They said it, not me
The other day as I was driving home from church with my sons, my eldest boy, Wesley, was trying to teach my middle son, Luke, how to say “hasta la vista.”
I don’t know how they got started on that, but Luke was having a ball yanking Wesley’s chain by not being able to say it right. He kept messing it up and poor Wesley was becoming increasingly frustrated.
Finally, Wesley blurted out, “Luke, you just wouldn’t cut it in France!”
My kids are a great source of entertainment like that. Just a couple days earlier, my youngest son, Colton, and I were talking while waiting at the Toyota Center for the Lipizzaner Stallion show to begin. He said his mouth “tasted bad.”
I jokingly asked him if it tasted like boogers.
“Only the white ones,” he replied in all seriousness.
I didn’t know my youngster was a booger connoisseur. I really didn’t want to know how he knew the difference in taste of his various nasal discharges.
That little incident reminded me of a time back when “Finding Nemo” was in the theaters. I asked my daughter, Heather, if she knew what Mount Wannahockaloogie was and what it meant. She demurred a bit and finally said “I think it has something to do with spitting.”
“Bingo! To hock a loogie means to spit really hard,” I said.
Heather looked at me with her blue eyes wide open in amazement under her mane of blonde hair and said, “Wow, I didn’t know you could speak Australian!”
Heady stuff
Well, for those of you who recall my hat dilemma from a couple weeks ago, I finally broke down and started wearing my cowboy hat to work. I don’t know if that will become a regular practice or not, but I figure I’ll give it a try and see how it goes. One of the problems I forgot about is that I’m prone to getting nasty cases of hat hair.
I got my hair cut really short recently, so it’s not so bad. But a month or so from now could be a much different story. Still, as several friends reminded me, this is Texas and it is Houston Rodeo season. If I can’t wear my cowboy hat here and now, I’ll never be able to wear it anywhere.
Engine 6515
When I was a boy back in Niwot, Colo., in the late 1970s, my friend David and I were out walking along the train tracks and we came across a train that was stopped. The elderly engineer hollered at us to come over and he invited us onboard for a tour of the engine. He spent several minutes showing us the different parts, levers and knobs and even let us blow the whistle. I always thought that was really cool. I mean, how many boys only get to dream about blowing the train whistle?
After our visit, we hopped back down and the engineer found and old golf ball on the ground that he handed to me as a “souvenir.” When I got home, I got out a black marker and wrote the train number – 6515 – on the ball. I kept that ball for years and haven’t seen it since I left home for college.
But for all these years, every time a green Burlington & Northern train went by, I would always look for No. 6515. I only saw it once after that. It was a fleeting glimpse as it roared past Niwot a couple weeks later.
Flash forward to last month and after listening to numerous trains rumble through town, I got curious as to the fate of old No. 6515. It finally occurred to me that I could simply Google it. I did. I found a couple nice pictures of it on some train enthusiast’s Website. I also learned that back in the ’90s the old gal was sold and scrapped.
I guess I can stop searching the numbers of trains as they pass by. But I doubt I will. It would be too much like losing another piece of my childhood.
I don’t know how they got started on that, but Luke was having a ball yanking Wesley’s chain by not being able to say it right. He kept messing it up and poor Wesley was becoming increasingly frustrated.
Finally, Wesley blurted out, “Luke, you just wouldn’t cut it in France!”
My kids are a great source of entertainment like that. Just a couple days earlier, my youngest son, Colton, and I were talking while waiting at the Toyota Center for the Lipizzaner Stallion show to begin. He said his mouth “tasted bad.”
I jokingly asked him if it tasted like boogers.
“Only the white ones,” he replied in all seriousness.
I didn’t know my youngster was a booger connoisseur. I really didn’t want to know how he knew the difference in taste of his various nasal discharges.
That little incident reminded me of a time back when “Finding Nemo” was in the theaters. I asked my daughter, Heather, if she knew what Mount Wannahockaloogie was and what it meant. She demurred a bit and finally said “I think it has something to do with spitting.”
“Bingo! To hock a loogie means to spit really hard,” I said.
Heather looked at me with her blue eyes wide open in amazement under her mane of blonde hair and said, “Wow, I didn’t know you could speak Australian!”
Heady stuff
Well, for those of you who recall my hat dilemma from a couple weeks ago, I finally broke down and started wearing my cowboy hat to work. I don’t know if that will become a regular practice or not, but I figure I’ll give it a try and see how it goes. One of the problems I forgot about is that I’m prone to getting nasty cases of hat hair.
I got my hair cut really short recently, so it’s not so bad. But a month or so from now could be a much different story. Still, as several friends reminded me, this is Texas and it is Houston Rodeo season. If I can’t wear my cowboy hat here and now, I’ll never be able to wear it anywhere.
Engine 6515
When I was a boy back in Niwot, Colo., in the late 1970s, my friend David and I were out walking along the train tracks and we came across a train that was stopped. The elderly engineer hollered at us to come over and he invited us onboard for a tour of the engine. He spent several minutes showing us the different parts, levers and knobs and even let us blow the whistle. I always thought that was really cool. I mean, how many boys only get to dream about blowing the train whistle?
After our visit, we hopped back down and the engineer found and old golf ball on the ground that he handed to me as a “souvenir.” When I got home, I got out a black marker and wrote the train number – 6515 – on the ball. I kept that ball for years and haven’t seen it since I left home for college.
But for all these years, every time a green Burlington & Northern train went by, I would always look for No. 6515. I only saw it once after that. It was a fleeting glimpse as it roared past Niwot a couple weeks later.
Flash forward to last month and after listening to numerous trains rumble through town, I got curious as to the fate of old No. 6515. It finally occurred to me that I could simply Google it. I did. I found a couple nice pictures of it on some train enthusiast’s Website. I also learned that back in the ’90s the old gal was sold and scrapped.
I guess I can stop searching the numbers of trains as they pass by. But I doubt I will. It would be too much like losing another piece of my childhood.
posted by Joe Southern | 9:37 AM
1 Comments:
in reference to your childhood....I had an assigment to review all the music of my life for an essay of about a thousand words. Found lots of old songs that I hadn't heard in a long time and somehow still know the words to. The Monkees and the Bay City Rollers are still on my list and hopefully still on yours too. So make yourself a "Life's Playlist" project and fill up your mp3 player or ipod with it.
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