Enjoying the Moment

What's sad about the human condition is how many times we ignore the opportunity to bask in the moment. I can't answer for everyone, but I find myself wallowing in nostalgic memories of a past that somehow seems so much more pleasing.

But it's easy to do that in this picture. Cles is in eighth grade. We've lived in Idaho Falls long enough to call it home.

Rigby School district recruited me, and I joined the ranks of their high school after teaching one year at Bonneville High. I began with a small number of German students in a failing program, and in one year, I doubled its size, although I fought some nasty political moves by a department chair and Spanish teacher, who didn't really help as much as he promised to do initially.

He failed to tell me when the night arrived to recruit students from the junior high. That move alienated me from him, because it cost me dearly in the next year. He fought against my getting a German class at the junior high. That move changed daily, and I called to ensure that the district actually did it, but it took me calling every day to undo what he did within hours of my call. They eventually had the offering the next year, but it was a fight.

But in spite of every political move he accomplished, I still doubled had twice as many students the next year, but the politics appeared again. An administrator showed me how my department chair refused to give me extra classes to expand the program. They just filled more seats in classes that were already very full.

After taking the Bonneville High group to Germany, the district manager did not do my direct deposit correctly, so when I returned from Germany with all the expenses I always had on my account from doing that service for students, I found my personal bank account thousands of dollars in the red.

I called the district office, and the man was obtuse. It's a word I can use that isn't offensive, although I know many euphemisms I could use to describe that miserable man. He told me that he would fix the situation in four weeks or more. The account was already almost three dollars in the red, due to his mistake.

I was angry, and I told the man, that I would be at his office in ten minutes to get a check to take to my bank in Malad. I arrived a bit sooner than that, but the check was there, and he was intelligent enough not to be any where near that check when I picked it up that day.

Upon arriving home on that summer day, the phone rang. It was a call from Jefferson County School District, who wanted to interview me the next day. I took the job minutes after the interview, and in the first year, I went from 30 students to over 160.

The district office kept their promises to allow me to offer a full schedule of German classes. The English Department Chair was upset, because he wanted me teaching classes. I had an MA in English, and he very much liked what I did, but I wanted to teach German.

The picture shows these moments. It's an example why I often ignore the present. It was easy to hope for a future when I would accomplish the goal of teaching only German, since it was something I had wanted in over a decade, but school politics never allowed it. Either a department chair or a building principal or school board members always chose to make it impossible. It's easy to think about the future.

But this picture shows our family. My dad took the picture, and within two years, his cancer would return, and in February of 1991, he would be only a pleasant memory of a friend who was no longer there for me to call or to visit or to help on weekends or summers at the ranch. And our children were still small. It was a time when I would loved to have had the chance to enjoy the moment--helping Cles with learning how to play football, or watching Lydia develop a sense of confidence in herself, or seeing Kristin develop an incredible singing voice. Each of my own little ones had these incredible gifts, and I never had the time to enjoy it.

After my dad's passing in 1991, my grandmother, who is also in the picture, pleaded for me to drive to Ogden to make another visit. I told her I would do it after our German exchange that year.

Our plane took off in horrible weather in the summer of '91. We landed in Salt Lake surrounded by clouds. The pilot set the plane down very roughly. My heart pounded in my throat.

Oddly enough, I had worried about a problem that year. My grandmother had worried too, and when I called her, she had sensed that things on that trip were beginning with a rough start because of dangerous weather conditions. I called her in Salt Lake, just after deplaning and arriving at our gate.

My grandmother cried, something I only experienced once in my life. I was a bit older than three, and my grandfather had passed away, and at the next family dinner at grandma's house, I as downstairs. In dreams, my grandfather would appear to me and talk to me in the night.

In my child's mind, I knew he was in his house. I made a search that day when I was still a toddler, when my grandmother asked me what I was doing downstairs, I told her about my search for my grandpa. I made her cry.

And now I heard it again on the phone. Within two weeks, my grandmother was in a car accident, which threw her from the car. She rolled down the asphalt pavement, and grandma's injuries included brain stem damage. At the emergency room, she had to be resuscitated, which was a mistake, because that call at the beginning of my trip would be the last time to talk with my grandmother.

The picture at the top of the page was a great day. Dad was there. My grandmother was there, and my children were home and young and all doing very well. We had so much, even though we had the typical worries about work, about the mortgage, about other "little things." It was a great day.

Tommy's Early Years

This was fun to see. It's an advantage to take a look at the pictures my Annie has on her laptop, because I've never seen many of them.

My guess is that Ann found some pictures that Lydia had on file while she was in Minnesota in January.

I remember Ann saying that she had some things on her laptop, but these are truly fun to see.

It's sad that we didn't take more pictures of our own children when they were small like this, but even more tragic is the fact that I don't have photographs of when Ann and I were this age. Digital cameras have changed society. You don't have to wait to have pictures "developed."

But I do miss some of those bulky things we used to take pictures in those early days.

Princess Binky

This reminds me of the years immediately after 2006, when we spent so much time at Disneyland. We had Premium Passes, so the trip was very inexpensive for us. We would leave from Idaho Falls and drive as far as possible, usually at least as far as Vegas.

On most trips, we would try to leave early enough to arrive in California in the late evening.

When we found the Ontario exit, we would call Lydia. The drive was only a brief five or ten minutes away at that point.

Lydia would be standing on the side walk at the edge of the parking lot, just outside the apartment. Holding Anna in her arms, Tommy would stand at her side and hold her hand. As soon as Tommy spotted us, he would begin jumping up and down. It was always a great moment.

Jack and Tommy and Sledding

This was a fun day for the two little boys, although Uncle Cles had a good time with them too.

Jack and Tommy had coaxed to go sledding, and finally it was warm enough to go, at least for anyone under the age of 35.

Pop Pop just isn't a winter sport enthusiast, even as much as he lives his grandchildren.

After packing everything and making the preparations to go, everyone took off for a short day of fun.

It was a typical winter day, sunny and then suddenly cold, gray and dismal. But the boys were so excited.

Everyone had a turn at going down with one of the boys or both. Jack and Tommy loved it. It's funny how little ones don't understand why adults hate the cold. Jack and Tommy are so young and alive. Their little bodies are so full of energy, that the snow practically melts when they step from the car. Both little boys were so excited.

Then as quickly as the fun began, it was finished and time to go home.

Tommy's First Easter Egg Hunt

Lydia developed this picture in June of '05, but I'm pretty sure it was from things they did with Tommy for Easter in 2005.

As I remember, they were in California at the time, and although this was the time when I emerged from the second bout with the whole chemotherapy thing, it was still a magical year.

It's funny how some good things happen, in spite of a lot of negative events.

Jeff worked with a doctor near LA, who was impossible. I'm proud of him and the way he works with people. I would have been in prison, given some of the things that doctor did while they were in California.

Lydia and Jeff lived in Ontario, and it was a glorious time in one way, we bought our first Disney Premium Pass, and it was the beginning of a beautiful series of days at Disneyland during the next two years.

The Beginning of My New Life

This picture of Tommy was at Justin and Jen Brennon's house in Temecula, California.

Lydia dated this picture with some notes--the beginning of July '03. This was a strange time.

During that year, we hosted our second group from Stuttgart, Germany.

The exchange had some strange problems, and I don't choose to talk about those specifically, but it was enough to make me consider what would happen while in Germany.

I can discuss one aspect. We had at least five or six Islamic students in the group, and one was not friendly toward Americans at all. The young man had an interesting attitude about the whole thing, considering that he was a guest. Another girl from the former Yugoslavia, had an interesting way to make a bit of extra spending money in the parking lot of the school. My friend informed me after the group returned home.

The German teacher had told me that he was shocked how much money she seemed to have, because her parents immigrated to Germany to escape the effects of unstable conditions in the Balkans. It was an embarrassment to me.

My group had its share of problems too. I dropped one young student, telling her that she should wait until the next exchange. The war in Iraq happened that year, so given the problems I had determined, I knew it would be even more complicated in Germany.

The previous exchange took place during the summer before the destruction of the Twin Towers in New York City, and while we were in Germany, we cashed checks one day at an American Express place in downtown Stuttgart. While there, a group of six or seven Islamic males sent large amounts of money to Canada. After the tragedy in New York, I contacted officials immediately, but they told me that they had already been aware of the problem with those men that day.

I felt uneasy in '03, just before the end of the school year. Considering everything that worried me, I called the group--both parents and students--in the early spring and cancelled the excursion. I just felt uneasy about it, and I always go by my feelings in things like this.

There were parents that were very angry about the whole thing, even though my decision was sound. I placed my concerns before them, and I told them that I would not take the risk. We made plans to go the next year, and I promised them that I would do it.

After school, I went to a doctor. I had not been feeling well, and I had had some trouble with my right hip. Ann went with me to the appointment. When I said that I wanted to wait for surgery, the doctor said something interesting: "You must not be in enough pain yet."

I had been in pain. It didn't take long. Ann usually doesn't insist on much, but she did in this case. The operation was set for July 2, 2003, which is the day of my dad's birthday.

The uneasiness didn't stop. I really felt uneasy. I didn't think I would survive the thing.

Lydia and Jeff were in town about that time, and they planned to have the baby blessed in church in early July. I was unable to attend, because I was still in the hospital.

Everything seemed to be alright, but then at the end of the month, while Ann was presenting at a conference in Boise called Edufest, I developed clots in my right leg and lungs. It was actually a miracle that I survived the clots.

They admitted me into the hospital, and while there, doctors determined that I had a very aggressive form of leukemia--AML. My oncologist told me to get my life in order, because the chances of survival were less than 25%. He gave me six months.

Chemotherapy began in August. I missed the next two trimesters of school, returning in March of '04 for the last trimester.

Squiggling a Nose

When Tommy was this age, he would look at us, shut his eyes and wrinkle his nose. I don't remember the reasons why, even if there was one or more reasons, but I do remember how it made us laugh.

This is a picture I've looked to find, but it was no to be found, until I started looking through boxes of things we were sorting.

In the act of dejunking, this is one of those treasures you find mixed in with all the rest. Lydia took the picture, tried to get Anna to do like Tommy, but Anna just smiled her smile that only our little Sweetie can do.

This time, however, she did it with her eyes open and without sticking out her tongue.

"Why does she do that?" Lydia asked me that once when we are at Disneyland.

I don't remember the answer I gave, but I figure you enjoy the cute as long as you can.

If I did this, people would think I was suffering from some sort of dementia or something. Little ones can do it.

You just have to enjoy the moment.

With Tommy, it was the squiggly nose thing.

He tried it here, but Idaho Falls is just too cold. You can't feel your nose any more than any other of the five digits on your hands or toes, which explains why drivers are less obscene when they drive during 11 months of the year.

In August, when spring arrives, you have to be careful, if you're the sensitive sort.

The squiggly nose thing was something I loved doing with Tommy.

The Jailbreak

It's funny how things change when you grow older. The first time I heard Bob Dylan was in '66, and I heard the song "I Want You" on the radio. I hated it, and things stayed that way until the 80's when I discovered how much I loved to listen to his music. Hearing his voice became something that drove me to hear him live twice, once in Berlin in '85 and once in Pocatello in the late 90's.

When it came to cars, something changed too. My grandmother owned a '56 Buick Century. The car had a huge engine, with over 4oo horsepower, at least that's what I remember my dad saying. It only could get 5 miles per gallon, and grandma couldn't keep mufflers on it, so we had straight "pipes" installed. You could hear it for at least five city blocks. In fact, at a scout meeting in the old Malad Stake House, we met to get ready for a jamboree to be held in Northern Idaho in the 60's.

I heard my dad start the engine and drive to the church building. When I told me friends after first hearing it, they didn't believe me. Then dad appeared just minutes later. They thought it was funny I could recognize the sound, but the loud roar embarrassed me.

Then came the teenage years. I would have given anything to have my hands on that car, but the transmission was gone by then, yet had I known then what I know now, I would have had it repaired and driven it when I was in high school.

I still wish I had that car or one like it.

I was 16 when I first starting going with my father for church visits to families in our Ward. For those who know nothing about my church, they call it home teaching.

In the picture at the right, I was 18, which was two years later than the story I'm telling, but I was the same size. I grew early and then stopped growing, until I was in my late 40's. Then I really grew.

Dad and I did a lot of manual labor, so we were both strong and very good sized.

For that home teaching visit, dad and I were in the '56 Buick. We stop outside the house of a older widow and her older daughter who also lived with her. After walking to the door and ringing the door bell, the 80-year-old woman answers, looks at dad and then me, slams the door, and through the large window at the top of the door, we see her crawl on her hands and knees toward the rear of the house.

My dad looks at me. "What in the world?" he asked. Actually I think I particularly remember dad saying "What the hell," but since I'm talking about our church assignment, I'll stick to the other.

We returned to the car and drove home.

My dad was a clerk for the bishop in the Second Ward in Malad, and he told him what had happened. Four months later, the elderly lady enters the Bishop's office on a Sunday morning and says, "Bishop, I'll have you know that we have not had Home Teachers for over four months."

Bishop Max King smiles. "Jon," he says to my dad, what do you think of that?"

Dad looks at the lady. "I'll have you know that you slammed the door and crawled on your hands and knees across the floor."

The older woman was stunned. "Was that you? Why we had heard that there was a prison break at the Utah State Penitentiary, and we thought two convicts had appeared on our door.

For years, we laughed whenever my dad told that story.

It's All About The Ride

When I was very young, my parents owned a light blue Delta 88 Oldsmobile. It was like this one, but the color was a sky blue. It was a classic 50's model: the tail light looked like the bottom of a rocket engine, from which--if turned to the side--the gas cap appeared to put ethyl or the highest grade of gasoline into the tank; the front bumpers were chrome, and the appearance was sleek.

It had a push button automatic transmission, which also led to disaster, because while sitting with my dad riding in the car in the front seat, I pushed the button for park. We were driving on the highway at the time--not the best for any transmission.

Since the car looked like a rocket, and since I also often enjoyed watching Flash Gordon on Saturday mornings, I would wait for the drive home on the highway at night. From the backseat, I would quietly crawl up and lie down across the back window ledge.

It was fun. I imagined flying through space and fighting with Ming the Magnificent, and gazed at the stars in the night sky. My dad didn't share my enthusiasm. It only happened twice.

And I understand it now too. My dad was worried, since I was at that time in the first or second grade, that I lying against that window would push it out and send me out the back over the trunk to roll down the highway. After breaking to a desperate stop twice, my father convinced me that I was never to do that again.

My grandsons are the same way. Their play involves much with imagination, and even if it has nothing to do with Flash Gordon, they still do fun things.

In this picture, Tommy waits for an interesting ride in a stroller. And when he stayed with us in Idaho Falls, Jack and Tommy played different things like this all day.

That also included when we were in the car.

Jack still imagines riding across the universe in an X-wing fighter. I whistle to imitate R2-D2 sounds, and he has me program the hyperdrive. Occasionally I become a Clone Trooper, from a time when they weren't bad guys, and sometimes I am Yoda, since I do a pretty good imitation of that too, as long as I don't do my joke. "You want, you should pull my finger, hmmmm." Grandma doesn't like me teaching something like that to Jack, and I agree. But I keep telling her that it's an opportunity to teach Jack about critical thinking as he considers the whole thing regarding cause and effect.

Returning home from The Hill Air Force Base Air and Space Museum, Jack wore a jet pilot suit we bought for him. We stopped in Malad at the Drive-In there, and he's doing fun things that he learned at the museum after having listened to some tapes of pilots.

We were waiting in our vehicle for the car hop to bring out our food, when we hear Jack: "May Day! May Day! I have to go to the bathroom."

The Drive-In was very nice about letting us take our little air force pilot into the employee restroom.

Traveling with grandchildren is just plain fun, as long as they aren't in diapers. I can't deal with changing those little surprises. I would gag and throw up, but I can do great R2-D2 and Yoda imitations; however, my Chewbacca isn't very good, although it makes all three of my grandchildren laugh hysterically. It's like a lion who gargles with Listerine.

Our New Princess

This is my new granddaughter, just three months old--give or take a bit. I have trouble remembering the exact date of my own birthday, and besides, I don't really need an excuse like a birthday to send presents to grandchildren.

We looked for a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt for Samantha, but it was not a "go." We couldn't find one anywhere, but we did get a tie-dyed "onesy." I'll be sending that tomorrow, and there is a hat that goes with it too.

The hat is one that makes adults giggle and horrifies teenagers when parents and grandparents show the picture at reunions or to their peers in 15 years. It's a cute hat.

And here is my other little Zollinger princess, the original one we spoiled with royal dresses at Disney parks with shoes and other accessories to match.

Not even the guys at Red Shirt Days at the park had duds like Anna. You know, it's on the days when the scariest ride in the park is the men's restroom.

Anna loved it when Grandma and Pop Pop were with her to get a new dress.

The visit, Lydia threatened us a bit. "Now mom and dad, we don't want any more of these dresses for Anna. She has plenty."

Lydia took went with Jack and Tommy to Buzz Lightyear before going on another ride that Anna didn't like. We took Anna.

"Where would you like to go?" My Annie looked down and looked at our little Sweetie in eyes that sparkled with mischief and cunning.

"I want a princess dress," she said. Anna held her hands together tightly. We helped her into the stroller, and we were there within minutes. And within 15 minutes, Anna not only had a new dress, but she had the tiara, long gloves and shoes to match. Oh, and we couldn't do it without the hat-thing.

Why be a grandparent if you can't spoil the little ones? And besides, it's like getting even with kids for putting up with them during the teenage years.

But I did feel badly when Anna insisted on sleeping in the dress, gloves, tiara and shoes. Did I actually say badly, because I not only slept with a grin on my face, but Ann told me several times I laughed out loud between snores.

It's sad to see little ones grow tall and begin school as they move toward the teen years, but they still do things that are fun.

These, however, are just a few more toddler pictures I found to enjoy again. This one is in at the place, where Lydia and Jeff lived in Ohio.

Kristin and Jack flew out and stayed a few days with Lydia at the time. We went back too, and then drove on to New York through Ohio before flying to Chapel Hill to visit Cles and Leslie.

This picture reminds me of the time when Lydia was able to come home for a few weeks with Tommy in May. Ann and I held Tommy when he was still just a baby, but he liked being with his mom and dad.

He always gave us the "stinky" eye, until he was a bit older. It didn't help that I teased him a bit.

After Lydia and Tommy's arrival in Salt Lake City airport, we stopped in Malad to visit my mom. It was a fun moment for my mom to meet another great grandson.

Tommy hid behind his mom's legs, while she sat in a chair. I crawled on my hands and knees, growling. Tommy would peek around each side of Lydia's legs, growling back a firm "No," while swatting his little hand at me.

The women all cussed me a bit, but all had the same grin on their faces. Within a short time, we went to Disneyland together, and every time I came home, I stopped by the Disney Store in Downtown Disney for an armload of stuffed animals for Jack and Tommy.

On the next trip Lydia took to Salt Lake City, Tommy ran to me.

It's funny how things change. One Indian tribe believed in four cycles of life: childhood, teenage years, adulthood and the time a person has being a grand parent. Ann and I are at a stage in life, when we don't know what it would be like to live without these little ones. In the picture above, our son-in-law Jeff is holding Tommy.

It's still fun to see the fun they have together.

Jack had a fascination with watches. He loved playing with them. I always had to watch mine carefully, because one in particular had sharp edges that would scratch him. He didn't always notice, but I did.

Stan

I will let Ann and members of her family comment on this picture, because I'm not sure about the background.

During my high school years, I remember a number of things about Ann's dad. He always had respect for his customers, regardless how old they were.

I remember buying The White Album by the Beatles, and after taking it home to play it, the vinyl did not lay flat on the turntable, so on each revolution the arm would skip. It was traumatic for me, because I wanted a copy that would play.

After driving to the store on South Main, I found Stan at the cash register. I was nervous, but after only beginning to tell him about the problem with the record, he hit a key on the register and handed me my refund. It shocked me, not because it wasn't the way he should have reacted, but I was just a teen. In the late 80's, I saw a young student about 17 or 18 report a problem with a CD in Fred Meyer, and they refused to honor it. He always treated me well.

My memories of him began early. My mom would give me 5 cents for a doughnut. Stan had the best ones in town, and he was able to get them from a bakery in Preston. Even after Ann and I married, he still could get those from Preston. By the time I was in my twenties, the favorite became a doughnut that had a caramel taste in the frosting along with the milk chocolate.

Memories of Balloons and American Cars That were Great Examples of Citrus Fruit--Lemon Yellow with a Bitter Aftertaste

In our second or third year of living on Creekside Drive, our English Springer began barking violently in the backyard. It was an early Sunday morning, and then we heard the strange sound I remember, that a propane weed burner made, while cleaning out fence lines and ditch banks when I was young.

Ann stepped outside to see what was wrong, and she noticed two balloons, both of which touched down in the fields near our house.

A truck and trailer soon appeared, and they gathered the balloons and hauled them away. It was fun to see them land, and it was even more fun to see them hovering in the sky in the neighborhood.

It was a simple time, when everything seemed so perfect.

Our three children were still in high school. The Quaking Aspen were still small and not even thinking about infesting my yard and being destructive with my water system, and we still owned that Lumina Van--the ugly Chevrolet with the door problems that looked like an alien version of the Bat Mobile.

It was one of five reasons why I will never buy a domestic car. We owned a '81 Mustang that needed a new engine and transmission before 100,000 miles, a '86 Taurus that required a new transmission at 85,000 miles, a '94 Monte Carlo that not only used 2 1/2 quarts of oil every 2,000 miles from the "get go," but it also had severe electrical problems appearing before we had 100,000 miles.

Our '99 VW Bug now has over 100,000 miles. A timing belt failed. We replaced the engine, but Volkswagen did that at no cost when the car had 96,000 miles on it. It runs like new.

The Jetta now approaches 170,000 miles, and runs like new.

The Lumina didn't have any major problems, unless you count the 20-30 times we fixed the doors. Oh, and the sliding door on that model had a history of falling off while driving down the road--so much for owning a van because you have small children.

Ann and I look forward to eventually buying a new VW CC.

My Favorite Family Picture

My three kids are all smiling, because Ann was not happy with my choice of shirts for the picture, and they enjoyed the moment, but we did have a second one with me in another shirt.

I remember my Sweetie teasing me about her dislike for the shirt, but she was serious about it.

Problems seem so small after the fact. I look at my three: Cles was on the Student Council at Hillcrest, and Lydia was about to be, and Kristin was also doing incredibly well at Sandcreek Middle School, excelling in drama and choir.

My lesson in life was not learning how to enjoy each moment, and occasionally, I still find myself reminding myself to do just that without "sweating the small stuff."

This is the second picture. I can tell I'm doing something to tease my Annie. The tell-tale signs are there: Annie with that embarrassed look and a bit of that angry glint in her eye that she always gets just before she damns me all to hell; Cles and Lydia and Kristin knowing that I will either catch hell right there on the spot, in the car on the way home, or at home--all the while with the same cheesy grin on my face that infuriates my soul mate even more.

Teasing has been a trademark in our family.

Homecoming 1970

This was a very good year, with the exception that we lost the football coach who inspired most of us and who actually convinced us that we could win on the field.

It's fun for me to see the mountains in my hometown, and this was a glimpse at times when things were different there: a time when First National Bank still had those familiar people working in a place that tried its best to help small local businesses and farmers, a time when these monumental teachers at my high school made a difference in all our lives, a time when we looked forward to a future that meant attending the university, a time when being an athlete at a small high school meant

so much.

Oh, and it was a time when I began seriously dating my soul mate, although Ann and I dated a bit through the summer. Summer was not a time when I spent a lot of time in Malad.

Being a musician was also something very important to me. Football was "king" for me during the early part of the year, so even marching band was something that was not quite as important as it was the rest of the year, but I still marched in the homecoming parade, which irritated the coach, who wanted us ready to play that evening.

I am in the second row. You can see me with my baritone saxophone that I still have.

During the summer of 1970, I spent a week with some other friends and classmates at Idaho Gem Boys State. The American Legion sponsored the program. It was something that changed my life as much as some of the other opportunities I had.

During my stay there, I befriended another football player from Soda Springs. He was my roommate at Boise State, where we attended lectures and ran for election in various positions. I was a senator, representing the "gold" party, which was clearly the minority political group, but I won my election. His name was Kent Smith, and we laughed and talked about the upcoming game that fall. We knew how important it was, and we joked about who would win.

Kent also reminded me that I needed to clean up my language. As farm boys in my hometown, we used a lot of course language. He explained to me that he was a farm boy too, but he chose not to talk that way. I resented it at first, but I knew he was right, and we became good friends.

I was a strong side offensive guard, and he was a Soda Springs Cardinal defensive end. Kent played also played tackle, so we knew there was a possibility of our playing against each other in our game that fall. It was to be our homecoming game. Before the game, we exchanged letters several times.

The night we played in Malad, it was a very tough game. I remember a couple of things. They were tall, and they were strong. On one play, the defensive player I blocked appeared to be out of the play. I blocked him low to force his arms down for a pass play, but it was a type of screen pass to be thrown to the sideline. This player I blocked read the play. Our quarterback threw the pass, and my player intercepted it. I made the tackle, but it was a turnover.

My friend Kent played against my teammate Roger Price. During the first two or three sets of plays, Kent was giving Roger a rough time, so as it happened often in the huddle, Roger asked me to help. We did a "cross block," which meant that I would block Kent, and Roger would drop back and take my man. It worked well. Kent fell to the ground. Our running back made a great gain, and the play seemed to be over.

Suddenly, I noticed that Roger circled back, jumped on my friend Kent, while he was still on the ground, and began hitting him. Kent flipped Roger over, and with a raised fist seemed ready to make things right. As it often happens, that's when the referee noticed the problem.

They tossed Kent from the game, and things were much easier for long gains. We won the game by at least a touchdown.

At the conclusion, I found Kent and tried to talk to him, but he waved me aside. I never heard from him again.

For over 30 years I thought that that game and the thoughtless action of a teammate had ended a friendship. While going through chemo in 2004, one lab tech told me that her dad had been a teacher at Soda Springs High during that time. She brought some old yearbooks, and I showed her Kent's picture. In those 30 years, I had forgotten his name.

The next week found me doing poorly, and she told me she would wait to let me know about what happened to Kent during those years. My health improved, and she explained what happened, which also explained why I never heard from my old friend again.

Weeks after that game, Kent drove a wheat truck over some railroad tracks. He didn't notice the oncoming train.

He was an incredible friend, one who still teaches me. I think about him often, and I realize how important it is to savor every moment of life--decades more than he had the opportunity to appreciate after the horrible accident that took his life.

Great Memories Of My Grandsons

What is exciting about a child is how they can take something so simple and use it for practical purposes, and even though I'm 57 years old and would never fit it a shoe box, unless of course The Jolly Green Giant happens to leave an empty shoe box in my backyard with a trampoline for me to bounce into the thing, I still understand the whole "little boy" mind set.

My teachers and various family members have called me childish for decades.

If I could fit into that cardboard heaven, "my ride" would be a red Turbo Porsche Carrera or an Audi Turbo TT with those "baseball glove-style" stitched seats, and I would fantasize about revving the engine and smoking the tires.

I can almost hear the whine of the Porsche as I race down that long highway, one without nasty patrolmen, who would probably take away my license for the speed I would drive.

This moment I now savor will never happen. I am a retired teacher, a handicapped one who occasionally has to ride in an electric cart, so popping the clutch on a high performance machine would be out of the question, yet there are other things in my life I was also told I shouldn't do, and I did it anyway, because it was so damned much fun.

Being a teacher also means that you don't drive a Porsche or even an Audi.

But if I had listened to everything that people told me throughout my life, I would have died in early 2005, and besides, coloring outside the lines is something I have always excelled at, so when it comes to watching my grandsons play like this, I love to live the whole thing vicariously.