Happy Jack

Of all the pictures we had taken at J.C. Penney, this was my favorite. It was the one that they put in The Post Register after they chose him to be Mr. February.

Whenever Jack sees this picture, the response is the same, especially after I told him I was giving him raspberries on his foot. "Silly Pop Pop!" His voice is low, a wide smile appears and his eyes sparkle.

When Jack and Tommy were just little, Ann found Chicago Blackhawk outfits for both of them on the Internet. I always wore my jersey. And without exception, it was what I had on when I took exchange students to Germany the first and last days on the way to the airport. It made me easy to keep track of as rural youth made their way through busy airports.

One woman waiting for a plane in Salt Lake City or Chicago laughed out loud when she saw me leading my troops wearing the bold red shirt and brandishing a pair of long shorts in my--what Cles once called them--linebacker legs. The woman's reaction was not derision. She just found the whole scene interesting. But maybe it was derision, and maybe she wondered about the sanity of a fifty-year-old man dressed like I was, regardless of how practical I found it.

This picture shows both "my boys" in their Chicago Blackhawk jerseys. Sometimes people ask me when I wear mine if I am a hockey fan. I disappoint them immediately when I tell them I just like the shirt. As long as I have owned Blackhawk jerseys, I have never watched them once. I just like how they look, and I especially liked how they looked on my grandsons.

They were so much fun, and they still are. People never realize how much fun grandchildren are. I always laugh when someone tells me how children under the age of two can not or really should not appreciate Disneyland.

Both boys spent days there at the park when they were tiny, and they loved it then as much as they do now. It makes it difficult to ride the "thrill" rides, and to a certain extent, it is a disadvantage, but I enjoy riding with them on the little rides at Fantasyland as much as anything else, even if it takes the jaws of life to pry me out of the car at the end of the ride. Getting in and out of some of those cars is difficult with my two bad knees, my hip and not to mention some of the other problems.

I always like telling TSA officials at the airport about my hip. "Have you heard about the old video Buns of Steel? I have buns of titanium." It once at least amounted to a smile, but few of them see humor in anything any more. I have always wanted to know how former Hitler Youth can remain so young for so long.

In regards to riding thrill rides at Disneyland, I had had back problems for several months a few years ago, and while at Disneyland, Ann and I decided--for whatever bizarre reason under the circumstances--to ride the Indiana Jones ride. On the first curve I felt a series of pops work down my spine. The little crackling noises were just like the sounds my knuckles once made when I would "crack" them to annoy adults. I found the ride a benefit. It was much more fun to a trip to a chiropractor, and no chickens had to be sacrificed. And I didn't have to suffer any jolts of electricity. I figure I should be able to deduct Disney trips, if a medical deduction ever becomes a reality on my taxes.

When the boys were three or four, Jeff was doing some of his doctor things with a Dr. Nathan in Idaho Falls. We had done some Christmas shopping, and while in Sam's Club, I spotted a Bachmann train set. It was one of the large ones and designed as a holiday set. I put it in the cart. Tommy was so excited in the store that his little body trembled.

"Toot, toot!" He said the words all the way to the checkstand, and Jack helped too. "All aboard," he shouted repeatedly.

When I tried to put the train together the next day, it was impossible. Every time I would begin putting track together, two sets of little hands were trying to pry the huge train cars from their styrofoam protection. Finally Lydia put them on my back, and that is how we put the train together that year.

The next picture shows "my boys" playing in the curtains at Hotel California at the park at Disneyland. They were still just learning to take a few steps, so they would stand at the window, cover themselves in the white and green material, and then play peek-a-boo with each other, each time giggling and laughing so hard that they sometimes fell to the ground.

When Jack was very small, one way I could get him to stop crying or to relax was to pay my Native American flute. It was amazing how fascinated he was with it and how much he enjoyed listening to it.

I did that the first time when he was only a few weeks old. When I mentioned it to him a short time ago, he had forgotten about my doing that. After seeing tiny hands reaching for one of my flutes in my closet a few years ago, I locked them in the safe. Each flute is hand-carved, and most cost several hundred dollars. It was stupid to put them away, regardless how much they cost.

Lydia and Jeff sent Jack this shirt when they visited Hersey, Pennsylvania. He always loved his chocolate "T." Jack was trying to scare the picture taker here.