Category: Funny Thing

There I was surrounded by horrible handmade signs strategically scattered around my sleeping bag.  While I slept, my older brother and sister hand painted signs exploiting one of the most embarrassing car rides of my young life.  Was it something I ate?  Was it the metabolism of a fast growing young boy?  Was it the burgeoning power of things to come?  I was only six years old and had not yet gained control of all my muscles.  That all too important sphincter muscle lacked the tone necessary to stave off embarrassing odorous slips.

Family vacations are meant for R & R, rest and relaxation.  Should I be punished for taking advantage of the second R?  Awe the joy of relaxation…  Awe the relief (a third R).  The problem came down to the rest of my family’s struggle to, R (relax), on the 1,100 mile car ride from California to colorful Colorado.

Speaking of colorful… that’s the type of language my siblings scribbled on those slanderous signs.  Did they think this was a fair way to punish me for my transgressions?

I guess I’m looking for sympathy as you picture this young boy waking from his first nights sleep at that cabin located alongside the San Miguel River.  The signs were caution signs, warning people to keep their distance, shouting out ‘danger, keep away!’  It was not as much the warning written on those signs that wounded the soul of that young man, but more the descriptive language,

the exaggeration, the unfortunate name calling.  Scribbled on each sign was the mean-spirited designation, ‘ BEWARE ATOMIC STINKER BOMB.’  I did not deserve such a demeaning title. (I do however acknowledge that some would consider such a distinction as honorable)

I concede that dropping the ‘S’ bomb should have been expected.  Calling attention to ones “stinkers” is one thing but it’s quite another to describe someone’s gaseous slippage as nuclear or atomic!  In fact, I think it’s outrageous!   My behavior did not merit such destructive use of the English language.  To say I was devastated would be an understatement.

Had this attack occurred in today’s politically correct culture I could have sued, I would have been rich… possibly a lawsuit is still in order.  On the other hand, in light of the concern about Global warming and carbon gases, had my behavior occurred today, I would likely be in trouble with Al Gore.

Now you understand why I empathize with the astronauts and cosmonauts when a few years ago late-night talks show hosts poked fun at the failure of the Space Station plumbing.  Enough is enough!  Let’s cease this mean-spirited attack on those who have no control over the smells that linger after them.  No more space station potty humor and for goodness sakes no more attacking young children just because of their tendency toward R & R, Relaxation then relief!

I got in trouble today.  Our home is located in the Ponderosa Pines where it’s important to remove dead trees, limbs and undergrowth from among the healthy forest growth.  To encourage vigilance a program is in place to help homeowners remove unwanted timber or  ‘Slash’ and drop it off at a central sight.  As with most programs there are rules… and like many red-blooded male types… I was a bit too busy, tired, unfocused, lazy, proud, hurried… preoccupied to read the guidelines.

So here I am in a long bed 76 Ford pulling into the slash yard when a freaked out volunteer scolds, “You know better than that…”  “Better than what,” I questioned?  “There’s a 6′ length limit for all slash.”

…Oops, should have read that section.

Earlier this morning I chose an overgrown area of the forest and cut out about 50 to 60  dead trees and threw them over the top of the pickup.  These skinny beanpole-esk trees were long enough to overhang the full length of the pickup, front to back.  I would estimate their length at 18-20 feet which was a rule-breaking overage of  at least 12  feet!  Impressive, right?  Without even trying I believe I set a new record for violating the 6 foot rule.  (I probably shouldn’t be proud but I am, just a bit.)

So I promised the over concerned attendant that I would break the trees into legal lengths.  Backing up to the dump site I began the arduous task of snapping those 20 footers into legal lengths.

Then I heard it… about one-third into the task there was a heavenly sound, a chainsaw, louder and louder as a fellow slasher came to rescue this sinner.  Although I deserved the consequences of my blatant rule breaking I was about to be rescued!

When this hero finished cutting my illegal load he offered, “next time you’re here I’ll help you again.”  It was as if this knight in shinning chainsaw knew me well.  I was barely finished cleaning up this mistake and he was offering to help me repair the next one.  What a great moment for me, someone overlooked my foolishness and helped with a mistake that was totally my own, my responsibility, my problem.

Sometimes when telling a story I will add a tag with a higher thought or deeper meaning.   It’s tempting to add some clever remark like, “rules are good for you,” or “rules are fun to break,” but today I’m just pleased that someone was kind.  Kindness is a good thing that speaks volumes and stand on its’ own!