Intersections, part two

You might remember Mike, the inmate who worked for me for a few years. If you want to refresh your memory, the story of why Mike found himself in prison can be found here. Day to day fun with Mike can be found in several places such as here and here.

Mike served out his sentence a little over a year ago. I expected to hear from him in the first few months but I never did. In the mean time, I've changed jobs and really haven't thought much about him.

A few weeks ago in the late afternoon there was a knock on the door. Who should be standing there but Mike. Mike went through some effort to find me, too. He didn't have a phone number. In the phone book there is another person with the same name as me while I'm only listed under my wife's name. He called my namesake but of course that wasn't me. So the phone book was a dead end. Having a general idea where my house was, Mike went door to door asking for me until he found my house. We shook hands while I inquired what he had been doing with himself.

Mike spent a the first few months working for his dad on a boilermaker crew, mostly in Texas. The money was very good but he was living out of a motel room and his coworkers went out drinking and partying every night. Mike said that life just wasn't for him. He came back to the area and got a job as an operator at a water plant in a town near here. So all the time training him and helping him study for his water plant licenses wasn't a waste of time after all.

The reason Mike went to all the trouble to find me is the town that he works for needs a superintendent for their water and wastewater plants. He knew I was no longer at the penitentiary and wondered if I'd be interested in the job. He recommended me to the City Manager. I interviewed for the job and it went very well. The City Manager told me during the interview that Mike had told him that he guaranteed I would do a good job for them. Mike told him that if he hired me and wasn't happy with me, the City manager could fire us both. City jobs like that are very political though so I'm not holding my breath. I'm OK doing what I'm doing right now. I actually like it in a prideful "throw everything you got at me, I can take it" sort of way. If the new job eventually comes through that would be great though. If not, that's cool, too.

I was really touched that Mike thought of me. He said he was in a position where he might be able to help me and it was the least he could do for all the help I'd given him. I must have been a pretty good boss if he wants me to be his boss again.

Intersections, part one

I've been hearing about Eddie for a year and half now. Eddie is my wife, CK's line supervisor where she works. Invariably Eddie comes up in daily conversations about her day (night, actually) at work. CK never has had anything bad to say about Eddie. According to her, Eddie is fun and a fair supervisor. Of course she never has much bad to say about anybody.

Until recently, I hadn't met Eddie. I pictured him as a man about my age, about my size. I often forget how old I am. I met Eddie while CK and I were shopping at WallyWorld not long ago. He walked up and spoke to CK. She introduced us. First, I noticed how young he looked. Later, I was able to piece together his probable age. He is in his early thirties, give or take, but he's small in stature and baby-faced. He could pass for late teens, early twenties. While shaking his hand another thought occurred to me. I know this man from somewhere. I could see by the look on his face that the same thought was going through his mind.

Eddie said, "CK talks about her husband, Tom, but I never made the connection. Do you remember me?"

Still trying to piece the puzzle together I said, "I know I should know you. You look very familiar."

"You were my Youth Minister." He mentioned the church where I had served in another life. It clicked. It clicked into place. Eddie and a brother and a sister lived with their mother in a small house near the church. Their mother worked long hours and the kids were often alone. I visited with them and soon Eddie was one of the most faithful members of the youth group. I was quite attached to young Eddie. His family was poor and were unable to pay Eddie's way on most of the trips and activities of our group. When I couldn't get the church to pay, I paid his way myself. Of course he never knew that, nor did his mom.

That night at work, Eddie talked to CK for a long time. He told her how much I had helped him when he really needed stability and direction. He had never forgot me and wondered what had become of me. Now we've been reacquainted and Eddie has started attending at my current church.

I've often thought of myself as more of a bad example than a positive influence. It came as quite a heartwarming surprise to find out that I had a positive, lasting influence on the young man. One never knows, I guess, what happens when lives intersect.

To the tune of "Happy Birthday"

Happy Birthday to me.
I'm a blogger absentee.
I have thngs to write
Soon as I get time free.

Love Y'all...

Just a Conversation

I sat in the breakroom by myself at 4am reading, enjoying my oh so generous 20 minute unpaid lunch, when in walked Amber and Lisa. I looked up and smiled at them and then returned to my book. Recently clean-shaven, I wore a new Boston Red Sox cap I bought. I felt eyes on me and I raised my head to see Amber, a 20 year old attractive young lady intently looking at me. She said, "You know Tom, you look like somebody."

"Cool," I said. "I always wanted to be somebody."

"No. I mean you look like somebody famous. Somebody on TV or in the movies. Somebody like that."

"Probably Tom Selleck. I get that a lot," I teased.

"Tom Selleck? Who's that?"

Lisa, a woman about my age, sized me up and said, "If you grew a mustache...maybe." Then to Amber she said, "You know Tom Selleck. He did those Westerns with Sam Elliot."

It didn't ring a bell with Amber. "Who's Sam Elliot?"

In my best Sam Elliot voice I quoted the commercial featuring his voice, "Beef. It's what's for dinner."

Amber looked oblivious.

Lisa said, "He can bring the beef to my house anytime. His voice is soooo sexy."

Lisa took her lunch and went outside to eat at one of the picnic tables. Amber lingered a moment longer still looking at me, still looking puzzled; a look given to me by women of all ages more often than I'd like to admit. Finally she said, "Really. Who is Tom...what was his name?"

"Tom Selleck. Generally considered to be a good-looking man by women...uh, at least women older than you. Does Magnum P.I. ring a bell?"

"What's that?"

"Oh, never mind. If you think of who I remind you of, let me know."

She joined Lisa outside. I was left feeling very, very old. I bet it was Steve Buscemi she was thinking of.

-----------

I took some flak for my last posting. I didn't exhibit the proper grandfatherly attitude. Seriously, I didn't really make the "Yoda with hair" comment. I was fibbing to make a joke. I've been known to do that. If I'd really made that comment, the consequences would have been severe. To show that I do have the proper grandfatherly attitude, I'll show you a picture from my virtual wallet. Isn't she the most beautiful girl in the world? And smart, too. She can already recite the alphabet and dabbles in differential calculus.

Changes

Whoowee! It's been a busy and hectic couple of weeks. First of all, I got a new job at the plasticine factory. The new job is still busy but not as boring and I get to move around. The best thing is it is not running a press. With the new job I had to go to day shift for a week which was good but of course my internal clock is in permanent malfunction mode. I go back to the vampire shift tonight.

On Friday, BF became a grandpa for the first time. Whitleigh Cadence ________ weighed in at 7 lbs. 9 oz. and is 18 3/4 inches long. She has thick dark brown hair, much more than her dear old granddad. She hardly resembles E.T. at all. I went to the hospital after work Friday and got to hold her. Somebody in the room asked, "BF, who do you think she looks like?" I thoughtfully looked at Whitleigh sleeping peacefully in my arms. Then I looked at her mother, the Princess. I stared back at Whitleigh for awhile then looked at her father, BD. Finally I looked up and answered, "Yoda with hair." I was nearly run out of the room.

Miscellany

Although my attitude about my new job at the plasticine company ranges somewhere on the scale, depending on the day, between grudging acceptance, reluctant acquiescence, and veiled hostility, apparently I am doing a great job. We are divided into teams or groups. My normal group leader, Kathy, has gained confidence in my abilities. She feels free to assign me to all the harder and faster machines because she knows I can keep up. Most of the other operators in our group are either slower, lazier, and perhaps smarter than I, so they tend to get the easier slower machines.

Due to call-ins, I have on occasion worked for another group leader, Gretchen. Gretchen has went to the big boss to try and get me permanently assigned to her group. Kathy wasn't having any of that and went to the big boss to fight for me. I went into the break room yesterday and Kathy and Gretchen were sitting at the same table talking. When Gretchen saw me she said, "Hi, BF. I've been trying to get you assigned to my group but somebody is standing in the way." She nodded her head toward Kathy.

Kathy said, "That's right. I'm keeping you."

I smiled at both of them and said, "I love it when women fight over me."


Changing the subject. I've told you about my dog, Precious. How she sleeps all night while we're at work then sleeps all day with us. Now Precious has decided that she knows better than I do when I need to get up. When she feels that I've slept long enough she starts walking on me, nudging me with her nose, and licking my face. So I grouchily get up and go sit on the couch. Precious promptly jumps into my lap and goes to sleep. I find this irksome.


I can't remember if I've told this story before but since I'm old and senile I'm going to tell it anyway. CK and I took my step-daughter, the Princess, and her boyfriend out to dinner. (Additionally, the boyfriend can now be referred to as the baby daddy (BD). The Princess is due to make BF a grandpa sometime this month. It has been decided by someone or someone's other than me that I will be called "Pappy.") Anyway, back to the dinner. I don't want to say that BD is a sheltered mamma's boy. I'll let you decide. So we're at the steakhouse and the waitress is taking our order. When the waitress gets to BD, BD orders a steak, baked potato, and salad. The waitress asks BD how he would like his steak cooked. BD looks at the waitress, puzzled, then finally says, "Uh...in a skillet, I guess. That's how momma cooks 'em."


There aren't too many things in this world that can't be fixed or endured.
---The Meaning of Life and Other Attrocities--

TP

Probably the most useful and versatile item for the average inmate is toilet paper. Besides its more mundane uses as butt-wiper and nose-juice receptacle, innovative inmates take advantage of its abundance (every inmate at my former institution is issued two rolls of toilet paper per week) and find numerous creative ways to put it to use.

In a formula unknown to me, inmates are able to combine toilet paper, toothpaste, water and possibly other ingredients to make what I call penitentiary papier-mache. While soft and moldable when wet, the conglomeration dries rock hard. One inmate made a full-size Kentucky Wildcat out of the stuff then painted it with dilutions of coffee. I've seen fairly elaborate chess sets made out of the same mixture. For those inmates not inclined to arts and crafts, the same substance makes a dandy knife handle. I've seen more than one made with custom finger grips. While I write this I'm wondering why I've never seen someone make a fake gun out of the stuff.

Most county jails are now smoke-free facilities. Of course this doesn't stop the inmates from smoking. It just means cigarettes are harder to come by; and expensive. At the smoke-free institutions, matches are as rare and expensive as the tobacco. So another use for toilet paper was invented: fire-starter. All that is needed is some toilet paper and a pencil. One end of a square of toilet paper is torn into thin strips and the lead from the pencil is removed by any means available. A piece of the pencil lead about and inch long is inserted into one side of an electric outlet. Another similar piece is inserted into the other side of the outlet. Then a third piece is arced across the other two, creating a spark, which is caught on the shredded toilet paper, creating a small fire. A tightly rolled piece of toilet paper is then lit from the first piece and Voila! the inmate can light his contraband cigarette. When tobacco is scarce, dried spinach or dried greens of any kind can be rolled in, you guessed it, toilet paper and smoked.

At my former institution inmates were allowed to have quart-sized electric "Hot Pots" for heating water for coffee, tea, etc. Some used them to heat up cans of soup, ravioli and other foodstuffs available for sale at the inmate canteen. One inmate even tried frying up a hamburger stolen from the kitchen on the bottom of his "Hot Pot." At a large regional jail in the area, all of the "Hot Pots" were confiscated after one inmate emptied a couple jars of Vaseline in his "Hot Pot" and threw the boiling oil on a passing officer with which he had had an earlier disagreement. The inmates at that institution had to figure out a way to heat up water for their coffee. Once again, toilet paper came to the rescue.

Take some toilet paper and wrap it around your hand about twenty times, give or take. Take that toilet paper and fold and roll in the edges until you end up with a tight "donut" of toilet paper about three inches in diameter, an inch tall, and about 3/4 of an inch thick. The inmates would then set the "donut" on the rim of their stainless steel toilet and light the donut on fire. Depending on how tightly the "donut" is made, it could burn for 15 to 20 minutes and heat up to four soda cans full of water. Amazingly, the toilet paper "donut" burns virtually smoke free until it is put out. If "the man" comes around, the inmate could just sweep the burning "donut" into the toilet and give it a quick flush. Evidence gone.

There is only one problem with the "donut" hot water heater and an impatient inmate discovered it painfully. In a dormitory style cell, the eight residents were heating up some morning coffee. The first "donut" burned and smoldered for about twenty minutes, allowing four of the inmates to heat up some water. Then a second "donut" was lit and the remaining inmates heated their water. When the last of the water was heated, an inmate, feeling the call of nature, went to the toilet and swept the still smoldering donut into the toilet saying, "About time!" He promptly dropped his drawers and sat down on the toilet, burning a nice ring on his posterior; stainless steel being a wonderful conductor of heat.

With Plasticine Porters With Looking Glass Ties

Well, my good friends, my mind is willing but the flesh is weak. I'm trying to post more often but it is not working out that way just yet. I'll keep plugging away the best I can. I feel bad about not visiting your most awesome and bodacious blogs more often. I'm still hopeful that life will settle down into a routine again someday. Hope springs eternal.

The new job...
The new job is kicking my butt extremely tiresome. Between adjusting to third shift and working a job that is non-stop movement, I'm wiped out. I'm starting to have doubts whether I'm really Superman. My girlie-man hands are riddled with hundreds of little cuts, scrapes and blisters as they become accustomed to their new duties. Two nights ago I was running a machine that for the most part was slow and easy. The night shift supervisor stopped by to see how I was doing. He commented that I was on a boring job that night but that happens sometimes. All I could think as I smiled and nodded was that every operator job here is boring. Doing the same thing mindlessly repetitiously for eight hours is by definition boring. Some jobs are boring and slow. Some jobs are boring and crazy fast. I worked one of the crazy fast ones last night and I was never so glad to see 7 am roll around as I was this morning. (But it was still boring.)

One of my Christmas presents this year was a dog. I haven't had a dog in a few years and I had forgot how nice it is to have a dog around. She is a three year old miniature poodle and she is crazy about me. That's the thing about dogs isn't it? You could be the meanest, orneriest man to ever walk God's green earth but your dog is still going to love you. Lately I've become quite envious of my dog; not of her capacity for love and adoration though. In that I'm nearly her equal (a slight exaggeration.) I'm envious of her lifestyle. CK and I both work third shift. When we leave to go to work, Precious (she came already named, ok?) jumps up on the bed and sleeps the night away awaiting our return. When we get home, we go to bed and Precious dutifully joins us and sleeps the day away. When we get up in the late afternoon, Precious spends the rest of the evening napping on my lap. Oh, to be a dog.

I don't believe in reincarnation but wouldn't it be nice to come back in the next life as a dog? The way things work out for me I'd come back as a dog in a place where a dog is often a delicious entree. And so it goes.

Well, the clock tells me it's time to get ready for work. As we all know, the world needs more plastic. Ciao, for now.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to all of you. I'm hoping that 2007 is a great year for each and every one of you. Thanks to you for still stopping by and checking on me from time to time. I've been trying to post at least once a week but it has turned out to be more like every 10 days or so. Maybe some day soon I'll be back to more regular posting, but I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you. So what does BF spend his time doing since he's not blogging very often? I spend a lot of time playing and practicing music. I'm still playing with the "Old Fogey Band" at the nursing home once a month. We get together and practice on Tuesdays and we perform on the first Wednesday of the month. I've moved from playing the bass and singing one song to singing 3-4 songs. Currently I'm singing "Heard it in a Love song," "Why Me, Lord," "Peaceful, Easy Feeling," and "Tequila Sunrise." I now have my bass, two guitars, and a keyboard, so I spend most of my spare time annoying my wife, friends and neighbors with my musical skill.

In my last post I talked about my new job in the hospitality industry. That job is now over and I start a new career at a plastics factory tomorrow. The motel manager said I was the best maintenance person they had ever had but they knew I wouldn't stay too long because I was way over-qualified. I'll be working in your neck of the woods, MK. Speaking of my job at the motel, I got a work order the other day written exactly as follows:

Shampoo carpet in 119. Throw up in corner.

So I did.

With my new job change and the new year generally being a time for remembering where we've been, I've thought about all the jobs I've had. Not that I think you'll find this the least bit interesting, but I'm going to try and list them the best that I can.

1. Fruit market. I was 14 and I made $1.75 and hour.
2. McD's. I was 16 and made minimum wage which I think was $2.90 at that time.
3. Belle's Apothecary. I ran the front register, stocked shelves and kept the pill bottles stocked for the pharmacist. We had a box of rubber balls near the register. I learned to juggle in my spare time.
4. Summers I worked at the state park at the snack bar. Fringe benefits included lots of girls in bikinis.
5. Chicago tribune. I worked in the press room cleaning the presses. A hot, dirty job that I didn't stay at for very long.
6. U.P.S. Unloading trucks. Didn't stay at this one very long either.
I moved from northern Indiana to Kentucky at this time.
7. Wal-Mart. Actually two of them.
8. Grocery store. Stocking shelves.
9. Night manager at a convenience store.
10. DJ/announcer at a radio station. Probably the funnest job I ever had.
11. Bill collector for a finance company. Got a knife pulled on me once and a gun pulled on me another time. $4.50 and hour didn't seem like quite enough to die for.
12. Youth/Children's Minister. #'s 10,11, and 12 I held at the same time plus I was a full time student at a Bible college.
13. Moved to Dayton, Ohio area- Youth minister.
14. Security guard at a building in downtown Dayton.
15. Apprentice machinist.
16. Field Sampler (turd sampler) then chemical analyst at an environmental lab.
17. Assistant plant manager (Only 5 people worked at the plant) for an oil blending facility.
18. Moved back to Kentucky and went to work at Penitentiary. Stayed for fifteen years. Worked five years in security as an officer, Legal office supervisor, then sergeant. Worked in the recreation department for a short time then went to work in maintenance as assistant plumber then plumber, then HVAC assistant, then water plant and wastewater plant operator.
19. Motel maintenance person.
20. Press operator.

Just think. All these jobs helped to mold me into the person I am today. Now if I can only figure out who that is.

Only You, BF or A Festivus Miracle*

The following story is not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach. Don't say I didn't warn you.

As some of you know but many of you do not, I have changed employment. No, I wasn't fired for blogging or any other indiscretion. I left voluntarily after locking in a partial retirement. Fifteen years was enough. Actually, fifteen years was about fourteen and a half years longer than I intended to stay. Time flies when you're having fun.

Currently, I am employed in the hospitality industry. I work maintenance at a mid-scale motel/hotel. After all, I figured a motel room is not that different from a prison cell; roomier, more comfortable, but basically equipped with the same appurtenances with the exception that motel rooms have bathtubs. So far I've resisted the urge to march down the halls yelling, "Stand-up Count!" However, I do tend to refer to the rooms as "cells," which luckily the manager finds humorous.

On my second day at the new job, my manager gave me a work order for a cell room on the second floor. The manager also added that the inmates guests had already checked out so it would be safe for me to enter the room. I went to the pool house which serves as a tool and parts storage area, as well as doubling as my office. I gathered up some appropriate tools for the repair and with work order in hand, I headed to the room.

As I exited the elevator and turned left, a sharp pain lurched low in my gut. I began to hear audible percolations emanating from my lower intestines, foreboding an imminent, possibly disastrous, result if a vacant toilet could not be found post-haste. I weighed my options, with the estimated time of arrival being the critical factor. My choice was to continue to my original destination, the unoccupied motel room at the end of the hall; the far end of the hall. Would I make it? I sensed that it was going to be close.

As I increased my gait, I pondered the possible origins of the malady currently dancing the mambo through my innards. Maybe a far-flung world traveler staying at our fine establishment had infected me with a particularly virulent form of dysentery or maybe some exotic tropical disease. A more likely culprit was the jalapeno, cheddar, pepperjack, bacon cheeseburger I ate for lunch the day before. I guess there's no reason to call the Centers for Disease Control just yet.

When I finally arrived at the end of the hall I double-checked the room number with the work order and slid my master key into the lock. A reassuring click and a flashing green light told me the lock had been disengaged. I went through the door and took an immediate hard right into the bathroom. With a single-minded focus achieved through vast experience in similar emergencies, I dropped my pants and sat on the throne with mere seconds to spare. My time had nearly run out.

The eruption that followed was both violent and embarrassingly noisy. After the first wave subsided and the seeming disaster averted, I was finally able to think of something else. That first thought was, "Wow, that television is really loud." My slow-firing synapses finally relayed the message to my brain, "That TV is too loud and unmuffled to be coming from another room." Something was definitely wrong. My spidey-senses were all a tingle. Did I go in the wrong room? No, I double-checked. Did the manager write down the wrong number by mistake? Is this some kind of practical joke? I began to panic so I did the only thing I knew to do. I prayed. "Lord, please don't let me have barged into an occupied room to take a big, noisy dump." I tried to assure myself that a normal person would say something if a stranger walked in on them. Wouldn't they? Oh, what foolish thing have you done to yourself now, BF? I saw the unemployment line in my near future. What would I put on the application for my next job on the line that asks why you left your last job? Unauthorized defecating?

To make matters worse, in my haste I had neglected to close the bathroom door. With much trepidation I leaned to my left as far as I could. Because the opening for the bathroom door was set at an angle I was able to see most of the opposite wall of the room. The bad news was that I saw a door to an adjoining room and the door was wide open. Light came through the doorway and I was certain the sound from the TV was coming from there, too. Aw, great! This room is empty but their friends in the adjoining room are still here and apparently awake.

Not in the most optimal situation to do so but feeling I had no choice, I eased my posterior from the throne and ever so quietly shut and locked the bathroom door. I finished doing my business, round two and three if I remember correctly, and took care of the paperwork. Knowing no quiet way to flush the commode, I hit the handle and waited for it to finish its cycle before easing out the bathroom door. I stepped into the main room and hesitantly called out, "Maintenance." No answer. Again, more forcefully this time, I announced, "Maintenance!" Still no answer. I tiptoed to the open door and took a peek inside. The room was unoccupied and empty except for a bed and a TV. It wasn't an adjoining motel room after all. I was in a two-room suite. The guests had indeed already checked out, leaving the lights and TV on. I smiled, shaking my head at my own stupidity. Then I remembered my prayer, and I thanked Him for the holiday miracle.

In closing, I wish you all a "Happy Festivus, for the rest of us." *

* Unnecessary, gratuitous Seinfeld reference.

Potpourri

I don't want to say I'm in terrible shape but I get winded rolling down the window in my car and the windows are electric. I turned on the fitness channel this morning and did some aerobics with the bouncing head on the screen for about, uh... a minute and a half. Now my legs are sore.

I've heard a joke similar to the following story but the story is true. Zed and the rest of his pre-school class went on a field trip to a fire station. The kids got to look at and sit in the cab of a firetruck. They got to see some of the other fire equipment and turn-out gear. Then a fireman had a talk with the children about home fire safety.
The fireman showed the kids a smoke detector and explained to them a little about how they work. Then he asked the kids to raise their hands if they had smoke detectors in their houses. Most of the kids raised their hands. The fireman then pushed the test button on the smoke detector and the alarm blared. He explained to the kids what they should do when they hear the alarm. Then he asked them if anyone had ever heard a smoke detector go off. Zed threw up his hand and waved it frantically. The fireman said to him, "When have you heard a smoke alarm before?"
Zed said, "At my Grandma's house the alarm goes off when supper's ready."

In what seems like another life, I used to be a DJ at a local radio station. During this time of year our station played Christmas and holiday music. Now i get tired of holiday music pretty quickly so I would search through our extensive inventory of old records to try and find, then play on the air, the worst possible Christmas music. My favorite was a James Brown Christmas album from the sixties. It was called something like "A Funk-a-delic Christmas." It was truly horrible. As I've been making the rounds Christmas shopping this year, most of the music I've heard being piped into the stores is nearly as bad. Not every recording artist should, or needs to, make a Christmas CD. That's all I'm saying.

While out shopping, I stopped at a CiCi's Pizza near a military base. I was busy feeding my face like they were going to quit making the stuff. All the pizza you can choke down and a coke for less than six bucks. If they opened up a CiCi's in my town I'd double my weight in a year. Anyway... While I was in there, four soldiers walked in to eat. It astounded me how young they looked. They were all members of the 101st Airborne so if they haven't already, they are going to be seeing action soon. Seeing them in the glory of their youth really affected me. Six months ago their biggest concerns were zits and who they were going to take to the prom. Six months from now they'll be making life and death decisions. I can't seem to get them off my mind. Let's remember to keep all of our soldiers in our thoughts and prayers.

That's about enough rambling for now but I will leave you with this poem I wrote and posted on another blog last year.

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all ‘round the Pen,
In their cells rested
Eight hundred-sixty odd men.

Seg. inmates in yellow,
Protective Custody in green,
Death Row wearing red
So they could be seen.

And I was disgruntled
Having to work on this night.
With my family at home,
It just didn’t seem right.

My post was Ten Wall Stand.
Worse places I could be
Than sixty feet in the air,
Just lots of weapons and me.

My job was to watch
All the area within
Hoping no inmate I saw
Until breakfast begin.

I sat back in my chair,
Checked my eyelids for cracks.
Too soon I was snoring.
My security, lax.

When all of a sudden
There arose such a clatter.
I wiped sleep from my eyes
To see what was the matter.

Stumbling to the window,
I looked out with dread.
The first thing I saw
Was a fat man in red.

An inmate’s escaping!
He must be Death Row!
I reached for the shotgun
Or a gas grenade to throw.

My heart filled with panic,
My nerves all a tingle.
Just then I realized
It’s only Kris Kringle!

It was then that I noticed
The eight reindeer and sleigh
Were caught in the razor wire
And couldn’t get away.

I thought and I pondered
What course I should take.
My post orders were clueless
On what decision to make.

When what to my wondering eyes
Should appear?
The Goon Squad marching toward him
In full riot gear.

The Goon Squad don’t play.
They’re a serious bunch.
This could be all for the Fat man
Was my very strong hunch.

They surrounded poor Santa,
Riot batons at the ready.
I threw open my window
Yelling, “Men, hold steady!”

“He’s not a death row inmate,
Though he is dressed in red.
He’s Santa, you numbskulls!
See his reindeer and sled?”

The Goon Squad didn’t listen.
They ignored me completely.
With their nightsticks they beat him,
And not very discreetly.

They cuffed him and stuffed him
Into one of his sacks
And packed him to the nut walk
By the strength of their backs.

They thoroughly searched him
Then threw him in a cell.
Not a good night for Santa
The Squad sure rang his bell.

So if Christmas morning
Less presents you see,
It’s only ‘cause Santa
Has not been set free.

The dear name of Santa
I no more will besmirch.
I won’t even mention
The body cavity search.

Merry Christmas to all,
Peace on Earth, good will to men.
Santa will see you
In a mere five to ten.

Zed

My cousin Mikki's kid, Zed, is a blond haired, blue-eyed, intelligent, and inquisitive four year old. I know everyone thinks that their kids, grandkids, etc. are the cutest and smartest but this is BF talking here and I have vowed to always be honest with you, except when I'm not, so believe me when I tell you that Zed is an exceptional kid.

Zed and his family live a 6 to 8 hour drive north of here, depending on who's driving, but his grandparents, my aunt and uncle, live near me so I do get to see him on a fairly regular basis. A couple of months ago, Zed came to stay with his grandparents for a week while his mom and dad went on vacation. I stopped by to visit one evening and Zed treated us to an impromptu concert. He regaled us with all the songs he had learned in Vacation Bible School. Always the showman, Zed sensed that he held his enraptured audience in the palm of his hand so after finishing the VBS tunes, he sang so more tunes out of his vast repertoire. He sang some Wiggles tunes, then some from Sesame Street, and finally started on Christmas songs. After a particularly rousing chorus of "Jingle Bells," I couldn't help myself.

I sang that old schoolyard favorite:

Jingle Bells.
Batman smells.
Robin laid an egg.
Batmobile lost its wheel
and Joker got away.

Now for some reason, my Aunt didn't think that was as funny as I did. In a stage whisper she said, "He's going to remember that."

About a month later, Zed's grandmother was visiting him at his house. Mikki, Zed, and his grandmother were in the car and Zed was singing again. Of course he started singing the "Batman smells..." song, word for word. My cousin Mikki's eyes grew wide and she turned to her mother and asked, (with a bit of an attitude,) "Where did he learn that?"

My Aunt ratted me out. She said, "BF taught him that." And really, that was an unfair accusation. I didn't teach it to him. I sang it to him. He's just an exceptional kid and learned it after hearing it only once.

The next time Zed comes for a visit, I have an old limerick that I'm going to teach him, er... I mean recite for him. It starts out with, "There once was a man from Nantucket....."