Enchanted Exhaustion

Cindy and I took our grandson Krischan to Orlando to spend three days at Disney World and Universal Studios during his winter break from first grade.  It turned out to be (lots and lots of) money well spent because it was an absolute freakin’ blast.  Krischan had fun, too. 

Although it’s been less than a week since our trip, here are some of the things I still remember.  Everything else is pretty much just a blur. 

·      I immediately felt at home in the Magic Kingdom when I noticed the company logo on the sleeves of the policemen’s uniforms.  I’d lived in Peachtree City, Georgia for 24 years and was very familiar with the Mickey Mouse police.

·      While standing in line for ‘It’s a Small World’ an attendant gave me a plastic card instructing me to give it to the last attendant I encountered before getting on the ride.  Apparently Disney utilizes this system to monitor how long it takes for you to get through the line and posts this information at the entrance to the ride.  Instead I gave it to the person in line behind me and asked them to keep passing it back.  When I passed the ride again later in the afternoon I noticed an eight-and-a-half hour wait was posted out front.  Goofy, huh? 

·      Best line of the three days in Orlando: ‘I got soaked in dragon snot.’  Krischan, after riding on the Shrek attraction.  (Cindy and I got soaked as well.  I might add that every ride he went on—and he went on a bunch—we went on with him.  Wouldn’t have had it any other way.) 

·      Krischan expressed a fear of heights the very first morning and was adamant there would be no roller coasters in his immediate future (‘maybe when I’m older’).  He DID ride Transformers and fell off a (faux) skyscraper.  He DID ride Harry Potter and fell off a (faux) mountain.  He DID ride Spiderman and fell off a (faux) skyscraper and all the way through the (faux) street below.  He climbed to the very top of the Swiss Family Robinson treehouse without so much as giving it a second thought.  Just no roller coasters because, you know—his (faux) fear of heights and all.

·      We stopped to watch a parade and Dora the Explorer made herself available for photographs.  I asked Krischan if he wanted his picture taken with her and he said ‘Dora is for little kids.’  He followed it immediately with ‘LOOK!!! SPONGEBOB!!!’

·      A 1957 Chevy Bel Air—my dream car--was parked outside Mel’s diner where we had lunch one day.  I thought to myself as Cindy took a photograph of Krischan and me if this was my surprise reward for taking them to Orlando.  Note to self: Dream on.

·      At the three theme parks all guests are searched for weapons as they are prohibited.  Yet there is a store in Universal where you can buy actual swords, knives and kitanas.  So I guess what the parks are really trying to say is you can’t bring your OWN weapons in. 

·      While we were in Orlando there were auditions for Fear Factor and America’s Got Talent.  I would have tried out for them but (a) I’m afraid of heights, a little bit claustrophobic and will under no circumstances eat a bug and (b) I have absolutely no talent, respectively.

·      Cindy wanted to ride the Popeye rafting ride, the one with a guarantee that you WOULD get wet.  The day was rather cool and windy and I already had a bit of a cold.  But yet she insisted.  I made it through all the bounces, corners and rapids with barely a drop of water on me and was coasting to the finish when an oversized plastic Bluto came out of the ground and for no reason whatsoever launched a torrent of water so fast and furious you would have sworn it was shot from a cannon.  Guess where all of that water landed?

·      Once you get off the Popeye ride you can get in the ‘human dryer’ for a minute (for a mere $5) or buy an overpriced Olive Oyl towel to dry off.  Or you can air dry like me in which case: Good luck with the walking pneumonia that will plague you for the next week.

·      We saw a horror makeup show and the gentleman on stage was a literal laugh riot.  Although he used mostly adult humor, he called on an 11-year old boy from Chile as a volunteer to assist him throughout the show.  His name was ‘Gaspud.’  Krischan found that hilarious—especially when the host told the little boy his name was a potato in America.  A week later Krischan stills says the name out loud and laughs.  And that, in turn makes ME laugh.  The gift that keeps on giving, I guess.      

·      People actually clapped after riding the Transformers.  Be sure to include me in ‘people.’ 

·      By my unofficial calculations the wait in line for most rides is approximately 53 times longer than the ride itself (45-second ride = 40-minute wait).        

·      The Grinch held true to form and put his hand over Krischan’s face when I took a picture of the two of them together.   (Almost forgot: Sam I Am was also in the picture.  You know; from Green Eggs and Ham.)

·      Krischan and I waited 30 minutes in line to ride the Pterodactyl, a 45-second ride on a cable 40 feet in the air suspended around the perimeter of Jurassic Park.  A couple minutes before it was our turn he reminded me of his fear of heights, followed by ‘I think I’m thinking about it too much.’  I told him to think of something else, like what he wanted for dessert later.  He rolled his eyes, ran his tongue over his lips and said ‘chocolate syrup on ice cream’  He got on the ride, called it ‘awesome’ afterwards and later had chocolate syrup on ice cream for dessert.  The power of positive thinking.  And chocolate. 

·      Speaking of Jurassic Park, I mentioned to Krischan we would be seeing some real live dinosaurs.  Krischan was quick to point out that the dinosaurs would be ‘animatronics’ because REAL dinosaurs were extinct.  Later on Krischan ‘examined’ a dinosaur egg on a scanner before witnessing a scientist examine a (honest-to-goodness-it-looked-sooooo-real) baby triceratops.  Krischan got to pet the infant dinosaur and just as quick as he had told me dinosaurs were extinct told me this one ‘must be real.’  I asked him how that could be and he said it must have come from one of the dinosaur eggs you could look at on the scanner.   Naturally I rolled with that punch…

·      I was amazed at Krischan’s stamina.  Thirty hours over three days in three different theme parks and not once did he tell us he was tired.   Hungry?  Well that’s another story. 

Krischan’s exhaustion appeared on the return trip back to Senoia, as he slept a good four hours on the drive home.  It was the sound, peaceful sleep of a little boy who just experienced the most exciting, fun-filled, thrill-a-minute three days of his short life.   

Cindy promised to take Krischan to Orlando again when he was ready to ride on the roller coasters.  Hopefully I will have recovered by then, but right now I’m exhausted.  

However the first thing I need to do is get over this damn walking pneumonia.   

      

    

Karma with Both Barrels Loaded

Certainly, getting older has its bright side.  Five percent off of my total bill at the grocery store on Wednesdays.  Two dollars off on haircuts.  AARP discounts at hotels.  People offering me their seats on a crowded bus (kidding).  People holding the door open for me as if to say ‘age before beauty’ (not kidding).  But so much for the bright side. 

Let’s take a look on the other side. 

I’ll be the first to admit my memory isn’t what it used to be.  I find myself drawing a blank when asked my wife Cindy’s social security number, a number I’ve known like the back of my hand since our senior year in high school.    Someone I haven’t seen in several years is no longer ‘Yolanda.’  Rather, she is now ‘the lady that used to work in packing…first name starts with a ‘Y’…three syllables.’   

I’ll also be the first to admit I’m prone to doing absent-minded things I never thought possible.  Walking around the house looking for the car keys I’m holding in my left hand.  Wondering where I set my drink down only to finally realize I never had a drink in the first place.   

Finally, I’ll be the first to admit that what used to be simple ain’t so simple any more.  Here’s a good example: Walking up and down stairs.  I now use the handrail—religiously—not so much to teach my grandson the importance of ‘safety first,’ but rather so I don’t fall (and yes, I’ve been known to fall upstairs).  If I carry anything in my arms I need to have both feet on each step before proceeding to the next one.  Sometimes—inexplicably and without warning, I ‘lose track’ of which step I’m on.  (Believe me: If I could explain this better I would.  You might want to ask someone you know nearer my age for clarification because I have a hunch they may be facing the same challenge.)

I knew this day was coming.  I’m going to go out on a very short limb and call it karma: Karma for giving my friend Al such a hard time during our friendship and sharing similar components of his life with the world in many (‘many’ being the grandest of understatements) of my articles, stories and books over the years.  Al’s antics and quotes have become infamous to the point it would be fair to refer to me as the Colonel to Al’s Elvis.  From his ‘put me down for a turd’ quote at Badwater to eating potpourri out of a glass bowl at a party to wearing a cat sweater on his head for a cold winter run, Al now has quite the reputation in the running community.

All these years I knew I was playing with fire and that one day karma would be calling.            

Well, I’m here to tell you last weekend karma came calling.  Loudly, as a matter of fact and with both barrels loaded.

After an afternoon watching college football in the Georgia Dome and consuming a variety of things certainly not recommended by a doctor Cindy and I—along with two of our friends went to an Italian restaurant in close proximity to the Fox Theater in downtown Atlanta.  You know the type; one of those hoity-toity restaurants where it takes less time to eat the special than it does for the waiter to tell you what it is.  Cindy happened to order the special (grouper, I believe) and I promise you I could have fit her entire meal in the palm of my hand.

After dinner I went to the back of the restaurant to find the men’s room.  At the end of a long, dark hall were two doors.  On the door to my right was a sign with the word ‘uomini.’  On the door to my left was a sign with the word ‘donne.’  Beneath both words was a caricature that didn’t do me any good because they were both much too small for me to see without a pair of 2.5 reading glasses that I don’t usually take to the men’s room with me. Figuring ‘donne’ was the more masculine word of the two (After all, isn’t that the name of one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?  They’re all guys!) I went in the restroom to my left.  The restroom was virtually pitch black with the exception of a couple of nightlights, the one in the far stall much brighter than the others that drew me like a moth to a flame.  I was in and out in less than a minute.     

When I returned to the table Cindy asked me where the restrooms were and I pointed to the long, dark hall.  Five minutes later she returned and said ‘you’ll never believe what just happened.’  She went on to tell me she was in a stall when she heard someone using a urinal and realized she was actually in the men’s restroom.  Then it dawned on me.  ‘Which restroom did you use?’  ‘Uomini,’ she replied.  Somehow both of us—totally independent of one another—had not only guessed at but went ahead and used the wrong restroom.  Fortunately neither of us was ‘caught in the act’ which is a good thing because it would have totally humiliated Cindy.  Me?  I couldn’t have cared less.

After all, sh*t happens.  Figuratively speaking, of course.

Even if in both of these instances it didn’t.  Not literally, anyway.     

I can practically feel Al smiling right about now.    

Basketball Jones Revisited

And I loved that basketball
I took that basketball with me everywhere I went
That basketball was like a basketball to me

I even put that basketball underneath my pillow
Maybe that's why I can't sleep at night

-Richard Marin and Thomas Chong

(better know as Cheech and Chong)

I coached both of my sons during their important ‘formative years.’  You know, those years when a young boy develops and refines the important things in life: Their shooting, dribbling, passing and rebounding skills in basketball.  Of course coaching my sons also meant I was responsible for coaching seven or eight other parents’ sons as well, and if you’ve never had that (hmmm…) opportunity I suggest you try it sometime to see what you’re missing.*

*Countless second-guesses, unsolicited coaching advice and more ‘why don’t you play my boy more’ than anyone deserves to hear in a thousand lifetimes.

With those vivid memories forever burned into my brain, it was with great restraint and reluctance I didn’t offer my assistance to the young man coaching my grandson in his first season playing on a basketball team.  That doesn’t mean, however that I didn’t have a hand in doing a little ‘preparatory work’ before Krischan took the court for the first time as a player for the Peachtree City Panthers.

I took Krischan to the basketball court at his elementary school several times during the summer to teach him the aforementioned important things in life.  Although we were practicing on a 10-foot basket (his team would ultimately be playing on eight-foot baskets), he did pretty well for someone just over four-feet tall playing a sport he had never played until after his sixth birthday.  His shooting was sound, regardless of it requiring all of his strength to get the ball high enough to reach the basket.  His dribbling was solid, even if he had to look at the ball while he was doing it.  His passing was his strong suit, both the chest and the bounce varieties.  His rebounding was…well, three out of four wasn’t too bad for this tiny hardcourt neophyte. 

A couple weeks before Krischan’s first organized practice with his team I brought my portable (and adjustable) basketball goal home from work, the same goal both of my sons and I wore out over a generation ago in the driveway in front of the house.  (I took it to my warehouse a decade ago when we started holding annual free throw shooting contests.  I was the champion in 2009, I might add.  Not important, just an important piece of history you should be aware of.)  I set the goal up in the driveway, lowered the basket to eight feet and just as it was with both of my sons when they were Krischan’s age, my grandson took to playing basketball after school like Nike took to Michael Jordan.

Playing basketball after school until the sun went down became the norm.  Krischan would ‘win’ our daily one-on-one competition, usually by a basket or two but always with the reddest face and sopping wet hair, a testament to how hard he was playing.  One afternoon I went inside the house and when I came back out he told me he made eight baskets in a row.  He then proceeded to miss his next three shots.  When he made the next one he said ‘nine in a row.’  I asked him if he knew what ‘in a row’ meant and he gave me an explanation that sounded so plausible it actually made sense, similar to an explanation he gave me earlier on another subject.*

*Once at the dinner table Krischan finished his meal and said he was full.  A few minutes later I got some ice cream out of the freezer and Krischan said he wanted some.  I told him I thought he was full and he held his hand up to his chin and told me he was ‘this full’ and had the room above his hand (essentially his head) for the ice cream.  He then burped, lowered his hand a couple of inches and said ‘now I’m only THIS full.’

Krischan was coming along so well I couldn’t wait until he got to his first basketball practice.  I was surprised—and not in a good way but more of a ‘WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?’ kind of way—when he took to the court for the first time.  Not only was his dribbling the basketball WITH TWO HANDS, he was also shooting at the basket with both hands UNDERHANDED!!!  It was all I could do to restrain myself from running out onto the court and offering unsolicited coaching advice.  I quietly bit my tongue and made a conscious decision to save my two cents for the next afternoon when we practiced in the driveway.  Later that evening he bumped into a teammate and fell to the court, landing on both knees and when he rose to his feet he was crying. The coach rushed to his aid while the other boys looked on.  There’s nothing like a little drama on the first practice of the year, right?  I’m glad to report the only thing hurt was his pride, or should I say his G-Pa’s pride.

Krischan went on to cry at the second practice (jammed finger while getting a rebound) as well as the third (another boy stole the ball from him; I found out later the league has a ‘no steal’ policy for the young’un’s and Krischan didn’t have any experience having the ball stolen from him).  Needless to say Krischan and I had the ‘no crying in basketball’ talk as well as a little show-and-tell regarding how to brush things off rather than allowing them to make you cry.  After his fourth practice (I couldn’t attend so his dad took him) when I asked him how he did, all he said was ‘I didn’t cry.’  Mission accomplished. 

As for those countless second guesses, I’ll admit I’ve had my share.  (Second Guess #1) During the second practice the coach had the team line up at half court and instructed the boys to take the ball to the basket using a crossover dribble (alternating dribbling from one hand to the other).  Suffice it to say: Less than half of the team could dribble with one hand let alone two.  (Second Guess # 2) During the third practice the coach divided the team in half and told four boys they were ‘offense’ and the other four boys they were ‘defense.’  Over half of them had no idea what he was talking about since they didn’t have any experience playing an actual game.  Being the ex-coach that I am, I bit my tongue and will continue to in the future.  (Lord, give me strength.)

Unfortunately I was out of town for Krischan’s first two games; one on Saturday and one on Sunday.  After Saturday’s game Krischan called me afterwards and told me how things went.  ‘We won the game!  No, I think we tied, 14 to 14.  But maybe we won; I’m not sure.  I had fun and I didn’t cry.’    That brought memories back to my coaching days.  Our team had just lost an important game.  Afterwards I gathered the boys around me and tried my best to both console them after the loss and build up their excitement for our next game.  I asked them if they had anything they wanted to say.  One boy raised his hand and asked ‘what are we having for a treat today?’ 

After Sunday’s game I didn’t get a call.  Krischan’s team lost and for reasons unknown he didn’t want to tell me.  I found out later he played a good bit and even took his first official shot (a miss, but still…). 

Fortunately someone took a photograph of Krischan dribbling during the game and I’m proud to report he looks like he knows what he was doing.  That is if you discount the fact he was three feet out of bounds at the time. 

Then again I’ve always been a ‘glass half full’ kind of guy so it looked perfectly good to me.