Turtle Crossing

At the end of my run the other morning I saw a small turtle crossing the one major road in my subdivision; that is to say I think it was crossing but it was hard to tell because he wasn’t moving when I found him.  I remembered my grandson telling me two days earlier that he had just learned about turtles and tortoises in school.  With that in mind I thought it might be a good idea to take the turtle home, show it to Krischan and let him get a feel for what he had learned.

I set the turtle down on the driveway and went inside the house to tell Krischan I had a surprise for him and that ‘no, it’s not a toy, video game or Happy Meal.’  Being the good G-Pa that I am, I didn’t want him to have any false hopes or expectations, only to be disappointed because his surprise was merely a reptile--even if it was one that was breathing and ate bugs. 

Krischan rushed outside and judging from the look on his face the turtle was a better surprise than anything Mattel, Nintendo or Ronald McDonald had to offer.  ‘It’s a turtle!’ he screamed with the excitement of someone who had just stumbled upon the Fountain of Youth. 

I told Krischan that when I found the turtle he was wearing a blue mask and therefore must be Michelangelo, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.  He knew instantly I was lying because as ‘everyone knows Michelangelo wears an orange mask.’ Besides, ‘Leonardo wears a blue mask and is as big as a human!’  Yes sir, you have to wake up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on this kid. 

‘Did you know turtles live in water and tortoises live on land?’   Krischan looked at me waiting for my reply.  (Instinctively I knew that he knew I had no idea of the distinction between the two.  I warned you: You have to wake up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on this kid.) 

‘No, I didn’t,’ I replied.  ‘Where did you learn that?’ 

‘On ABCmouse.com,’ he replied.  His answer hit me on three levels: (1) He was using the internet for educational purposes. (2) He retained the information and was now relaying it to me.  (3) ‘Dot-com’ rolled off his tongue as easily as ‘chicken nuggets’ does when he orders a Happy Meal.  (Seriously?  The boy is only six years old!) 

We spent the next 30 minutes—or I should say Krischan spent the next 30 minutes telling me everything he knew about turtles, nature and why mushroom pizza would be a good idea for dinner later (‘because that’s what the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles eat!’).  I smiled pretty much the entire time, appreciating his interest in the subject matter as much as I did his concern for the well-being of his new reptilian friend.  Krischan placed several blades of grass and a tray of water in front of (‘Let’s see, I think I will name him…’) Spike. 

(I asked him where he got the name ‘Spike.’  Apparently the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have a pet turtle—who knew?—named Spike.  Now you know.)

Around lunchtime Cindy took Krischan with her to the grocery store.  I was left behind to babysit Spike.  (Spike was in a cardboard box and all I had to do was make sure he didn’t climb or jump over the side.  Spike was four inches long and the side of the box was eight inches high, so I wasn’t too worried.  But I did check on him numerous times; just to be safe…and because I don’t spend a lot of time on ABCmouse.com and have very little recollection of anything I learned about biology while I was in school and in all sincerity don’t really know whether or not a four-inch turtle can climb or jump over an eight-inch wall.) 

When they got back Krischan couldn’t wait to tell me the news: He helped a much larger turtle on the same road where I found Spike climb over a curb so it could (presumably) make its way to the lake in our subdivision.  He showed me with his hands (held about 12 inches apart) how big the turtle was and said it was Spike’s mother.  I asked him how he knew and he said ‘I just do.’  I didn’t argue with him because as you may recall I know virtually nothing about biology.

After an afternoon of holding Spike, watching Spike crawl and making sure Spike didn’t get lodged behind the freezer in the garage, we turned our attention to deciding what would be in Spike’s best interest in the long run.  I told Krischan turtles enjoyed being around water and since there was a creek running alongside and behind our house it would be the perfect place to take him (if any of that was true, then consider it a lucky guess; I know nothing about biology.  Don’t make me tell you again.).

We walked down the hill to the creek.  Krischan set Spike down on the bank, about two inches from the water.  Spike hit the creek with a splash and immediately started paddling upstream (the creek originates from the lake, about one half-mile upstream from our house).  Krischan said Spike was going home to see his mom at the exact moment Spike climbed onto the bank on the opposite side of the stream.  Suddenly Krischan had a change of heart: ‘Go get Spike, G-Pa.’

Just about that time Spike jumped back in the water and started swimming downstream.  Krischan followed the turtle, running along the bank all the way up to where the creek funnels through a tunnel and continues on the other side.  Alas, the bank ended at the tunnel and at least for the time being Krischan had seen the last of Spike. 

I could see the sadness in Krischan’s face.  I tried my best to ease the pain. ‘Don’t worry; we’ll see Spike again someday.  He’ll be happy out here and I’m guessing his mom will be joining him here very soon.’

I walked back towards the house and after 20 paces or so I noticed Krischan wasn’t right behind me like he normally is when we take walks behind the house.  Instead he was standing in the exact same spot I had left him, still as a statue.  I called his name several times, each time louder than the next.  He didn’t budge, even after my tone had a hint of anger in it after a minute or so of calling to him.  I walked back over to Krischan and was about to grab his arm when I noticed the front of his shirt was soaking wet…from the tears he had been shedding since I walked away a couple of minutes earlier.  ‘I miss my friend,’ he sobbed.  His lips were quivering, his eyes were red and his nose was dripping almost as much as his eyes.  ‘I’ll never see my friend again.’

I was at a loss for words.  Almost, that is.

I reminded Krischan of the turtles’ role in nature (in my best ABCmouse.com voice) and how much happier Spike would be living in the creek behind our house: Spike’s Creek, we’d call it.  Krischan listened as I spoke, but clearly he wasn’t convinced as the tears continued to pour.  ‘You should feel good because Spike knows what you did for him was a good thing and for that he will always be your friend.’  Closer but still no cigar, although the tears were now slowing to a trickle.  ‘You will always be in his heart and he’ll always be your friend.  Always.’  At last; no more tears.  One more glance at Spike’s Creek and we walked back to the house, hand-in-hand.    

When Krischan’s mother came to pick him up later that day he couldn’t wait to tell her about Spike.  I couldn’t hear everything he told her, but I did notice his eyes were wide as saucers, he had a smile on his face the entire time and the last thing he said was something about Spike living in the creek behind the house. 

I may not know anything about biology, but I do know a little something about grandsons.        

Birthday Blues

‘They grow up way too fast.’

That phrase has never had more meaning than it did a couple weeks ago.  It was at Krischan’s birthday party.  He was turning six, which I found sort of strange because I could have sworn it wasn’t that long ago he was still drinking his chocolate milk out of a sippy cup.  Certainly it couldn’t have been that long ago, could it?

Krischan is at an age now where you can see he’s still a little boy at heart, but his spoken words indicate his mind is starting to think with the maturity that the kids of my generation didn’t realize until they were at least twice his age. 

First, the signs of the little boy.

·      The party was at a bowling alley/arcade and included several of his friends from school. While it was rather obvious none of them had ever bowled before nor had any idea how, it was also pretty clear that in no way did that take away from their enjoyment of spending the afternoon throwing (notice I didn’t say ‘rolling’) an eight-pound ball towards a pyramid of 10 white objects at the end of the ‘runway.’  (Note: The bumper guards were in place, thereby ensuring that the ball would knock down at least one pin on their first throw.)  Seeing the excitement on all of their faces—they would all stand on the lane and watch as one of them bowled—was a joy to behold.  Every time pins were knocked down—one, three, once or twice all ten—the excitement shared by the small band of friends came through in random displays of screams, laughter and random bouncing up and down. 

·      The enthusiasm quickly shifted away from bowling when their party hostess showed up with an apron full of balloons and an air pump.  Ladies first: Kaitlyn asked for a pink puppy.  Now for the birthday boy: A purple sword.  It wasn’t long before all of the boys at the party had balloon swords, each one a different color so they would know whose was whose.  As if it mattered.  Once the swordfight began, Kaitlyn decided she really wanted a sword (goodbye pink pony!) so she could enter the combat.  (Kaitlyn, the only girl at the party held her own against the boys.) 

·      Then came a short—a very, very short time out to enjoy the birthday cake that was covered with blue icing and had an edible shark on top.  Everyone caught their breath long enough to watch the birthday boy blow out the flame of a single wax candle in the shape of the number six.  Although each child was given a generous slice of cake, it didn’t hold their attention for very long because they all had gift cards for the arcade and as I already said by this time they had all caught their breath.  Hello, second wind!  (Note: If it weren’t for one particularly hungry G-Pa who loves vanilla cake, a whole bunch of cake would have gone to waste.)

·      The arcade proved to be the afternoon’s main attraction, center of attention and greatest thing EVER because for the remaining two hours of the party the energy level of the kids elevated reached the sky.  The dark room featuring a maze with red laser beams that had to be avoided at all costs was a huge hit, as evidenced by one pair of youngsters (they entered the maze in pairs) after another exiting the room with beaming smiles on their faces and the same words coming out of their mouths: ‘I want to do THAT again!’  Eventually the other attractions the arcade had to offer were discovered: The grappling hook that all children today apparently have the inherent ability to master; the life-size two-dimensional Terminator cyborgs that had to be destroyed with life-size laser-firing rifles; and an assortment of old school games (skee ball, air hockey, down-a-clown) that have withstood the test of time and maintained their youthful appeal through the years. 

·      At the end of the day it was time to trade in all their points (earned at the various games throughout the afternoon) for some prizes.  It wasn’t long before everyone had their fair share of plastic vampire teeth, super bouncy balls and rubber insects to take home as trophies demonstrating their mastery of the afternoon’s challenges.

Now for the signs indicating the boy may not be so little anymore:

·      I took Krischan to the men’s room (Note: This is not one of the signs I’m referring to) and while washing our hands he looked at me and asked: ‘G-Pa, you know Kaitlyn?  Guess what.’  At that moment I had a life-flashing-before-your-eyes moment as to what he was about to say next.  ‘She’s my girlfriend.’  ‘We held hands.’  ‘She kissed me.’  You can only imagine my relief when he followed with this: ‘Her name and my name both start with a K.’ The look of relief on my face must have been obvious, judging by the reciprocating look of ‘what-did-you-think-I-was-going-to-say’ on his.  (Note: This IS one of the things I’m referring to.)   

·      After the party we drove to Helen, Georgia where we would be spending the night.  At one point during the 90-minute drive my impatience for a fellow driver was displayed in a rash of…well, let’s just say ‘in a rash.’  From the child’s seat in the back came this: ‘Patience, G-Pa.’ I looked back at Krischan, expecting to see a smile on his face and somewhat surprised to discover the stern, parent-like gaze of a little boy well beyond his years in maturity.  Make no mistake: He was being dead serious.

It’s true what they say about ‘out of the mouths of babes…’     

The next morning at breakfast Krischan, still obviously tired from the previous day’s fun-a-thon looked at me and said in the sincerest voice a six-year old could possibly muster:

‘G-Pa, I wish every day was my birthday party.’

It felt good to have my little boy back.  After all, he’s still got plenty of time to grow up...

Napping Artiste

In my world sleep is a luxury. 

Granted, my lack of sleep is self-imposed—nobody makes me get up at 3 a.m. every day (4:00 a.m. on weekends!) to run—but after almost 40 years of getting no more than *40 hours of sleep a week, I speak the truth when I say that sleep is indeed a luxury. (*Some weeks 40 hours is a pipe dream.)

But every dark cloud has a silver lining.  I may not get much sleep (my dark cloud), but I’ve found a way to turn this deficiency into a positive: I’ve taken my self-inflicted narcoleptic tendencies and used them to turn power napping into an art form (my silver lining).   You might even call me the Rembrandt of Naps. 

Some of my more memorable moments are presented here to illustrate my mastery of the Fine Art of Napping.  I’ll begin with a couple naps you and I might have in common and end with several that solidify my standing amongst the best nap-takers of all time. 

But first, the rating scale:

Z – Chances are good you may have taken the exact same nap at some point in your life.

ZZ – Might raise a couple of eyebrows, particularly in a really large crowd of people.

ZZZ – Takes the ‘cat’ out of ‘cat nap.’

ZZZZ - If people were paid for taking naps, this would make you a professional.

ZZZZZ - Guaranteed to withstand the impending Zombie Apocalypse.

In a movie theater (Z) – These days if I go to a movie theater, it’s because (a) I really, really want to see the movie or (b) I’m taking my grandson to see the newest Pixar flick.  Either way, the risk of intentionally and/or unintentionally falling asleep is practically nonexistent.  That wasn’t the case in 1982 when another couple insisted Cindy and I go with them to see Blade Runner.  I was stone cold OUT before the movie was halfway over.  If ‘straight to DVD’ movies were around in 1982, Blade Runner should have been one of them.  Ditto every science fiction movie made after Blade Runner.  And before (Sorry, fans of The Matrix, Star Wars, Star Trek and any other SciFi on the screen today.  Except for Alien and all of its sequels, of course).    

On an airplane (Z) – It’s not unusual to see a passenger on an airplane taking a nap.  I myself have been known (Surprise!) to take a nap or two while flying the friendly skies.  But I do my best napping with the plane still on the ground and passengers busy playing overhead compartment roulette with their luggage.  The minute I find my seat, fasten my buckle and lean back I’ve got my head in the clouds.  Even if the tires are still on the runway (and the seats still in the upright position!).  After all, I’m a professional.

In the car (Z) – Often I’ve found myself sitting behind the steering wheel with some free time on my hands.  I can’t think of a better time to lean the seat back and catch a few winks before getting back on the road.  Waiting for the boys (when they were in fact still boys) to get out of school…waiting for the boys to finish practice (on the rare occasion I wasn’t coaching their teams)…waiting for the traffic light to turn green.   Nothing all of you haven’t done before, I imagine.

During a track workout (ZZ) – This only happened once, but I was quite impressed with myself when it did.  I was doing a hard workout on the track—my partner and I were running ½ mile repeats on the track.  Every ½-mile we would take a 200-meter walk to catch our breaths before running the next ½-mile.  About 40 minutes into our workout we stopped so my partner could talk to a friend of his who stopped by.  Panting like a rabid dog, I laid down on the asphalt track and beneath a blazing hot sun on a 95-degree summer day, I promptly fell asleep.  That wasn’t the impressive part; that would come 20 minutes later when my partner woke me up and I was able to run the remaining four ½-mile as if I’d never stopped.  Of course that was over 30 years ago.  If I were to do the same thing today, rigor mortis would set in if I stopped in the middle of a track workout for even a minute and tried to run again.  Fortunately for me I no longer do track workouts.  But I still wake up in the middle of a deep and restful sleep to run.  Every day, in fact.  No rest for the weary (only naps). 

Prior to the start of a race (ZZ) – This only happened once.  It was just before the Silver Comet 50K (31 miles) in the winter of 2006.  It was bitter cold and there was a steady, driving rain only made worse by the 20 MPH winds accompanying it.  I fell asleep in my car beneath a barrage of rain that had turned to sleet, only to be woken up by a knock on my window by a friend who didn’t want me to miss the start of the race.  Against my better judgment I got out of the car, froze my a** off walking to the starting line…and ran one of the best races of my life, setting a state age group record in the process.  Talk about a power nap…

In the middle of a performance by Dionne Warwick, an Atlanta Braves game and every jazz concert I’ve ever been to (ZZZ) – I would call these the ‘Blade Runners’ of singers, sporting events and instrumental bands, respectively.  Excuse my boredom, but these things are just not worth being awake for and I would much rather use the two-and-a-half hours for doing other more exciting things.  Like sleeping.

In the middle of a haircut (ZZZ) – Not nearly as difficult as it seems.  Just make sure your head bobs AWAY from the clippers and scissors, and not TOWARDS them.  Note: There is a possibility you will leave the barber/beauty shop with a new look.  The bright side: You’ve created a new look that others will want.  The down side: You may want to stay home until it grows back. 

In the middle of a sermon (ZZZZ) – This only happened once, and it was during a particularly long message given by our pastor.  (Please note: This is NOT the church I currently attend.  Swear to God.)  It also wasn’t my fault, as Cindy knows darn well it’s her job to nudge me in the side when she sees me drifting off in church and on this particular Sunday morning she let her guard down and didn’t notice my eyes were closed and my breathing was, let’s say ‘rather labored.’  Those two I can forgive.  However, I can’t forgive her not noticing my chin repeatedly bouncing off of my chest…especially when everyone else sitting in my aisle and the aisles behind me were fascinated because I never even fell out of my chair.  Guess they didn’t realize they were witnessing a professional. 

During a parent-teacher-student conference (ZZZZ) – This happened when my older son Justin was in the second grade.  The teacher had some concerns and invited Cindy and I to stop by after school to discuss them.  I tried my best, but after 20 minutes everything the teacher said became ‘blah blah blah’ in my head and I promptly nodded off (my defense mechanism against utter boredom).  Honest mistake, and what she had to say (much like an Atlanta Braves game) just wasn’t worth being awake for.  That evening at dinner Justin told his younger brother Josh that ‘daddy fell asleep in school today.’  Up until then I thought I had gotten away with my little indiscretion.  Speaking of indiscretions: Several months after the conference the teacher was relieved of her duties for an incident involving her, the vice principal and his desk.  

At the dentist’s office (Z, ZZZZZ) – Falling asleep in the waiting room happens all the time, thus the single ‘Z.’  Falling asleep during a procedure—regular cleaning, filling a cavity, getting a root canal, cracking my jaw for a dental implant…it matters not—is what separates the professionals from the amateurs.  Definitely ‘ZZZZZ’ territory, and definitely not for the faint of heart.  It’s what separates the men from the boys, and I’m proud to say I’ve slept through every single one of them.   

You can expect nothing less from an artiste.