Don't Worry Mom, I Didn't Talk to Any Strangers Today!

My kindergarten career lasted two years. It was a long, stressful time of my life. A time filled with kids who wanted to invade my personal space and even engage me in conversation.

I was too smart to be drawn into any of those traps. Planet Familiar was secure inside my head and Planet Alien was everywhere else. As frightening as it was, it turned out to be an effective training ground. By the end of my second year, I could anticipate the logarithmic movements of a playground mob and surreptitiously take evasive action. It was fairly simple to avoid contact except for the teachers.

The teachers were somewhat of a wild card in playground dynamics. While they had a generally predictable pattern amongst themselves, occasionally they would conspire to entrap me and engage me with crowd torture. Crowd torture usually involved abusive statements along the lines of: “You should go play with the other kids. It will be fun!”

I would have preferred to be locked in the broom closet. Those kids were strangers! The teachers were strangers! When those dangerous confrontations would arise, I would slink away into one of my pre-calculated escape routes. To me, watching the crowd of kids was entertaining, engaging with them was not an option.

I'm sure if I was a little kid today, I would have to be seen by some expert who would label me an extreme introvert, possibly Asperger's, and whatever the opposite of ADD is.

Fortunately I did not have to endure the examination of a behavior “expert.” I eventually came out of my shell, sort of. I can function in public like a human being. I can ask directions if I must. And I can offer a helping hand to unknown, to me, people when the situation arises. In a short five decades, I've come a long way.

Or maybe not.

Recently, while on a sortie in a store, I all but walked past our pastor's wife. I was certainly not trying to avoid her. She is a gracious lady who is always very affirming. I just did not see her until the last second, because I was inside my bubble, locked in on my mission.

Yes, I was tired. Yes, I had a long to-do list. Yes, I had all the right reasons. But the truth is, when in doubt, I had reverted to my familiar comfort zone. It would seem that after a half century, I really haven't progressed so much after all. It's kind of lame, but it's also amusing. I suppose if I can't laugh at myself, who can I laugh at. Maybe I should just get a pack of crayons and sit quietly in the corner with a coloring book.

Back to the Drawing Board

That title may sound like I have given up on something vital. No, I have not. That is actually a name.

What kind of parents, you may ask yourself, would name their child "Back to the Drawing Board?" Ahh, now we are getting somewhere. That is the name of the business owned by Shawna Apps! Shawna is the very talented artist with whom I am collaborating. She will be the illustrator of my children's books.

Yes, you read that correctly, it was plural books. There will be more than one. Book two is in the works already.

Sample patches. The process is very cool!

So what's with the picture? Is it test patches? It is indeed test patches, and I invite you to check out Shawna's work and keep up with our progress on the books. The picture should link you to the Facebook page. Be sure to Like the page, I'm sure you will not be disappointed.

Stay tuned! This is going to be good!

News Flash

 ... and I just finished writing my first children's book. It is the first in a series of twelve or so. Next up, it goes to the illustrator. I hope to have four completed by the end of this year.

Stay tuned for more updates on this.

My Regrettable Negligence

Of all the things I have done wrong, it seems there is one odd infraction, unintentionally committed, that haunts my memory the most.

It was during our eighteen days of spectacular fun in Japan. We were in Okinawa, Japan, to be more specific. On New Year's Day we attended a festival, which is a big thing there. As far as we could see, we were the only foreigners among the considerable crowd. Everything was colorful and our senses were saturated. As is their custom, the people were extremely courteous.

We wandered around and took in the many sights, sounds, and smells. The event was a lot of fun even for me. I don't normally enjoy big crowds or festivals. By our stature, clothes, and hair color, we stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. Oddly, many people wanted to get a selfie with the family of Americans. We stopped and posed with anyone we noticed doing the selfie alignment. I started to feel like a rock star. It was kind of fun, although I wouldn't want the pressure of being conspicuous all the time.

A few young people tried out their limited English on us. It was clearly textbook English. We reciprocated with equally amusing attempts at Japanese. At least we all got a good laugh out of the deal.

Eventually, we found the food alley and, naturally, there were too many choices to pick from. Nothing was in English, so we had to go by the pictures or the food offerings themselves. Somehow, when I pointed at the spicy chicken on a kabob-looking stick, the oblique angle of my indication was also construed as a selection of a drumstick meal. There were nine of us ordering in a foreign language and the confusion was abundant.

When the orders were meted out, I found myself in the awkward position of being handed two meals. I was perplexed. The Japanese man with the drumstick meal and the Japanese lady with the kabob chicken did not understand this American with a communication problem. After several minutes of muddled gestures and head nodding, I was able to establish which of the meals I had actually intended to purchase. The lady passed it to me and the man returned the drumstick to the grill.

Way later it occurred to me, that in that honor driven society, I had probably insulted the man. I am such a dolt at times, maybe most times. I should have purchased both meals. It would have only been an extra ten bucks or so. It certainly would not have been the first time I have overeaten. Besides that, my college-aged son and two sons-in-law were there, so I could have passed the extra meal off to one of them.

Unfortunately, without considering the cultural context, I simply tried to resolve the communication breakdown. As a result, I have this weird sense of unresolved guilt. I wish I could return and make an apology. But I have no way of even knowing who the young man was. That really bothers me. I have done so much worse to others, but have at least been able to return and apologize.

In the big scheme of things, it is fairly minor, but the unresolvable nature of it leaves me, well, unresolved. So I offer here my apology, from the far side of the earth, to the very polite young man at the food booth among the dozens of food booths. And I hope he did not take that personally.

To my readers, I have a piece of advice for you: If you have a reason to apologize to someone, do it quickly before the window of opportunity closes.

That oh so Painful First Kiss!

They say you should never kiss and tell. But then who cares what “they” say? She was dusky and sultry and I had all intentions of making a big impression on that girl. I don't remember her name. For that matter, I don't actually remember what she looked like, either. After all, we were about five years old. That was a long time ago.

For the record, I never intended to kiss the girl. Back then, girls were afflicted with an incurable malady known as cooties. I didn't know what cooties were, so I just stayed clear. I did, however, have an irrepressible urge to show off for her. Little did I know where that would lead.

My family owned a fantastic playground known as a picnic table. I'm sure I was instructed to stay off of it, but I must have been temporarily lovestruck. The picnic table sat near our elevated back porch which was made of cement. On that fateful day, I discovered a board had been left between the porch and the picnic table. My dad must have been in the middle of some project. I never gave that part a thought. I just saw it as a stage for me to show off my death-defying manliness to a fair maiden.

I ran across that board back and forth from the porch to the table several times. With each lap, I invited whatever-her-name-was to join me in the audacious fun. I was like a pirate on the high seas, laughing in the face of danger. Cannon fire and saber-to-saber combat could not frighten me! Did you see that? I ran across the plank! The world was at my whim and the lady was about to swoon.

Except she was not the swooning type. In fact, she was sort of practical. At one point, as I was about to make my return to the porch, she called out in alarm, “Watch out, the board is close to the edge!”

She, of course, did not know with whom she was dealing! I was like Superman: invincible, invulnerable, and bulletproof! (Yes, I could shift fantasies that fast.)

With my next step, I discovered that the world was made of kryptonite. I don't actually remember the fall. I only barely remember the kiss. (If you are squeamish about blood, you may want to stop reading here.)

Where was I? Ah, yes, that kiss. It was stunning. It was profound. It was monumental. It left a lifelong impression on me. It was with the edge of the cement porch, and it busted my face wide open. I bled all over the place and my mom sort of freaked out.

Besides that first kiss, I got my first stitches out of the deal. It was also the beginning of my love/hate relationship with gravity.

I've often wondered if that girl even remembers the event. I wonder if she was impressed with my cavalier indifference to danger. One thing for sure … I bet she was impressed with the way I cried.