Category: Childhood Memories

Cereal, Childhood Memories, Thought and Opinion

I’ve Figured It Out: My Letter To General Mills

Mr. Kendall J. Powell (CEO)
General Mills, Inc.
P.O. Box 9452
Minneapolis, MN 55440

Dear Mr. Powell and Associates of General Mills:

I’ve figured it out and I know what you’re up to. You probably thought I’d never find out your dirty little secret didn’t you? I know you’ve waited 40 years to launch your master plan to prey on the innocent youth of America but I am here to tell you that I won’t let you win.

It all started in 1971 and I can just imagine your evil minions all concocting the scheme. Releasing Monster Cereals in the hopes of eventually controlling the heart and mind of all good children and like a fool I drank the Kool-Aid. You knew I couldn’t resist the combination of chocolate and vampires.

You waited silently while the children grew into adults. It was the perfect scheme: An entire generation willfully consuming the goodness of Count Chocula, Frankenberry and Boo Berry.

It wasn’t until last Summer that you put your master plan into effect. Slowly taking the cereals loved by millions off of the shelves of the grocery store. Little by little both myself and the other children of the disco generation saw their old friends disappear. You knew it was only a matter of time before you would control them.

I began scouring the country-side for chocolately goodness. I even thought of paying outrageous prices online in attempt to fuel the fix you started. I would have done anything.

But then you made your one fatal mistake. Something you didn’t count on.

Unbeknownst to you, a large stash of Count, Frank and Boo managed to make their way to the grocery shelves in time for Halloween. Stores began selling them at a discounted rate in attempt to deplete their inventories before the Feds showed up and I purchased as much contraband as I could to stock up for the Winter.

So why you may have gotten others to bow before the Big G you’ll NEVER get me. I’ve got enough of Monster Cereal to see me through next Summer and beyond.

Eat that.

Sincerely Yours,

Fruit Brute

Childhood Memories, Thought and Opinion

The Boys Are Back In Town

“Guess who just got back today?
Them wild-eyed boys that had been away
Haven’t changed, haven’t much to say
But man, I still think them cats are crazy”

Phil Lynott – Thin Lizzy

One day, not too long ago, I woke up and they were gone. The friends I had known and loved since childhood had just up and left without so much as even saying goodbye.

Perhaps it’s my fault. I was the one who abandoned them. I’d always assumed they’d be there when ever the urge would strike me. Sure, I’d walk down their street quite often when out on grocery excursions but sometimes I was just too caught up in the task at hand to even stop by and say “Hello”.

I’ll admit, when I heard the news of their flight I felt an empty feeling in my stomach. A churning sensation. And I knew my days would never start out properly anymore. I lamented the laughter. The good conversations we all had. The little plastic things made in their image that they used to bring me as presents. All those thoughts and feelings came rushing back.

Days turned into months without so much as a word from them. I considered posting their images on a milk carton (skim of course) but the dairy farmers all laughed me to scorn. They didn’t get it. So I did the next best thing to get the word out.

I took an image and had my picture taken with the band Night Ranger at a recent concert. My hope was to get the message out that my friends were missing and I needed them back more than anything.

That’s when the General Mills Gods must have heard me.

Last night around 10pm I received a call from a friend of mine who used to hang out with the boys too. I could hardly hear what she was saying through all the tears. She told me she had spotted the boys at the Wegmans supermarket. They were there and they were asking about me.

Even though the hour was late, I quickly grabbed my keys and made haste to the local Wegmans. As I rushed in the door I was greeted by the strong smell of cinnamon. I surmised that either the bakers had made rolls this morning or the Apple Jacks kids were firing one up in celebration. I chuckled assuming it was the latter.

I quickly went to the spot we always used to hang out in. Nothing. I saw nothing but frogs, rabbits, magicians, some crazy bird and a leprechaun. My friends were no where in sight. That empty feeling in my stomach was back and I assumed tomorrow would be no different then it has already been for so many months.

It was at that moment I had an epiphany. I noticed that the store had already begun putting out trick or treat candy some two months early. I wondered if they might possibly be hanging out in the Halloween aisle. Like me, they always liked that creepy stuff too and at this point it was worth a shot so off I went.

Trolling through piles of bite sized Snickers and Milky Ways the heaven’s parted and there they were. My friends. The ones that had gone on a long vacation were back.

We just stood there looking at each other not really knowing what to say.  Finally, my joy became too great and I shouted: “Hey Guys it’s me, Jimmy!!”. A tear rolled down my cheek and I noticed that one of the shopping cart boys who had witnessed this reunion was now fleeing from my vicinity.

We finally embraced and I brought the boys home. I didn’t ask them why they left or how long they might be staying. I just wanted this moment to last forever.

I’ve decided that after breakfast this morning I’m sending my testimony in to Maury. I think between all the “You ARE The Father” segments, this reunion would make a nice story.

 

Childhood Memories, Music

Night Ranger Still Rockin America

I still remember the first time I ever heard Night Ranger. My neighbor Mike, who lived next door to me growing up, called me up one Friday night and asked me if I wanted to go to the Palmer Mall. Back in the early 1980’s, having your parents drive you to the mall was all the rage. I suppose it still sort of is today but not like it was back then.

On the drive over in his parents big blue station wagon Mike asked his Mom to put in this beat up white cassette tape that he had. Mike had copied the tape from someone else and it was old school music piracy at it’s finest. “Jim, Wait until you listen to this band” he said.  And from the time the first sounds of “You Can Still Rock in America” started coming over the scratchy speakers I was hooked.

“Who is this?” I asked Mike. I had no idea who this group was but it was different from anything the two of us had ever heard before. We had always been more of a Cars, REO Speedwagon and Rod Stewart type of fan that never let anything “new” enter our musical world. But this was different…and exciting.

“They’re called Night Ranger and they are friggin awesome!” Mike responded and I couldn’t agree more. All the way from our homes on South Side to Palmer Township we listened to that bootlegged tape. Hearing “Sister Christian”, “When You Close Your Eyes” and “Rumors in the Air” for the first time was thirteen year old male audio euphoria.

Upon arriving to the mall our first stop was to the Listening Booth, the only place in town to buy records. That’s where Mike redeemed himself and purchased the full on copy of the vinyl “Midnight Madness” record for us to enjoy as we played video games in his basement.

A year or so later I made one of  my own very first vinyl album purchases. A copy of “Seven Wishes”, which was the follow-up to “Midnight Madness”. I remember Mike and I wearing that album out as well. We were so hooked on this band and were fortunate enough to see them live in concert at Stabler Arena. One of the best shows ever.

So now fast forward a few decades. Adult life has taken over for me and I’ve  become the one listening to my daughter’s music as I drive her to the mall. As for Night Ranger? Well, they are still touring on occasion and releasing albums every so often. Some of it really great music although sadly, nothing on par with the success of the ones I mentioned earlier. The music industry has changed so much they’re just not welcome in the mainstream any more.

In March of this year, I discovered they had released another new record and were coming to my hometown for the first time in twenty some odd years and knew I had to be a part of it.

Additionally, they were offering ticket packages that included an awesome seat and a meet and greet with the band. In 1985, I probably couldn’t get anywhere near these guys. And now, for a C-note, you could get up close and personal. Which was right up my alley.

Seeing Night Ranger perform this past Wednesday night in Allentown was surreal. Most people today would have no idea who these guys are. Unless you play them a few bars of “Sister Christian” which has become they’re trademark. I found myself being taken back in the 80’s watching them perform those songs. I thought about Mike and that Friday night drive. Listening to this music for the first time. We were young, and everything was new.

Suffice to say, I was ecstatic to be ushered back to meet the band. Even though they had no idea who the hell I was, it was an emotional experience to shake hands with the guys that were indirectly a part of my teenage years.

I still had my “Seven Wishes” album that I managed to dig up from an old box in the basement. The album had sat in silence for years collecting dust. But now it too has become new as the three original members who played on it autographed it for me. The album will now be framed and adorn my wall to always remind me of that night.

The meet and greet also included one photo opportunity with the band and it was at that point that I made an odd request. I didn’t want the photograph to just be a pic of me smiling with the guys in the band. That would be too typical. No, I wanted it to be different. Something to remind me of my childhood. So in the end I brought along an empty box of Count Chocula, my favorite cereal growing up.

The band was very receptive to having the box in the picture with us. In reality though, I suspect they probably thought I was crazy because everyone I’ve shown the picture to tells me so. But the more I think about it, it’s probably a good thing if they think that way.

Because somewhere down the road, someone is going to interview them about their long, stoic career and ask them what was the oddest experience they’ve ever had with fans. And I can just picture them laughing and saying to each other:

“Hey, do you remember that guy that wanted his picture taken with a box of Count Chocula?”.

Childhood Memories

Happy 65th Dad

August 31st, 2011. Today would have been my Dad’s 65th birthday. Time to celebrate what has become the official end of “work” and the beginning of the golden years. Truth be told though, were he still alive I think this would be a day just like any other to him.

It’s been fourteen years since he passed away. Initially, I thought about writing this little memorial to him next October but thought it kind of silly to be celebrating life on the anniversary of his death. So instead I decided it’s better to do so now instead on what would have been a milestone birthday. And besides, I think he’d probably want it that way any how so here goes.

Where to begin?

There are so many things I remember about my Dad. He was a tough guy. A south paw that everyone else in my family respected. A hard ass at times. Someone you didn’t want to get into a scuffle with.

But beneath all the tough guy exterior, Dad also liked to have fun too. Some of my best memories from childhood were of him taking our family on long camping trips with my other relatives every summer.

I’ve heard more then one person say that having all of us crazy “Wood’s” in one place was a sure sign of the apocalypse. But there was no fire or brimstone raining down. No, all we did was play cards,  fish,  pitch quoits and sit by the campfire.

But of all the times we shared together there are three moments I remember most about my father that I’d like to share with you:

1. The Stop and Think Moment

2. The Drifting Apart Moment

3. The Prodigal Son Moment

The Stop and Think Moment is the one I’ll remember most of all. It began during a rain storm in summer when there was nothing else to do and nowhere to go.

It was late afternoon and I had just come in from playing football outside just prior to the rain. I was upset at having gotten into a fight with one of the neighborhood kids (over what I can’t remember). Dad was sitting alone at the kitchen table drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette.

Our home didn’t have central air conditioning so to keep cool we’d usually keep the windows open just enough to let the breeze in while keeping the water out. We’d also use big portable fans to help vent the kitchen. The smell of the hot asphalt street outside cooling down from the steady stream of rain would fill the room and also allow for the escape of the second-hand smoke.

It was on this occasion that Dad asked his disgruntled son what happened. “So and So threw the ball at my head” or something similar to that I said. And for the next fifteen minutes Dad gave me a lecture on the football, friendship and life. “Stop and Think…”, he’d say. “Did you do anything to bring on this situation?”.

Inevitably, there would have been something I had done to put some of the blame on myself. I’d usually start with a “but…but” and he’d always continue on. Telling me to just “Stop and Think” for a minute.

Stop and think. Do you think that person who thinks he’s so tough and treats you bad is your friend? He couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag. (I still laugh to this day about that one).

There were plenty of other “stop and thinks” over the course of the conversation but the one I remember most was the last one he told me:

“Stop and think. Do you know how much your Mother and I love you guys? (referring to me and my siblings).

Those three words stuck with me and eventually I was able to settle down and actually start to think about what had happened. By the time our conversation was over it seemed like my brain was exhausted but I felt better for it.

On certain days now, when the weather is grey and rainy, I’ll sit at my table staring out the window and think of that day in the kitchen. I never forgot “Stop and Think”. Someday I’ll probably write a book about it and dedicate it to him.

The Drifting Apart moment came during the separation and eventual divorce of my parents in the mid 1980’s. By then, alcohol (which has always been the Achilles heel in my family) had estranged me from my father. We spoke many times over the years on the phone and in person but rarely when beer hadn’t influenced him in some way to make conversations short.

My brother and sister would see and talk to him way more frequently then me. They were able to see past the alcohol. I couldn’t. Soon I was off to college and living on my own and the phone calls became less and less frequent. Years would go by where we didn’t speak at all and were lost to each other.

I eventually heard that he had remarried but the next time I would actually see him for any extended length of time would be at my own wedding in 1995. Strangely, it was a bit awkward at first but I remember it being one of the best times of my life. For, in addition to me getting married to the woman I love, it was the first time in years we all got to take pictures as a “family” again.

It’s not that I didn’t love him or anything like that. On the contrary, the love I had for my Dad never changed. The separation was just a result of our going our separate ways and me not being able to deal with him in that condition. Especially when it got to the point where nothing was ever going to change.

The Prodigal Son Moment

I’ll never forget it. It was mid 1996 when I got a call from my Aunt telling me my father was in the hospital. They had found a mass in his colon and were operating on it. The doctors had thought they had caught it in time. And it appeared so. They had instructed him he needed to give up drinking and smoking if he wanted any chance of fully recovering and he agreed to it.

The next 15 months were spent reconnecting with my Dad.Ironically, the one thing I remember most is going to the bar with him and my brother for the first time (myself now also a legal drinker) and watching him play the poker machines and drink non alcoholic beer.

One might assume that a bar would be the LAST place I’d want to take my father to all things considered. And truth be told I really didn’t want to go into the Lion’s Den either. But he was adamant about taking his sons to the bar with him. Maybe it was some kind of rite of passage that made him this way. Or maybe it was to prove to me that he finally had control over his problem.  In any event, and after everything he had gone through with his cancer treatment, he wouldn’t take “No” for an answer. So off we went.

Sadly, his condition continued to worsen until he was finally hospitalized in August of 1997. A man who had just celebrated his 51st birthday was now lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of him and morphine running through his veins.

I visited him almost every chance I could in between my full-time job and duties at home. Some nights we would have conversations when he felt up to it. I longed to have another Stop and Think session but at that point I was willing to take whatever I could get.

Then there was the moment I had as October rolled around and his condition deteriorated. I remember sitting at his bedside while he was going in and out of consciousness, closing my eyes and asking God that if he was going to take him, to please not take him on my birthday. Any day but on the 5th. It was selfish. But at that time I just couldn’t bear the thought of having my date of birth coincide with the day he died. Looking back now, it wouldn’t have even mattered.

Yet someone on high must have heard me because I was able to spend my 28th birthday with him. The best gift I ever received. And over the next ten days it seemed like he was actually coming around a bit. There was reason to hope even though the doctors had all told us he was the sickest person in the entire hospital.

October 17th – 10PM. It was just me in the darkened hospital room along with my stepmother. My brother and sister weren’t there. The single light over the bed and digital displays on morphine pumps and heparin drips were the only illumination.

Now I’m no expert on theology but I do believe souls can feel when another soul moves on. For as he began to gasp for breath I could tell the end was near.

At that moment I literally felt the temperature dramatically drop in the room. So much so that I began to shiver. And I’ll go to my own grave feeling this way but I swear, at that very moment, I had this overwhelming feeling that someone (or something) was coming for him.

I remember we told him we loved him and although his eyes seemed to be fixated somewhere else he was able to say that he loved us back. And that was when my father uttered the last word he’d ever speak:

“God”.

Silence.

Tears streamed down my face. A man who never so much as went to church and who, to my knowledge at least, never said a prayer or even read the bible. The last word he ever spoke on this Earth was “God”.

What did he see?

The distance between us and everything that happened in the past was gone. All that mattered was that he was my Dad, and I was there with him at the end.

I sometimes wonder if I would change anything if I was given another chance. I mean, would things have turned out any differently? Probably not.

Cancer has done horrible things to my family. Things I hope no one ever has to go through. But in some odd way, with all the pain and suffering that it brings, there’s one thing I have to actually be grateful to it for.

Without cancer, I probably never would have gotten my father back.

Happy Birthday Dad.

Childhood Memories

Growing Up With Superheroes

I’ve wanted to be a superhero forever. The battle of good vs evil always appealed to me. I could picture myself saving a cat from a tree and getting a kiss on the cheek by a beautiful, grateful girl. “Aw shucks Ma’am”, I’d say. “It’s all in day’s work”. I knew right would always win and I was determined to be a part of that effort.

I often liked to pretend to be one from time to time. On one occasion, I even had my Aunt sew me up some red “Spiderman” gloves.  I was determined to actually become Spiderman. When she asked me what they were for, I told her they were needed for a school project. After all, I had to keep my alter-ego a secret.  The idea of me being Spidey for real kind of fizzled out though when I stood at the bottom of a tall building and thought about climbing it. Suddenly, the ice cream cone stand down the street looked a bit more enticing.

I can’t actually recall a time growing up where I wasn’t surrounded by my peers (other superheroes that is). Growing up, these guys (and gals) were all over the TV. And since I love jogging the old memory and seeing where it goes, let’s take a trip and I’ll tell you about all the cool superhero shows that influenced me growing up.

Ultraman : Without question, this is my all time favorite superhero show. I mean, what’s not to love about an average man who on a whim could raise the Beta Capsule, turn into Ultraman and then proceed to open a can of whoop-ass on a giant monster? Believe me when I tell you that this show CONSUMED me growing up.

Ultraman wasn’t the only show that had my attention though. Who could forget these wonderful shows?:

Shazam and Isis: I recall many a Saturday morning spent watching the adventures of Billy Batson and his old buddy driving around in some beat up old RV. When trouble was around all Billy had to do was go find a clearing and yell “SHAZAM” to turn into Captain Marvel and save the day.

Chosen from among all others by the Immortal Elders — Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, Mercury — Billy Batson and his mentor travel the highways and byways of the land on a never-ending mission: to right wrongs, to develop understanding, and to seek justice for all!

It always made me laugh when Billy went to talk to The Elders, the ones who gave him his powers. They were all poorly drawn cartoon characters. And I can’t tell you how many times I tried to summon the  The Elders myself. I’d stand in the middle of the street by my house and yell: “Oh Elders, fleet and strong and wise, appear before my seeking eyes.” Still not sure why they never answered.

Isis was another heroine that appealed to me. A hot mess science teacher who discovered the Amulet of Isis on a archeological dig in Egypt. Now, she’s able to turn into the Goddess and beat the crap out of people whenever she wants. What’s not to love about that?

 

Wonder Woman: I can’t even tell you much about this show. All I do know is that I wanted her to put the rope on me and make me tell her the truth. But seriously, I could probably tell you the exact number of stars that were on her pants.  Just sayin’.

 

 

Spiderman: Ok, I have to admit this one is a little embarrasing. The costume was quite corny and the dude that was Spidey certainly had very little muscle tone. But hey, it was Spiderman in the 1970’s and I took whatever I could get.

 

 

 

The Incredible Hulk: If you were at my house on a Friday night in 1979 this is what you watched. My brother and sister couldn’t wait for it to be over so The Dukes of Hazzard could come on but that didn’t bother me much. Let ’em wait.

I loved tuning in each week to see if David Banner would cure himself of the Hulk. And I was one of those kids who actually thought Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno were one person. In retrospect, I guess it was kind of silly to believe that Bill Bixby had all these huge muscles he was hiding.

 

The 1980’s soon arrived and by that point all of the above mentioned shows were long gone. The only saving grace I had in my middle school years was The Greatest American Hero.  The theme song actually went to #1 on the music charts and I really dug the costume and the whole idea of a teacher becoming a superhero. Sadly, this show didn’t last long either. I’m sure there were many other shows from that era but these are the ones that I always looked forward to watching.

Today, I’m able to get the quick fix of superhero a few times a year when a new movie comes out. But for a boy wanting to be a superhero, the 1970’s sure was a great time to grow up in.

1980's, Childhood Memories, Summer

Dungeons and Dragons

A lot of people have come up to me and asked me how I used to spend my summers growing up. Well, actually no one really has but I feel like telling you about it anyway.

While most youthful teenagers of the 1980’s were spending warm sun filled days going to camp, listening to some guy named Michael Jackson or going to Dip-N-Dances at the Palmer Community Pool I was hard at work with my friends creating characters on sheets of paper, rolling dice and saving the world from utter annihilation playing Dungeons & Dragons.

For those of you who’ve never donned the helmet of a Paladin or put on a Cloak of Invisibility let me explain. Dungeons and Dragons (or D&D) is a role-playing game where players enter realms where monsters and magic are real. Without boring you with too much detail and taking away the heart of this blog post think of it this way: You get to pretend to be a character from Lord of The Rings.

My friends and I used to play D&D for hours. Starting usually around mid-afternoon and going deep into the night gorging ourselves on greasy pizza and Coke. We were so into it.

My brother and all of his friends all thought I was a dork for playing but that didn’t bother me. They didn’t understand that I didn’t need my Atari 2600, M-TV or Madonna. All I needed were my “boys”, some stale pepperoni pizza and my 20-sided dice.

I still remember the frustration we would feel when nature called and we had to take a leak during an important encounter.  No one wanted to leave the table and I think if there were Depends lying around, we might actually have considered using them on more than one occasion.

But the one thing I always remember the most from those gaming sessions wasn’t the food or the battles we had against Goblins, Trolls and Giants. Although those things were very important, the thing that always sticks out for me were the conflicts we used to have with each other.

For without fail, in almost EVERY game session two or more players would start arguing with each other over the course of play and sometimes almost coming to blows. We should have called it D&D Fight Club. And woe to any one when the argument included the Dungeon Master.

The Dungeon Master (DM), is the one chosen to control the world the players adventure into and was a job each of us alternated doing. The DM’s world is based upon a module, a book that has the entire adventure outlined including every creature encountered.

It’s the DM’s job to keep the game flowing based on what the module dictates and controls everything from describing the surroundings to random monster encounters. Essentially, the DM is God. And this appointment to deity status usually posed a problem if the DM held a grudge against fellow players.

Maybe his Mom didn’t give him his allowance that week. Or maybe it was because he had his Underoos on too tight that day.  In any event, whatever it was that caused someone to pi$$ on his cornflakes that particular day, it wasn’t going to be good.

The start of the arguments always began the same way: accusations of cheating on dice rolls. A quick hand to cover the results before the DM could verify was always seen as the primary cause. “You didn’t roll that!”….”Yes I did”….”You LIAR”….(do you see where I’m going with this?).

Most of our DM’s could keep it together. Kind of a hard thing to do considering it was always the players against YOU. The players all had characters and were on the same team. The DM pretty much role-played every thing else in the world from the monsters to the townsfolk.

It was easy to see how battles could ensue. A DM who came into the game session with a chip on his shoulder and having already made accusations of cheating would inevitably lose his cool when his Frost Giant got walloped by a bunch of rogues on the first roll of the dice. Something that was very hard to do.

You could see his blood pressure rise as the players each gave each other high fives. It was kind of like a slap in the face. For most  it was just a game but our DMs always seemed to take it personally and use his God-like ability to make things difficult for everyone. What would start out as a quest for treasure and glory quickly turned into the DM’s desire to wipe out the players as quickly as possible.

So before too long that single  Frost Giant was somehow able to  “magically” summon a half-dozen of his brothers and sisters to join the fray before dying. Ones that I highly doubt were part of the module. That’s when the gloves came off and the dice rolls became more intense.

In the end, the players were victorious most of the time. Tears were shed and on more than one occasion friendships were lost as disgruntled warriors gathered up their Coca-Cola stained sheets of paper and stormed out.

But youth was a wonderful thing and even Dungeons and Dragons couldn’t ruin friendships for long. Usually by the next day all was forgiven and not another word was spoken. Not to siblings or parents. Because when you role-played with us there was only one thing you needed to know: The first rule of D&D Fight Club was, you do not talk about D&D Fight Club.

As seasons change so did my affection for D&D. And it wasn’t long before girls and guitars took the place of giants and dice and D&D became a thing of the past.

Today the game is still as popular as ever. You can even play online with people from across the street or around the world. For a die hard D&Der like I was, you’d think I’d be all over that right?  But truth be told, I haven’t so much as rolled the dice in almost 25 years and have no plans to.

I treasure my friendships too much.

Childhood Memories, Music

The Weekly Top 20 – Thirty Years Later

sony-cassetteIt’s funny how some dates just stick out in your mind. I’m not talking about the usual ones like birthdays, anniversaries, graduation dates and the like. I’m talking about ridiculous days that you never seem to forget.

For example: July 21st, 1979 is a day that sticks in my head. It was the day my father came home with this big black electric box and said “Hey family, there’s this new thing called HBO. Check it out! All we have to do is hook up this contraption to our television, turn it to channel 3 and then twist the dial on it. We’ll get to see all of these new movies they never show on TV”.

Why that particular day sticks out in my head is still a mystery to me but I’d really like to focus this blog entry on another ridiculous date two years later: August 10th, 1981. I recall that it was a beautiful sunny day just a few weeks before I started 7th grade.

The summer of 1981 was one for the books. Days were spent in our swimming pool with my cousin and having picnics. Nights were spent by the fire and chasing lightning bugs through the backyards in bare feet.

Music was also a big part of that summer. Casey Kasem’s Weekly Top 40 always filled the airwaves almost every weekend (although as a child, every day in the summer is like the weekend).

The song “Celebration” by Kool and The Gang had just come out and I remember many a night listening to its soulful lyric “We’re gonna have a good time tonight. Let’s celebrate. It’s alright!”…pumping from our little AM/FM radio that sat on the picnic table on our patio. Some nights, we’d sneak into the house and watch Smokey and the Bandit on HBO. Jackie Gleason’s “That some-bitch!” line always cracked me up.

The summer of 1981 was also the summer I got my first tape recorder. You know, one of those Panasonic job-ees. The ones with the big red button to alert you that you were actually “recording”. Ones where children with nimble fingers could press the record and play buttons with just their thumb. For something thirty years ago this was high-tech and I used to spend countless hours that summer recording anything and everything. Usually it would wind up being me interviewing myself using different voices.

On this particular day though, after listening to another “Long Distance Dedication” portion of Casey’s radio show, I had an epiphany. Why couldn’t me and my cousin do our OWN show? We could tape record it and mix in the songs we heard on the radio! That little idea turned into the one thing I remember most about that day: The Weekly Top 20.

We found out quickly that in order to stay relevant we had to record hit songs on the radio that were current. So we spent a few hours doing the prep work of recording songs off the radio (in retrospect, we were probably one of the first kids guilty of piracy). The idea of actually getting 20 songs to play in full quickly became unrealistic. Mostly because my attention span for doing this wasn’t going to last and soon the swimming pool would be calling me. So I had to get the show on the road. I think in the end we were able to get three or four songs recorded in pre-production. (I loved using technical terms as a young boy)

My cousin and I spent most of that afternoon recording The Weekly Top 20.  In between songs we did little interviews with each other and talked about the music. Our number one song the week of August 10th, 1981 was “The One That You Love” by Air Supply (one that actually was the #1 song just two weeks before). We also had Foreigner’s “Dirty White Boy”, Kool and the Gangs “Celebration” and Styx’s “Come Sail Away” as part of our line up.

The moment we wrapped, I remember writing the title of our show and the date, August 10th, 1981 on the cassette tape and then making a bee line straight to the patio where my Mom and Dad were to let them listen to the finished product. I couldn’t wait to see the look on their faces as they listened to The Weekly Top 20. Seeing them smile and get a chuckle out of what we accomplished was the greatest feeling an eleven year old could have.

It sure was an exciting day. My cousin and I talked about what we would do for next week’s show and how we would spend our money once the show went into syndication. The possibilities were endless. And to celebrate our success, we went swimming.

So here I am thirty years later sitting at my computer and thinking about that day again. Technology sure has come a long way since I pressed record and play simultaneously and HBO is bigger then ever.

I sometimes wonder how we would do that show now with all the new fangled equipment available. I suppose it would be much better but in the end I wouldn’t change a thing.

But the best part of all is when ever I hear that Kool and The Gang song on the radio now or at a wedding. I get to recall all the innocence of childhood from one of the best summers ever.

Childhood Memories, Summer, Thought and Opinion

Forty Something

I was sitting outside alone on my patio enjoying another beautiful Saturday morning in late July drinking my coffee. My wife, daughter and two crazy dogs still soundly sleeping on the second floor. It wouldn’t be long now before they were all up and the day would “officially” begin.

The freshly cut grass was still damp from the last night’s thunderstorms but its smell still reminded me of summer. I heard the familiar call of the locusts making their presence known. The sound of which announcing that August was but a few days away.

Before too long, the season of leaves changing colors and colder temperatures will be upon me again but that only made me appreciate this day even more.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and inhaled life. All the while thinking, “I’m forty something years old and it’s great to be alive.” I tend to think that from time to time. More often now that I’m older. There’s a sort of oneness I have with God, Nature, whatever you want to call it, when I have this quiet time.

I’ve been doing a lot of social network stuff lately. Whether it’s posting funny status updates on Facebook, announcing my affinity for television shows and sports on Twitter or reading critical comments on my music articles (c’mon dude – you’re nit picking a typo – sheesh!).

I’ve also been doing a lot of catching up with old high school classmates. Something I really enjoy doing. In fact, I’ll be attending another semi-reunion in a few weeks at Musikfest where I’ll reunite with some people I haven’t seen in years. Who knows, we might even do some walking through the park and reminiscing.

Just the other day I friended a girl–well, now “woman”, who was in my homeroom for most of my time in school.  I haven’t seen her since graduation but the two of us had coincidentally shared the exact same birthday. I remember always making mention of that “bond” with her every year as our big day approached.

Now, almost 25 of those birthdays have passed and I had not even thought about that birthday bond until I saw her picture. I love being reminded of things like that.

When ever I reconnect with someone from the past it’s surreal. I know we are all now forty-somethings and have all experienced adult life. We’ve gone to college, gotten married, had children, bought a home. Everything expected of us as members of society. The thing is, when I see these wonderful people none of that matters to me. I still see us as we “were” not as we “are” (having a career, paying bills, taking vacations).

I realize that we all have lives now and some of our children are even at the age we were when I last saw them but I like to remember the innocence we had. Not some forty-something with a bunch of adult responsibility, but a time when the future and possibility was wide open.

Well, my coffee cup is empty and the dogs are at the door wanting to join me on the patio. Looks like the day is ready to officially begin.

Books, Childhood Memories, Movies and TV, Thought and Opinion

Spider-Man

I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I was fourteen years old and my parents had just paid for my first subscription to The Amazing Spider-Man comic book. Having grown tired of my whining for sixty cents every month and my pestering of the local drug store for the latest issue they gave in to my demands and sent in a check for $7.20.  I could hardly wait for the first issue of my favorite super-hero to arrive in my mailbox.

I was a Spider-Man from way back you see. As far as I could remember. Well, I’m guessing that my ability to recall things started at age five so at the time probably about nine years if you want to really get technical about it.

Regardless, if there was anything Spider-Man related, I wanted in on it. I loved the idea of  how a guy everyone considered a dork (like me) could become this superhero with all the abilities of a spider. The red and blue tights concealing his identity only added to my excitement.

Want to know how much I love Spider-Man? Here are just some of the highlights:

  • I remember literally running home from school to watch the old Spidey cartoons from the 1960’s. Although I must admit, I thought the people who created it must have been high on mushrooms or something because some of the crazy psychedelic scenes were a bit over the top.
  • My brother and I shared a room growing up and he used to wake me up in the middle of the night. He’d say I was dreaming that I was  Spider-Man and literally trying to climb the walls. I still haven’t forgiven him for rousing me. I mean, bro, I was Spider-Man!!!
  • My neighbor friend and I actually made our own Spider-Man movies with an 8mm camera complete with costumes.
  • I was laughed to scorn when the live action Spider-Man series was on television in the mid 1970’s. You definitely take your lumps when you’re a Spidey fan.

Back to my original point: I was so excited to be getting my first Spidey subscription that I eagerly checked the mail every day. Days turned into weeks but I knew my heart my boy Spidey would never let me down. He’d arrive, just in time, like the theme song from his cartoon said. Sure enough, one day I opened the mailbox and there was a comic book completely surrounded by a brown paper bag style wrapper. Spidey was HERE in all of his red and blue glory!!

I hastily tore open the paper in anticipation of what lay inside, being extra careful not to tear any pages. I could just picture Spidey beating the crap out of Dr. Octopus or The Green Goblin. Maybe the cover would have a picture of Spidey’s girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, dangling from a building along with some villain laughing menacingly as Spidey was just out of reach of grabbing her. I could hardly wait.

Anticipation and excitement vanished immediately and my jaw dropped when I saw the cover of issue #252 looked like this:

What the? Who is this? Someone must have screwed up at the comic book department. My parents checked the wrong title when they ordered. NEW Spiderman? What effing’ rumors are you talking about? I never got that memo. Apparently though, some alien costume had replaced the red and blue tights my homey always wore and I was NOT a happy camper.

With a quick look insider this comic I determined there was no red and blue costume at all. This was NOT my Spider-Man so out of frustration this issue quickly went into the garbage. On a side note: today that issue, which cost sixty cents back in 1984, is now worth $400.

Looking back though, I still have good memories of my days with Spider-Man and we still see each other when ever a new movie comes out (the next one being next summer).

Sadly, my dreams of being Spidey and climbing the walls don’t seem to be happening any more (thanks Bro). I do, however; still have my comic book collection tucked away with a lot of good back issues (one of them NOT being issue #252 thank you very much). I’ve even transferred the 8mm movies onto DVD so I can enjoy all of the adventures again. I’ll be selling them for $9.99 an episode for anyone interested.

It sadly took four years of this dark costumed imposter posing as my boy until the red and blue suit returned but the damage had been done. I had spent the better part of my teen years suffering in silence as my favorite hero played dress up. But it all worked out. I’m just glad my Spidey came back!

Spidey and Me
Childhood Memories, Life, Motorcycle

The Five Senses of Motorcycle

It’s a beautiful summer day in mid July. The kind where the temperature is just perfect. By that I mean not overbearingly hot or humid which is typically the norm for this time of year.

I think I’m going to take my motorcycle for a ride. In fact, a day like this pretty much requires it. Riding a bike on a day like this is spiritual catharsis.

I’m not one of those people who has to ride the bike everywhere I go. To me, motorcycle riding is sacred. I’ll never ride my bike on the highway on long trips. Not just because of the danger factor but also because it’s pointless.

I’ve come to the conclusion that any thing that requires using a “from here to there” means of transportation is what a car is for.

In fact, other than two wheels, there is another huge difference between cars and bikes. Cars are meant for “driving” while bikes are meant for “riding”.

People often ask me what makes riding one so special. It’s easy to explain.

Have you ever driven in a convertible? Do you remember that feeling you had of the top being down? The wind in your hair? Well, imagine that times ten. That’s what it’s like on a bike. 

Also, when you ride you immediately become a member of an exclusive club with full benefits. For you see, there’s a special camaraderie among motorcyclists too.

It’s the only means of transportation where, no matter what kind of bike you have, when you pass someone coming in the opposite direction of you also riding a motorcycle expect a head nod or to be waved to. It took me a few times to figure out what that salute was all about. 

It’s actually a means of communication between two motorcyclists. A language only we can understand. We’re both members in a special club. Essentially, it’s saying we are one in the same.

Motorcycling to me is all about the experience. It fuels the senses. Every last one of them. Even if it’s a simple trip through the back roads to clear your head. There is nothing in the world that can compare to the feeling of being in control of a motorcycle.

Let me explain what I mean by fueling the senses:

Seeing: When you’re out on the road you have a better visual of the world. From the green pastures to the asphalt. The beautiful sky, the animals of the forest and the old structures you pass near farm lands is simply breathtaking. You can take in as little or as much as you want. There are no limits.

Riding without the constraints of a car surrounding you puts you more in tune with nature.

Hearing: The sound of the bike as you shift gears is exhilarating. Listening to the water fall as you drive past the creek or the birds chirping makes you one with it.

Smelling: I still remember the first time I smelled honeysuckle while riding my bike past a field. It was a smell I hadn’t sensed since I was a child. It’s always there but, like many other things, I was always too busy to immerse myself in it.

Then there’s the smell of fresh bread as you drive past Maiers bakery. Can there be anything better? Only perhaps the smell of someone cooking out on the grill. It gives you the feeling that there’s a picnic somewhere you need to get to.

Touching: One hand on the gas and the other one on the clutch. The feeling of power and control. Sounds corny I know, but it’s true.

There’s also the temperature change element. You really feel the coolness on your skin as you wind your way into “cool spots” along your journey.

Finally, the touch of a beautiful woman holding on to your waist as you drive her through the back roads is a feeling that words just can not express.

In summation, riding a motorcycle is freedom. Do it safely and it’s almost like flying. There’s no need to be in a hurry. You can clear your head, relive your childhood, stop and smell the roses, be with someone special. In a nutshell, it’s the best of everything. So, yeah, I think I’m going to indulge.

Oops, I almost forgot the most important sense when riding a motorcycle.

Easily summed up: When you ride a motorcycle, you taste life.

So, who wants to ride with me?