A Day That (ALMOST) Brought A Tear to My Eye

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was originally written, before the blog, "A Prisoner in the Tundra" was started. It was originally written as a Facebook note on 3/22/2009. Tonight, I ran into the dad mentioned in the story again, and it brought back my memory of the day written about below. For those who have already read it, thanks, and for those who haven't, enjoy. -Steve

So today was camp day for the Cub Scout den my youngest son belongs to. We had an awesome day of bonding...hiking and looking at wildlife, doing skits, learning how to use a compass in the woods, talking about deer poop.

At one point during a hike, the dads all congregated at the back of the line of the hikers, and the conversation turned to the economy. We all talked about some of the things that have been impacting us, and I was blatantly honest about my situation as a single dad who pays 50 percent of my kids' expenses despite the fact that I make far less (well nowadays even more so) than their mom does. The law would not set it up to be this way, but I agreed to it because I'm 50 percent of their parents.

Fast forward to the dinner time prep, and another dad, one I had not met before today, approached me. He asked if he could tell me something. I said sure, assuming it would be something like "your gas is really stinky, I smelled that bomb you dropped on the hike."

He looked me in the eyes and very genuinely said "I want you to know you are really great dad." Kind of threw me, since I wasn't expecting that. Not something I'm used to hearing often. He went on to say "I know I don't really know you, but I can tell you have sacrificed alot in your life for your sons. That is something that money can't buy."

We had about a 30 minute conversation after that, and he talked about his first marriage, and how because of difficulties with his ex, he was not active in the kid's life that he had with her. He essentially said in the fight or flight moment, he chose flight. And he told me I could have done the same, but I didn't. He told me he could see how much my son that was there admired me, and that I was doing an incredible job.

So it made me think, too many single dads are not praised out there. We always hear what a great job single moms do, and they deserve that praise. But single dads need a shout out now and again too. So I'm raising my glass to the single dads out there. Cheers!

A Proud Graduate of The University of Okoboji

Like the Native Americans who first lived around her, the beautiful waters of Lake Okoboji will always be sacred to me.

I now live in a land of 10,000 lakes, but there's only one lake for me, and it's in northwest Iowa.

Growing up, my family would spend two weeks straight every summer in a cabin on West Lake Okoboji that we rented for somewhere in the neighborhood of $7/night.

And not only was it my family there, but it was my extended family. And by extended family I don't mean uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, et al (of course they were there as well). My extended family in Okoboji was my friends of the same age, all of us finding our way through the world of childhood and adolescence, and all of us feeling freedom for the first time.

Whether it was a night of playing card games inside, or telling ghost stories on the docks at midnight, or a fun afternoon of swimming, boating, skiing, or an outing to Arnold's Park for the tilted house, the roller coaster, or the legendary fun house...Okoboji was always an adventure.

For the people who were there - many of them on Facebook -Jeff L., "Keeks", Tracy H., Lisa R., I challenge you to think of a more pure, more innocent, more exciting point in your life than then. No responsibilities, other than making sure we had enough money in our pockets for a few games of skee ball and taffy from the boardwalk.

Like summer itself, Okoboji represents to me the best of the best. The warmth of the hot July sun seemed to always beat down on us at Okoboji...and for the days it didn't, well there was always a good game of pictionary, or that book you wanted to get to, or if not that, a trip to the Emporium to buy crap you'd never have a use for again.

Hearing "Little Red Corvette" for the very first time. Watching the cars cruise the loop past the cabin every night. Cruising the loop past the cabin every night when we were old enough to drive. Tasting my first sip of purple passion, and then spitting it out. Falling for a girl, only to think that my world was over because she liked another boy.

If I could make a virtual time capsule of my life, it would be Okoboji in the 1980s.

I'm proud to say that I'm a graduate of the University of Okoboji. And I'm thinking it's about time for a class reunion.

How I Almost Met Judge Judy (And Ate An Awesome Breakfast)

About two years ago, I almost met Judge Judy.

And I ate an awesome breakfast.

See, my girlfriend at the time, we'll call her Macey, had this loser of a renter living in her basement who had skipped out after borrowing $1,000 to get his trucking company started.

So she filed a small claims court case against him in Hennepin County.

Apparently Judge Judy has an entourage, a team that just scours through every small claims court filing in the country every day and look for interesting ones.

And since when Macey filed the claim, she happened to include the fact that she knew the defendant from when they were in their early 20's and had dated, well, Judge Judy saw some possible drama for her esteemed courtroom/studio.

When she asked me to go with her, with the tab paid for by Judge Judy herself, I was excited for a few days away from the cold Minnesota winter in sunny LA.

Little did I know...there wasn't going to be much fun in the sun in LA.

Macey just started a new job before this trip, and only wanted to take one day to do it in, since it was unpaid. That was fine by me, as it was still a night and a day away from Minnesota in February.

We flew out after work the night before the big taping. The flight was pretty non-eventful, though we didn't get into LA until very late, and there was essentially no time to do much other than just head to bed. But first we ordered our room service breakfast for the morning, paid for by Judge Judy herself.

After a night of dreaming about getting called to the witness stand during tomorrow's big case, I woke up to a knock at the door. On the other side of the door was the best smelling/looking/tasting breakfast I've had in my life. And THAT was my single-most vivid memory of the trip.

After our breakfast, we planned to go sightseeing awhile before we had to be back to get ready for the show's car (a taxi cab) to pick us up from the hotel in the afternoon. As we were getting ready to figure out where we wanted to wander off to, the hotel phone rang. It was Judge Judy herself. Or one of her people. They were running ahead of schedule and wanted to send the car (taxi cab) early. They would pick us up in 20 minutes.

Arriving at the Judge Judy studio, it was like walking into a mullet and tattoo convention. Kind of like a real courthouse.

The studio itself was an odd experience. More like entering a jail then a TV studio. They take cell phones, cameras, all electronics, and after going through a metal detectors, men with walkie talkies guide you through the hallways making sure you don't run into your opposing party in the case.

In the green room, Judge Judy's people (because Judge Judy herself was holding court, duh) coached Macey through what to say, and what not to say, all presumably to prolong the length of the trial, with as much drama as possible.

Then as she got ready to go in for the taping of her case, Macey asked Judge Judy's people where I went to get into the studio audience. "Oh, he can't go in, we're sorry. We would have had to have done clearance ahead of time for that to happen. He can go to an individual green room and wait."

Arriving in the individual green room, I turned on the TV in the room assuming that I could watch the taping live. Another of Judge Judy's people came in to the room as I was switching channels trying to find the live feed.

"Can I help you find something to watch?" she asked. "Yeah, I'm looking for the live feed of the show."

"Oh we don't have that, sorry," She replied.

Damn it.

10 minutes later, Macey came back into the green room. "What are you doing back already?" I asked her. "The dumbass said something that made the case end after about 5 minutes." But she won her case.

Great, we got in earlier to the studio, and the taping was over, I thought. Now we can go do that sightseeing before we fly out tonight.

Apparently Judge Judy herself, or her people, at this point I don't know, decided that we had to get on a cab to the airport that they pre-paid for, and we were not allowed to stop anywhere once we left the studio.

So here I was, enjoying LA like a movie star - inside the entire time...

The second coolest part of the trip happened at LAX on our return. While waiting to go through security, the TSA found a foot-long knife in the carry-on of a scary looking guy. We could see the whole thing, including the x-rays of the huge knife in the bag, due to the way they have the security lines snake behind the x-ray scanners.

"You think he's a terrorist?" I asked Macey. "I don't know, but I bet he's not going anywhere on a plane tonight," she replied.

We decided to make the most of our time at LAX waiting for our flight, and eat our final meal paid for by Judge Judy herself. As we finished up dinner and walked to our departure gate, we passed the scary looking dude with the knife. "How did he get through? If he's on our flight I'm not getting on it," Macey said.

I selfishly hoped he would board our flight so we could see more of LA tomorrow.

Instead we landed in the wee hours of the next morning in Minneapolis, and after scraping the snow and ice off the car, made our way out of Macey's fifteen minutes of fame.

NO YELLOW LIGHTERS!

So this one time, I was on a greyhound bus.

How I got on the greyhound is kind of a long story involving a sick son back home in Minnesota, a wedding of our close friends in Des Moines, and a whole lot of factors that put the "ex" into my ex-wife.

But I digress.

So I'm on the greyhound from Des Moines to Minneapolis. If I had been in my car, which was taken back to Minnesota by my now ex-wife, the trip would have been between three to four hours.

On a greyhound? A lifetime.

As I boarded the bus, I began to feel like I was in a scene out of Mad Max. The other passengers were dressed strangely, had crazy haircuts, and I was quite sure that for the first time in my life I was the most sane person in a 30-yard radius.

One man, sitting in the aisle across from me, caught me looking at him and gave me the stink eye back in return. He was covered with tattoos and piercings, and looked as if he probably had killed men twice my size who were twice as fast and twice as smart as me.

Do you know how many stops a greyhound makes between Des Moines and Minneapolis? I do. And if I described them all, the interwebz would explode from too much data.

But on the "mid-way stop" in Mason City, we were given a reprieve to leave behind the dark, stenchy bus quarters for a 20 minute breath of fresh airport, um, air.

As I made my way toward a designated smoking area to light up a Marlboro light, I was drawn to another passenger who looked as if, like me, he was trapped in an alternate universe.

"Hey there. Fun trip, huh?" I asked him in my genuine Iowa boy friendly banter voice. "Yeah, this is definitely different," he replied. He was wearing nice dress slacks, loafers, and a Hawaiian shirt. His head of short red hair was hidden partially by a golf visor. He essentially looked like any other business man you might see at the last day of a trade show in Pensacola ("Hey Stew, it's the last day of the show, let's not wear the company polo shirt, and instead let's be crazy and wear our Hawaiian shirts!").

As he pulled out a second cigarette during our short break, he asked me if I had a light as he just used his last match.

Thinking to myself that maybe I just found someone who could sit next to me the rest of the way and make the trip less painful, I gladly reached into my jeans pocket for my lighter, reaching out toward his hand with it.

As my hand got within a few inches of his outreached palm, he suddenly and swiftly swiped his palm away, and in ninja-like fashion slapped my hand hard enough to make the lighter fall out of my hand and onto the ground between us.

"NO YELLOW LIGHTERS!" he yelled.

"Huh?" I asked, still stunned.

"NO YELLOW LIGHTERS! DON'T YOU KNOW THAT? DON'T YOU KNOW THEY ARE BAD LUCK?" he continued to yell.

I turned around to the person standing to my right. And there I saw tattoo and piercing guy, looking at me as he made the universal sign for "he's crazy" while pointing toward my new yellow-lighter fearing BFF.

"NO YELLOW LIGHTERS. THAT'S WHY YOU NEVER SEE THEM IN THE STORE!"

I thought for a minute about explaining that I did indeed buy the yellow lighter in a store, and not in some back alley in Clive. Then I realized there was really only one lesson to be learned from all of this.

Never take the bus. Never.

The Tongue Ring Girl Date

Alas, I will never top the Hickey Girl date. It's simply "unpossible."

But there was one other epic date I had a few summers ago that runs a distant second.

Tongue Ring Girl, aka TRG. A woman from a town two hours north of the cities. We had emailed some, and then talked on the phone once before our first planned date.

I had never dated anyone with a tongue ring before, and wasn't really sure what to think of it. I'll admit to being mildly curious.

At first I didn't really notice the impact of her tongue ring on her speech, in the form of a slight lisp. But that was more to do with the fact she smoked two packs of unfiltered Camels per day.

Think of Marge Simpson's sisters' voices, combined with James Earl Jones, and add in a little Sylvester the Cat, and that's pretty much what TRG sounded like.

And she liberally sprinkled her favorite word, f***, into her conversation.

Think of a raspy, deep voice (and not in a sexy Demi Moore kind of way, more like something you'd expect out of a guy with no sleeves named Bubba).

"I effin' think we thould go to the effin' Twinth game for our date. I effin' love the Twins. And Joe effin' Mauer. I would love to eff him." Sideburn envy anyone?

We met in front of my townhouse, and then I drove us downtown for the Twins game. First we stopped off at a downtown hotel bar for some appetizers and drinks.

*Deep TRG Bubba Voice* "I effin' think I'm hungry for an effin' cheetheburger. Eff that thoundth good."

I was starting to wish the Twins played in their new stadium, as there was a light rain falling outside, and it might mean the date would have to be called off for a rainout.

*Deep TRG Bubba Voice* "Tho are you effin' comfortable with firearmth?"

Oh shit. This will not end well.

I stammer a lame response - "Um, well I guess if by that you mean them not being around me, yes."

*Deep TRG Bubba Voice* "Oh I don't have it with me now, I couldn't get it into the dome. I jutht mean if you ever come over to vithit me overnight. I keep it in my bedroom."

How much would it take to puncture the roof of the Metrodome? Hypothetically speaking.

*Deep TRG Bubba Voice* "Don't worry though honey, I keep it locked up there tho my kids don't effin' find it. That and my effin' mini-fridge of liquor. Eff yeah."

Finally we make our way to the dome, and I'm beginning to think of what I could do to leave suddenly. Sudden death in the family? Genital warts flare up? Forgot to feed my cat?

After an uneventful game where the Twins won 4 to 1 and she outdrank me in beers 8 to 2, we made our way back for the drop-off at her car in front of my townhouse.

*Deep TRG Bubba Voice* "Tho I was effin' thinking, you know, my job ath an effin' nurthe ith pretty tranthferable."

While wondering whether to fake a seizure or a heart attack, I ask in a soft, scared tone, "What do you mean?"

*Deep TRG Bubba Voice* "Well I could eathily move down to the effin' thities and get a new effin' job."

Eff this effin' shit, I'm thinking to myself.

Quickly, I have one of the most genius ideas in my entire dating career. I grabbed at my pocket. "Oh, I'm effin' vibrating," I said out loud, while grabbing my cell phone out of my pocket. "Oh no. I better go. It'th my effin' exth-wife. Thith might effin' take awhile."

Hawkeye by the Grace of God

Being a Hawkeye fan, sadly or not, is a big piece of the fabric that's woven into my life.

Anyone who meets me knows soon thereafter that I go a little bat shit crazy for my Hawkeyes. I mean, I have a son named Nile, for God's sake.

But believe it or not, my identification with Hawkeye football is not related solely to their wins and losses.

See I am a B.F. Hawkeye Fan. (Before Fry, as in Hayden). I used to trudge to elementary school wearing a Hawkeye t-shirt, only to be greeted by laughs from the kids wearing Nebraska and Iowa State (yeah, that's how bad it was) shirts.

I remember many a Saturday as a kid, as I'd be playing outside in the piles of leaves my dad had just raked. He of course did his raking while listening to Jim Zabel on WHO 1040 either on a headset or with the stereo speakers blaring out the window. And loss after loss, and they were constant, my dad would always say "Well, they tried hard. Wait'll next week." Or "Wait until we play them next year."

So I had it instilled in me at an early age that you don't give up on your team, and you don't talk bad about them, even when they flat out suck. Ever. It's just how we rolled.

Outside of that aspect, the wins and losses aren't the main focus for me because so much of the game culture on a Saturday afternoon in the crisp fall air of Iowa City is so perfect.

The smell of beer-soaked brats slowly sizzling, waiting for you to smother them in mustard and sauerkraut.

The sound of the marching band in the distance, the drums rat-a-tat-tating in anticipation of the upcoming pre-game show.

Enjoying good food and cheer with quality people. There is something about people from Iowa. I've met people from all corners of the world in my nearly 40 years, but there's no group of people I'd rather spend time with than a group of Iowans gathered to cheer on the Hawks.

The people of Iowa are hard working, humble and dryly hilarious.

We tend to get embarrassed when someone compliments us in public. We don't typically care much how much we paid for our blue jeans, or if they were designer label. We generally prefer a simple life.

That is why Kirk Ferentz, the current head football coach, has been so successful at Iowa, in my opinion. Unlike Fry, who could tell tall tales and puff out his chest with the best of them, Ferentz is very mild-mannered. He's Clark Kent sans glasses, and with chewing gum.

And while Fry's gregarious ways were just what Iowa football needed during his era, Ferentz's lower key, hard-work approach has been just what the program has needed today.

Work hard. Stay focused. Don't talk shit. Remember to be humble. And courteous.

So for those out there who don't understand why I spend so much of my energy on a silly football team, perhaps this gives you some insight into what makes it so compelling to me.

In a few hours on a Saturday afternoon, the performance of 18-22 year old kids on a synthetic grass rectangle help me re-connect to my roots, and remember the lessons I learned growing up. Work Hard. Stay focused. Don't talk shit. Remember to be humble. And courteous.

I'm proud of Iowa's big win in the Orange Bowl a few weeks ago. Without a doubt it was the biggest bowl victory that Iowa has had in my lifetime. But I'm not just proud because of the win. I'm proud of Ferentz, and the players, and how they went about winning. And how they carry themselves.

And I'm proud to be a Hawkeye.

I'm an Iowan by birth, but I'm a Hawkeye by the grace of God.

A New Year doesn't get you New Results

I have always found it interesting how much we, as humans, obsess over our New Year.

I'm guilty of it as well.

"Last year sure did suck, so this next year HAS to get better."

Does it? Not really.

The world we wake up to this morning, the first of 2010, is the same world we said goodbye to at the stroke of midnight last night.

The economy still sucks. We still have two wars going on in faraway lands. We've still got enemies of our country who are hell-bent on destroying us. And your day-to-day problems and my day-to-day problems have not magically disappeared. We didn't suddenly get a raise overnight. Or a job. Or our self-esteem.

Before you decide that I'm the most cynical person you know, let me say that one thing we do have this morning, metaphorically at least, is a fresh blanket of snow.

The paths we took, both good and bad, over the last year are covered. Still visible, but barely. Visible enough that it is easy for us to take those same paths again this year. Hidden enough that if we choose to go another route, the former ones will fade into the snowy landscape, becoming distant memories.

Now is where we come in. Do we repeat our paths of the past? If we do, we must remember Albert Einstein's definition of insanity: "doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

If we are smart, we'll remember the results of our last trip down the path. And we'll take risks, even if they mean failure in the short term, by taking a new path.

So get ready to explore in 2010, if you wish new and different results. Take a different path.

Happy New Year, my friends, and happy new path making.

Not Silent Night

Being alone is rough. Being alone on Christmas, I think, will just plain suck.

No kids. No loved ones. No special someone. Nobody to enjoy a cup of egg nog (does anyone actually enjoy egg nog?) in front of a fire (if I had a fireplace) with.

No squeals of joy from little ones when they see what Santa brought them this year.

It would be easy to mope. To get down. To say "screw this" and turn Christmas into a 12-pack induced pity party.

But as I stood on my balcony tonight, pondering my first real Christmas all alone EVER in my life, I realized it could be much worse.

I could be alone, and homeless.

I could have nobody who cares about me...which I know is not the case.

I could be hungry and not sure where to find a meal.

I could be estranged from my childrens' lives and not know that they like raisin bran more than cheerios, and donuts over bagels.

I could be fighting for my country halfway around the world, worrying about being blown up by a guy with a garage door opener, away from my loved ones with no chance of seeing them anytime soon.

Or I could be gone from this world, dust in the wind, and not be able to wake up Christmas morning and take a deep breath of the cold air and thank God for being alive this day.

So Christmas Eve, I'll put on my snow boots and trudge through whatever amount of snow down the street, go to a Christmas service, and thank God for what I have in my life:

- Two amazing sons who never cease to amaze me or bring a smile to my face.
- Countless friends who are always there for me and always find a way to make me laugh.
- An amazing family who has helped me out through some rough times in the last few years (Thank you Mom, Dad, Dave, Jim, and your families).
- The fact that I understand that my life is not about my possessions, my income, my things, but about who I am as a person, and how I treat the people around me.

Standing on the balcony alone tonight, I heard from across the street ice skates shushing across a rink, and the sound of a puck being smacked off a stick, then hitting the rink wall with a loud "thump." As the snow lightly fell, I heard the sound of a shovel scraping against a sidewalk, scratching its way from clean white to dirty gray. From a distant snowbank, the sound of children taking delight in the early stages of the "stormegeddon" can be heard.

What a beautiful, peaceful and not so silent night.

Merry Christmas! May your nights never be silent.

What matters in life...a no brainer

As 2009 winds down, I look back on what without question was the most difficult and challenging year of my life.

Losing my job, and being on unemployment for nearly 10 months.

Losing my townhouse, and having to scramble to find a place to shelter my sons and continue to feed them.

Losing what I thought was a solid relationship, and in the process learning so much more about people and what to look for in the people I allow in my life.

But the old saying has never been more true for me than before, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

As I look forward to 2010, I look forward to a major career shift, one that will allow me to use my skills in a new way, and one that rather than always facing catastrophe when the economy gets shaky, will allow for growth.

I also have streamlined and simplified my life in a way that has really gotten me back to the basics, like many Americans still need to learn. My sons have learned that "things" are not what is important, but people...and that when they get some special things, they appreciate them even more.

And, most importantly, I have learned that the true friends in my life are there no matter what my job title is, no matter how much is in my bank account. Really the true friends are there no matter what, period.

And you know who you are. You have stood by me and let me vent out my frustrations, or helped me move on a moment's notice, or helped me find some part time work to help pay the bills. You've given me reasons to laugh and smile, and thanked me when I helped you laugh or smile. To each and everyone of you, I can't say thank you enough for being a true friend, and for all you did.

As 2010 approaches, I have re-learned such a simple, but true lesson - you cannot measure a person by their wealth in dollars, but you can measure a person in their wealth of friends and family. And I am the richest mofo I know in that regard.

Happy Holidays to everyone, and may 2010 be an amazing year of self-discovery and growth for all of you!

Date #1; Delayed #2

Tonight's version of my blog is another retelling of an old story. More than two years ago, in fact. But it's a night which will live in my mind forever.

Two years plus back, a good friend of mine who was down on his luck needed a place to crash for a few weeks or so (it ended up being over 6 months, but I digress). So I spent an entire Saturday helping him move things either to my meager two bedroom townhouse, or to his storage locker.

Around 5 or so, I had to bow out because I needed to get ready for a first date with someone I was excited to meet. I ended up dating her for over a year, and she to this day is an incredible friend to me. Again, digressing.

The new roomie and his girlfriend had a few more loads to bring yet that night, so I gave him my house key to finish the job.



As I was getting ready to leave for my date, the new roomie and his girlfriend arrived with their last load. I asked him for my key, a habit I have since I'm always paranoid about what would happen if the garage door suddenly wouldn't open due to power failure or some other factor. He said fine, but wondered how he'd lock up when he was done.



I thought about it and suggested he just lock the bolt on the front door, then run out the garage door after pushing the button. Easy enough, right? I guess not, and you'll see why later.



So I go on my date, have a fantastic time at dinner, then end up hanging out until almost 2 a.m. sitting on her patio watching her dog and her roommate's dog chase each other around. I decide it's time to head home, and set on my way.



About halfway home I realized I really really had to go to the bathroom. Not the "pull over and hide behind a bush" kind either. The big deuce.



I pulled into my driveway and hit the garage door opener. Nothing. I pull the remote off the visor and shake it and try about 20 more times. "Good thing I got that key," I think to myself.



I walk up to the front door, insert the key, and...nothing. Yeah seriously. It didn't work. I tried calling my new roomie at his old apartment where he was staying one last night. No answer.



30 attempts to awaken him did no good. FML.



I quickly went into panic mode, thinking that I was going to have to drop a deuce in my 6x6 manicured lawn, without toilet paper. I envisioned running to a neighbor's house, but then remembered that a) nobody there knew me, and b) nobody was awaked at 2:30 a.m.



Yet nature was calling. I even was starting to sweat profusely on my forehead and feared what they might find the next morning. A dead man, smeared in poo and sweat, his hand frozen as if he were clawing at his front door.



But damnit. I had to sleep tonight too.



So I called a locksmith, and searched in my trunk for duct tape to prevent me from having an accident before he arrived.



The locksmith arrived. A chatty fellow. Slow too. Every word made my stomach rumble more and more. He tried to open the lock. And tried some more. And some more. After an hour of trying, he said his only option was to drill through the current lock and replace it. "That's fine. Just make it fast, please!"



30 minutes later, he finally broke through the lock and the door was open. "Now I'll install the new lock," he pronounced. "I tell you what, while you do that, I am going to go take care of some business that is urgent inside."



After ripping off the duct tape dam (no, I didn't really do this, but just making sure you're still reading), I rushed into the little boys' room and took care of my mighty deuce.



The next morning I learned that the new roomie had 1) inadvertantly given me his apartment key instead of my townhouse key, and 2) when he went to go out through the garage door, he inadvertantly hit the combination of buttons that makes it automatically lock to all openers. Nice.



The lesson for the evening? Always wear Depends on your first date.