Bzzzzzzzzzz...

Well, here I am again at the airport, waiting for a flight that was just delayed 35 minutes. So, I'll use the time wisely and blog! I was talking to my wife this morning and I told her that I wish I had more childhood memories that weren't either injury related or stories of me getting in trouble. She asked me some questions that got my mormory juices flowing. I had a few thoughts come to me but this one is the one that made me laugh out loud. Now granted, I'm sure this alot funnier to me than to anyone else, but funny none the less.

When I was 15 I went to a youth camp at BYU called "Be The Best You" (BBY). It was similar to EFY, for those of you that are familiar it is like EFY but much much smaller, only about 300 kids in the whole camp. So we got to know the friends in our group and in our camp really well. I went to the camp with some friends of mine Bobby and Greg and I think there were some other friends from Yuma, but I can't remember right now, sorry other friends. The camp was a week long and it was filled with classes, dances, free time, and other stuff to keep the youth occupied and spiritually fed. In the process of being spiritually fed we tried our hardest to break as many rules as possible. Sneaking into the girls dorm, sneaking off campus, bringing contraband items onto campus, and ditching class to name a few. We were young and having fun and there were some really cute girls we were trying to impress, again, can't remember any names, sorry really cute girls.

I remember one stunt we pulled to get attention and to make a big splash at the end of camp. We decided it would be fun and a good idea to shave our heads, not just buzzed, but bald bald. The only thing close to clippers anyone of us had was an electric razor with a flip up sideburn trimmer on the back. I was the Guiney Pig of the group and went first. We weren't quite sure about our method of shaving but we wewre gung ho and ready to go. Instead of starting on the back or side where if we decided to stop the damage wouldn't be too noticeable we started right in the front center. Right away I knew this was a mistake, OUCH!!!! It hurt, bad, I could feel each hair being ripped out by the root. By the time the pain was too much ot take it was too late, I had a big strip of missing hair on the top of my red head. So, we moved forward. After about an hour of shaving (more like ripping and tearing) I looked like Jason Voorhees from friday the 13th, a bald head with a few stray clumps of hair blowing in the wind. I was in tears but I took solice in the fact that we were all going to do it. After I got up and looked in the mirror I said "who's next"? Much to my disappointment no one stepped up to the chair, they all chickened out. I'm sure I would have too if I hadn't already been butchered.

Oh well, whats done is done and if they are going to chicken out then I'll rock the chrome dome alone. I asked how were going to finish the job and clean it up? With a grin on his face Greg flipped down the trimmer and turned on the razor. I knew it had to be done, so I took my seat and let them at it. It was almost as painful as the initial torture, but I knew we were almost done. When Greg finished I was clean shaven, I mean clean buddy! It was white, shiny, and hairless. I looked in the mirror and thought, "there is nothing more handsome than an bald, albino, red head head. We suited up and went to the last dance of camp, the hair was a hit, chicks dig a bald head. I got to dance with any girl of my choosing, I was king for a night (bald king).

When I got home my folks weren't the happiest, but what could they do, the damage was done. The thing I remeber the most about having a shaved head was how hard it was to dry off my head after a shower. I could drag the towel forward, but trying to drag it backward was like trying to drag a piece of cheesecloth over a cactus.

Wanna see that again?

When I was a freshman in high school I was one of the fortunate kids that got to ride the bus. Not the short bus, lets keep those jokes to a minimum. It was a normal size bus, but that has nothing to do with this story. This story is about how I met one of my best friends.

So every day I rode the bus to and from school. Each day after school the bus would drop off me and one other kid that lived in our neighborhood. The bus would drop us off near the entrance to our neighborhood, but the entrance was set back from the main road a bit. So we had to walk on the dirt for a while before we reached the pavement and the sidewalk. Where the dirt met the sidewalk there was a small lip that would trip you if not careful, keep that in mind.

So me and this other kid would walk to our homes but we never said a word to each other. He was a year older so I thought he was out of my league. Well one day I was walking slightly in front of him and I was looking back out of the corner of my eye and I didn't see the lip in the sidewalk. Well needless to say, my foot caught on the lip and I went flying. It was the kind of fall that moved in slow motion and it seemed like every part of my body went a different direction. By the time I hit the cement i was already thinking of how I was going to try to recover from my idiotic blunder. As I was getting back up to my feet all I could think to say was "wanna see that again?" I didn't think it was that funny but apparently it was because the kid I had never spoken to starting laughing uncontrollably. He introduced himself and from that moment on we were best friends.

I guess the lesson I learned was don't be afraid to laugh at yourself, and don't do drugs!

I mowed the lawn twice.

If there is one thing about my father that I remember from my growing up years it is that he was always working. He always had a job, but it was more the work he did when he came home from his job. He would always go to his room, change into his grubbies and start the yard work. He was always raking, mowing, picking, shoveling, planting, watering, skimming, cleaning, digging, trimming, cutting, plucking, you get the idea. Sometimes I would go and help, but it was usually because my mom would tell me to go help. I was more of what you call a couch potato. I loved my TV and my snacks (still do).

One day I decided I would surprise my dad by mowing the lawn for him. I got the mower out, I surveyed the yard, and visioned my plan of attack, and I went at it. As I said in an earlier post I am a big baseball fan, keep that in mind as I continue. As I was mowing the lawn, which was substantial, I decided it would be a good idea to try to mow a word into it, just like they do in baseball fields (words like team names, and cities and stuff). When I hatched this plan I didn't take into account how much my old man loved his yard and how particular he was about it. After I decided that it would be a good idea to mow a word into the grass I stopped the mower and thought about what word would be worthy of being written into our back yard. Now, I know that most of you that know me are probably thinking of all the 4 letter words that might have been running through my mind, but you'd be wrong. I thought and thought and thought and then it came to me. I had the most perfect word that has ever been uttered by the lips of mankind. A word that says everything and nothing all at the same time. A word that has been used for years and a word that will never leave our fine vocabulary. I was so proud of myself that I started the mower back up and went to work.

When I was finished I cleaned up the mower, put it away, and went back inside. I couldn't wait for my dad to come home and see what I had done, he would think it was so funny and would be so happy that I had helped. As I sat there the rest of the afternoon I was envisioning my dad walking into the back yard, seeing my handy work, and what his reaction would be. I thought he would run back inside scoop me up we'd have a good laugh and then we'd go to Dairy Queen to get some butter scotch Dilly Bars (one of my childhood favs). When he came home he did exactly what I thought, well he started to anyway. He went to his room and changed, he walked outside, he stood there for a minute, and then he ran inside. "Here he comes" I thought, ready to embrace me. When he came inside he didn't rush to me, instead he just stood inside the door glaring at me and asked, "Who wrote the word "YO" into the grass"? I thought for a brief moment if I should try to blame it on someone else, but as I was the only one home that afternoon my options were limited. I said, "I did, (gulp)". He came up to me and as best he could without thrashing me into oblivion explained to me how much time and care he put into his grass to make it look just right. I suppose he was a little particular. He told me to go get the mower and go over the entire lawn again and how to do it in rows so that each row is strait and neat.

To this day I still think it was funny, but now I know that if I want to write "YO" or any other word into grass it better not be in my dad's backyard.

Just a little funny.

Last night my daughter and I were heading to dinner at a friends house. On the way we needed to stop at the grocery store to pick up a couple items. We got to the store and I went strait to the items that I needed. Grace on the other hand wanted some croutons for her dinner salad and only certain croutons will do. So I told her to lead the way. She started leading right to the croutons but when we got there she just kept going. I thought I would entertain her and play along. She lead me right to the candy isle. the following conversation occurred:

Me: I don't think the croutons are on this isle.

Her: I know where I'm going Daddy.

Me: Are you sure?

Her: Yes, me and Mom go this way to the croutons.

Me: OK

As we left the candy isle we started heading toward the soda and chip isle.

Me: I know the croutons aren't down here.

Her: This is the way we go!

Me: I'm heading back.

Her: Daddy, this is how I roll.

I'm not kidding she said "This is how I roll". I could not stop laughing, I told my friend about it last night and now I'm telling you about it.

Profile Pic

I felt that I should explain the profile picture. When looking at it quickly and in such a small window it looks inappropriate. But it is not, look closer, I am holding up all the needles used during one night of shots for Stacy during the hormone boost phase of our In Vitro proceedure.

I was a rotten kid.

I was a pretty rotten kid growing up. Some would say, c'mon every child has their moments. Well I have 4 moments, let me share them with you and you can be the judge.

The 4 moments all have to do with my temper and giving people stitches. I've had stitches many many times in my life, but all of those were self inflicted. The stitches in this story all come courtesy of yours truly. All 4 stories involve me, a brother, or grandmother, and some kind of tool of destruction.

I'll start at the beginning with my older brother. We lived in Yuma and like most homes in Yuma we had a backyard pool. I remember this pool because it had a short 3foot fence around it to keep the kids out (Like two scheming boys couldn't get over a 3 ft fence). It also had a nice deck on one side and lots of flowers on the other. We used to go out by the pool and use old butter tubs to catch the bees that were buzzing about. We would get the bees in the tubs and then shake them until they were dead, but that's another story. So my older brother and I were swimming one day and he did something to really upset me. I don't remember what it was he said or did. What I do remember is picking up the pad lock that secured the fence and yelling "you better shut up, I've got a good arm". Yes, I actually yelled "I've got a good arm". He didn't stop whatever he was doing and I let the pad lock fly. He ducked but the lock still found it's mark, it hit him right above his eye. He went down even further and the pool started filling with blood, a lot of blood. He came up out of the water holding his eye and bleeding like a stuck pig. After the incident I believe I got sent to my room, a just punishment.

The second story takes place in the same pool and like the last story it includes me throwing something at my older brother. This time it was an old sprinkler head, the kind that attached to the hose and looked like jagged metal butterfly wings and a round thing in the middle with holes in it for the water to come out. My grandparents were in town from Tucson but that didn't deter me from letting the beast come out. My brother was standing on the other side of the pool from me, I picked up the sprinkler head and this time I didn't yell anything, i just whipped the thing at him. Only, it didn't go where I had aimed, it went a little lower and struck my grandmother who was swimming in the pool. It hit her right on top of the head. She went down and the blood came up, it looked just like the last time I saw blood in the pool. I think I got a spanking this time.

The third incident happened at the church ball field in Tucson. This is back when softball was a big deal in the church and it was a family event. The whole family would go to the ball field to watch dear old dad play ball. The kids, me, my brothers, and my friends would always be playing some game of our own while we were there. On one night we were playing with a kickball and it got stuck up in the tree. To try to free the ball from it's leafy prison I picked up a big rock with the intent of using my "good arm" and hitting the ball with the rock. I remember the rock, it was a medium sized river rock about 3lbs and broken on one side. So it had a smooth edge for handling and a sharp edge for who knows what, apparently cutting skin (you like the foreshadowing?). On the very first attempt I barely missed... the ball, but as I watched the rock fall to the other side where my youngest brother was standing I saw that it didn't miss it's other mark. It came down right under his eye. Out of all this the thing I remember the most is his reaction. He didn't cry right away, or scream in pain, but when the rock hit him he just sat down. It looked like he came down with a little thud, like sitting on the ground without bending your knees at all, just falling back. This one was purely accidental, but stitches none the less.

The final story takes place at the rental house in Tucson. The place had a huge back yard where we had a small patch of grass, a trampoline, and some rabbit cages on the side yard from me 4H days. My younger brother, not the youngest, but younger brother and I were out front. he was sitting on my fathers truck (the red Nissan hard body pick up, I remember that we had that truck forever and it seemed like every time I asked my dad how long we had had it he would say "8 years" no matter when I asked him). At this time the antenna had been broken off the truck leaving about one inch of jagged metal sticking out of the hood. My brother said something that pushed my button and I shoved him off the truck. As he was sliding off the truck his leg went over that piece of metal and the antenna remnant scratched a 2 inch gash in the back of his upper leg. He ran inside and then my parents ran him to the hospital for you know what, stitches.

That's the end of the stitches stories, I'm glad there is not more to share. So you be the judge, was I rotten kid or what!

I spy with my little eye...

This is what I see almost as much as I see my own family.

Bite me.

Probably one of the greatest Chad stories of all time is when I got kicked out of Ronald Reagan Fundamental School. It was a long time ago so most of the memory comes from hearing my mother re-tell it again and again at just about every family event since it happened. The story goes as follows.

I was in a lower grade in elementary school. To give you an idea of what year it was, it was one of the years where you would still walk to lunch and the library, and other places at school in a group with your class. Usually we were in two lines, boys and girls. I'm sure most of you remember something similar. I always hated lining up because my last name starts with T, so I was always at the end of the line. Most lines didn't matter, but in some lines the order is very important. If you know me you can probably guess what line was most important to me, thats right, the lunch line.

Sometimes the teacher would let us line up however we wanted to, again, some lines I could care less, but when it came to lining up for lunch I suddenly became the fastest man on earth (not actually verified). Well one day my teacher gave us the green light to line up as we wished for lunch. I leapt from my chair and raced to the front of the line. To my great dismay I didn't make it to the very front, but I was pretty close. We began to march to the lunch room in two single file lines as usual. When we got to the door to the lunch room, some unfortunate classmate thought it would be a good idea to try to cut infront of me. If there is one thing you should know, it is that the last thing you want to do is get between a fat kid and his school pizza. This foolish act is the grade school equivalent of getting between a lioness and her cubs, not smart. When I noticed what this was young skallywag was doing something inside me snapped and jungle rules took over. I jumped as high as I could (as I was shorter than most kids in my class this was necessary) and bit the kid on the shoulder. it must have been a bad bite because he screamed out in pain. When the teacher turned to see what was happening all she saw was this boy doubled over grabbing his shoulder. She asked him what had happened and he told her the truth, I had bit him on the shoulder. The teacher was furious, apparently "he cut" is not a legitamite excuse for biting someone on the shoulder. I was promptly sent to the principles office.

The rest of the story is going to be omited as to not make my mother feel bad for allowing the principle to swat me with a paddle while she sat there and watched, oops, did I say too much? I will say that the final result was that I was expelled from the school and had to finish the year of the chomp at Ranch Viejo Elem. School, an A+ school I might add.

Moral of the story, if someone cuts in the lunch line, wait till you get to the playground and the teacher is not around before you exact you revenge.

Whats wrong with you people?!!!

IT'S CHIPOTLE, (chi-pote-lay)

NOT CHIPOLTE, (chi-pole-tee)

After you get it right, tell Bobby Flay, he is embarrassing himself on almost every episode of Boy Meets Grill. How about Boy Meets The "Speak It" Feature on Dictionary.com.

BigMac Homer

As you might already know or you will soon find out, I travel for work. So I find myself at the airport a lot with time to kill. This will be the first of many posts that will come from airports waiting for a flight.

I remember when I was younger, we lived in Tucson and I was a baseball fanatic. I loved to play; we would play every week in the Thornydale little league. If I remember right my coach was named Doug. Back then I thought it was spelled Dug and was short for Dugout. I remember one game in particular when my dad bet me that if I hit a homerun, he would buy me a Big Mac on the way home from the game. As I don't have much time I will tell you that the next at bat I ripped a line drive into left center, all the way to the fence. I booked it around the bases as fast as my little fat feet would go. I rounded first with ease, second wasn't much different. My coach tried to hold me up at third but I could smell the double patty, double cheese, unnecessary bread in the middle goodness, so I went for it. As I headed for home plate I heard my coach and my adoring fans screaming, "SLIDE!!". So I hit the deck and slid for all my tight baseball pants were worth. After the dust cleared and the bodies were separated, there were my pudgy digits on home plate. I beat the throw and later that night I enjoyed my delicious reward. One of the best bets I ever made.

the reason I thought of this memory is the baseball team sitting in the seats next to me. I hope they had a good and delicious tournament.

In the beginning...

This blog is an experiment to see if I can stick with something completely unnecessary. In addition to that it was inspired. I was reading some posts from a friends blog and it inspired me to start my own. Ok, I'll explain what I'm taking about. My wife and I were driving (in our sweet ride which made the trip only because of fervent prayers the entire way) to visit my family and she started reading me blog posts of a childhood friend of hers. Her friend is Scott and he has an incredible talent for expressing his thoughts in writing. Most of his posts are just stories of his childhood but the way they are written make you want to never stop reading. My wife thinks that Scott and I would get along really well, so Scott if you ever read this feel free to call me and we'll hang out sometime.

So I thought to my self "self, I can do that" So that is what this blog is, an attempt to put some of my thoughts, mostly childhood memories in writing. No real purpose for doing this other than previously stated, just to see if I can stick with it. Maybe someday I'll change my tune and start writing for posterity or some kind of meaningful purpose. But, for right now, it's just because.

My first story will be a short one and isn't so much of a story as it is just some thoughts I'm having right now. I'm sitting at the table at my parents house and my mom, dad, and brother and his family are sitting here with me. I'm looking at the computer and they are just shooting the breeze. My favorite part of coming to visit my family is that when I'm here I don't have a care in the world. I get to lounge around, watch cool movies, and eat lots of junk food (no comments on how this is what my life is like when not visiting my parents). It is such a comfortable feeling to be around family and talk about (sidenote, my daughter just went through the doggie door) whats going on and reminisce (and Carter just went through the doggie door, I see a new fad starting) about old times.

So thats it for now, I don't know when I'm going to post again, but for your sake hopefully it's soon.