Reign?)
A poet once wrote, “Rain, rain go away and come again another day for little Johnnie wants to play.” On rainy days, when I was little, I really liked that poem and would repeat it over and over until I realized the raindrops kept falling (on my head, they keep falling…) and my mother would finally tell me to be quiet and go play outside in spite of the rain. It didn’t make much sense to me because, she also said, “Don’t get dirty.” Apparently, getting wet was okay but not wet and dirty at the same time. So tell me, how is a little boy supposed to play in the rain without getting dirty? How is that any fun? It is definitely awkward to be the lone boy on the “sidelines” watching all the neighborhood boys splash in puddles, run through patches of mud, and even throw mud-balls at each other. Then, to add insult to injury, when called back to the house for the eventual “time-to-come-home” routine, mom would have me take a bath before dinner. What’s up with that? I could have had some fun just by being naked in the bathtub all day playing with my rubber ducky instead of being frustrated and jealous of all my wet and dirty playmates. Moms just don’t understand “boy-fun.”
The first “single date” my future spouse and I took was to the Mariana Caverns in NW Florida (a two-hour drive east of Ft. Walton Beach in the panhandle). About 30-minutes prior to our arrival it began to rain. By the time we arrived the rain had lessened to a light drizzle. I guess I must have commented (well, maybe bragged a bit) about building fires without matches while in the Boy Scouts. Naturally, like many young women I’ve met, Deborah thought I just made that up so, she challenged me to prove it. Like any young man, I could not just ignore the challenge (or maybe it was a dare) so I did it. After lunch was cooked on my matchless fire, for my punishment for showing her not to doubt my word, she did the “mom thing”; “John, let’s go walking in the rain.” By this time I had my “spirits” dampened by rain for several years at home, by excessive rain and wet sleeping bag during scout campouts, and rain during Air Force basic training situations so, I was not the least bit interested in walking in the rain. But, since I had no bath tub with rubber ducky in my car, in order to make a counter offer, I went with her on the walk. I’m sure if you could have seen my posture and the look on my face, they would have mimicked the illustrations of Alexander in the book titled, Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. [On the bright side, I’m sure I didn’t accidentally call Australia.] In spite of Deborah’s assurances that I would not melt (because I wasn’t made of sugar and spice) I nearly did. Contrary to public opinion, snips and snails and puppy-dog tails are not waterproof.
[Just for the record: I may not be made of sugar and spice, but I do
have a large chunk of “everything nice” within me—probably because I like to
eat chocolate and Baseball Nut ice
cream from Baskin and Robins.]
At one time I lived in Tucson, Arizona, with the family of a retired Air Force member. One day four of their children and I wanted to go to see a movie. So, we piled in my little two-door, four-cylinder Opel Kadet station wagon and set out. About half an hour earlier there had been one of those famous Arizona desert “gully washer” downpours; the kind that generate flash flood warnings. Time was pressuring us to arrive prior to the movie starting when we approached a “low” spot that had about 20 yards of cross-flowing water over the road. I was young and all grown up at 22, but still stupid, I decided that the movie was worth the risk of trying to drive through the flooded road. At the deepest spot, water was splashing over the front of the engine hood and appeared to be about 1/3 to 1/2 ways up the side of the driver’s door. We made it across, but I believe if I had been alone in the vehicle, it would have floated away.
Once, while in the forest with a female friend, I was saved from injury and embarrassment by about 3-feet of rein. We had come to a small creek and my friend had crossed easily. However, when I got there my horse balked and tossed me over his head, but I held tight to the reins and so landed on my feet. I smacked the horse alongside his head with the reins, got back on, and the horse walked calmly across the creek. Even on horseback, water and I don’t mix but this time the rein was my friend.
Genesis Chapter 2, Verses19-20 describe how God gave Adam the task of naming all species of animals. We know that many species of creatures are now extinct and yet thousands remain. I can just imagine Adam reaching a breaking point one day and sassing God about not having any more ideas for names, which resulted in a small cloud dumping a bucketful of rainwater on Adam and the creature standing next in line to be named. Adam recognized the hint, so that’s how the reindeer got its name. The name is misspelled due to a dictionary printing error centuries ago.
My spouse, Deborah, loved to do genealogy research on our family-lines. She discovered that she is a distant descendant of King Harold of England. He was involved in a six-month reign until he met his end at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. I guess he never heard, “He who fights and runs away, lives to reign another day.”
Eric “The Red” is another distant ancestor of Deborah’s. While he was more infamous than royal, he is the father of Leif Erickson, the probable leader of the Viking expedition, which landed in North America. Eric may have owned a herd of reindeer and I’ll bet he spelled it correctly in Runes as he had no dictionaries to confuse him.
October 2011
About the Author
I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.
When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.
I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.
My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.
