For the last two or maybe three weeks I have been fighting a losing battle with a chair from the dinner table that seems to move on its own. It suddenly started doing this after I removed the center leaf from the table. I have come to believe we have a poltergeist in our home. Daily, I would move the chair back under the table, next to where the other chairs are and then somehow, someway it would end up next to the couch some 4 or 5 feet away. Then on other days it would be moved only three feet to in front of the kitchen island. It left me perplexed. I finally put the leaf back in the table just to make the ghost happy again and so it would leave the chair alone. It seems to have worked. This morning all four chairs were right where I left them last night. Then my wife says to me as she is heading out the door, “Thanks for putting the leaf back in the table for me. Now I don’t have to move the friggin’ chair around jus’ to read the news paper.” She really frightens me sometimes…

Dad grew up in Iowa’s snow country before moving to Oklahoma. Occasionally a light snow would blanket the valley floor along the north coast of California. But it would soon disappear as the sun rose to its summit in the daytime sky.

Miniature snowmen of about one or two feet would suddenly appear. It was all that could be mustered from such a snowfall. And riding a piece of cardboard down a snow covered hillside was no more or less exciting than a grass slope in the summer.

Yet snow of any kind would shut down school for the day. Every child dreams of this and must take advantage of it. It is an obligation to say the least.

When Tommy was eighteen he saw his first real snow. It was Thanksgiving Day in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Over two feet of the fluffy white stuff fell in a single sleep. Tommy thought all that snow was so exciting, until he had to dig his way out of his home.

Dad had told him and Adam about how the snow would drift so high against his parent’s home, which he would have to climb out the second story window just to get to school. Then Dad would have to walk two miles to get to school. Suddenly Tommy appreciated that story and found himself believing every word too.

He had just purchased a brand new baby blue Ford pick-up truck also. The night before the snow fell, he drove it home from the car lot. Tommy was proud of his truck. Now he could go camping and fishing and hiking and he didn’t have to depend on anyone else for a ride.

Tommy walked out to the parking lot and looked around. Snow blanketed everything. Nothing looked the same, so Tommy did not panic when he could not find his truck at first.

He was certain he had parked the truck right there under the telephone pole with the street lamp on it. It was close to the curb, but now he couldn’t find the curb. All that Tommy could see was a gigantic mound of snow.

Then it dawned on Tommy and he felt a surge of panic. The snowplow had buried his brand new baby blue Ford pick-up truck under all of that snow. The pile was nearly thirty feet high and his next-door neighbors’ red Datsun was half buried too.

After calling the base commander and then his commanding officer, Tommy resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to wait to drive his brand new baby blue Ford pick-up truck. He ended up walking to work.

Two hours later Tommy was at work when he recalled what Dad used to say about not living in Iowa. “Here in Northern California, you don’t have to shovel rain,” he could hear Dad say.

It was late April when Tommy finally got to drive his brand new baby blue Ford pick-up truck.

At first I figured I really had nothing to write about. Then a friend at church said, “Have you ever made a list of things you find interesting about yourself?” She wasn’t speaking directly to me or the idea for an article, but her question triggered an idea. It took me a while and a little looking through a couple of other lists before I got a good idea of how to proceed. This is what I came up with for myself. The challenge is to see if you can create one of your own. Please feel free to use mine as an example. I am not afraid to cry at weddings, movies, funerals or from laughing to hard. I try to practice what I preach. I tell it as it is and not how I want it. I make people mad because I won’t kiss up to them. I like speaking to large groups of people. I like to preach the gospel when invited too. I am a show-off and a mild flirt. I do not read most newspapers because of their poor writing. I don’t watch the major TV news or CNN. I hate crossword puzzles; they’re a waste of my time. I enjoy researching information. I’m a good Uncle and a great Dad. I see things as they are rather than as they should be. I am not afraid to say what needs to be said. I am extremely loyal; even beyond reason. I wear tighty-whities. I refuse to play dumb. I am too hard on myself. I am too assertive to the point of being too aggressive. I am not afraid to tell a person that I love them. I am a Christ-follower. I know a little bit about a lot of stuff. I hate working on engines but love first aid work. I enjoy the company of women rather than men. I am capable of being very mean and vicious in a fight. I fight dirty and to win. I will kill if need be. I do not enjoy television sports. I am an alcoholic and I love the taste of beer. I can hold a grudge at times. I can also be very forgiving. I have strong legs and a quick temper. I do not forgive myself easily. I am an outdoor person. I like shopping at Wal-Mart. I am only one flavor; vanilla. There are other things I could put here, but for now this will do. Besides I have to leave something for later articles. Oh, and on one more thing, I don’t enjoy making lists.

 

Here are eight things I think might help just about any relationship. I base them on my experience and not much more. Okay, so saying ‘any relationship’ might be a stretch but they are some pretty good ideas.

1. Don’t interrupt while busy. For me if I’m busy reading, writing, on-line or watching the last of a television show, it is hard for me to have a conversation and concentrate on what I am doing. By the time MY pee-brain figures out that the conversation is the more important of the two items I am usually frustrated.

2. Minor household chores can wait. Really! Come home, have a seat and relax a while. The trash can, full of garbage will still be there as will be the sink full of dishes and so will the dishwasher which needs either to be loaded or unloaded. Chances are you might even end up getting help with these chores. (See #3)

3. You don’t have to nag. It’s called partnership or joining in. It works like this: If you want someone to do something invite them to help you with it. Don’t tell them that it needs to be done and then walk away. Also accept the fact that some people are born- procrastinators. I tend to be one of these people at times, other times I’m just being lazy.

4. Turn off the cell-phone at dinner time. It used to be ‘no telephone calls at dinner time’ was the rule. Now we have to be reminded not to leave cell-phones on during dinner time. I can’t stand hearing them in church either. Allow me to add that the television should be turned off during dinner as well. This should help encourage conversation around the table.

5. Accept compliments gracefully. The last time I heard somebody accept a compliment gracefully; she was 90-years old. Most folks think that I’m pulling their leg when I’m paying them a compliment or they act as if they knew it all along. A simple ‘thank you’ and a smile are enough.

6. Household dust is natural occurrence. This is something that I miss every time I clean house; forgetting to dust. I think it comes from the fact that I grew up near the ocean and didn’t have to deal with it as a kid. Here in the high desert though dust reappears in less than 15 minutes after a good wiping-down.

7. TV remotes aren’t for men only. It’s taken me a long time to say this and I say it only because it is ‘residentially correct.’ My machismo says I should be in control and just like asking for directions I shouldn’t have too, so I will not explain any further.

8. Use the vehicle horn. The vehicle horn has three purposes. One is to be friendly as in saying, ‘hello’ to someone as you drive by them; the second to remind them to move should they become distracted while at a stoplight and the third; anger, for doing something stupid that puts you and your life in jeopardy of an accident.

The instructor could over hear the two trainees talking. “Yeah, they call him ‘Mad-Dog’,” the one said to the other. Tommy smiled to himself as he thought back on how he came to end up with the nickname. It was years ago.Tommy was seven years old when he had a peculiar mishap. He was playing in the schoolyard of Margaret Keating Elementary just before the first bell. It was a game of freeze tag. The base was the northeast corner where the water fountain was. Tommy was a pretty good runner and had a good jump on whoever was chasing him.

That morning he was getting ready for school. It was the 2nd grade and his teacher was Mrs. Newquist. She had a love of birds and was teaching them all about them. This included hatching chicken eggs and raising chickens.

Looking back on it, Tommy chuckled and said to himself “It seems pretty funny now, that she should want to hatch chickens in a classroom.” He knew that most of the children could go out in their own barnyards and watch them hatch without some fancy egg-hatching contraption.

But hatching chicken eggs and bird lessons were not the only science experiment she liked to do. She asked that each child bring a paper towel tube with a wrapping of aluminum foil around it. Tommy had that with himself when he caught old number six for school.

It was still recess and school had not started yet and the children were playing tag. Tommy made a fast dash for base. At base the person who was “it” could not tag anyone. It was a free place to catch your breath and get a cool drink of water from the white porcelain fountain.

Tommy started to reach out for the wall with its aluminum sheet splashguard when he tripped on the sidewalk edge. He lunged forward and struck face first into the wall. Tommy had the paper towel tube wrapped in aluminum foil in his mouth.

There was a sudden flash of white light. It lasted only half a second. Then, a burning in his mouth that he could not stand followed it. Tommy spit, thinking that would cool the fire. When he did, he saw it lying on the ground amid the dark, red puddle of blood. It was his tongue.

The young child’s instinct took over from there and he started to run towards the woods. “Fight or flight,” his Dad used to always say. Tommy was flying. Somehow though, he gathered his senses and turned back and started running toward the school.

The corridor was long with red clay linoleum. Tommy looked back behind himself and could not see his blood except where it reflected against the morning sun through the open double doors.

Mrs. Zweirlein was the first to see Tommy. One moment she was wrinkling her nose as she peered into his mouth. The next moment she was a woman of action. She was telling Tommy to put the ice cubes she had handed him into his mouth. He did not want to because it hurt so badly, but Tommy did as he was told.

Things were becoming a blur to Tommy as every teacher at Margaret Keating Elementary had to come down and look in his mouth. They needed to see it for themselves. “Yep, it’s cut off,” said Mr. Biggers, the school’s principal.

Tommy’s dad soon arrived and took him to the hospital. At the hospital, the doctor stretched the two ends together and then ran some wires through the gaps in Tommy’s teeth and into his tongue. Then he wired the boy’s mouth shut.

He stayed that way for several weeks. Tommy drank orange soda pop and ate chicken noodle soup. He did not get to go back to school during this time, though the teachers thoughtfully sent him home a lot of schoolwork.

Tommy shook his head at the memories as they flooded his head. He had been in a number of fights over the years because of the difficulties associated with the injury. He had been called “Tongue Tied” and “Slobber Puss” as a child. He had even been labeled “retarded” by the school district after several unsuccessful years of speech therapy. But the label like the nicknames went away as he grew up.

“I’ve never seen a bull-dog salivate as much as you do!”” the Commander said to Tommy. Then he added, “You’re new call sign is going to be ‘Mad-Dog’, son.” The Commander smiled, and then dismissed the younger man.

“Guess if I have to have a nickname, this one isn’t so bad,” Tommy said to himself. Then he added, “It’s better than Tongue-tied Tommy.”

He stood up from his desk and prepared to face the new trainees.

Tommy was behind the rest of the group, who had already finished their initial interview with the doctor. But Tommy was left behind because the doctor wanted to ask more questions of him.

He was interested in the x-ray photograph of Tommy’s face where the left eye socket showed an irregularity. He needed to know how the hair line fracture occurred and why it wasn’t listed in any of Tommy’s medical records.

Once the doctor was satisfied that the old injury would be of no problem to the future airman, he sent him on his way. “Just go down the hallway and turn left, following the red line,” the doctor instructed. Tommy dutifully did as he was told.

The red line led to a doorway with a sign on it. The sign said to knock first and this is what Tommy did. A muscular man opened the door and Tommy stepped inside.

Once inside the muscular man went behind a long counter, reached down and pulled out a clear plastic container. He handed it to Tommy and said, “The restroom is right there.” He pointed to another door on the other side of the room. “Go fill it up,” he added. Again Tommy dutifully did as he was told.

Once he was finished he took the container back to the counter. The muscular man was not there, so he sat the plastic container on the counter and stood there waiting.

Suddenly the door behind Tommy burst open and a young man who looked to be in a terrible rush stepped inside the room. He had not bothered to read the sign that said knock as he just came in and closed the door behind himself.

He stood next to Tommy, his eyes searching around the room as if he were looking for the next thing he was supposed to do. With out warning he reached up and grabbed the plastic container of clear yellow liquid and started drinking it.

At the same time the muscular man returned from a side door behind the counter. He wrinkled up his nose in disgust as the young man finished off the last of the liquid.

The young man set the now empty container on top of the counter and smiled at bother Tommy and then the muscular man. Neither of the men smiled back.

The muscular man behind the counter lifted his brawny arm and pointed at Tommy, “You pass.” Then he pointed at the young man standing next to Tommy, “You, I want a word with.”

Then he added, “Just follow the red line to the right as you leave.” And even though Tommy felt very sick to his stomach, he dutifully did as he was told.

Later he would wonder what had happened to the guy who had been behind him.

It seems like I can’t get it through my thick skull that it is a new year. I keep writing out checks and letters and having to mark out the year because I put the wrong one down.

This has been a continuing struggle for me since I was in grade school. I can recall sitting in class and looking at the chalk board — yes, a real chalk board — thinking that by the time Christmas vacation and New Year is over with, we’ll be out of the 1960’s.

Holy cow! That’s some history there, Bubb…

My other thought is how my best friend all through grade school, Robin had looked so far into the future that he knew the year we were going to graduated from high school. He was very optimistic to think I would graduate because I wasn’t even certain I could get beyond Mr. Kirby and fourth grade let alone our Principal Mr. Fizer.

I had come to the belief he was out to get me after he throttled me in the hallway one morning, which is another tale altogether.

The next day, as we rode along on the big yellow monster to Margaret Keating Grade School, Robin calculated that we would turn forty in the year 2000. I was completely surprised by this idea because I knew for sure Jesus was coming back before then.

And being Catholic at the time, I had it on good authority that he was really pissed off. In both cases Robin had been right.

We did graduate from Del Norte High, class of 1978 and the last time I checked we were still alive and kicking, proof that we had made it to our 40th birthdays in the Y2K. Strange how things work out, huh?

Every since then I have looked slightly beyond the next day to see what might be on the horizon. It’s nice to have an idea in case I like to take my son fishing or on a photo shoot.

By the way, I’ll be 100 years old in 2060.

“Looks like rain to me,” Tommy said.

“Yes, I know, relied Cathy over the phone, “but Momma already called and confirmed the flight.”

Tommy just moaned, “Oh.”

“Don’t be sad Tommy,” Cathy said. She had expected this from him it hurt deep inside her but there was nothing that she could do. If only her mother had asked before making the arrangements to go to San Diego for Christmas.

Tommy attempted to make his voice sound as if it were okay. He struggled to sound stronger than he was as he said, “I’m not sad. I just miss you that’s all.” He continued, “Sorry if I sound so sad. I’m really not.”

Cathy knew better but she didn’t continue as she realized it would be hopeless. There was a long pause on the phone.

“Tommy?” asked Cathy.

“Yes?” answered Tommy.

“I didn’t know if you were still there,” she said.

“Yes, I am. I was waiting for you to say something,” Tommy said. Another pause came; it was shorter as Tommy said low into the receiver, “I love you, Cathy.”

She replied back to him, “I love you, too. It’s time to go. Bye-bye, Tommy. Don’t be sad and have a Merry Christmas. I love you.”

The telephone clicked into his ear as he said, “I love you.” He sighed as he hung up the phone.

Tommy knew that this was going to be a long and lonely Christmas holiday. His father was gone to Oklahoma to see family back there for the first time in years. His mother was still angry at him over moving to Fort Dick and buying land when she and Dad decided to divorce. So she wasn’t talking to Tommy at the moment.

Also, Cathy was going away. Tommy had nothing to do with that. Her mother had decided that she should come home from school for the holiday period. It would be hard on Tommy; he just hoped that the three week period would pass quickly.

The first few days were terribly slow and Tommy paced his tiny trailer like an animal caged. Cathy felt the same boredom as she would sit and wait for the mailman only to be despaired as he came and went without a letter for her.

Each night was spent with anticipation of the following day. Tommy wrote Cathy a letter each night as he had promised. He ended each correspondence with “I love you.”

Cathy used her nights equally by writing Tommy a book. She filled several pages each evening and wondered if she would have to get another journal. Her days were filled with helping her mother with “Share your Christmas” projects driving around San Diego County delivering boxes of food to families. Other times she longed to call Tommy or that he would call her.

In the meantime Tommy’s brother, Adam took the Greyhound to Fortuna to celebrate Christmas with Mom and their sisters. Deep down Tommy felt good that everyone was getting what they wanted for the holidays. But his mind lingered in the thought of Cathy. A sad loneliness caught up with him.

For several days Tommy rode his motorbike to work at KPOD then home again. He checked on the horse and completed his daily routine. Still every night he wrote Cathy letters and hoped she would come home soon.

It wasn’t until the seventh day when the rain ceased and the sun shown shyly from its lofty perch that Tommy started into town. He had just arrived at KPOD when the receptionist said, “A Cathy wants you to call her at home immediately.”

“Cathy?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, and she says you have her Arcata number,” the receptionist replied.

“Okay and thank you,” Tommy said as he took the pink piece of paper from the lady and walked into the back offices. In seconds he dialed her phone number and a mere few seconds later that Cathy answered.

“Hello,” she said.

“Cathy?” Tommy asked.

“Tommy!” Cathy shouted, “Oh, it’s so good to hear from you.”

“I love you,” Tommy said and he continued, “What are you doing back?”

“Well it’s a long story…” she started.

Tommy interrupted, “I’ve got all day!”

“Let me finish…it was raining so hard down there that I decided to come back early rather than get stuck,” said Cathy. “I got in late last night.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Tommy said. “Look, I’m due on the air in a couple of minutes.”

“Okay,” responded Cathy, “I’ll see you in a little while. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tommy said as he hung up the phone. He was all smiles as he picked up his headphones and walked down the short hallway and into the sound booth.

Cathy rolled across her bed, hanging up the receiver, while sighing a breathe of relief. She thought to herself for a moment, “I’m glad to be home and Tommy’s glad to hear from me. We will have a Christmas after all.”

Their reunion was a joyous occasion as Cathy and Tommy spent time making up for lost time. It was their being together that made the days pass so quickly. Christmas was upon them before either one realized it.

Tommy was invited to Cathy’s home for Christmas dinner. She served a small turkey with stuffing and gravy. There were mashed potatoes and corn on the side with golden brown biscuits.

After dinner they retired to the living room to share a brandy and eggnog. Tommy built a small blaze in the woodstove and the pair relaxed in the couch. The flames reflected on their faces as they sat and talked into the early morning hours.

Finally, Cathy said, “I have something for you.”

“I thought we said…” Tommy started. He was halted by her finger pressed against his lips. She got up and disappeared down the long corridor and reappeared moments later. She carried in her hand a plainly wrapped box.

“When I first saw it,” she said, “I thought of you.” She held it out to Tommy.

He took it in his hand and smiled at her. As he did, he drew her closer to him and kissed her.

“I didn’t get a present for you,” Tommy said, “All I have is…well, my heart for you.” She smiled and kissed him. Tommy impatiently untied the red ribbon from the white wrapper.

“The red ribbon is my bond to you, Tommy,” she said. He undid the wrapping, unfolded it carefully. She continued, “The wrapper represents me on the outside and the gift on the inside is my gift to you,” she finished.

Tommy looked up from the small glass bobble in his rough hand. A tear slowly escaped his eye and slipped down his cheek. In his hand he held a small heart. It was made of glass and was as fragile as a real heart.

Tommy looked at it as it lay in his hand and than at Cathy. He shook his head as tears fell from his chin and said, “I love you.”

A tear came from Cathy’s eye as she said, “And I give you my heart as well. I love you too.”

Thomas got up and hung the Heart of Glass upon the tree as he had done for so many years. He turned and said to Cathy, “I love you. Thank you for the gift; it’s still the best of the years.”

Cathy just smiled.

For years, every Christmas, that Heart of Glass was hung on the tree, a symbol of their love which after years of being together was as strong as it had been when they were young.

It had started two weeks before when Karen had called me and said, “We need to get your truck moved before it gets towed”

I was in agreement, however life happened and his wife, Mary’s father died and the entire family had to go out of town for funeral arrangements and the funeral.

The next time I heard from Karen was the evening they returned home.

She had left a trite message starting, “If you don’t get your truck moved, it’s going be impounded and then auctioned off.”

That peeved me off right then and there. I picked up the telephone and called Karen’s house.

Her husband answered and I told him plainly, “I don’t like to be threatened like that and if you’ll give me the address where I can come get it I have arrangements to have it towed.”

Karen’s husband replied, “Well, I’ll have to ask Karen if I can give you the address because I don’t know about that.”

I cut him off, “Is there something you guys are hiding?”

“No?” he replied

“Then jus’ give me the address,” I demanded, “I don’t want my truck to disappear suddenly.”

“It won’t,” the husband respond.

“What do you mean?” I retorted. “It already has once — you moved it to a secret location without telling me without telling me and won’t tell me where it is now.”

“That’s up to Karen,” he said.

“Look I’ve been threatened with having it impounded and auctioned off and I don’t have a location where I can come get it. If those two things happen I will take action, do you understand me?” I said.

“Are you threatening me?” he asked.

I answered, “Nope, promising,” and gently hung up the telephone.

The following morning Karen called at 6:30am.

“Hey, I didn’t like you threatening my old man like that,” she complained.

“I didn’t threaten, I promised. I need an address,” I quickly cut to the point.

“I’ll call you right back,” she replied and hung up the telephone.

Finally, two hours later she called me back with an address.

“How fast can you get this thing out of here?” she wanted to know.

“I’ll have a tow truck ordered before I’m en route and I’ll be there in less than 20 minutes,” I answered.

I was feeling pretty steamed because she had made him wait for so long.

As I pulled out of the driveway I called the tow service. They said they would be there within half an hour.

I sudden felt better,  glad to be getting this done.

In less than twenty minutes he had pulled up in front of the house where he was told he could get his truck. Unfortunately while he could see his truck in the back yard he could also see the two rottweiler dogs patrolling the area just beyond the “Beware of Dog” signs.

Getting out of my truck, I walked up to the front door and rapped on it three times. There was so answer.

Again he knocked. There was still no answer.

Looking around, saw Karen’s pickup truck parked in the driveway so I knew she had to inside the house. I knocked once more.

Again getting no response, I walked back to my car and picked up my cell phone, dialing her number. She answered.

“Are you going to answer the door?” I asked.

She paused then said, “Not until the tow truck gets here.”

She then hung up.

I sat in my car and relaxed while waiting for the flat-bed tow truck to arrive. When it did, I walked up to the door and knocked again.

This time Karen answered just as she said she would.

“Can you put the dogs away?” I asked.

She smiled, “Their really sweethearts so it’s okay to go in.”

Karen closed the door.  Something about the situation did not sit well with me.

It appeared all too simple so I told to the tow truck operator, “Wait right here, I need to see how friendly these dogs really are.”

With that I slowly opened the rolling gate. I knew the answer within a heart beat as both dogs alerted and raced towards me growling and barking.

I pushed the gate closed as both dogs hit it with forceful violence.

“Sweethearts my ass,” Daniel thought, “so let’s see how well she respects outlaws.”

Retrieving my cell phone once again, I  called my brother Adam. I knew he had contacts with some outlaw motorcycle gangs.

“Hey Adam, I need some help,” I started off.

A couple minutes later I hung up and walked over to the tow truck operator, “If you can come back in about 30 minutes, this situation should have cleared itself up.“

“Yeah, I can do that,” he responded as he climbed up in his cab and drove away.

Karen shouted out the window, “See what you get for threatening me and my old man?”

I jus’ smiled at her and walked over to his car, casually leaning on it, not the least bit worried as I knew Adam would come through.

At first the sound was like that of freight train several miles away across the open plains, yet it grew louder and louder. Then the first of the bikes rolled into the narrow cul-de-sac, these were followed by even more motorcycles.

Soon the noise was deafening. The bikers, most in their gang colors, sat there revving the throttle as they waited for the return of the tow truck, I was more than amused when he saw the look on tow truck drivers face as he wheeled the flat-bed truck around the corner only to find the street and cul-de-sac choked with the loud rumble of motor bikes.

As he stopped his tow truck, so did at the motorcycles’. They turned off their engines in unison.

I remained leaning against my car as the shortest member of the bike gang’s got off of his cycle and walked up the pathway to the front door of the house. He knocked lightly on the door and Karen slowly opened it.

“Ma’am,” he said, “We’ve come to retrieve our brother’s truck.”

I couldn’t hear what Karen said, I could only see her lips move slightly.

She disappeared behind the closed door. A minute later both dogs were called from the back yard and two of the motorcyclists went in and pushed my truck out into the street.

The tow truck operator hurriedly moved into position to load the truck. Once it was on the flat-bed, the motorcycle gang fired up their bikes and like metallic thunder, roared out of the cal-de-sac and down the street.

Each one gave a salute to me as they rode passed.

The sun beat down hot on Tommy as he stood there in the lonely post of right field. Beads of sweat dribbled from him. They dropped to the earth in large fat beads.

The heat and the boredom were getting to Tommy’s brain. Nothing ever happened in right field. The other team always hit to the center fielder or to the left fielder. Right field was the lowest a player could go. Tommy was there because he wasn’t a very good ball player.

His entertainment had become attempting to hit an ant hole with his rivulets of perspiration as it broke from his forehead, gathered speed between his eyebrows and screamed off the end of his nose.

“Plop,” the sweat would say as it struck the ground.

The ants would scurry to the left or to the right of it.

“Pilot to bombardier…” Tommy heard in his head. “Another pass, we have then on the run,” he added.

Plop, plop, plop.

Crack!

Tommy heard it as the batter connected with the stitched up piece of rawhide.

“Where is it?” Tommy questioned to himself.

The bombing mission would have to wait. There was an enemy bandit closing in quick somewhere near twelve o’clock high. Tommy’s every muscle had to be fixed on it. He had trained for the kill.

Suddenly he saw it. The ball was high overhead and sailing towards him. At first Tommy just stood there, motionless. He was trying to figure out where the ball was going.

“Back pedal, back pedal!” his mind raced as his feet began to move.

Tommy’s eyes were fixed upon that sphere as it flew directly overhead. Tommy kept backpedaling. He had one hand up, reaching for the ball. The other hand was outstretched behind him, searching for the fence that he knew must be close by. The ball was just out of reach as he leaped into the air to meet it.

Thud!

Tommy heard himself hit the fence more than he felt it. His body seemed to propel itself higher and higher. Then he realized he was half way over the fence.

Slap! Tommy’s mind reeled in the amazement at both the sound and the feeling in his glove. The ball had landed squarely in his mitt. His glove had never felt so bulky or so heavy before. But he had just made a spectacular catch.

“Tommy? Tommy?” a soft voice came to him.

It had a familiar ring to it. He knew that voice well.

“Tommy?” It was Mom calling him.

A muffled click and a bright light overhead pierced the darkness as Mom called out to him again.

Tommy opened his eyes and looked around. Mom was bending over him. He was wrapped in a tangle of blankets and bed sheet.

“Get up, Tommy,” Mom said, “you fell out of bed.”

Tommy blinked a couple of times and obeyed Mom, as any nine year old would do. He climbed back up into the top bunk of the beds and Mom pulled the covers up around him. Then Tommy drifted off into sleep again.

Mom turned off the light and looked back at Tommy. He was smiling because he knew he had made the catch.