Bugged Out Eyes!

Have you ever been poked in the eye? Have you ever been poked in the eye when your eyelid was still open? Have you ever been poked in the eye when your eyelid was still open by something tiny and sharp?

Right after I turned 9 years old, my mom and step dad, Vee, were living in Homedale, Idaho. It's a very small farm town in southwest Idaho. It was near the Snake River, not to far from the Oregon border.

That summer, some of Vee's family had come to his parent's house because his niece Melissa was getting married. Vee's parents, Grandpa and Grandma Davenport, had a place just a few miles from where we lived.  It was cool to meet some of Vee’s extended family.  There were some kids in my age bracket and we had a lot of fun.  One of Vee’s nephews, Johnny, was my age. We became quick friends. Johnny came over to our house to spend the night and we put up a tent and camped out on the side of the house.

The backyard was full of five and six-foot weeds where I was often found hiding and or adding to my bug collections.  I collected everything from grasshoppers to praying mantises and all kinds of spiders, including black widows, garden spiders and cats face spiders. I had jars that were full of my catches.

One of my favorite things to do was to catch two different species and place them in the same jar. I would keep statistics as to which bugs would prevail in a fight. Many of the insects didn't fight each other but many of them did and there were some classic battles. For example, watching two different spiders attack each other was priceless. My favorite insect was the praying mantis. 99% of the time the Praying mantis would eat anything I put in the jar with it. Including the dreaded black widow. Anything that got near those long serrated legs was toast. Actually more like corn on the cob when you watched the mantis start to methodically eat it's prey side to side.

So during Johnny's visit, he and I were collecting some large grasshoppers that first evening and out of nowhere something flew into my eye.  It didn't really hurt at first but it was irritating for sure.  I tried and tried to get it out but to no avail.  Johnny and Mom tried to flush it out with water and the back leg of a small grasshopper came out.  We thought we had gotten it all out so we went to bed and awoke the next morning to a big surprise.  My eye had swollen shut and was puffing out like a bubble.

Mom said that it was probably just a reaction to the grasshopper leg but I thought I could still feel something inside my eye.  Mom said it was probably because my eye had been scratched while the leg was still in there.

When Vee’s niece, Melissa, and her new husband, Dale, showed up that afternoon after the wedding we all met to see them off.  They took lots of pictures and opened some of the gifts and I watched through my one good eye.  The family thought it was hilarious that I had been inflicted with this handicap by one of my own beloved insects.  I suppose that is pretty funny now that I think about it.




It was not funny then however. It was a week later when the swelling finally subsided.  I was washing my eye out with some water because I still felt that scratch on my eye. It felt good to finally get some cool water in there. While I was splashing the water into my eye, I felt something on the edge of my lower eyelid. I took one more handful of water and splashed it on my eye. The feeling went away, as did the scratchy feeling. I looked into my hand and saw the cause of my ailment.  A baby grasshopper missing one hind leg had fallen out from behind my eyelid and landed in my hand. I looked at the sharp prongs on the lone hind leg and knew exactly what had been causing the scratchy feeling.

To this day I still enjoy the six legged species and I love to watch them fight. I'm not so fond of spiders but I do enjoy catching them whenever I have a praying mantis. Love to watch the praying mantis eat, and it might as well be a creepy spider. However now when I go collecting I make sure I am wearing the proper safety goggles. Just in case one of them tries to give me the macro view again!

Prove It!!

We all have certain dates that come each year and bring a memory, good or bad, to us. Usually these are associated with holidays or birthdays or anniversaries. For me Dec 26th is a day that always takes me back to a life altering moment of my own.

Let me begin by letting you know that I met a girl on Sept. 9, 1991, and I was absolutely twitterpated. I was head over heels in love from day one. So much so that 4 months later I proposed to her and she accepted. We were scheduled to be married in the spring of 1992. Life was grand.

We went through the normal preparations that most couples do for their special day. We had scheduled flower arrangements to be made, picked out our colors, bridesmaid’s dresses and tuxedos for the wedding party. All was moving along nicely.

About 4 weeks before the big day, my fiance and I were enjoying a nice day together. During the evening we cuddled and watched a movie together. As it became late I could tell something was on her mind but she seemed content. Then out of nowhere she began to break-out in some sort of rash. Her face and arms were blotchy, puffy and red. It happened so fast and spread throughout her body.

She immediately wanted to go home so we hopped in my 1979 VW Rabbit and headed to her house. When we arrived she got out and ran into the house. Her mom was awake and could see that something wasn’t right. She looked at her and told her she had the hives and that she needed Benadryl and to be put into a bath with baking soda. They hurried down the hall and I was left standing at the door. I tried to say good night to them but I don’t think that they heard so I left and went back home.

The next day she called me and said she wanted to talk. I drove to her home again and we went for a little ride. She began to tell me all about the night before and how she had become overwhelmed with stress and anxiety that she triggered the hives breakout. When I asked her what she was so stressed about, I would not like the answer.

She told me that she had been having cold feet about the wedding and needed to postpone it. She cried as she told me how scared she had been. She said that she loved me but she had not experienced enough dating and life to jump into marriage.  She wasn’t breaking up with me exactly but it was close. She wanted to date other people and know that she was making the right choices.

She handed me the engagement ring that I had given her and I refused to take it. I told her that the offer still stood and that I wasn’t going anywhere unless she told me for sure that it wasn’t to be.  She took the ring and I kissed her. I told her I loved her and that my decision was clear. I assured her that I was not upset or discouraged in her decision to wait. I had lived through broken marriages in my childhood and I would not want to start my own family with someone who had any doubts at all about me.

She said she would see me later and she got out of the car and when into her house. I sat there for a few moments with a flood of thoughts and emotion. Oh, how I loved that girl.

We continued to date throughout the spring and summer. I was still pretty exclusive with only a few friendly dates here and there. She, however, was slightly more active with the dating scene. Besides regular dates with yours truly, she was spending lots of time with more guys that I could count. I know because many of her dates ended with her finding me waiting for her at her home. Perhaps it was awkward for her and even more for her parents but I just had to know that she was ok and home safe. I also wanted to know just how much of a connection she had made with each guy. Needless to say it was gut-wrenching.

Our dates together were still awesome. We had so much fun when we were together. In the back of my mind I would wonder if she had that much fun with her other beaus. It was like a 1992 version of the Bachelorette and I just didn’t know if I would get the final rose.

As summer faded into fall and November fell upon us, her brother returned from his mission in New York. He wasted no time in telling his little sister that she needed to do something about the situation. She needed to either marry me or let me go and move on with my life.  So she sat me down at Thanksgiving after dinner and told me that she would let me know by Christmas one way or the other where I stood.  The wait was on. And it was agonizing.

Christmas arrived and I was quite excited and a little anxious. One way or the other I would know if I would spend the eternities with this sweet young lady.

She came over to my house Christmas morning. My family was full of excitement as we began to open up the gifts from Santa and everyone else. My younger siblings Michael, Robert, John, Heidi and Rebecca were there along with my Dad. It was a good morning. Near the end of the gift opening, she handed me a small wrapped box and told me “Merry Christmas”. I examined the box and became a little excited because it appeared to be a type of jewelry box. Like a ring box!  I gave her a look and then began to open up the gift.
It was definitely a jewelry box. I opened the box and sure enough, inside was a beautiful shiny…………silver, CTR ring.  I stared at it and then awkwardly smiled and told Trina thanks. She smiled big and gave me a hug.  And that was it.

The rest of the day was a normal Christmas Day. We went to her house for the rest of the day and played games with her family until pretty late that night. When I left her home I said good night to her out on her front porch. I stalled as much as possible before it became awkward and then I left. The whole ride home was full of mixed feelings. I didn’t get my answer. Perhaps that was my answer and she didn’t have the heart to break the sad news to me. I began to think of how I would now proceed with my life.  I got home, climbed into my bed and laid there thinking of all that had happened. Or rather, had not happened. It was early morning before I finally drifted off into a restless sleep.

December 26, 1992. Dad knocked on my bedroom door and told me to get up so they could do pictures. I continued to lay in my bed and drifted in and out of sleep. I was awoken again by my Dad, but this time he said there was someone at the door for me. I got up and slowly walked out, down the hall into the family room. Standing at the front door was a police officer. I looked at her quizzically and she asked if she could speak with me outside.

I followed her outside and shut the door behind me. She then told me that there was an incident and that I was wanted for questioning by some detectives. She told me that I needed to go with her and she asked me to put on some warmer clothes.

Still half asleep I went back inside and saw my entire family staring at me in horror. I walked back to my bedroom and put on a pair of sweatpants and a warm shirt. I put on some black shoes and socks. I was trying to be quick and didn’t really worry about fashion.

My brother, Michael came in and immediately asked what was going on. I told him I had no idea. “Do you think someone is playing a joke on you?” He asked.

My mind began to operate in overdrive as I began to think if this was a possibility. I thought of my friends from Idaho Camera, where I worked. I thought of people from church. I could not think of anyone who would be pulling a prank.

I walked out of the room and returned to the front door where the officer was waiting. As I grabbed my coat the officer noticed that my little brother John had picked up his new BB gun. “Son, I’m afraid I must ask you to put down the gun” the officer told him sternly. John looked at her with a little fear in his eyes and quickly set the gun down.

As I was stepping out the door I noticed that my other brother, Robert, was crying. Everyone was confused and worried. They had never seen their older brother in any sort of trouble before. It was devastating.
As we got out on the porch and shut the door behind us, the officer asked me to turn around. She told me that she needed to pat me down to make sure I wasn’t carrying any weapons. After patting me down she had me turn back around and she said she needed to place me in handcuffs during while I was in the car. She cuffed me with my hands in front and then led me to her car. She opened the door and helped me in, keeping my head from hitting as I ducked inside the car.

I stared at the cage that separated the back seat from the front. What was going on? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. My head was swirling as we drove away from my house.

As we drove I was torn between thoughts of being set up by someone messing with me and an actual case of mistaken identity. We drove down State St. in Boise to Glenwood Blvd. We drove up the hill and turned and drove past Capital High School. We continued all the way to Five Mile Rd. and turned south. I began to get a little worried because we were nearing the area where my girlfriend lived. I began to wonder if something had happened at their home and that someone had seen that I had left there very late the night before. I got a sick feeling in my stomach wondering if something had happened to my girl.

I began to think like McGyver. I was trying to figure out how I could get out of the cuffs and somehow escape. Perhaps I could confiscate the officer’s gun. I knew that wouldn’t work. This lady was tough. She actually kind of scared me a little.

I was relieved when we drove past Ustick Rd. That was the last turn off that would have led to her home. As we were approached Fairview Ave we turned and entered the parking lot at Deseret Industries. We made a circle in the parking lot and then exited back onto Fairview. Was she looking for someone? She continued to drive and turned back onto Five Mile and then turned into the parking lot at the K-mart. She said, “This is a very serious matter, Horace, and you need to be totally honest with us.”

“OK” I choked in reply.

She pulled right in front of the store and parked the car. She got out and then opened my door. She led me onto the walkway about 30ft to the right of the store entrance. “Get up against the wall” she ordered. So I walked to the wall and facing the wall I assumed the position with my legs spread like I had seen criminals on TV do. She told me I didn’t need to do that and she walked up to me and took the cuffs off my wrists. She looked at me very stern like and repeated how serious this situation was. Then she handed me a piece of paper.

I looked at the paper and began to read what was written. It was a legal document. I was being summoned. I continue to read. The plaintiff was my girlfriend. The document stated that I had wanted to marry her. If that were true then there were some things that I needed to do to prove that I loved her and that I was worthy of her love. I began to smile.

The officer then told me that I should remain there and that further instructions would be provided. She shook my hand and quickly returned to her vehicle and drove away. She had no sooner left me, when I saw a crazy driver in the parking lot swerving as he drove up to where I was standing. It was my girlfriend’s brother. He had a video camera which he was trying to keep focused on me as he drove. He got out of his car and came around to me.

“Horace, what are you thinking?” He asked me.

I didn’t say much. I just kept grinning.

“Well you have some work to do.” He said as he handed me a stack of about 100 florescent colored flyers. I looked at them and read what they had printed on them.

“I LOVE TRINA, I WANT TO MARRY HER!”  I smiled some more.

“Horace, you need to take these flyers and hand them out to customers as they come to enter into the K-mart.” Her brother, whose name is Eric, stated.


I looked around. It was about 11am on the day after Christmas. It was extremely busy. (K-mart was a popular place still at that time). Without hesitation, I walked up to the nearest customer walking towards the entrance and handed them a flyer. They took it, glanced at it and then looked back at me and smiled. I continued to do this and most everyone who accepted the flyer had the same reaction. Eric continued to record and even stopped a few of the passerby’s and asked them what they thought of what I was doing. “He’s crazy” or “He is so sweet” were common answers. One guy said “He might want to comb his hair.”  I hadn’t thought to comb my hair. I didn’t know I was going to be in public like this.

After all of the flyers were gone, Eric said “You’re not done yet. You still have some work to do!” I followed him to his car and we got in. We drove out of the parking lot and onto Fairview heading east. As we drove he handed me another piece of paper. I read it and was a little less excited with the instructions I was reading. I was to go into Wendy’s restaurant, ask for everyone’s attention, and then sing a song that was written on the paper. I was to sing this song to the tune of “Frosty the Snowman”. The words would be “I love Trina, she’s a beautiful sweet soul”….etc.

Now don’t get me wrong, I really like to sing. I’m not that talented but it’s just something I enjoy. However, in my current condition it made me more than a little apprehensive. First of all my hair was disheveled. I had total bedhead. I was dressed like I had thrown whatever was on top of my dirty laundry basket on. To gather attention to myself at that time was not preferred.

We pulled into the parking lot at the Wendy’s on Fairview. We got out and started to walk to the entrance. Right before we went in I reached up on top of Eric’s head and took his baseball cap and placed it on my own head. He didn’t seem to mind and just chuckled as he continued to video everything.  Once inside he said “The stage is all yours, Horace!”

I slothfully moved to the front of the store. I looked around. People were already sensing that something was about to happen as they saw the Eric and the video camera pointed directly at me. It would have to be lunch time. The place was packed with customers. I looked at Eric and he smiled and nodded. I cleared my throat and then with a loud voice said “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?”

People became quiet and turned towards me. I said, “I have a little song I would like to sing to you.” I heard some snickering and giggling as I again cleared my throat. I sang it as well as I could and loud enough for everyone to hear. I saw women reach over to their dates and hold their hands and others smiling and getting that “awwww, he’s so sweet” look.

When I finally finished the place erupted in applause. I was relieved to be done with it but I was happy with the response. People patted me on the back and shook my hand all the way out the door. When we got back into the car Eric said, “Nice job, Horace. I don’t think I could have done that.”

He started the car and we headed back out onto Fairview back in the direction we had come. He turned up Milwaukee and I became anxious when he turned into the Boise Towne Square Mall. I worked in the Mall at Idaho Camera. I knew a lot of people at Idaho Camera and throughout the mall. I was nervous at what might be required of me here. The place was an absolute zoo. Cars were everywhere. Eric drove around for a while and finally gave up and parked the car with one side up on one of the big snow piles that the plows had created.

We got out of the car and Eric walked to the back of the car and opened the back door. He reached inside and pulled out a large fluorescent cardstock sign. As he brought it around to where I was standing I realized that it was two pieces with some string between them at the top. It was a sandwich board. He handed me the instruction paper. I was to put on the sandwich board, enter the mall, and whistle a tune while skipping the entire floor plan of the mall fronts. I looked at the sandwich board. On the front was black lettering that read “I LOVE TRINA!”. The back was similar but read “I WANT TO MARRY HER!”.

I couldn’t believe that I was going to do this. The only reason I would is because I meant every word on that sandwich board. I placed it over my head and let it hang off my shoulders. It covered me from my shoulders to my knees. We went inside the main entrance and I took off before Eric could say anything. I whistled the Mickey Mouse theme and skipped as well and as fast as I could. Eric ran behind me trying to keep up.

“Slow down, Horace!” He yelled. I slowed slightly so that he could keep up. He then began to stop me and take me over to random people to interview them.

“What do you think of what this young man is doing?” he asked. Responses were varied. One lady said it was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. Another guy said “There is no way in @%## I would do that for a girl!” One couple who was stopped said “I can’t believe anyone would do this!” to which Eric replied, “She’s making him do it.” The girl’s mouth went agape and her boyfriend walked away saying that he would have just walked away.

An older couple that we met was very nice. The lady said “This young man is to be commended” and she reached out and shook my hand. Eric asked her husband how he proposed to his wife. The man replied, “I just did it the good old fashioned way. I got down on one knee.”

As we approached the Idaho Camera location I picked up the pace and I didn’t care what Eric thought about it. I was afraid he would try to interview my work comrades and that was not a conversation I wanted to have!

After the long and exhausting skipping session I was finally done and we went back out the main entrance and the sandwich board came off. We went back to the car and I mentioned to Eric that I was getting hungry. I hadn’t eaten since the night before and all this “proving my love” stuff was wearing on me!
So we stopped at a little convenient store and got a couple of Mountain Dews and some chips. Then we were on the road again. Eric continued to video and would ask me questions about the experience. I could tell that he was having a lot of fun with it.

We drove down to Chinden Blvd. and started towards Boise. As we were driving Eric asked “Horace, what is that?” and he pointed towards a scrolling marquee sign out in front of the Bruneel Tire shop. I got a big grin on my face as I read the words “Horace, I Love You!!....Will You Marry Me?....”

Eric pulled into the Bruneel parking and stopped the car. He reached down next to his seat and grabbed a small box and handed it to me. It was the engagement ring that I had given to her almost a year before. He said, “You have some unfinished business to take care of. Go find her!”

I took the ring, got out of the car, and began to yell for Trina. I had my head on a swivel as I searched. Finally I spotted her and she came running towards me and embraced me in a huge hug. Then I saw her family start to come out from different hiding spots. I stepped away from Trina and got down on my knee and again asked her if she would make me the happiest guy in the world and be my wife. She said yes again. This time she really meant it.Then we kissed. And it has been happily ever after ever since!

Christmas I Won't Ever Forget

The year was 1981. My older sister, Melinda, and I had run away from our Caldwell, Idaho home to go live with my Dad in Boise. It was a very interesting time for me and I was struggling with a lot of things in my life. For one, I was really missing my Mom and my younger siblings. I especially missed Michael. We were quite close even though we were two years apart. He must have forgiven me for flinging him down the stairs when we were younger.

As much as I missed them, however, I was a total Daddy's boy. My Dad was my hero. I loved everything that my Dad loved. Sports, camping, fishing, hunting, and singing. Even though I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket back then.  Living with Dad was difficult though as I had to share him with his new wife, Becky. She was sweet but I could sense that she wasn't that comfortable having Melinda and I there. I was going through all the changes in becoming a teenager and I'm sure that wasn't easy for Becky to deal with.

I did have some fun when I was able to spend some time with my cousins Jimmy, Randy and Laura. They were my Uncle Jim's kids. Randy was my age and Jimmy was only a year older. I had only met Laura before so it was great getting to know them all. We had a lot of fun together. They had a lot of electronic games that were really fun. They were so willing to share with me too. I was looking forward to spending a lot more time with them.

I'd spend time alone a lot of the time. Playing basketball in the driveway or exploring the neighborhood. I tried to earn a little money raking leaves for some of the neighbors. At home I would listen to my little AM radio and sing along to Ronnie Milsap or Foreigner. When Dad was home I would try to talk him into going fishing. We liked to go down to the River below the Broadway bridge near the Boise State University stadium.

One time while we were fishing I looked out into the river about half way almost directly under the bridge. I saw something shiny. I pointed it out to Dad and he said it looked like handle bars. After we caught a few fish, Dad waded out to it and sure enough it was a nice 10-speed bicycle. Still in pretty decent shape. It would only require a little brake job as well as some oil on the chain.  Dad said he would put it together for me when he had time.

My Mom was still fighting for custody which I don't blame her at all. She loved us and felt that we should be with her. I wanted to stay with Dad even though things were kind of rough around his house. At least as far as I was concerned. Dad had been making some initial plans to move to Alaska with some friends of his. That made me want to stay with Dad that much more.

Dad hired an attorney to see what it would take for him to keep us with him. I remember going and sitting in this big office with a giant oak desk. The attorney's name was Kirk Anderson and he was really nice. (I'm glad he was nice because he would one day become my Uncle In-Law).  Mr. Anderson told my Dad that he could go ahead and fight for custody but it would cost a lot of money. This was not something my Dad had much of.

Dad talked to me about the situation and I know that it was difficult for him. I knew he didn't have much money so I told him I would be willing to go back to Mom. We agreed to wait until after Christmas though, which was only a few weeks away.

Melinda would be staying with Dad as she was 13 and was old enough to make the decision herself. I was pretty depressed. I cried a lot at nights while laying in my bed. I would pray that Dad would stay in Boise so that we would be able to visit sometimes. Mom had recently moved back to Pocatello so we wouldn't be able to be together as much but at least we would all be in Idaho.

As Christmas grew near I was struggling finding the "Joy" that was everywhere around me. My little brother John who was just a year old was the only one that could make me smile. He was the one person who could just look at me and make me grin. I was really going to miss that kid. Becky was trying really hard. I don't think that I did much to let her know that I recognized her efforts though.

Christmas Eve we went and saw my Grandparents. My Grandpa Hallenberger was my favorite person in the world. I'm named after him and I always felt a special bond with him. I loved going to their place. Especially around the holidays. We took Grandma and Grandpa over to Uncle Al and Aunt Edna's for a little get together. Edna was my Grandma's sister. I always loved Al and Edna. Edna made me laugh to myself because she didn't have any teeth and would smack her lips a lot. Al always treated me like I was his little buddy. We had a really nice evening and I was able to take my mind off of my moving dilemma.

We got home pretty late that night and I remember thinking how grateful I was that that would be probably be my last memory of living with Dad. Well it wasn't the last memory, but it was the best one.

Christmas morning we awoke and went as a family into the living room. There we found a few presents around the Christmas tree. Leaning up against one of the walls was the white 10-speed bicycle that dad had fished out of the river. It had some new used brakes and the chain was fixed. There was a little tag hanging from the handle bars. I looked at it and it said "To: Horace, From: Santa".  My Dad thought it was pretty funny. My teenage attitude wasn't as amused. I couldn't believe that I had received a bike for Christmas. A bike that was already mine.

I felt the depression deepen. I don't know why I had expected anything more from my Dad. I knew he didn't have the means to do much for me. I guess I was just hoping that he would make up for me having to leave.

The day for me to leave came quickly. I cried most of the trip to Pocatello. The only good thing was the excitement that my siblings were showing when I arrived. They were so happy to see me. They were anxious to show me all of their Christmas gifts. Their favorite was the Atari 2600  video game console with the brand new Pac-Man game. I have to admit, that was pretty cool. Even though they would kill me when I would play them. It's amazing how a few days head start can give such an advantage.

Michael was most excited. He couldn't wait to show me his new hand-held Coleco Electronic Quarterback game. That was pretty awesome. I was definitely jealous. Much cooler than my river bike.

That first week home was bittersweet for sure. I had a lot of fun during the week before school started back up. We played hard and I was happy to be with my siblings again. But it wouldn't last. Right after school started my Dad called. He was going ahead with his plans to move to Alaska. They were leaving right away.

It would be 3 years before I would see my Dad, Becky and John again. 3 long years. I missed my Dad so much.

I look back now and I see how sad this Christmas was for me. I always thought it was the worst Christmas of my life. It's taken me years to realize the good that was within that year. I was able to be with my Dad for a little while. I was able to meet great cousins. I spent quality time with my wonderful Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles. I was even able to have a greater appreciation for the things that were important. I didn't need the bicycle and yet my Dad still waded into the river to get it for me. He fixed it up so that I would have something under the tree for Christmas. What would that Christmas have been like if the bike were not there?

I was also able to realize the great love that the rest of my family had for me. My Mom was so excited to have me reunited with everyone. My siblings were so full of love and joy. That is the part I miss most.

Sometimes I get a little grumpy around Christmas time with my family. My kids have so much that I was never able to enjoy at their age. I worry that the presents they are given are too much and that they will not appreciate Christmas the way we did. Yet at the same time, I don't want them to ever have a Christmas without. As a parent I do not want them to feel the hurt of wanting. Luckily I have been blessed with Children who love Christmas for lots of reasons. They love all the gifts they receive. They also love to give to others. They love to make others happy. That makes me happy. And that is all I want for Christmas.

Sawing Logs

The summer before my senior year of high school, I was tasked with gathering up wood, cutting it and chopping it into fire ready segments. Winters were long in Anchor Point, Alaska and so the task was not insignificant. The wood stove in our little home was our only source of heat. The previous winter I had spent much time chopping wood almost on a daily basis so that Mom and my younger siblings would be warm during the days while Dad, my sister and I were away at school and work. I really wanted to get a good jump on the wood so it would all be chopped and ready for the entire winter.

The good news for me was that we lived in the forest and I didn't have to meander to far from our little home to find some good dead trees to use. About a half a mile from home my Dad and I found a couple of nice big trees that were ready to be cut down. We cut them down and then my Dad left me to do my thing.

Lucky for me one of my best friends, Nelson Swett, decided to come out and help me. I'm thinking we must have had something planned later that evening that would require my presence so he came to help me finish quicker. :)

So we began to work as hard and as efficiently as possible. We took turns with one of us running the chain saw and cutting the branches off or cutting the lodge pole into nice logs, and the other stacking the logs up onto the trailer. It was going to be a very long day.

After we loaded up the trailer we hauled it over to the house and unloaded it at our wood chopping area. We grabbed a quick sandwich and a drink and then headed back to the fallen trees for round two. It was my turn to stack the trailer and I had it about 1/4 full. Nelson was going to town with the chainsaw and we were making great time. Nelson calmly called out to me, "Horace, I need you to go get your Dad, I cut my leg.".

I didn't hear him very well so I asked, "What?"

He turned off  the chainsaw and repeated very nonchalantly "I need you to go get your Dad."

"Why?" I asked.

"I cut my leg."

"Whatever dude!" I mocked and began to load up the trailer again.

"Horace, I'm serious" and after saying this, he walked around from behind the tree he had been cutting up and lifted up his knee so I could see. What I saw made me almost lose my sandwich. When Nelson bent his knee I could see the muscle tissue and the bone and the joint and......not cool!

I panicked. I ran all the way to our house hollering the entire way for my Dad. When I got to our driveway entrance Dad opened up the door and asked what was wrong.

"I need you to come quick!" I exclaimed while trying to breathe. "Nelson cut his leg really bad!"

"OK, calm down. I'm coming" my Dad replied.

I couldn't figure out why my Dad was so calm and moving so slow. "Hurry up, it's really bad!"

But he continued to move with the same urgency. The same urgency that Nelson had shown when telling me he had cut his leg! Was I the only one that saw this as an emergency?!

Dad got some medical supplies, then started up the big Dodge 15-seat van and I jumped in. We drove down to find Nelson casually waiting for us. Dad looked at it and said, "It's pretty bad, we need to get you to the hospital."

Finally, someone was sharing in my view of the situation. We helped Nelson into the van and we drove down the road towards town. We were approximately 22 miles from Homer, which is where the hospital was located. About 10 miles into the drive we stopped and met up with Jamie Ballentine who was a good friend of ours and was also one of our Seminary teachers. Jamie and my Dad administered to Nelson, saying a prayer and giving him a blessing. They prayed that God would help Nelson and that his leg would heal well.

We left Jamie and drove the rest of the way to the hospital. They took Nelson back and we waited. After a few hours we received word that Nelson was resting well and that they had sewn him up. The doctors told us that it was a miracle that he didn't cause more damage. I didn't really understand that because in my mind the only way it would have been worse is if Nelson had amputated his leg with the chainsaw. The doctor said that the cut was "perfect". Strange use of words for a doctor to describe a nasty cut. He said that the chainsaw had cut in a way that it didn't sever anything and it was in a way that kept the bleeding to an absolute minimum. Nelson would be fine and after some time and therapy should be able to resume a normal life on his leg.

What a relief. I was so happy that it was not more serious. Today, Nelson still has a little hitch in his giddy-up but not much. Nelson really must have enjoyed the experience and he learned a lot from how to cut meat properly. So much so that he went to culinary school and became an accomplished chef! I'm pretty sure he is more of a knife user now. The chainsaw is a little too loud for most restaurants! :)

The DWI : Driving While In-diapers

   

     A while back I told the story of my little brother, Michael, giving me a scare in my Dad’s old Ford pick-up. Well, I have been reminded that he is not my only relative to have had such driving issues prior to acquiring a driver’s license.
     Once upon a time, in 2002, I lived in Ammon, ID near Idaho Falls. We had been renting a home and were in the process of building a home of our own. One day we had driven over to the home of a friend who was near completion on their own home. We wanted to see some of the tile work they had done so we could decide if we wanted to do something similar.
     The visit was supposed to be quick so we had left the diesel truck running with our 3 kids in the back seat. Syveah was only 5, Amaya 2 and Trey was year old. All of them were nice and snug in their car seats. My wife and went inside and were in for about 5 minutes. In the middle of a design conversation with our friend we heard a loud crash outside. It appeared to come from the garage.
     We quickly ran up the stairs from the basement that led directly into the garage. There inside the garage was our truck. Behind the wheel was Amaya. In the back we could hear Syveah freaking out. Just in front of the truck, pinned between the stairwell and the bumper, was a brand new oven that had just been delivered for installation that day. Underneath the truck was a brand new counter-top range that had a nice tire track across it.
     Somehow, Amaya had managed to get out of her car seat, climb into the front of the cab, and drop the gearshift into gear. Even without using a gas pedal, the diesel engine had no problem propelling them forward. Thankfully she was able to steer it right through the garage opening missing the structure completely. The counter top range must have slowed them down and the oven stopped them cold.
     Amaya was not speaking yet at 2 years old. (Yes that has changed drastically). She was giving us a complete dramatization of what had happened from the opening of her car seat, to the hopping into the front, to the playing with the steering wheel, to the shifting of the gear lever.
     Sounds hilarious, right? Well, I was not amused. I instantly thought it was going to cost me everything we had saved for our own down payment. However, the owner of the house thought it was very funny. He even high-fived Amaya and asked her if she liked driving Daddy’s truck. While he was laughing I was very short with him. I said “There is nothing funny about it!”
He smiled and said, “Hey, that’s what insurance is for, right?”
That did lessen the blow a little but I still had to walk away and fume by myself.
     After we got home, I called All-State Insurance and talked to my long-time agent, Dave Despain. I explained what had happened. He too began to laugh and I started to fume again. Then he said something that made me stop. “Well, Horace, that’s why we insure your vehicle. No matter who is driving it!”
     I admit it is funny now. I can still picture Amaya’s frantic way of telling us what happened. Wish we had a good video device back then. It would be classic YouTube!
     This event came back to me when Amaya backed our suburban out of a school parking lot a couple of days ago. She is still practicing to get her license. As she backed out, Trina told her to stop….5 or 6 times!  After not stopping during any of the 6 requests, she had placed a nice deep scratch in the side of the vehicle. It’s only about 6ft long. About 1 foot for every time Trina yelled stop! No big deal!
     Dave Despain has retired now. Don’t know if I would call him anyway. Is it worth the deductible?
     Scoop is, Amaya driving = Horace's empty wallet!

The Real Santa Clause

     After taking a couple of days off from my Blog, I was able to collect my thoughts regarding a figure that is now seen throughout much of the Christian world at this time of year, Santa Claus. Over the weekend I found myself hearing others talk about Christmas and Santa’s part in this holiday. Many feel that Santa has become too commercialized and others feel that Santa has taken much away from the “True meaning” of Christmas, which is the celebration of the Birth of Christ. Others who are completely anti Christmas are just annoyed by all the Santa talk. Yet other’s like the idea of Santa because he does take people’s thoughts away from Christ, whom they do not believe in.

     I personally fall into many of these opinions other than the last couple. I do believe in Jesus Christ and I have accepted him as my personal savior and redeemer. I believe that he is the reason that we celebrate Christmas and he should be the main focus. But I also believe that Santa Clause is an important part of Christmas for many reasons. In addition, I believe that Christmas, though religious in its basis, can be celebrated by everyone, religious or not. 

     Those that celebrate Christmas as a remembrance of the birth of their Savior, Jesus Christ, are very passionate about this holiday. It is a time for them to reflect on what they, including myself, believe is one of the defining moments in all of mankind. Approximately 35% of the world’s population are believers in Christianity and celebrate Christmas in this way. This includes nearly 80% of the United States population. With these numbers it is quite interesting that Santa Clause has become such an iconic symbol of Christmas.

I think, however, that if people knew a little about the history of Santa Clause they might be a little more accepting of his place in Christmas. Everyone knows that Santa Clause is also known as St. Nicholas. But do they know who St. Nicholas was? I know that I didn’t. Other than the old 1970 “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” classic with the Rankin/Bass stop motion characters that we all grew up with. Though a very fun story and one of my favorites to watch each year with my kids, it’s not exactly accurate in its portrayal of St. Nick.

     St. Nicholas was born in 280 AD in the city of Myra which is located in what is now the country of Turkey. He served as Archbishop and died in 342 AD.  He is one of the most highly regarded Saints in the history of the Catholic Church. In fact, there are more Christian churches that bare is name than that of any other Saint.

     What made St. Nicholas so special and highly respected? One of the most famous stories told of St. Nicholas is that he was the son of wealthy parents who died while he was a child. Despite the insecurity of being an orphan, he selflessly wanted to share this wealth with those in need. In those times, like today, wealth and poverty lived side by side.

     Nicholas was aware of a man who had three teenage daughters. The family was so poor they could not fill their bellies. And, without money for a dowry, there was no way the girls would ever find a husband. Faced with starvation, their only option would be prostitution.

     Nicholas, wishing to remain anonymous, one night tossed a bag of gold through the window of their house. When the man awoke the next morning, there it was! He thanked God for his good fortune. Thus, the oldest daughter was able to marry. A little while later, Holy Nicholas repeated the act for the second daughter.

     By now the father wanted to know who was behind this magnificent act. The night he heard the third bag of gold hit the floor beneath his window, he rushed out and caught up with the fleeing Nicholas. The saint swore him to secrecy, but eventually the story got out.

St. Nicholas was also a staunch defender of the falsely accused. Appearing in the courts often to intercede and protect the innocent. 

     There are countless stories of St. Nicholas intervening to help sailors in times of distress. The most famous is told of a time when Nicholas went across the sea on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. A frightful storm came up, and the sailors feared they all were about to die. They came to the holy bishop and pleaded for his help. Nicholas prayed fervently, and the seas became miraculously calm. The sailors were amazed and gave praise to God.

     It is said that on the return voyage a sailor fell to his death from a high mast. Nicholas prayed over the man and he came back to life. Nicholas never took credit for any of his deeds. He always instructed the people to turn their hearts to God and repent from sin.

     St. Nicholas was one of the great defenders of the Faith. He tirelessly sought after inspiration through prayer and fasting. He never sought after glory but rather always tried to help people seek after Christ and to follow Him always. When Emperor Constantine brought Christianity out of hiding and prison in the fourth century, the Church faced an empire-wide debate between the Egyptian theologians Arius and Athanasius over the divinity of Jesus. Followers of these two literally rioted in the streets against each other. The issue, brewing for some time, was supposedly settled in 325 at the Council of Nicea, source of the Nicene Creed prayed at Mass today. But the struggle over this doctrine of Jesus’ divinity continued for decades.

     There is an apocryphal story that Archbishop Nicholas, at the Nicene Council, was so infuriated at the Arian bishops who denied Jesus’ full divinity that he slapped one in the face! He was censured, the story goes, until the same bishops had a dream in which God told them to reinstate Nicholas. They reinstated him. This story, true or not, put Nicholas squarely on the side of those who proclaimed Jesus as “one in being with the Father” in the struggle to capture the minds and hearts of Christians of the day. (Source – Americancatholic.org)

     As I read about St. Nicholas I found that he not only taught others to believe and follow Jesus Christ, but he lived a way that was very much the way that Jesus Christ himself did 300 years prior. Now in the United States we refer to St. Nicholas as Santa Clause. We have definitely exaggerated the abilities of this great Saint. We have added the “jolly” character and the red and white furry suit and his big bushy white beard. This has become who we picture. The stories now include reindeer and elves and a big toy shop in the North Pole. That is all part of the fun traditions that have been created throughout the world.

I’m ok with the fun part. But I think we need to always remember who Santa Clause really is and what he stood for. He is a true Saint. He is an example to the world of goodness and selfless love and compassion. He is a symbol of good and a beacon of peace. And most of all, he is Christ-like. He teaches about giving of one’s self and taking care of our fellow man. 

     Whether or not we believe in Santa Clause, we can all appreciate him as to who he was and what he represents. To me, he is still St. Nicholas. He continues to bring happiness and joy to the world, both Christian and non-Christian alike. And most importantly, he continues to direct others to Christ. Which should make the “true believers” very content. 

     So hopefully the next time you see a Santa Clause, you will think of St. Nicholas. A man of God who always put others ahead of himself, and none of us are ever too old for that. So we are never too old for Santa!

All Bets Are Off

Beginning in eighth grade I discovered a personal talent of being able to understand a “Vegas Line”.  Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a professional gambler.  I did, however, learn to take advantage of my knowledge of sports. You see, in junior high, most kids are just beginning to get into sports.  Some of them have their favorite sports team that they probably followed because their fathers followed the same team.  They really loved these teams and would talk as if they were “number one” or the “champs”.  This was perfect for someone to take advantage of if they knew who a person’s favorite team was.  That is where I fit in.
I was a sports junkie ever since the day I could bounce a ball. I loved to play and watch every sport. Since the age of 10 I was even paying attention the statistics of teams and individual players from those teams. I knew every starting lineup and what their ranks were versus the other teams. I think it probably annoyed some people when conversations turned to sports and I had a little too much to offer. Probably why my wife never brings up sports. Interesting....
       Anyhow, I had been selling NFL pencils the year before eighth grade and this came in quite handy, as I knew precisely which teams most of the boys liked.  I would casually strike up a conversation with someone regarding his or her team’s upcoming Sunday game.  While doing this I learned that without fail, they would start telling me how their team was going to win.  Sometimes I would have to agree with them, as some of the favorite teams were actually good teams.  However most of the time I would laugh because there was almost no chance for some of their teams to win on that particular week. Luckily I was smart enough to know that my own favorite teams were not going to win every singe game.
Gradually I would start doing some friendly bets just straight up that their teams would lose.  Easily ninety percent of the time I would win this friendly bet.  So I started to bet with something at stake.  I learned quickly that I could give point spreads to those who knew a little about how good their teams’ opponents were.  They were however still firm in their bets for their teams rather than against.
I don’t know exactly what my winning percentage was but I was winning at a rate that kept my weekly expenses paid.  More and more people would be searching me out on Thursday and Friday of each week to bet on their teams.  Eventually I had so many bets each week that I commissioned a couple of football players, whom I was good friends with, to help me with the payouts and collections.  This was greatly needed because there were much more collections than payouts.  Everyone was pretty good about paying up with my two associates searching him or her out on Tuesday mornings.  We let them sweat it out until Tuesday because we still had bets riding on the Monday Night Football Game.
By the end of my ninth grade year at Alameda Jr. High I was bringing home between $700 and $900 each month during the NFL football season.  Combined with my paper routes and the candy and pencil sales I was making a pretty good living.  I don’t know how much my parents were making at the time but I have a feeling that we were probably bringing home similar incomes.
All was well and good until one day when I was called into the vice-principal’s office.  Now mind you, I was never a troublemaker, thus I had zero experience with being sent to the “office”.  Everyone I had ever known that was sent to the vice-principal’s office came out in a very subdued mood compared to the way they were before they went in.
All of this knowledge had me shaking where I stood as I waited my turn outside the vice-principal’s door.  The door opened and an eighth grade boy I was familiar with walked out.  His head was down and I think he might have been crying.  This didn’t help my own unstable emotional state.
“Come on in Mr. Hallenberger”.  Mr. Worley said, waking me from my gloomy stupor.
Mr. Worley was a large man.  He seemed even larger standing beside his desk in that small office.  Needless to say I was intimidated and scared.
“You’re a good kid, Horace, and because you’re a good kid I was somewhat befuddled when I found out about your little gambling ring.”
I just about fell over.  His reference to “gambling ring” sounded criminal.  My mind began to race.  Did I commit a crime?  If I was scared when I came into his office, I was terrified now.
Mr. Anderson sensed my fear and came around and put his big hand on my shoulder.  “I cannot tell you what you can and can’t do off of school grounds, but on school grounds, gambling is not allowed,” he said.  “I know you did not know this which is why I am giving you a warning” he continued, “I will not be able to be so lenient if we should meet like this again.”
I believe he could actually see the blood flow back into my face as the relief captured me.  As I left his office he had one last comment.  “What’s the spread on the Cowboys game this week?”  For a moment I thought he was serious and I contemplated answering him.  Then he slapped me on the back, smiled and returned to his desk.  Though I smiled back at him, I wasn’t all that amused at his sense of humor.
That was the last time I operated an organized “gambling ring”.  Actually, I haven't gambled since. It just isn't worth it to me to end up on the wrong end of the law.  I figured that if it was not allowed on school grounds then it probably was not a good thing to do period.
        That's OK because I'm a positive thinker and I can find other ways to find financial success. What, you don't believe me. Are you willing to bet on it?  :)

I Always Feel Like, Somebody's Watching Me!

Today my friend Moses Kinikini shared a link from an ABC TV show that seemed to draw a lot of attention today. I heard about it on multiple radio stations as well as on TV this evening. It created quite a stir and caused many people to really consider how they would have reacted if it had been them in the situation. 

ABC planted actors within a Barber Shop in Harlem to create a situation where a racially opinionated black employee was upset that the black customer’s girlfriend was a blond white girl. She expressed herself very openly and the blond girl became upset. The customer’s within the shop had many different types of reactions, some angry, some offended, some shocked. Many stepped up to defend the white girl. Others said nothing.

ABC then came in and interviewed the customers and asked them why they had reacted a certain way. The answers were quite revealing as to what most Americans think of those types of situations and how some react and others do not.

I like to think that I would speak up and defend someone in a similar situation. I’m actually surprised that more people do not just from the knowledge that everyone has cell phones and cameras that seem to capture every event of every day. Cameras are watching your every move when you are in public.

I see cops getting filmed beating suspects and I am appalled not only by the beatings but also that they have not become aware of the video evidence out there. 

I remember the song “I always feel like, somebody’s watching me” and it rings a little true today. 

But what would you do in a situation like in the Barber Shop scenario? Would you sit quite? Would you join in with the black lady and berate the blond girl? Would you be unable to sit still, and instead become a defender? Would you get physical? I don’t know what exactly I would do but I hope I would do something. 

I hope I would do something not because it might be caught on video, but because it is the right thing to do. There is right and there is wrong. Do I stand and defend what is right no matter the circumstance? Do I reject the wrong at all costs?

As a Christian I hope so. At the end of the day, whether there is a video camera or not, someone is watching. Perhaps it’s God Himself. I believe He is, every time. 

However, you may not believe in God. Does that make right and wrong any different to you? 
I guess what I’m saying is, that it shouldn’t matter if anyone is watching or not. Do you have the integrity to stand up for what is right when the only one who will know it is you?

If not, perhaps you should always remember the old saying that “Hindsight is 20/20”. Hopefully you don’t find yourself looking at your actions on 20/20. Then everyone will see you for who you are.

That’s my scoop. What say you?

Here is the link to the ABC clip:

http://freepatriot.org/2013/12/10/happens-black-man-brings-white-girlfriend-harlem-barbershop-watch/

'Twas The Night Before Christmas, The Sequel

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas, the Sequel

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through our house

 Was a disaster the kids made and one by my spouse.

The stockings were singeing by the fireplace too near, 

I hope that St. Nick avoids entering here.

The children were wrestling all over their beds, 

While visions of injuries danced in my head;

And mamma in her sweat suit, and a baby in my lap,

Thought of our soon to be short five hour nap.

When out of the house there arose such a clatter, 

I nearly dropped the baby trying to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, 

Stepped on a toy into the wall I did crash.

When I finally came to and peered out in the snow,

 My eyes were blinded from my neighbors’ light’s glow.

But my sight readjusted and my view became clear,

 And I thought I saw Santa and nine tiny reindeer.

At first I saw eight, as Rudolph was slick, 

Hidden among lights I couldn’t find him as quick.

Ignoring the beagles that barked as he came; 

He whistled, and shouted, it sounded profane.

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid, Donner, Rudolph and Blitzen!

From the top of the porch to the ground we did fall, 

Now please stop laughing at my pink handmade shawl!”

As dry heaves racked Comet and tears froze the rest’s eyes, 

Santa righted the sleigh and they flew to the sky,

So back to the housetop the courses they flew, 

Santa cracking his whip at the snickering crew.

And then I heard cursing amongst the tapping of hooves, 

“Where is the Chimney, for it is not on the roof?”

We ran for our beds without making a sound, 

And in from the front door St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, 

And his clothes were all bloody from his fall with his loot.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, 

And ripped though it was, he opened his pack.

His eyes looked bloodshot, yet his dimples so merry! 

 His cheeks were frost-bitten, his nose a raspberry,

His droll little mouth, a fat lip it did show, 

And the beard on his chin mangled of hair, dirt and snow.

The stump of a pipe must have busted some teeth, 

One on the top and about three underneath.

He had a broad face and was slim at the belly. 

 He must have read Atkins’ and threw out the jelly!

Once chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, 

And I laughed when I saw him as he’d lost most his self.

A blink of his eye and a twist of his head, 

I heard old joints cracking, he sure needs a bed!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

He tried to fill stockings so hot he did jerk.

And using his finger he wiped blood off his nose, 

Downed the cookies and eggnog getting crumbs on his clothes.

He sneaked out the door and in his sleigh he did wiggle,

 Then glared at the reindeer that continued to giggle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

 Next year I’m sleeping all Christmas Night!

  

- Horace Hallenberger 2006

Little Man, Big Noise

​I began school at Alameda Jr. High just a couple of days after moving to Pocatello a couple of months into my 7th grade year in 1981. This school operated differently than any school I had ever attended before.  They had what was called a “homeroom” that we would meet in every morning for announcements.  Our homeroom advisor was Mr. McDonald.  He taught social studies and the sort.

​In my homeroom were a couple of friends from when I lived in the area previously.  Jeanette Edwards and Ryan Hall were friends that I had from back in 1st grade and now we were reunited here.  Jeanette used to be best friends with Diana Almohanna, whom I’d had a crush on since that same 1st grade year.  I was excited to find out that Diana was still around and attending Alameda as well.

​I signed up for a number of different required classes and then went to the music room to sign up for band.  The director was a pretty lady named Mrs. Leeds.  She barely held back her laughter when she asked me what instrument I played and I replied, “the tuba.”  

​She scanned my short body and said “That’s pretty funny.  Is this a joke?”

​I told her no and handed her my request form.

​They had three band classes, Pep Band, Concert Band and Symphonic Band.  The Symphonic Band was for the advanced musicians.  This is where I thought I should be placed but Mrs. Leeds thought otherwise.  She signed my registration slip for Concert Band.

​I was not happy about this and when I got home that day I told my mom I was going to quit band.  She knew I was hurt but she challenged me anyway to go to Concert Band the next day and show her what I could do.  I agreed and said I would show the teacher she was wrong for laughing.​

​The next day I had one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  Concert Band was the first class of the day.  As I entered the classroom I waited until the majority of the class had taken their places.  Mrs. Leeds looked at me again with a sort of smirk and pointed to the tuba in the back of the room.  I had my own mouthpiece already so I took it over to the tuba and placed it in the receiver pipe.  I wasn’t real familiar with the type of tuba I was to play here, but I knew it played the same.  I was actually used to the sousaphone, which all the other schools used.  A sousaphone is the big instrument that wraps around the player and is supported by the shoulder.  You can usually find the sousaphone in the marching bands.  This tuba was an upright instrument that is the proper tuba for concert situations.  

​Mrs. Leeds pointed to a chair where she wanted me to sit in front of the percussion section and next to the trombone players.  I sat on the chair and hoisted the tuba up and sat the bottom of the instrument on the chair between my legs.  Now I was ready!  

​Not exactly.  The mouthpiece was prodding me right in the forehead!  Mrs. Leeds did not notice and she proceeded to warm up the band.  As she scanned the room she realized that I was not playing.  She halted the band playing and asked me if there was a problem.  I exclaimed to her that I could not reach the mouthpiece and the class erupted in laughter.  Mrs. Leeds did not hold back either as she let out a howl and slapped her knee.  Once she calmed down she grabbed a thick phone book and brought it up to me.  I quickly placed it under myself while leaving the tuba sitting in its place on the chair.  

​“Not enough” I said, just as Mrs. Leeds had turned to go back to her podium.

​She shook her head and retrieved two more books, of which I needed both.  The snickering was still present among my classmates and I could feel the tips of my ears burning with embarrassment and anger.

​Mrs. Leeds stepped back up to her podium and continued with the warm up exercises, of which I did not participate in.  I blew warm air into the mouthpiece and made sure that the spit valve was cleared.  I oiled the valves and worked them with my fingers attempting to familiarize them with the feel of this new instrument.  

​“Ok everyone, Mrs. Leeds bellowed, Let’s open up the music to the Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

​I opened up my folder along with the rest of the band and found the crisp, clean and obviously unused music specifically written with the tuba part.  I laid it on my stand and positioned myself in the proper playing form, back straight, head up and eyes forward.  I was ready and excited.  The selected music was perfect with a very strong bass line that began in the 6th measure.  It was also very basic for me, as I had played music much more advanced.  Now was my chance to redeem myself, and force a little crow eating by everyone else in the room.

​Mrs. Leeds brought her arms up and down in a swooping motion and the music began.  It wasn’t real pleasant either though you could make out what was being played.  I counted and took a deep breath during the fifth measure.  I began to play.

​The sound was strong and deep and yet still smooth and clear.  By the end of the 10th or 11th measure I realized that the rest of the band had stopped playing and Mrs. Leeds was staring at me, mouth agape.  She stopped conducting and so I stopped and asked her the same question she had asked me just a few moments before.  “Is there a problem?”

​Firmly and seriously she responded, “I want you in the Symphonic Band beginning tomorrow.  I will take care of the changes, you just show up right here during 7th period!”

​I smiled and nodded my acknowledgement.  Little did she know that I had left 7th period completely free.  It was for Symphonic Band and I knew it.  I just needed her to know it as well.

​The next day at Symphonic Band, things started off similarly to the previous morning.  Giggling and fingers pointing at me when I retrieved my phone books.  Mrs. Leeds, however, was not joining in on this day.  She just winked at me with a look that said, “let ‘em have it.”  And I did.

        From that day through the rest of Jr. High. High School and College, my tuba and I, and a few phone books, were found together creating gasps of surprise wherever we went!