Barter System

‘G-Pa, hold out your hand.  I’ve got a sur-PRIZE for you.’

That can only mean one thing.  Krischan is about to place a Hot Tamale—or as he calls it a ‘hot kamale’—in my hand.  If you’re not familiar with Hot Tamales, think of them as cinnamon-flavored Mike and Ike’s and know that they are a favorite of Krischan and I.  Now understand that a Hot Tamale held tightly in a human hand for anything more than a few seconds causes it to begin melting, so by the time the ‘surprise’ is in my hand it’s warm, gooey and turns the palm of my hand bright red.  Then again, it’s one of my favorites so I normally eat it without any fuss.

But this time I noticed Krischan didn’t have any Hot Tamales in his other hand for himself.  He also didn’t stick around to watch me eat the Hot Tamale; instead he wandered off into the kitchen.  I heard him going into the kitchen pantry where all of the candy in the house is stored.  I gave him a minute or so before checking on him and found him on the couch—opening five pieces of my absolute favorite candy, something Krischan is well aware of---Kraft Caramels.  Judging by the clandestine manner in which he snuck off into the kitchen once I had my Hot Tamale in hand, the caramels were apparently now his absolute favorite candy as well.  I found it intriguing how he ‘bought me off’ with a Hot Tamale and went after the caramels for himself.

But it didn’t surprise me.  The boy has shown me time and time again what a clever and calculating mind he has.  You can practically see a frantic mouse running on the wheel inside his head when he’s thinking (unless he’s watching television or playing on the iPad because then it’s pretty clear the wheel is abandoned).   Over the years I’ve learned to cope, compensate and circumvent some of Krischan’s more—I’ll say this as gently as I can—‘undesirable’ behaviors.        

For example there are several things nearly impossible to get him to do if he’s not on the same page.  For example:

·      If I want him to take a bath because he’s beginning to smell like the wet towel I left in my gym locker in 11^th grade, I’ll have to offer something up.  What I’ve found works best is taking him with me to the grocery store and letting him get one of the $1 rubber animals (his favorites include sharks, dolphins, dinosaurs and giant bugs).  That way I can use the animal later as incentive to take a bath because he LOVES to play in the tub with his toys—especially the new ones because that way he can introduce everyone to one another.

·      If I want him to play outside (when the television and/or iPad is the reason he wants to stay Inside because otherwise he LOVES being outside) I’ll have to convince him I’ve seen ‘something moving’ in the woods behind the house and that it needs our attention immediately.  It’s not long before we both have our foam rubber swords in hand and are heading out towards the trees so we can keep the residents of the subdivision safe.  Of course buying him a new foam rubber sword seems to work quite well also.

·      If I want him to play inside (when there’s inclement weather, when I’m exhausted because he and I spent the entire day in the woods hunting moving things) I’ll have to sweeten the deal by offering him chocolate milk, blueberries or Kraft caramels (formerly Hot Tamales).  Offering to watch an animated movie seems to work, too (favorites include Despicable Me, Wreck It Ralph and all of the different flavors of Madagascar). 

·      If I need to run an errand in the car and Krischan doesn’t want to go, I have found there’s a good chance he’ll change his mind if I promise to drive by a new house I saw that appears to be haunted, stop to feed carrots or apples to the horses along the highway or go to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal.

As for the trip to McDonald’s, it’s not really the Happy Meal he’s after.  It’s the toy inside.  That and the in-restaurant playground.

For a REAL challenge, try and get Krischan to leave a McDonald’s playground.  You know, the ones with the bouncy cage that smell like that wet towel I mentioned earlier.  It’s virtually impossible.

Even if you offered him all the Kraft caramels he can eat.  

The Next Chapter

You all know her as Anne Rentz.  I’ve called her ‘Chapter One’ for the last six years, a reference to Anne as the subject of the first chapter in my book A Passion for Running.  The title of Anne’s chapter is ‘Running for Fun’ and depicts the transformation of an admitted couch potato at 40 years of age taking up the sport of running and then taking her life in an entirely new direction; one of exercise, physical fitness and eventually the finish line of a 100-mile race. 

Anne’s transformation from couch potato to athlete began when she lived in Marietta, Georgia and ventured outside one day for a casual walk.  She met up with a group of people who told her they walked every day; they invited Anne to join them.  One member of the group was a gentleman who had lived his entire life in Marietta.  His name was William Mayfield Cox, Jr.  It wasn’t long before ‘Eagle Bill’ became a large part of Anne’s life.  Friend, coach, mentor… and then 15 years later, husband.

Anne and Bill were married for a little over seven years before Bill’s life on earth sadly and suddenly came to an end.  The date: January 12, 2015.   He was 83 years young and only a few months removed from fulfilling his dream of riding the 95 miles of the Silver Comet Trail on his recumbent tricycle.  Bill’s late-in-life accomplishment is not surprising. At age 55 he suffered a heart attack and his doctor advised him to exercise if he wanted to continue living.  Bill took the doctor’s advice to heart: He immediately started walking four miles every day, and his commitment to a healthy lifestyle served him well for the next three decades. 

Bill lived quite the full life.  As Anne’s sister Becky said so eloquently at his memorial service, Bill was ‘the wind beneath Anne’s wings.’  He was also:

·      President of Cox Printing Company in Marietta for 60 years.

·      Little League coach of the Westside Warriors football team.

·      President and coach of Custer Park baseball.

·      Founding member of the ‘Circle of Wisdom’ Social Club.

·      Member of the First United Church.

·      Committed husband, father, grandfather and brother.

Bill’s belief in physical fitness and an active lifestyle was exemplified not only by his involvement as a competitor, coach and enthusiast but also through his volunteerism.  It was a regular sight for many years to see Bill supporting Anne in her long-distance races of marathon distances or longer while doing all he could to support the other competitors as well.  In 2008 Bill earned the Darkside Running Club’s Mama Betty Award, a recognition bestowed on the outstanding volunteer of the year. 

It is my honor to have known Bill Cox as a friend.  I don’t ever recall seeing him without his infectious smile, a hat on his head or Anne by his side.  As those who know him can attest, Bill was never at a loss for words.  The man loved to talk.  He also loved his family, he loved his country and he loved his ‘Chapter One.’ 

My favorite photograph of Bill and Anne is on page 272 of A Passion for Running.  Both of them have smiles on their faces (shockingly, Bill isn’t wearing a hat) and cutting a piece of their wedding cake hand-in-hand.  The caption beneath the picture reads ‘Bill and Anne, Husband and Wife.’

I encourage you to look at that photograph so you can see the smile on Bill’s face.

Then you can appreciate something I’ve always known: Anne was the wind beneath Bill’s wings as well. 

You will be missed, Eagle Bill.  Missed, but never forgotten. 

Doctor's Orders

Christmas was over, the New Year was approaching and I had six days off from work to spend with Krischan and relax.  Well, that plan worked for a couple of days up until the point that whatever it was that had been keeping Krischan under the weather had found its way over to me.  That’s when the fun began.

Let me explain how this particular ‘fun’ worked.  A persistent cough that felt like a scalding hot, razor sharp blade was penetrating my chest cavity.  Sneezes were similar although more painful; much more so, in fact.  Congestion that couldn’t have been any worse if a vise was holding my nostrils closed.  Constant chills, except for the occasional times when I became so hot my clothes became soaked in perspiration in a matter of seconds; an overall weakness that defied any and all logic and that skin-hurting-when-clothing-touches-it thingee that probably never will be explained if we all live for a thousand years.    

And lest I forget, what ‘fun’ wouldn’t be complete without a total loss of appetite and a perpetual desire for nothing other than restful, healing, pretend-it-don’t-hurt-no-more sleep?

So now that you understand my definition of ‘fun,’ know those last four days of my vacation time with Krischan were exactly as I described and for those reasons I will always remember them as fun.  The kind of fun you’ll always hold dear in your memory. 

Because for those four days Krischan did everything he could to ‘take care of his G-Pa.’ For those 96 hours he was the embodiment of every flawless albeit fictional doctor I watched on television while I was growing up.    

Don’t believe me?  Get out your scorecard and you’ll see how well young Marcus Welby MD fared:

Compassion: With every cough (or sneeze) as I lay prone on the couch, Krischan would lean over and kiss me on the cheek to make me feel better.  The crazy thing is it worked every time, because I actually did feel better.

Medical care: At regular intervals (it seemed like every two hours, but I was in-and-out most of the time so it’s hard to gauge exactly) Krischan told me it was time for my medicine.  He would then give me one piece of raspberry sorbet Ice Breaker’s Ice Cubes chewing gum and then help himself to one as well because it was not only medicine but ‘our favorite gum’ as well. 

Proper treatment: As Krischan patiently* sat by me on the couch as ‘just a few more minutes’ turned into hours that turned into several hours after that, he would reach over and rub my forehead, neck or shoulders.  (*Patience to a five-year old constitutes having a fully-charged iPad on one’s lap and the Nicktoons channel playing on the television.  Now you know.)

Patience: As previously described and to include other ways of passing the time.  Like drawing one’s own bath, for instance.  Krischan asked if he could take a bath (he had a plastic alligator and four frogs he wanted to play with in the tub).  I asked if he was able to take a bath without me, and the next thing I knew I heard the bath water running.  An hour (two?) later I called out to see if he was ready to get out of the tub.  ‘Not yet.’  An hour (two?) after that I asked again and got the same answer.  This time I wasn’t taking no for an answer (translation: I was now able to pry myself off the couch) so I went into the bathroom and found Krischan splashing around in no more than three inches of very cool bath water…without any evidence any actually bathing had occurred.  I ran some warm water and poured a cup of it on his head so I could wash his hair.  The next thing I know he’s screaming ‘it’s hot—it’s hot.’  It was barely lukewarm, but I guess when you’ve been sitting in cool bath water for two (four?) hours or so it would give the illusion of being hot.  All this to say: Krischan did a good job occupying his time while I was sleeping.  I’m just grateful he didn’t turn into a prune.

Accountability: Not once during those four days did more than a few hours go by before Krischan would touch his palm to my forehead and offer his medical opinion of my current condition.  ‘Yep, you still have a temp-a-toor’ seemed to be the most popular one offered.  (I believe it was fairly accurate.) 

I’m not sure I would have made it through those four days without him: Cindy was working, I didn’t feel like doing a single, solitary thing and I’m a man and you know how needie we are when we’re sick.

Having Krischan watch over me those four days was just what the doctor ordered. 

      

Skarlette

Krischan went ice-skating with his Uncle Josh a couple nights ago.  I wasn’t there, but thanks to a 30-clip of video Josh captured on his cell phone I was able to see how my grandson handled skating on thin ice for the first time in his life.  Three words: Not very well.

You’ve seen the cartoons where the rabbit, the cat or the mouse—in an attempt to escape the jaws of death from a larger adversary—begins pumping its legs in a circular motion for several seconds before the legs take hold and they actually begin running, right?  It was just like that, except Krischan was holding onto the side rail for dear life while his skates were digging a six-inch crevice in the ice.  While it lacked in grace, it sure was fun to watch. 

But I’m not here to discuss Krischan’s outlook for the Winter Olympic Games a decade or so down the road.   Rather, this is about Krischan’s new friend Skarlette.

Beautiful long reddish-brown hair, dangling earrings and an infectious gap-toothed smile that melts your heart, Skarlett is the daughter of Josh’s lovely girlfriend Bernice.  Only eight years old, Skarlett already has the quiet wisdom and insight of a young lady well beyond her years.  She is also—and this may be one of the reasons Krischan took to her so quickly—one of the boys.  

    

Skarlette came to visit us during the Christmas holidays and as Krischan does with all first-timers who come to our new home in Senoia, he wanted to take them out on the trail in the woods behind the house to hunt zombies.  First things first: Weapons.  I grabbed my foam sword in the garage and Krischan grabbed his, leaving the plastic sword that nobody uses because the blade breaks every time you hit a tree limb with it for Skarlette.  To her credit, she didn’t complain one bit. 

She fell in line behind the Captain of the mission (Krischan) and his soldier (me) as we began blazing the trail behind the house.  Following Krischan’s lead, Skarlette began swinging her sword at every branch, vine and plant that she encountered.  She was a natural.

At one point I stopped to pick up a stick and threw it about 10 feet in front of Krischan (I do this all the time when we’re in the woods and almost every time he doesn’t know I threw it).  Krischan raised his arms (as he always does when he doesn’t know I threw the stick)) and said ‘nobody move, I heard a clue.’  I looked back at Skarlette and she had both hands over her mouth, fighting back a giggle that I’m certain would have sounded like a melody had it been audible.  About a minute later Skarlette bent over to pick up a stick and did the exact same thing I had done earlier, and it had the same results.  ‘Nobody move, I heard a clue.’  I looked over at Skarlette and she had her hands clamped down on her mouth so tight I thought her big brown eyes were going to pop out of her tiny head.   

The rest of the weekend Krischan and Skarlette were inseparable.  They sat next to one another on the couch for quite a while Saturday night; Krischan was mesmerized by Skarlette’s prowess playing the latest video games.  I might add that it was obvious Krischan is in no hurry to impress the ladies: he sat close to Skarlette the entire time, looking over her shoulder with his security sheet firmly in hand and his thumb in his mouth.  In fact the only words he said over a two-hour window of time was when he asked for ice water because his ‘breath was hot.’  Charming, eh Skarlette?

Sunday morning we all went to church (Krischan loves church—‘they have a playground’).   He insisted Skarlette come to his classroom, full of kindergarten age children a couple of years younger than her.

Skarlette wouldn’t have had it any other way: The two of them were inseparable during this special, memorable weekend.   

It was pure magic.