a day of dumb sean stuff

Tuesday at work we had some youths that decided it would be fun to skateboard across the roof of my office building. I helped discover them and then watched them flee. For the life of me – I can’t understand skateboarding on the roof of a building. However, I too have done some pretty dumb things in my life so today you get memories from being dumb.

One family I grew up in had 10 kids. Brian and Alan were close to my age and so we occasionally hung out. One day we got the bright idea that I owned a truck that had ropes attached. They owned roller blades. In what seemed like an ingenious plan, they held onto the ropes while I drove around the block going 25 or 30 MPH. This was okay, but the rope allowed for too much sway. (I could be done with the turn, but they could still be going the other way and then the rope would tighten and they would get snapped in line with the truck.) So we decided to forgo the ropes and they just held onto the back of the truck. Things were going fine until two of the wheels on Brian’s right skate started to chip. He tried yelling at us to tell us to slow down, but we were too busy laughing and playing the radio loud to hear him. Brian let go and glided into a parked car. He ended up hurting his legs (bruises and cuts). Of greater importance was we now needed to find a reason for Brian’s chipped wheels because Brian’s dad wouldn’t have liked the idea of us taking him out at 30 MPH holding onto the back of the truck.

My brother and I swam on the same swim team in high school. One time after practice, he loaded my bike into the truck and we went to his work (a donut store). The parking lot of the shopping complex had raised pedestrian parkways. “I bet you I could jump those,” Chad said. “That would be cool,” I responded. So Chad gunned the engine. The first raised walkway was exciting but nothing compared to the second one. Chad swears only two wheels left the road at one time but I swear all four were off. Either way, the truck bucked enough that the bicycle flew out the back. It was so cool. In fact it was so cool that I tried repeating it several times when Chad moved away and I got the truck.

I was a senior in high school when I was in choir (yippee for fluff classes your senior year. I was in Beginning Choir). In my choir was Josh. Josh owned a huge dually 1-ton truck. Near his home was a girl I enjoyed spending time with. I would often go pick her up to go do things. If we had some spare time, I would go by Josh’s house and flip him off. One day he thought we should have some fun and so he got in his truck and gave us chase. Scattered through Fremont are speed bumps. In theory, they are there to slow you down, unless of course you are in a truck, at which point they become ramps to adventure. As Josh “chased” us, I took him through all the neighborhoods I knew had speed bumps. We both did fairly well on them and had a good 45 minutes of fun speeding through the streets of Fremont. I lost him twice before we eventually called it off. The next day in choir he commented on how fun it was but how hard it would have been if either of us were in cars or if either of us cared about the suspensions of our trucks.

In August 2006, on the Saturday before finals, Adaptive Services sponsored one last Adaptive Cycling ride for the semester. We loaded all of the bikes into the back of my truck and headed over to Smith Park in Rexburg. This park is small but has a paved path that runs in a square around the park. On the southern end there is a slight hill. On the last run of the day, I was riding a hankcrank cycle. The way to steer this cycle was to lean left to go left and lean right to go right. This trike did not do sharp turns well. As I came down off of that southern hill, I was going rather fast and I took the right turn. As I came out of the turn, my right back wheel left the ground. Then I started to fishtail. Instead of doing the smart thing and applying the breaks, I chose to try to lean out of the fish tail. I was still going pretty fast as I did the leaning. After the third time of my tires leaving the ground, all of the tires left the ground and I flipped the trike. I landed on my wrist first, breaking it, and then I used my face to slow down. There is a lot more stupidity that goes with this story, but I’ll save that for next week or later than that.

rescued

I grew up on what is now called a cul-de-sac. (We called them courts when I was a kid). When you got to a certain age (still in elementary school but not sure how old I was in Elem), you were allowed to ride your bike out of the court and around the block. As neighborhood kids go, we usually traveled clockwise around the block. It was two houses to the end of the block, make a right where it was eight more houses along a “straight away” (that had a slight curve to it), followed by a sharp right and five houses to the next corner and you were half way around. Two more houses and you came upon another court. The court had nine houses whose driveways poured into the court. As far as any of us knew, there were no children in this court. After this court there was nine more houses, a right turn, one more house and then you were back in the court (At this time I would like to thank google maps for their help in this description.)

One summertime joy was to race around the block. I had this sweet banana seat bike that I was able to go pretty fast on and was able to rival most of the other kids in my court. (Oh, I should mention it was blue.) So any day, I was up to the challenge of a race around the block. On this particular day, I was raising Melissa, who was probably 5 years younger than me. I was winning just fine, despite my asthma. However, when we got to the half way mark, Melissa started to pull ahead. I stepped it up a notch to compensate and was leading again when we made it to the second court. In between the fourth and fifth house someone had put down some fresh gravel. I was leaning into the curve of the court when I hit that gravel patch. The wheels of both tires went out from under me and I slid to the ground and slid along the gravel, arm first and then with my face.

Melissa jumped into the street with her bike and passed by me. I didn’t care that she was going to win this one. I was now struck with my bike on top of me. I laid there for what felt like a long time. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice. My brother had come for me.

Chad came and wrestled the bike off of me. He helped me up and helped half carry me home. When we got home, mom was waiting for me and my brother helped carry me into the bathroom where I was put on the closed toilet seat. My mother took her nursing skills and went to work on me. My brother left me and went out to work on my bike. (Which is amazing in and of it’s self as Chad is not all that mechanically inclined.)
I still have a scar on my left elbow from that day – the day Chad came and rescued me.

Memories from the MTC

The MTC is an acronym for the Mission Training Center. The MTC is where you go prior to going to the destination of your mission. For example, I went to the Arizona Tucson Mission. I entered the MTC on the 22 of September but didn’t make it out to AZ until October 13. Those three short weeks is a time to hone (or for some – learn) teaching skills. It is a time to finish up any undone tasks that would be necessary to share a message about the Mormon church. (For example, I had a companion who had not read the Book of Mormon the whole way through. He had a lot of reading to do while we were there.) I needed the time to have some unique experiences. Today’s memories come from the MTC.

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I had a total of 6 companions in the three weeks I was there. To protect their identities, I offer them to you in fruit form.

The first companion, Elder Raisin, never made it to the MTC. I was assigned to him for a whole day and thus walked around the MTC by myself. In the MTC you are expected to be with your companion all the time. If he leaves class to go to the bathroom – you leave class to go to the bathroom. In fact, there are special phones stationed all around the campus that are for you to pick up and call the “Lost Companion” center (I don’t think that is the technical name, but oh well – you get the point.). If you go more than 10 minutes without seeing your companion, you are supposed to rush to the blue phone and report your vanishing companion. You are then supposed to stay by the phone and wait until either your companion is found or a replacement companion can be brought to you.

As I went to the bookstore or to dinner or to the restroom, though, I traveled alone. I did not stay by he blue phone and wait. It was my first day and I didn’t understand this principle quite yet. Instead, after dinner, I took Elders Grapefruit and Elder Plum up with me to the info desk at which point it was discovered that Elder Raisin had broke his arm the day before and I was being reassigned to the two Elders I was already with.

After a few days with those two, who I liked very much, I got a new companion: Elder Banana. Prior to Elder Banana coming into our district, we had ten missionaries who I had given symbolic reference to. Elder Grapefruit was the foundation – his testimony was a testimony one could build on. Sister Apple was the plumbing pipes – she let the spirit flow in. Elder Pear was the studs – the person we could all go to for support. When Elder Banana came into the district, one sister referred to him as the termite.

Elder Banana was going to Sao Paulo Brasil. However, he had decided that the members of the 12 apostles and the president of the church had gotten his call wrong. They must have meant a different Elder Banana – not this Elder Banana from Idaho Falls. He requested a new call. While his new call was pending – he was assigned to be with me. On the first night he was with us, he left the room at 2 AM. I am a light sleeper, so I woke up and followed him. He did not appreciate this and wanted to be left alone. I started walking toward one of the blue phones when he decided he would return to the room and let me sleep.

The next morning, Elder Banana attended district meeting. Upon seeing Sister Apple, he felt it was appropriate to point out that she was way hotter than any of the sisters in his last district. He then took some time to tell the elders that Sister Watermelon was larger than any sister in his last district. Needless to say, he was not well liked by the sisters.

The next day he found out that if he got in a fight he could get sent home. So he tried unsuccessfully to pick a fight with Elder Grapefruit and I. (Elder Grapefruit was a Police Explorer in Martinez prior to coming to the MTC. I had fought to hard to get on a mission to give it up to give Elder Banana a much-deserved beating.) Eventually, on the fourth day, Elder Banana got the courage to tell his father that he was coming home not because of wrong mission calls or destinations, but because of he simply couldn’t cut it. So on a General Conference Saturday, Elder Banana’s father drove down from Idaho Falls to Provo Utah to pick up his son and I’m sure the two enjoyed a very quiet ride back home.

I went back to being with Elder Grapefruit and Elder Plum.

The next week, I was assigned yet another random missionary. Elder Mango had done his three weeks in the MTC and then had to go home “to work out some issues there.” Mango returned for two days of recapping what he had learned – to make sure he hadn’t forgotten. Once his two days were up – I returned to Grapefruit and Plum.

Our district was made up of Elders going to Tucson, AZ and Jacksonville, FL. All three sisters and 3 of the Elders were going to Florida, and they left 24 hours prior to the departure for us going to AZ. Elder Cucumber would be my last companion. We were companions for 24 hours.

The second of three memories I want to share involves making friends. I don’t make friends with people my own age easily. At this time in the MTC, family members could e-mail you, but you couldn’t e-mail them. The e-mails were printed off and put in your mailbox. As district leader it was my job to get the mail (and to choose who gave opening and closing prayers in class). I would get the mail right before dinner.

In the MTC – mail is your only outlet to the outside world. (There are no TVs there) To help me make friends easier, my mother sent me mail every Monday with all of the scores from the previous day’s football and she would send me the Major League Baseball scores and standings.

As we stood in line for our meal, Elder Grapefruit and I would discuss, rather loudly the scores that were published. I met several new people this way and was able to make some new friends. Of course others scoffed at us for our inability to let go of the world – but I just wouldn’t tell those people the scores.

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The third MTC memory I choose to share today comes from study time.

In the MTC, you spend like 10 hours in class for those three weeks. It’s rather grueling. After dinner the third night we had a 20 minute study session prior to class. We were instructed to study a topic of choice individually. I’m not really a study kind of guy so I went to the index at the back of my scriptures and chose a topic. After 20 minutes of study time, our teacher came in and asked us to share what we learned from our study. Elder Cucumber went first. He was studying the atonement of Jesus Christ. Next was Sister Apple – The Apostasy. Sister Watermelon – The restoration. Elder Coconut – Humility. Sister Cherry – Christlike attributes.

I was second from the last in line. I listened intently to all of the others, secretly dreading my turn. When it came to my turn, the teacher said “And Elder [Sean], what were you studying?”

“Um. I was studying Birth Control.”

“You were studying what?”

“Birth Control. It’s right here in the Topical Guide.”

“Alright. Moving on. Elder Grapefruit?”

Elder Grapefruit was laughing too hard, as were the other young men in the room. The sisters weren’t as entertained. So the teacher turned back to me, “What inspired you to study about birth control Elder [Sean]?”

“Well, I started in the topical guide until I found something I had ever really studied in the scriptures before. This topic sort of jumped out at me.”

She then went on to lecture me about me being on the Lord’s time and blah blah blah. The only other memory I have attached to this evening was each of the Elders trying to imitate the expression on the teacher’s face. I don’t think any of them got it right.

Un Stucking the Butt

Before discussing today’s memory, I feel I need to create some background. The LDS church has created Pageants (or musical plays) for the purpose of telling their story to the masses. There are pageants in New York, Utah and various other locations. Nearly 50 years ago, The Oakland Temple Pageant, “And it Came to Pass,” was created. The performances were presented in the Inter Stake Center in Oakland and were performed in the month of July. There was a 500-person balcony chorus, a 100-person ensemble/main actors, 30 dancers, and the most amazing Technical Staff, with a crew of 20-50, the volunteer theatre world has ever known. Or the universe.



For the first 35 years, the play was locally owned and operated. It was written by two local Bay Area playwrights. All money used for the pageant came from local budgets, and from the donated gifts, talents, and resources of local LDS members. It was a trial for some stakes and some people’s time, but they were rewarded greatly because of their sacrifices.



The play ran on a 3-year rotation. This meant that for two summers, pageant participants could go out and learn their craft in other theatres and return ready to share their new developed talents as they bore testimony of the LDS church in song, acting, dancing and by far the most amazing technical skills in the galaxy.



In 1998, the church head quarters in Salt Lake City and the Missionary Department decided that the pageant needed to be every year and that it needed to be better funded. Part of that new funding was to replace the existing wooden stage that for the most part – was the original stage from 40 years previously.



A set designer, who was a professor at BYU Provo, designed the new set. Local tech directors were not permitted to contribute to the design process. In 2003, a new medal set was delivered. Despite being big, loud, and heavy – the new set came with a lot of new moving parts.



Different theatres use different techniques for scene changes. Some theatres will do a complete black out. Some will have awesome people in black outfits move scenery in and out. Sometimes the performers are responsible for moving scenery around. An ideal way is to have continuous dialogue that takes place on different parts of the stage, which lights up the part of stage where the person is yet darkens the stage where the people in black are setting up for another scene. One way we used to redirect audience attention was to have activity on the downstage area (closest to the audience). Upstage we would “fly” in a black drape, to cover the activities we were doing backstage. With the new set, came a 6 panel “curtain” that would open and close on a pull rope. The panels were square steel tube lined with plywood, with dark blue carpet attached to the plywood, covering the panel. They were ugly to look at. The lighting designer hated them. The tech Director and assistant tech director (me) hated them. Almost everyone on crew hated them. The panel system got known as the “Big Ugly Thing.” Later on it got named the “Big Ugly Terrible Thing.” One delightful crewmember figured out that an appropriate acronym for this panel thing was BUTT.



There were three panels on each side of the stage that would fall into place next to the other as they were pulled closed. When pulled open, the middle two would slide behind the next two and then those four (two on each side of the stage) would slide behind the third and sixth stationary panels. Or at least that was how it was supposed to happen.



Final Dress Rehearsal was considered opening night because it was the night that 200+ missionaries sat out in the audience, to see the play she would be inviting those investigating the church to. On this particular DR, my tech director was absent. I was in charge.



During the show there are about 10 people on an intercom headset. The purpose is to have communication about problems or to relate cues to the crew. There are three people out in the balcony on headset who are running the lights and the sound. There are three people up on the pin rail (a place where pulleys are used with a counter weight system to bring in scenery) and then there are four people down on the stage floor (Tech director, Assistant Tech Director, Floor Manager, Head Medical Person), all on intercom headset.



On this evening, during the middle of the second act, a frantic voice is heard on the intercom. The conversation went like this:



Katie – We have a problem.

Me – What?

Katie – Butt Stuck.

Me – What was that?

Katie – Butt Stuck.

Me – Butt stuck open or closed?

Katie – Butt stuck closed.



I quickly figured out where we were at in the play. I realized that there was a large number of people that were going to be using the stairs at the back of the stage to get to the next scene. These stairs were now blocked by 6 steel panels.



Me – Can anyone see where the problem is?

Paul – This is Paul. The center panels seem to have slid in next to the next panels over. I’m trying to unstuck the butt now.

Me – Anyone else?

Mike – I’m climbing up to pin rail to see if I can get out to it from the catwalk.



For the next several minutes, blue-gelled flash lights swarmed the two center panels of the butt to see if anyone could pry it loose. Reading from left to right, the 3rd panel was our problem panel.



Mike – I can’t reach the panel. Katie is going out on the ledge. Please stand by.

Katie – This is Katie. I’m at the third butt cheek now. The panels are stuck pretty tight.

Me – Can any one get a pry tool to Katie to help pry even just a crack open?

Person I can’t remember – I have the tool and am going up to pin now to get it to Katie.

Me – Paul, how is it on the bottom?

Paul – I think it’s just stuck on the top.

Me – Okay – when this scene ends we’ll have one opportunity to unstuck the butt. Katie – Applying pry to cheek three.



Suddenly, we, and I think the whole audience, hear a pop.



Me – Okay, stay in place incase we need it to be pried open again. The scene is ending. Is everyone ready?

Mike, Paul, Katie – Ready!



As the scene ended, Mike pulled the 6 cheeks of the BUTT open and the panels slid perfectly. However, the next thing we hear is the voice of Julie, the director.



Julie – I hate to interrupt – but what is the butt?

Me – It is that big ugly terrible panel thing in the back. Why?

Julie, just wanted to know. I wanted to make sure you guys weren’t playing with each other’s butts back there.



(I had totally forgot she was listening in)

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Each year the set gets taken down and stored. Because this was the first year with this set, each part had to be labeled. Salt Lake sent out a member of the 70 to observe. (a member of the 70 is like the assistant to the vice president in a company) I cannot tell this next part as a memory, because my mom died 4 days after closing night and so I was not there for take down. However, as it has been told to me:



Marc is labeling parts of the set. He labels the BUTT pieces Butt 1, Butt 2, Butt 3, etc. As Marc is labeling, Harold (one of the assistant Tech Directors) wonders over with the member of the 70. In the Mormon Church, things purchased with tithing money are considered sacred and are to be cared for with the best regard. The 70,was aghast that parts of “the Lord’s stage” were being labeled Butt 1 and so forth. He asked Harold and, according to what I’ve heard, just stood there, unsure how to answer. Evidently Harold had quite the array of faces he tried using before just convincing the member of the 70 to move along.

The Shoe Pencil

(Gasp - A picture on Teaching Sean. Don't we have another blog for that!)

In 4th grade I had a problem. (And before Katie beats me to it...this is what I look like when I have a problem in 4th grade) I had resource right before recess. The resource room was on one side of campus and Mr. D's classroom was on the other side. (In fact, when I was first told I was going to be in Mr. D's class I told my parents it was surely too far to walk and I needed an electric truck to get me from the house to class and then home again. They thought I could just leave home earlier.)

When I went to resource I took a pencil with me and when I returned to class I carried the same pencil back. However, like I said, I did that reverse trek during recess. In my school we had a game called 9 square - It was like the two and four square games I've seen at the schools I've taught at, but instead - we had nine. Who got into those first nine squares was determined by who got there first. Being in Mr. D's class created a huge disadvantage to all of us compared the rest of the 4th grade because we were so far away. But being in recourse, all I had to do was step out the door. Only one problem - what did I do with my pencil.

Sometimes I would put my pencil in my pocket, only to have the lead poke me as I played (where in I was bleeding and had to leave my square) or the eraser would rub up against me and slow my play (where in I'd lose and had to leave my square). Sometimes I would put my pencil on the ground near where the line started, but this resulted in the pencil getting stolen or stepped on (which in my mind meant I now had two pencils but my resource teacher told me I needed the one long and not the two shorts). I struggled with this for some time.

About half way through the year, Mr. Y (who was one of the coolest science teachers I know) announced we were having an invention fair and that each person needed to think hard about their invention. After some time I decided that having a place to put your pencil was a darn hard thing that needed an invention for it. With my dad we talked about it. We discussed where you could put a pencil and be safe. If it was on your belt you may brush up against it during 9 square. Taping it to your shirt kind of required you having tape readily available.

One day I came home and told my dad we should attach the pencil to your shoe. If it was on the outside of the shoe it wouldn't brush up against anything, it wouldn't poke you, it wouldn't make you bleed (and thus not require any medivac time). It would be on your shoe. So him and I worked together to attach the pencil to the shoe. Having helped my dad around the house, I knew he had tubing we could use. He melted the ends and stuffed some material down either end (He thought it would prevent the pencil from breaking in the tube - it turns out he was right). We used a rubber band to keep the cap in place and to force the pencil into the tube.

Once it was all done, we made our tri-fold display and took it to the fair. I got an A in science because of this project, but more importantly - I got Honorable Mention (4th place), my shoe in the paper, and my name in the paper. I was over joyed. Sadly we did not get any contract deals out of it (as far as I know) and it did not become a world wide sensation, but I am still proud of my little Shoe Pencil.

lip balm and enemas

Because I was out on the road last Friday, I’ll share with you two memories today.

There are two things I adore in life. One is kissing the girl you love and the other is food. The girl I have enjoyed kissing the most was KNJ-P. She was a natural at kissing. There had only been one other guy before me, and he had only kissed her once. She was really good and knew how to anticipate the desires of the guy she was with. She had a level of moisture to her lips that felt just right – not to much like kissing the Sahara yet at the same time not like kissing a camel or Niagara Falls. It was a passionate kiss – one that kept you coming back for more, took your breathe away, and meant something to you every time. Whether it was a “make-out session” or a simple kiss hello, KNJ-P made every moment worth being there to kiss her.

But it wasn’t good enough for her to be a good kisser; she took it one step further.

I am 20 to 30 pounds over weight depending on what scales I’m straddling. I love food. There is one type of food I love more than any other – cinnamon. Cinnamon bread, cinnamon cookies, cinnamon cake, cinnamon pull-a-parts, and, best of all, cinnamon rolls.

About 5 months into my relationship with KNJ-P, John and I moved into the house in Antioch. I loved living there. While we were living there, KNJ-P would come over often. One night I saw her putting on some Chap Stick. I hate the taste of Chap Stick. It’s waxy and tastes like you are licking the inside of a Vaseline container. It’s almost as bad as kissing a girl who smokes.

I saw her slather it on and saw that as a sign that our night was going to be very sterile. A few moments later she beckoned me on to come give her a kiss. I loved her so I obliged despite the taste I knew was coming. Or at least I thought was coming.

Somewhere along the line she had discovered a store that sold lip balm that tasted like Cinnabon Cinnamon Rolls. Her lips were like the taste you get in your mouth as you near the store in the mall. It was every bit as that good.

We kissed plenty that night.

I share this because I think back on that occasionally. Every so often, a freshman return missionary at BYUI would ask me how to tell if a girl loves you. I think I’ve ruined a few boys with my counter question: “What type of lip balm does she wear?”

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As a child I spent quite a bit of time in and out of hospitals. One of the reasons for this was because I had tumors growing in my digestive tract. After the tumors were removed, my digestive tract still had problems processing waste. Every week or two my mother had to drive me out to Stanford Medical Facilities. This next memory isn’t a personal memory, as much as it is a story my mother loved telling about me.

My parents were big on talking to me like I was an adult. So if I was having XYZ procedure, they told me I was having XYZ procedure and they did not telling me that I was going to get sleepy and then the magic tumor fairies were going to come and remove my tumors and feed them to their little fairy children to help the tumor fairies grow up nice and strong. I was having XYZ procedure.

My doctors often talked to me in medical terms as well. I knew the ins and outs of most of the procedures being done to me. I knew what the medications were and what they were used for. I knew how much Slobid to take, and at which times and for what reasons.

One day, when I was 5, I was taken to Stanford to have a liquid enema put in to help soften my stool. I was stripped down and put into a hospital gown. My mother used dice to teach me how to count, so I was playing with my dice when in walked a resident.

Immediately he started talking to me like I was 2 (I was 5 for crying out loud!). I was ignoring him for the most part when he said something that caught my attention. I asked him to repeat it.

“I said we are going to put this strawberry milkshake up your butt to help you go poo poo better.” I freaked.

“No you aren’t! You ain’t touchin me with no strawberry milkshake up my butt!” I exclaimed. “Who are you and what did you do with my Doctor? I’m here for me enntena.” And with that I bolted.

My mother says I left behind my gown and I raced down the hallway yelling for my doctor. My mother said I ducked into rooms and yelled for my doctor before ducking out and moving to another. Chasing me was the resident, and a few nurses, but no one could catch the 5 year-old naked boy running down the halls of Stanford away from the bad man with the butt milkshake. Eventually I found my doctor and grasped a hold of him. He brought me back to my room and had the resident watch as the doctor explained to me that the strawberry milkshake was gone and that he had brought a fresh enema for me. I told him that the other man scared me and the doctor went step by step with the resident “teaching” him how to administer an enema to a very medically smart 5 year-old boy.

My mother’s favorite part to tell was the part where I was running naked into various people’s rooms and shouting about the butt milkshake. She said there were some very confused people in that hall that day.

3rd grade

I was in Mrs. H’s class when I was in third grade. I remember the year for two reasons: 1. I was in the play Annie and on a certain day all of us in the play wore these shirts advertising the play. Mrs. H had all of us stand in front of the class and tell them. It was bad enough I had to be on stage getting slapped by ‘Annie’ every night, I now had to stand in front of my friends and tell them to come see me get hit by a girl.

The other reason I remember that year was because of the time I almost got medivac’d from campus. For those of you unfamiliar with the 80s, during that decade children had flat desks that on top had pencil boxes. The pencil boxes were at least 8 inches long and had everything but a kitchen sink in them. In them were pencils, crayons, colored pencils, highlighters, tacks, tissue paper, a small ruler, duct tape, a spare wrench, a map to the buried treasure in your parents’ back yard, stickers, a spare change of Batman printed underwear, lollipops, and that white putty stuff that can stick to anything. (Okay – so maybe not all of that. Most kids didn’t have lollipops in theirs.)

On one day, Mrs. H was gone and Mrs. W was there (who also happened to be my den leader and Sunday school teacher – just couldn’t get away from that woman.). As we were preparing to understand the rise and fall of economical cycles – or was it fractions – Danielle knocked Meagan’s pencil box over. It crashed to the floor and the contents scattered. I thought (and still do) that Meagan was nice so I bent down to help pick up the stuff. As my hand came down it landed right on a tack. I managed to not scream, but I did rush up to Mrs. W and show her. I was sent to the office to have it removed. (I think I should mention right now that prior to this event I had had 4 tumors, 7 surgeries and was on a weekly blood test schedule where I got poked and forced to bleed my own blood every week. I’m not diabetic but that would have been an easier explanation to people)

In the office I was escorted back to see the nurse. She tried to get me to let her pull it out. I refused. I knew it was going to hurt. She brought in others and they tried to convince me it wasn’t going to hurt and that it should just come out. What type of idiot did they take me for? David E had a nail go through his foot earlier in the year and they had to operate and put him in a cast. And that was only a nail. This was a TACK!! There was no way I was letting any one but a trained medical official pull this out and I wanted the helicopter on stand by.

It just happened to be that day was the day the fire department came to inspect the buildings. In walked the same fire fighters that Mrs. W had had us meet on the firehouse tour the previous week. I felt they were qualified enough. So in came the nurse, to hold my hand and I let the firefighters remove the tack. Much to my surprise, it didn’t hurt a bit. However, they decided they needed to make it bleed and that part hurt. I cried.
After a brief pep talk from the firefighters I was sent back to class. During the pep talk they told me that they had the helicopter warming up and it turned out that we just didn’t need it this time.

the day the crawdads were banned.

I think for the next 4 months I’m going to have two days you can look forward to on Teaching Sean. Tuesdays I think will be story day and Fridays will be the day I add to my memoirs. Today is Friday.
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When I was in the 6th grade I was part of a club called the Stormin’ Mormons. There were five of us n the group: Ryan, David (Ryan’s little brother), Ben, Matt and I. I have no clue where any of these people are today, but during the summers of 5th and 6th we were inseparable. We were often found on Blacow Elementary’s campus chasing each other and play a form of cops and robbers. Occasionally our mother would let us go on a bike ride to Lake Elizabeth. (about 2 miles away) With us we would take poles, string, and hot dogs.

Just past Lake Elizabeth are two sets of train tracks. Both tracks have bridges that go over a creek. (Though looking at google maps today – one bridge seems to be missing.) Under those bridges was prime crawdad land. Four of us would fish while one guy got to be look out. The look out was usually there to watch for coming trains. If we were smart we would get out from under the train, but actually what we were waiting for was to run up and put pennies on the tracks. I say if we were smart because if you have ever been under a bridge when a train rolls over 5 feet above your head it is the loudest thing you will ever experience. It is an all-consuming roar.

One day we decided that instead of catching and releasing them, we were going to see how many we could catch and we would bring them home to my house. There was a sleepover at my house that night. So as dusk neared we gathered up our haul from the day and biked home. Mom was doing something at the time, so she didn’t see us bring them in. We took them to my room where I had a working fish aquarium. We watched them for a while before Mom called us to dinner. We washed up, went to dinner and generally forgot about them.

The night was spent talking and telling stories and telling jokes. We gathered in the back room and eventually invited sleep to over take us.

The next thing we all experienced was my mother screaming. We awoke to her screaming in the hallway a few rooms over. We scrambled out of our sleeping bags and rushed through the dining room and kitchen to the hallway. In the hallway was my mother, but between her and us was also a 5-inch crawdad snapping its claws at her. Mother did not look happy. Matt grabbed the escapee as the rest of us brushed past my mother and went to my room. Once there we discovered a prison break in the act. The bigger crawdads were stepping on the smaller ones and escaping out of the aquarium.
Mother ordered their immediate departure. So prior to breakfast, the crawdads were gathered up and taken back to the lake. When we returned we were told that we weren’t allowed to have crawdads in the house ever again. And we never did.

more camping stories

My father's camping experience last weekend involved him driving to his girlfriend's place, walking up her drive way and climbing into the tent trailer parked near the garage. I think that is the type of roughing it that even Katie and I could handle (Especially if Katie knew there is a Starbucks just a few blocks away).

As he told me this last night it reminded me of a time I went camping as a boy scout. It was one of the preparation trips for the 100 mile bike trip we would be taking during the summer. We went to the top of Mt. Diablo to sleep over and would be would be biking down. There were five of us going: Michael, Brian, Alan, Russel, and me. I think this is an important time to mention that Alan and Brian are brothers. Brian told Russel that he was going to bring the family 2 1/2 person tent. Alan told Michael that he was going to bring the family 2 1/2 person tent. I told my self to bring the super easy to set up 3 person tent for myself.

Almost as soon as we got to the top of the hill the fun started. We left late (evidently there was some sort of argument at Brian & Alan's house that made them late) and arrived after it was already dark. As Brian and Alan set up the family tent, Mike & I started dinner. Mike was put in charge of the stuffing. He decided to skip reading the directions and instead of waiting for the water to boil before adding the bread crumbs he just dumped the seasoning, crumbs, & butter into the water. That night we feasted on liquid stuffing and burnt chicken.

As we were eating, a teenager in black clothing and black make-up crawled out from under the picnic table and said "You guys aren't very observant. I've been down there for 20 minutes. Let's go guys." At which point one guy drops out of a tree and another comes out from behind a tree. It was one of the weirdest camping experience I have ever had. I locked my tent that night.

As the evening drew on, we prepared for bed. At this point the rain was coming down in buckets. I put a towel on the out side of my tent to wipe my feet on and a towel on the inside to dry. I hung up a close line and got into my sleeping bag. About 10 feet away the other four got into their tent. Do you know what happens when you touch the side of a nylon tent when it is raining? As those four boys cramped in the tent started pouring in water. And then the yelling started. "Mike stop touching the sides - you're letting water in." "Me? Well if you didn't take up so much room in the center I wouldn't be pushing on the sides." "What do you mean you're pushed into the side? Brian and Alan are pushing me into my side - you should have it easy!"

And so on for about 20 minutes before I figured out they weren't going to stop. So I yelled over, "Hey. Each of you think of a number between 1 and 20." Numbers were drawn and Alan came out the closest. I unlocked my tent and told him he could come over. I told Alan to sleep by the door while I slept near the window. (I didn't tell him it was because I thought the black make-up guys were going to open the door and kill us in our sleep - but that was the reason.) He thought I was being secretive because I had the clothes line up. I just let him think that.

In the morning it was decided we weren't going to ride down because of the still pouring rain. After that was decided our scoutmaster gave us two options: make breakfast as planned or pack up in a hurry and go home. We were on our way home in less than 20 minutes.

Except for the time Jed almost got hypothermia - it was my worse time camping. The time the bears came and ate 1/3 of our food and brushed up against my tent was close, but still not as annoying as this time.

However there is one highlight. My mother bought me a donut when I got back. Life is always better with a "mom-bought" donut.

Crawdad memories

In less than a month I will be on the road again. It has been over 18 months since my last road trip and the trip involved seeing the same girl that I saw in September 07. The weekend of my departure will be Memorial Day weekend. This is customarily my weekend for adventure. Last year I adventured to Utah to say good-bye to a dear friend as she left for a mission. The year prior to that I was in Boise for a friend’s wedding. However, as this coming holiday is almost upon me I’m reminded of time in high school and the Memorial Day traditions of then.

I do not come from a family of campers, but when invited, Chad and I would go. Members of my church often went to a favorite campground in Central CA called Turlock. Barbara and her family were there. Alan and his family (which consisted of 7 kids at the time but eventually ballooned up to ten kids. Kenny and his family were there (This is who we often traveled with.) There were other but I don’t remember who except one. Katie and her family were there. This last family is important to my memory.

The memory I have is a day spent walking the river. There was Kenny, Chad, Matt, myself and then about 4 or 5 other people. We had a little raft with us that each person towed in turn as we traveled down the river. At times it was 4 feet deep and at others it was only a foot. The rocks below your feet were slippery with algae. There were large forests of “sea weed” that you had to jump over or swim over (or convince your brother Chad to pull the raft over with you in the raft).

At some point Kenny (who had wooed us with his cup burning/water boiling show the night before) figured out that in those “forests” there were crawdads. So we started collecting them. If you were younger (cough cough me cough matt cough) you pointed them out to Chad and Kenny and they would pick them up for you. By the time we got back to camp, the raft was nearly full. There were 20 or 30 in the raft. Most of us had no clue what we were going to do with them. Kenny had a plan though. He towed the raft ashore and Chad and him carried the raft over to Katie’s Dad. Katie’s dad pulled one out of the raft and proceeded to show Chad and Kenny how to prepare and where it would taste good to eat.

Soon a big pot was found, filled with clean water and put on a stove for boiling. In case you have never boiled crawdads, this next part might interest you. The first one out of the raft went quite easily. When dropped in a pot of boiling water the crawdad goes from a dark red to a light red color. After listening to 25 fellow crawdads sizzle the last few did not go so easily. All the time Chad and Kenny were sizzling the crawdads, Katie’s dad (who is Hawaiian and has a name I can’t spell right now) whipped up a dipping sauce from scratch. Chad and Kenny feasted well that night.

There are a million other memories that relate to that place, but the crawdad cook off is the most prominent.

Waiting on a season

When I was a child, my father worked a lot. I know in part this was to support my medical bills and my mother’s medical bills. But the end result was the same – I missed seeing my father. My father was a world traveler for business and he was on the cutting edge of technology invention. (He shares two patens with a major computer company.) This meant for a lot of long hours.

However every summer I knew there would be one night where my brother and I would see him. Chad and I participated in the summer reading program with the Alameda County Library system. ACL and the Oakland Athletics had a deal worked out that if you read a certain number of books, you got a free ticket to go see an A’s game. You were actually given a voucher for a free ticket on a certain night in August. The A’s also gave you a coupon for a discount ticket for an adult to come with you.

Each summer Chad and I would race through our collections of books and read as much as we could at the library. And at the end of summer, we had our vouchers. We then got our coupon and Dad got our tickets. The seats were at the very top of the stadium and the view was never great (they actually don’t sell seats to the section we were in anymore because they got tired of people touching the bottom of airplanes.), but it was a welcome day to spend with dad in those hot Indian summer days watching a few men toss a ball around. It’s the days that dreams are made of.
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Later today, football (My mother’s passion) will come to a close and I will wait. On April 11th my memories will be flush upon my mind and I will long to be beside my father once more, watching a few guys throw around a ball and allow me to be a kid one more time.

San Jose Giants Schedule Oakland Athletics Schedule

snow sledding

Today on Hearing Voices there was a presentation on sledding. As people shared their sledding experiences I was reminded of my own. (I especially like the one of the girl whose sister decided to stand in the way of her sister to prevent her from going down the hill, and instead got two broken legs. The other story I liked was of the boy whose disc got away from his mother and ended up flying through the air. Funny.)

I hope you don't mind if I share.

1. When I was young, we used to travel to Elko Nevada for Thanksgiving each year. (Every year after Thanksgiving we would travel to a ranch in Mountain City, slice up a freshly killed cow and bring the steaks home.) One year I remember going to Sage Street and Dotta Dr in Elko. This was quite the gathering. It was my father, my Uncle Tim, Uncle Lynn (I think), and 4 or 5 cousins. Some women folk were there but I don't remember if my mother or grandmother were in attendance. My brother and I were there with our grandfather that day. Dotta Dr climbs a hill above Sage and between the two is a hill in a park (during the summer people use the hill for ice blocking). I don't know how long we were out for, but I remember the fun we had as we sled down that slick hill side. The mode of transportation was sleds and inner tubes. My brother and my dad held me tight as we traveled quickly down. (at the bottom was a tennis court with a snow bank of sorts helping you stop or flip out.) I was too afraid to travel on my own, but my fearless brother was going by himself all the time. I know there are pictures of the event but I don't know who has them.

2. During the fall of 2005, I had a good friend that lived in the Barnes Dorms at BYUI. There are two sides to the dorm and between them is a short hill/lawn. I used to run a blog called "The Rexburg Sledding Report" and felt it was my duty to sled on every hill in Rexburg, no matter how big or how little. One night, I met up with my friend Andria and we attempted the hill. At some point we invited her roommates to join us. Andria had two roommates - Lauri and Amanda. Lauri refused, but Amanda joined us. Amanda is beautiful. I'm not a blond haired kind of guy (I make that exception for one person at this point in my life), but Amanda looked great that night. I had so much fun sledding and getting to know that girl. Andria, Amanda, and I used tools from Andria (Rec Leader major) and me (Jack of all trades) to create banks where you went one way and then the other. I don't think I've been as inventive in my sledding path before or since. It was a great night with great company.

3. Also in he fall of 2005, another hill we attempted was Taylor Hill. It's not accessible anymore (because the Bednar Castle construction put up a big fence) but you used to be able to start at the top of the hill and slide down, over the sidewalk and into the Manwarring Round-About. If you were a large kid or if the ice was especially thick, you could slide all the way down to the ice rink. One night we are sliding and I saw a new friend. I was running the disabled skiing program and had just met Brian. Brian has Cerebral Palsy and had a bit of a difficulty walking so we had been inviting him to come skiing with us in our unique ski equipment. He declined. Any way, as I saw him I beckoned him to come over. He had just got out of a meeting and was in a very nice suit. I paid no attention to that and suggested he sled with us. He did and managed to get farther than any of us. We've remained friends ever since. (He's actually from a town near where I live now.)

4. Lastly at BYUI, there is an area called the upper fields (which now has more fields even more "upper" than them...). Around the base of the upper fields is a sidewalk. During the winter it gets iced over. The hill starts right at the sidewalk and goes up steeply for about 100 feet. Atop is a little ledge of 6 inches. On the other side of the sidewalk is a field that also lowers but not as steep as the hill. I bought a sled from Wal-mart (that I still own even though I don't live any where near an ounce of snow). On many occasions I took my little plastic sled up there and slid down. Sometimes by my self. Sometimes with a friend. I loved the work out, the peace and quiet in solitude and the comradely in others. It was just a really good time. I loved being out sledding. Sadly, those winters in Idaho were some of the driest Idaho had seen. It wasn't until the fall after I had graduated that they got the snow I wished they had to go out in.

5. As a boy scout we used to go snow camping. The one time we went camping and someone didn't end up with hypothermia or a broken bone was a time we went to PineCrest. We didn't have any sledding stuff with us (though we did have home made snow shoes which were cool), but we ran across a group of kids who had a disc and a sled. We worked as a troop to make jumps, curves, and snow stopping hills. I don't remember the number of times I slid down the hill, but I remember the fun we had as we worked together, were creative and as we enjoyed the experience. It was great.

I really miss my snow and the fun it brings.