Fessing up..

OK, time to give you a littel more of my twisted history:


Back just before I moved out of my parent's house, my brother and I were actually starting to get along better.

One week, my mom needed to go to a conference, and she and my dad decided to make it a kind of "getaway" and left the two of us home alone for that weekend.

Big mistake.

Huge, really.

Yeah, I was the "responsible" one, and could cook, clean, and keep house.

But when the taskmaster isn't there to crack the whip, do you really think that I'd do something like that?

Newp.

In fact, for that weekend the house became a kind of "anti" Jormengrund house.

All of the rules HAD to be broken. Not just by my brother and I, but by each and every person who came along to visit as well!

Toilet seats left up. Dishes piled in the sink. Laundry sitting in stinky piles all over bedrooms and utility room. Vauum sitting neglected in the hall closet. TV was left on, and dirty plates scattered around the living room instead of eating at the table... The list goes on and on..

However, the one act that took the cake happened the Sunday before they got home.

My brother and I are HUGE fans of boneless country-style cut barbecue ribs.

I've got a "secret" recipe that I break out at least once a year. The family literally waits every year for them, and I never get leftovers. They turn out delicious, and so tender that they fall apart before you can get them on your plate.

Add to this potatoes, and some kind of greens for those health-consious nuts, and you've got a perfect meal!

Well, because I had a job and income, I went and get a good size pack of ribs, and we set about to make ribs for ourselves.

During the cooking, I needed to add some barbecue sauce, because the basting didn't look "just right". While opening this sauce, I found out two things:

1. When air is trapped under a screw-top lid, the pressure doesn't release until the top's off again.

2. BBQ sauce flies much further than you'd think.

Yeah. It shot about four feet across the kitchen and splattered on my brother and the kitchen table.

Now this initial incident was a complete accident. I'm being totally honest here. I didn't intend for the sauce to shoot out, I didn't think of trying to splatter my brother with sauce for the fun of it, and I had no clue that there was air trapped in the bottle.

However, what followed became legendary for a few years to come.

Once my brother realized that he had sticky BBQ sauce on the side of his face and in his hair, he just _had_ to retaliate.

So, he calmly sauntered to the sink, and cleaned up, then surreptitiously opened the refrigerator, and grabbed the bottle of mustard.

I'll let you know that my mom insisted on keeping the ketchup and mustard in the restaurant bottles, so we had these little yellow and red squeeze bottles..

These made perfect "pistols" for condiments.

Yeah. We made a serious mess.

After about 15-20 minutes of mayhem, we calmed down.

That's when we started to look around, and notice the utter devestation that used to be the interior of our kitchen and dining room.

Ketchup, mustard and BBQ sauce over lights, on the ceiling, walls, pictures, carpets, hardwood floors, dog, fireplace, stove, etc...

It kind of looked like the inside of a "spin art" booth you can occasionally see at the fair, only not as pretty.

We spent the rest of the weekend cleaning up.

However, from time to time we'd come across another "strange" stain, and clean it up. When one of us would see the other, we'd fall into complete hysterics over it.

We finally came clean with them about two years ago, and my mom said something that I don't think I'll EVER forget:

"That explains the ketchup I found in the dishwasher! I wondered how it had gotten in there!"

Yeah.

Don't ask, just chuckle and enjoy!

Thursday Silliness

OK, I've been TOO serious these last couple of days, so I'm going to just play around, and see what happens...

Back in my High School days, I got a chance to tour the world for a while with a select international soccer team.

We first met in Denver, and practiced as a team for a week, then flew off to London. Once there, we were bussed to Liverpool, where our "home" field was going to be located.

There, we drilled with some of the world's leading soccer coaches, and learned quite a bit about what we DIDN'T know about the game.

Then came the exhibition matches.

First, we played at home. We lost. BIGTIME. can you say 8-1? Yeah, in soccer terms, that's a blowout.

Next, Arsenal. That one was closer, and we only lost 3-2. Still a pretty high-scoring game, but a good match.

Then London. This one we actually came out winning 1-0! We were stoked, and ready to face the world!

This turned out to be a good thing, because we then went on a MAJOR travel exposition, jumping from place to place.

From London, we went to Helsinki. Then to Olso, Berlin, Brussels, Paris, Geneva, Prague, Madrid, Rome, Athens, Jerusalem, Cairo, Johannesburg, Sydney, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seattle, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and Washington D.C.!

The only places we didn't go that I really wanted to see as well were the Central and South American countries such as Brazil, Mexico, Peru, Colombia, etc..

Anyway, I honestly LOVED the time we spent.

My favorite city? I'd have to say Prague. It was AMAZING.

The architecture, the music that was EVERYWHERE.. The history, all in one place.

Not only that, but it was so CLEAN for a large city.

Most of the other places I'd been to were quite dirty.

Paris? Ugh.

London? Stunk.

Rome? Don't get me started..

Athens? Crowded and dirty.

Cairo? In the middle of a desert. Need I say more?

Anyway, it was just amazing. Free time was available from time to time, and so we'd get in small groups and go sightseeing.

Geneva would have been nice to visit for a longer period of time, but we basically went in for the game, and then right back out so we could make the deadline for our Prague appointment...

Madrid wasn't too bad, but since I don't speak Spanish, it was kind of tough to find someone willing to speak with you!

Since that time, I've always wanted to go back, yet I haven't had the chance yet..

Maybe someday I'll be able to.

Until then, I'll live with the memories, and dream of what could be!

Happy Thursday!

2-Fer Tuesday.. Confession #2

Well, I'm going to let you all in on some history of who I am, and how I came to be.

I'm the oldest of two boys. My brother is 4 1/2 years younger than I am.

My parents are still married, and are headed for their 40th wedding anniversary pretty soon.

But I'm going to let you all know about something that I touched on in my earlier post.

I'm a liar.

Yes, that makes me a bad person, doesn't it?

If you think that, then you can stop reading now.

If you want to find out how I came to be this way, then feel free to read on.


Growing up, I was taken care of by my grandparents. Both of my parents worked full-time jobs, and usually put in TONS of overtime, so we didn't really get to see them much. I'd go to school, get out of school, head home, do homework, eat dinner, then get picked up by my mom and head home in time to take a bath or shower, and get to bed. I'd hardly ever see my dad when it wasn't a weekend.

Then the time came when my mom decided that I was going to be old enough to be home by myself. I was 10.

I was given a list of things that I was expected to do once I got home. Here's the list:

1. Start dinner. This was then to be ready to serve at 5. If it was later, spanking.
2. Start a load of laundry. Clothes needed to be washed daily. If fresh laundry wasn't done, spanking.
3. Clean the house. A literal white-glove test was done each night. Failure meant a spanking.
4. Vacuum. If there wasn't fresh tracks in the green shag carpet from my vacuuming of the house, a spanking would be forthcoming.
5. Clean dishes and empty out dish washer. Failure to comply will result in a spanking.
6. Homework. Any non-passing grade will result in severe penalties.
7. Shower - Quickly. Anything over 5 minutes spent in the shower will result in a spanking.
8. Bed.

This was my routine from the time I was in 5th grade. I'd get home, and make sure that dinner was ready and going. Then I'd run through the house, pick up all the laundry I could find, and start a load. Once that was done, I'd grab the Pledge and a rag and start wiping down each and every surface I could find. Then I'd grab and start vacuuming the carpets and floors. Once that was done, it was usually time for dinner. The table would be set, and we'd eat. Then i'd clean up the table, wash dishes, and put them away. That would then leave me just enough time to sit down at the table to do my homework, and get it finished. Once done, I'd jump into the shower, scrub, and get ready for bed.

I can't tell you how many times I was spanked, to be honest. Things like finding a line of dust on the coffee table because I was a bit careless, or a piece of crusted-on food that I couldn't get out of the crack of a tupperware lid (I still hate those things!), or one section of carpet that didn't look like it had been vacuumed.. All these things led to spankings.

Needless to say, I got used to them, and they didn't really faze me one I hit middle school.

Now at this point my mom was at a very stressful time in her career. She worked as a nurse, and the hospital that she'd been working at was bought out by the larger hospital in town. Because of this, she had to relocate her job, lost her seniority, and was busted down to "new hire" status.

This led her to come home at night in really foul moods.. Which she would then find an outlet in beating me.

However, because of my lack of response in getting spankings, she then resorted to more "creative" ways to punish me. Plus, she found more things for me to be responsible for.

I recall one time being beaten with the rolling pin she used to make bread and pie dough with..

I also remember the time I'd been told that I could go play with a friend, only to be told just after she got home that I was going to stay home. I argued, and then was knocked out. I found out later that she'd ripped the top off of a piano bench, and belted me alongside my head with it. This resulted in my being taken to the hospital to be treated for a concussion and minor skull fracture. My mom's explanation? I had been playing football in the street, and dove for a catch - hitting my head on the curb.

No questions were asked, because she was a fine upstanding member of the hospital, and it was an era of "don't ask, don't tell" as well.

Finally, I got my chance at freedom.

When starting High School, I found that I could get a job, if my parents signed a release form.

So, I took the form to my dad one weekend, and convinced him that I needed a job in order to pay my own way.

Once the dotted line was signed, I took it back to school, and got a release from them so that I could get work. Once I got my first three checks, I moved out of my parent's house.

I was VERY lucky in that I'd had an older friend who was willing to let me move in and stay with him. If not for that, I'm sure I would have been in some serious trouble. As it is, I still got into trouble, but I did manage to get through it all mostly in tact.

Yet because of the fact that I would get beaten for any failing, I developed a severe defense mechanism.

I'd lie.

I'd get asked questions, and I'd make up an answer to avoid a beating. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it failed MISERABLY. Other times, it was ignored.

Yet this behavior was more like a "fight or flight" response. Any time some kind of confrontational challenge was issued, the response was almost immediate. Lie. Make it good. Memorize it. Recall for later stories.

Now, I'm not excusing my behavior. There really should be no reason to lie.

However, in my defense, I honestly feel that some of my lies probably saved my life.

Those times when my mother would come into the house, and you could feel the anger, rage, frustration and overall peevishness of the day washing off of her like heat from a furnace - those were days to make up really REALLY good lies.

You might ask yourself where my dad was in all of this? Working.

My mom didn't try to leave bruises, and when there were bruises, well, I'm a growing overactive boy, and things do tend to leave marks.

So, if he wasn't there to observe it, it was my word against my mom's.. Who do you think he'd believe?

Exactly.

Now? I cope with my mom, and I still try to keep the lines of communication open. However, there are serious times at their home when I can feel trouble brewing, and it is at those times when I'll pack up the wife and kids, and head for the safety of home.

Do I still love her?

Yeah. Of course I do. She's my mom.

Do I accept what she did?

Absolutely not. There's no excuse for it.

This is also one more reason why I love my wife. Because she's helping me to learn to be a much better parent than I grew up learning from. Now? I can parent with love instead of discipline. I can discipline with moderation, not rage. And I can now say "I love you" to my kids without feeling semi-silly.

Anyway, that's my rant. I hope it didn't bore you. I'll have something less serious to talk about tomorrow!

Thursday's Ramble..

Well, time for the mind to just wander, and say what it wants.. Enjoy!

I don't think I've ever told anyone this, but I've got a confession to make.

I was the reason my brother got his first ticket.

And because of this ticket, it's also the reason he wasn't allowed to get his license back until he turned 18.

Now, I know that your interest is probably spiked a bit, so I'll tell you all the story.

My brother is 5 years (well 4 1/2 according to him!) younger than me.

I was "living the dream" with a driver's license and a car when I was in High School.

I had that beater of a '71 Super Beetle, and I drove the thing to death.

Then, I got into college, and things were even better.

No set schedules, papers were due, but it wasn't required to be at the class in order to commplete them, or turn them in, attendance wasn't an issue, only the work for the specific subject mattered.

So much different from High School. There, you HAD to be in the class. Attendance made up about 1/4 of the grade. Not only that, but the teachers there HAD to know more than you about the subject, so they really took offense if you pointed out something that was lacking in their teaching cirriculum.

In college? Nah. The professors and instructors LOVED the challenge of coming up with new ideas. Pushing the boundaries was accepted and desired. Showing up for class? Not so much. If you made it, you got to listen to the lecture, and learn. If you didn't, well.. I hope you know enough to make the grade for this or that paper..

Anyway, I ramble.

So, while in college, I got to pretty much party and play while getting classes done.

One of the biggest play things I did was to drive around town with friends.

We'd drive out and cut cookies at the local beach, or see who could make the longest skid mark in the parking lot, or jump (see my post on "The Jump") stuff in my car..

The time finally came around when my brother finally got his permit.

After that, it was a short time before he got his license.

And brag about it he did!

I was kind of offended when I found out that he was getting a car even before he'd gotten his permit, let alone before he could really afford one.

My grandpa had told my brother that once he got his license, he could have his Pickup for his first car.

Now, the rules I'd been given to be able to drive were this:

First, I had to have a 3.0 or better GPA.

Next, I had to work, and earn the cash for my car.

Then I had to make sure that I was able to afford the insurance and gas and maintenance for said car as well.


Now, I was able to do all these, and for my trouble, I got one hell of a beater car.

Sure, it was a decent car, and I drove it until the wheels (literally) fell off, but it was MY car.

Now, I was kind of pissed when I found out that my brother was going to be able to cut corners.

First off, my brother NEVER made his GPA above a 2.5. He just wasn't into school.

Secondly, he didn't even bother to look for a job until after he'd dropped out of high school, so earning the money didn't seem to apply here, either.

Because of the no job situation, I highly doubt that he was going to buy and maintain his insurance, gas, oil, or maintenance for said car.

Who then, footed the bill for this?

Yup. You guessed it.

My parents.

The same folks who demanded that I take pride and responsibility for my work and vehicle were the same ones who basically told my brother to run off, and have a good time with their investment.

Well, I decided to see how far that would stretch...

The day after my brother got his license, I invited him to come out to a gig my friends and I were at.

After the band closed for the night, we went over to another friend's house, and partied until about 4am.

Seeing a window of opportunity here, I challenged my brother to an across-town race.

First person back to the house we started from after making each point won.

Before we left, seven folks left to camp out at the points I named as being places you needed to get to.

Then, we waited until we got calls from said observers, and we picked passengers for our cars, and headed out to get started.

I picked a close friend to ride with me, and my brother picked his best friend to ride alongside him.

Now, as you'll recall, I was in a VW Bug, and my brother was driving a Pickup.

His truck was a 1968 Chevy 1/2 ton monster.

So, we're talking about a little 4 cylinder toy going up against a solid steel V-8 moving machine.

I was at a severe disadvantage.

So I decided to let the acceleration and cruising speed of my car make up the difference.

My brother's idea? Shadow me, and beat me to each checkpoint.

So, we took off. I had a great feel for the city, and the lights and locations.

The only real problem I had was that my brother was following, and could overpower my little car when it came down to the last few miles to the checkpoint.

So, I started messing with him.

I increased my speed, and started really challenging lights.

Yellow? Bah, don't pay attention.

Red?

If it's been red, slow down a little, and hope it changes. If it's just changed, ignore it, and keep going...

After the first couple of run red lights, my brother decided that I HAD to be cheating, and he was going to beat me at this game, too.

We were headed to the last checkpoint, and I was running my little car for all it was worth.

The speed limit? Oh, 30 MPH.

My speed? 60.

I thought I had this last one in the bag, and then easy sailing back to the house.

Then, it happened.

The monster FLEW past me.

I mean it.

According to his admission these many years later, he was going about 75-80 MPH..

Yup. In a 30 MPH zone he was going FAST.

Well, time came to make the turn, and I jumped into the turn lane, and made the correct turn.

My brother, screaming along just ahead of me, saw that I'd turned, and decided to make a hairpin turn while still moving at full speed.

This, combined with his non-use of the brake, set him into a power slide that sent him into the middle of a very busy intersection.

Not only that, but he'd ran the red light as well.

Right in front of two city police cruisers, and a sherrif's patrol car as well.

He hadn't seen them, and once he regained control, he flew down to catch me.

I spotted his headlights just behind me, and thinking quickly, doused my lights, and ran into a side alleyway.

Unbeknownst to me, this spared me from the same fate, as the Red and Blue lights came on, and proceeded to chase my brother.

Me, in a minor state of panic, thought that they were after BOTH of us, as there were THREE cruisers in pursuit, not one.

I ducked down alleyways, through back streets, and even cut through a yard hoping to ditch the cars before my friend told me that there was nobody behind us.

I then did what any stupid racing brother would do..

I went back to see what was going on with my brother.

Well, the three cars had pinned my brother's truck, and they were busy patting him down when I drove nonchalantly by to see what was happening.

My brother's friend was already cuffed an in one of the cars, and before I got too much further, they'd slapped the cuffs on him as well.

Knowing that he was going to squeal on me for also racing, I headed home, hoping to partially secure an alibi for where I'd been while he was out getting caught.

This was not to be, as the cops drove him and his friend directly to my house.

Needless to say, my parents WEREN'T thrilled with the idea of us racing, and the held me mostly responsible as I was the older brother, and shouldn't have goaded him into racing in the first place.

Well, after the small hearing, my brother got his license taken away until he turned 18, and he proceeded to make my life a living hell by getting a ride from me whenever he wanted by reminding me of this night.

To be honest? I don't think I'd change a thing.

Yeah, I got in trouble, and I could have killed us both..

But damn, it was fun!

This one time, on the East Coast..

Time for some recollection!

I used to be in the Navy, and I LOVED every minute of it.

I mean, where else were you overpaid to do a job even a trained monkey could do, and get free room and board for it as well??

I made HUGE bank (I still have a hefty savings account that I keep for emergencies!), I got TONS of exercise, and was my most physically fit while in the service, and I was kept current with all my medical and dental work while there.

Granted, some stuff was more interesting than others. I know that Boot Camp stories abound. The tear gas training, the marching endlessly, the incessant drilling, the mean COs, and all that.

This is about my schooling afterwards, before I got assigned my first true duty station.

I was assigned to subs, and not only submarines, but I was also designated a "Nuke" because of my ASFAB scores.

This meant some serious school, and some serious cash!

My first school? Orlando.

Now, Basic Training was done in Great Lakes, and it was DAMN cold when I went.

Not only that, but the only females I got to see the entire time I was in Boot were the two nurses, and one food server in the mess hall. Everyone else was MALE.

Imagine how surprised I was to show up for my schooling in Orlando, and find out that not only were there women there, but my entire class was co-ed?

HEAVEN.

Sure, it was a distraction, but it was heavenly!

Sadly, the classes only lasted three weeks, and then we were shipped off to Sub school training.

Where else would this be located than in the gran location of..

Groton, Connecticut.

Where? You ask?

Groton. As I described it to my folks, "The armpit of America".

It stunk. It was dingy. There were WAY too many lifer folks here, and they didn't seem to care about who came and went, as long as it didn't affect their lifestyle.

Not only that, but it was directly across the bay from Manhatten, and at night you couldn't really get much sleep because of the lights coming off the island! It was like being so close to reality, but yet only glimpsing occasional flashes of sanity..

Anyway, the best part about the sub school was as follows:

One day, while we were learning about patching burst piping, we got a notice.

Apparently the SEAL team that nobody was supposed to know was stationed at our base was going to perform a "terrorist drill" where they were going to try to take over operations, and see how long it would take.

This then lead to a huge debate and betting pool. Most of us were undecided. I mean, there were plenty of objectives that you could take, the problem was deciding which ones to go for first.

There were the shipyards. The commisary, the officer's quarters, the enlisted quarters, and off-base housing.

Now, in my opinion, I thought that they'd take the shipyard first, then head over to the com, and take the naval offices there. Once done, they'd drop the officers, and then deal with noncoms and offbase housing.

I was so close, it really scared me.

However, I was WAY off base.

Here's how it went down.

First, they all smuggled into the base by posing as photographers and reporters.

One group (two guys) took down the entire officers quarters (300 men) with only 3 casualties in the entire exchange.

Another group was able to take out the noncoms by locking down the entire complex with a false alarm fire drill.

Another group took the naval offices and commisary just by capturing the SP (Shore Patrol) *aka naval police* and having them shut the entire area down.

And the last group took the shipyards by taking down the admiral in command, and getting the shutdown codes.

This all took exactly 13 minutes from when they got on base.

Now, this scared me, but I also realized something.

One, they knew the layout, knew the site, and knew operational proceedures.

Two, they had inside knowledge of guard rotations, and patrol areas.

Three, they were known faces, and familiar sights around the base.

Granted, if everyone had known what kind of operatives they were, I'm sure the strike would have taken longer.. maybe 20 minutes instead of 13!

But the best part about this whole exercise happened afterwards.

Because once a team achieves an objective, they party.

And I do mean PARTY!

Drinks flew fast and furious, and the dancing and cavorting went WILD.

Unfortunately, I had to stand guard duty early that morning on a cruiser that had come into the yard, so I begged out early that night.

I wasn't to be disappointed.

Some of the crew went out for their first night of play since getting back into base, and they fell into the SEAL party.

Now, standing guard on a ship means that you're armed, and you make sure all duty personnel ID themselves, and follow proper proceedure before getting on board a ship. This means showing ID, saluting the guard, saluting the flag, and boarding the ship.

One group of guys came back around 3am from tying one on with the team. There were four of them there, and they were so drunk, I was starting to get a bit of a contact buzz from just their breath.

The first one showed his ID, saluted me, then the flag, and boarded. The rest followed suit. The fun followed right afterwards.

The cruiser I was on had what is called a "breezeway" between the command decks. As you entered, there was an open space that went from one side to the other. On the opposite side of the ship was the gangway for the Captain's Sloop. This is the personal boat that the captain of the boat can use to go ashore at any given time. While at dock, the boat is removed, and the gangway sits empty.

Well, these fellas were a bit worse for wear, and proceeded to walk straight through the breezeay, and through the gangway, and down into the harbor water!

Now, we in the service call harbor water "sludge stew" because of all the different stuff you find floating in it.. Garbage, cigarette butts, dead fish, oil, diesel leakage, etc..

These boys got a FULL dose of it, and I couldn't leave my station to help.

So, I had to follow orders, and call the Master at Arms to come get them out.

Come to find out that not only are they drunk, but one was a bit high as well!

Anyway, it was fun to see some guys get stupid and drunk, and also fun to know that I'm not the only one who has a serious coordination problem when I've been out partying too much!

Anyway, hope you liked the story, and I'll tell more some other time!

look for me again tomorrow!

Teen escapades

Time for a trip back in history, to when I was a senior in high school, and getting in TONS of mischief!

My last month of high school seemed so full of things that I did that should have either killed me, sent me to prison, or at the very least left indelible marks on my person.

I'll tell you about one of them..

My first car was a 1971 Volkswagon Super Beetle. It was painted bright orange, so that the rust wasn't easily visible. The heaters worked.. ALL THE TIME.. And one headlight would never stay adjusted right.

This car became a rolling ball of fun that year, as me and my friends would use it to regularly get into all sorts of teen mischief.

On this particular night, we'd decided that we (all 10 of us) were going to go out and "cut cookies" in as many school fields as we could find.

The night started out ominously. I went and picked up all 10 of my buddies, and they piled like sardines in the back of my VW Bug.

For those not familiar with the "Bug", it seats 4, but very uncomfortably. Now imagine two 6' tall guys in the front seats, and 9 guys piles like firewood in the back of this little tin can. (I'd made the modification so that my back seat would fold down flat, and make a type of cargo bed if needed).

Anyway, on our way to pick up some more vehicles, I was pulled over by one of our city's finest.

Everyone was in shock. They didn't know what was going to happen, and they for sure thought we were busted before the night could begin, and confession to potential mayhem to the parents now seemed to be an inevitable conclusion to this night.

However, my cool head prevailed, and I took charge.

"What are you boys doing out this late at night?" the officer asked me.

"My brother and his friends were over at my house this evening, and I'd told their parents that I'd bring them home before 10. As you can see, I fell asleep, and I'm trying to hurry to get them home before they or I get in any more trouble, officer!" I responded in my panicky big-brother voice. (The panic didn't have to be faked, I nearly pooped myself when I'd seen his overhead lights)

I and my passengers got the fish-eye from the officer, and then he handed my ID and info back.

"Get them home, and stay out of trouble" he admonished me. Little did he know how much trouble we'd get into that night.

Promising my eternal diligence, I put the car back into gear, and headed to the first destination.

Three kids got out, and one truck was picked up from a parent's workplace.

Next stop, four more kids and a suburban were acquired.

Now we had three cars, all pretty full, and kids just raring for some mischief.

The town I grew up in is pretty small. However, there are quite a few gradeschools and city parks spead throughout the area. These then became our targets.

My little machine was the pick of the litter for this, as I could drive it up a wheelchair access with no difficulty. Because of this, I was able to get into parks that nobody else could.

I ran bases around baseball diamonds with my car.

I created 25 foot long turf tears trying to create the longest skid.

And I nearly killed us all when running the bases once, I hit the grass outfield, and flipped the car onto two wheels for what seemed like an eternity.

The guys still talk about that one.

But the one thing they always remember is... The Jump.

Near the end of the night, we were headed back to my house to get some drinks, and plan the next night. While on the road home, I noticed a road that joined onto mine that had to come up at least 3 feet before it could join the pavement.

Harps rang, and angels sang when I saw the potential in this one intersection.

I grabbed the maglite that I kept in my glovebox, and asked who was going to "stand watch" at the intersection while I jumped the road.

At first, I didn't get any volunteers, because EVERYONE wanted to go.

Then, when I informed them that I could only take three at a time, in order not to weigh down the car, they drew straws. This also meant that I would be jumping this three times.

The first jump, I only got a 20 foot start. it was decent. Wheels came off the pavement, the landing was a bit rough, but all in all, a good start.

First group climbs out, next group piles in.

For the second jump, I got the car up to about 45 miles an hour. Good takeoff, decent landing, and everyone had a great time pretending to be one of the actors right out of "The Dukes of Hazzard".

Exit group two, enter group three.

For my final jump, I pulled back about 180 feet. I gunned it, and was doing about 80 miles an hour when I hit the jump.

Now, two things occurred to me when I hit the jump the last time.

One, the last group was made up of older and heavier guys.

Two, I hit the jump a bit crooked.

We LAUNCHED.

There is no better way to describe it. If you've seen Top Gun, and the way the catapults shoot the jets off that aircraft carrier, then you know what the Bug looked like taking off from this last jump.

Now, with there being heavier guys in the car, it did something I hadn't dealt with before.. It started to tilt to the heavier side while in the air.

Add to that the complication of being turned a bit when we took off, and you've got a car that's leaning and tilting, and not coming in at a good angle for landing in one piece.

Not only that, but we'd drifted a bit, and we were headed directly for a concrete fountain and pond in someone's front yard.

I held on for dear life, while everyone else just screamed at the top of their lungs.

Luckily for us all, when the car hit, the tires caught, and I was able to turn us away from the fountain while digging a 15 foot furrow in the yard.

Needless to say, I had to spend the next two weeks working on the suspension, in order to clear all the grass and dirt out of the undercarriage, and replace a spring that had broken. But I had accomplished something that night.

Complete infamy in the memories of the fellows who went with me.

It never fails to come up in conversation when I meet one of those guys, even if it has been nearly 20 years since this happened. I think it lives on forever fresh and frightening to know how close we came to making an indelible mark on our lives.

Ah, young boys and their escapades!

My only hope is that my boys don't learn about this, so that I can at least retire without having a heart attack!