by the way). We collided with full running force. Not sure how but I broke my arm on impact. Yet I didn't know it at the time. It wasn't until the next inning that I couldn't hold the bat that I realized I had a problem. The coach thought I was being a pansy and I needed to get out there and hit the ball. I would drop the bat in mid swing. It was the ump that called for me to be pulled as injured. My mother would take me to the emergency room and I would find that I had a broken arm. I would be out for 6 - 8 weeks and the season would be over. When it came to signing up for baseball the following summer, I conveniently let my application miss the deadline. I wouldn't play baseball again. It was the game...the day...the magic died.

I regret not playing baseball during high school. I wouldn't play something similar until I played on a friend's beer league softball team. I played Third Base and my jersey number was 5. And I was pretty good.

Maybe Bree's team will win this Saturday. We'll have to wait and see.