« September 2005 | Main | November 2005 »
October 26, 2005
The Day My Dad Was The Hero
One of the sports that I played while growing up was baseball. I actually kept that up for a few seasons - in contrast to some of the other sports I tried.
The summer between grade 6 and grade 7 was one of the seasons of baseball for me. I remember that my Dad ended up being coach that year, and really, the team couldn't have asked for better.
----
I know that Dad didn't jump into the coaching job at first - I remember being at the field on sign-up day, and he was asked if he would be coach, if only for the reason that they were asking every parent. He did agree, but said that he'd prefer to be an assistant coach. No problem, the person at the registration desk marked him down as such.
A few days later he got a phone call saying that he was the assistant coach. A few days after that, he got a second phone call informing him that the coach they had lined up had backed down - would he be the coach? He agreed. (this photo is from the next season - I couldn't find one of this particular season. That's me in the middle of the back row with the blue cap; and that's not my Dad in the picture)
I don't remember exactly how the season went, but I do know that we didn't fare that well overall. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that we had only won one or two games all season. Despite my Dad's best coaching efforts, we just weren't that good. Also, I know that Dad let everyone play - which, as I found out much later in life, leads to winning less games, but it also leads to a better experience for many individuals.
On the last regular season game, we weren't optimistic at all. We were pretty sure we were going to lose this game as well. And we did. Our sad faces at the end of the game (and hence the end of the season, because we didn't make playoffs) must have been a pitiful sight for all the parents who were there to watch us that day.
Dad gathered the team for the "three cheers" for the opposition, and then told us to come straight back after we were done shaking hands. We marched off, shook hands in line, and then gathered at the edge of the field waiting for final words from our coach.
Dad congratulated us on a good season, and then said that he was especially proud of us all that day for putting in an extra effort. Because we worked so hard, he determined that we all deserved to celebrate with an ice cream cone; he told all the players and parents that the team was going to meet over at the hard ice cream stand a few blocks away, and he was buying cones for everyone!
I don't think I've ever seen a team go from sulking to cheering in such short time.
We did all meet at the ice cream stand, and Dad did buy a round of cones for everyone. It wasn't a huge expense, but it did come out of his own pocket, and it sure meant a lot to all of us.
For a few moments that day, all the players knew that my Dad was a great guy and a wonderful coach... but I knew that he was a hero.
Posted by Hammer at 06:42 PM | Comments (0)
October 24, 2005
Back to Biking
Apparently, higher powers have determined that I'm not in shape and I need more exercise than just working out and curling a few times each week. Yes, I've started riding my bicycle to work again - but not by choice, though.
----
Nine days ago on Saturday, October 15 2005, I was driving from my house to a friend's house, taking his five year old son Carter back home after he was over visiting and playing with my daughter. We never made it... about half way there, at a four way stop, we got into an auto accident.
The short version of the accident is this: it was my turn to go, but the other driver wasn't paying attention so he went as well and then ran into my van. Nobody was injured. However, the actual details of the accident and the assignment of liability aren't nearly as interesting as five year old Carter's take on the whole situation.
At the time of the accident, Carter was securely strapped into a child booster seat. But I found that as soon as it was over and my head was clearing and starting to take in all of the details, Carter had his seat belt unbuckled and was asking me questions.
"Why did that car hit us?"
"I don't know; maybe he thought it was his turn to go."
"His car looks wrecked." (as he's peering at the damage through the windows)
"Yes, it does."
"Is our van stronger than his car?"
"Yes, I think it is." (the other vehicle was a small sedan)
"Is our van wrecked?"
"It most likely has some damage."
"Why didn't he stop? Did he mean to hit us?"
"I'm pretty sure it was an accident. I don't think he meant to hit us."
"Are the police going to come?"
"I think so."
"Is he in trouble?"
"I'm not sure."
"Didn't he see our van?"
"No, it looks like he didn't see us."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"The van is pretty big."
"Yes, you're right."
After the rapid fire interrogation slowed down a bit, and I was sure Carter was OK, I got out of the van and talked with the other driver about the accident. When I returned from that talk, Carter was back at it again:
"Was his car broken?"
"Yes, it's in bad shape."
"Is the van broken?"
"Yes. I don't think we can drive it. I phoned your Dad, and he's on the way to pick us up."
(pause)
"How will my Dad know where we are?"
"I told him on the phone."
"But we're in the middle of the street. How can he find us?"
"Oh, I'm sure he won't be able to miss it."
(pause)
"Did you ask him why he hit us?"
"He says he didn't see us."
"But our van is big."
"Yes."
"So is he in trouble for hitting us?"
"I don't know. The police are coming now."
"Did our van break his car more than his car broke our van?"
"Yes."
"Because the van is bigger, right?"
"I suppose so."
At this point, I'm thinking that Carter is starting to formulate a TV commercial in his mind about the virtues of driving a van instead of a car.
What's most interesting to me is that given this experience of being in an auto accident, Carter's first reaction wasn't fear or shock but simply curiosity. Here's a new situation, full of new sensations, and he's just trying to reason it out and learn from it.
My emotions were somewhat different.
Posted by Hammer at 12:52 PM | Comments (0)
October 12, 2005
The Car That Almost Killed me
I had been living in Westbank, BC, working at a electronic repair shop in Kelowna called Valley Digitronics. Occasionally, Valley Digitronics received some calls for work that they just didn't do, and these calls would be passed on to me if I wanted to make some extra money working in the evenings.
Little did I know that the diversion that one of these jobs provided in my schedule would almost become the last I ever did.
----
It was a typical weekday in autumn of 1991. The day started out normal enough - going to work at 8am, taking an hour for lunch (which usually meant Taco Time), and then finding my way back to work for the second half of the day. Earlier that week I had already set up an appointment for that night, and at 5pm I headed home for a quick bite to eat.
The car that I was driving at the time was a 1974 Plymouth Valiant. What an ugly car! It was a 4-door, brown, boxy and gutless beast. It was slow to accelerate and the brakes didn't work too well, the radio was AM only, the dash was cracked, the headlights were dim and the radiator had a slow leak. The only good thing about it was that it only cost me $300 to buy.
After supper, I drove the brown Valiant down to a local bar where I was performing some adjustments to their sound system. The DJ and I worked together for an hour or so, and then I sat down for one drink with him while we listened and made sure that we were both happy with the "new sound". Everything sounded perfect, so I handed him the bill and then exited to the parking lot.
It was about 8:00 pm and a dense fog had descended upon Kelowna. I got into the Valiant and started the drive back home. The bar where I just finished working was not on my usual route from Kelowna back to Westbank, so I was taking a different road home than I usually take after work. This road was gravel and it wound up the foothill of a small mountain (Mount Boucherie).
I was almost driving blind, with the combination of a thick fog and very poor headlights. Coupled with the fact that I was on a strange road, I was actually driving fairly slowly. Every once in a while I would discover the edge of the road or some other land marker and I would correct my course and continue on. By this time, I was getting nervous about driving in this fog.
As I my knuckles got whiter gripping the steering wheel, I saw a "curve left" sign. I had no idea how sharply the road curved, or how far ahead the curve was, so I started braking. The car started slowing down, but I didn't see the road starting to curve. How strange. So I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could (which wasn't really hard at all). Remember that I said the brakes in this car were bad - no, I mean they were really bad; I'm sure they would have failed an inspection.
The car was skidding along the gravel road and had almost stopped when the front end took a very sudden dive down and then the whole car came to a very abrupt stop. How strange. I thought I might have hit a pot hole or something. I got out to assess the situation... I opened the driver's door, stepped out onto the road, and looked at the front tires. Or, where the front tires should have been.
I couldn't see the front tires because they were hanging over the edge of a cliff. The car had stopped because the front tires had gone over the cliff and the underbody of the car was now resting on the cliff edge. OK, now my adrenaline was rushing - I just realised how close I came to actually going over that cliff while still inside the Valiant. I tried to look over the cliff to the ground below, but because of the fog I couldn't see how far up I was, or what was down below.
I decided to walk home. I was only a few miles from home, and I was pretty sure that the walk would be good for me - time to compose myself and think about what had just happened. When I got home I called a tow truck, explained where my car was, and asked them to tow it home for me. The tow truck driver was equally freaked out when he delivered the car back to me, saying I was damn lucky not to have gone over.
The next morning I left for work a bit early so that I could visit the near-accident site. I arrived at the bottom of the cliff, stopped the car and got out. Looking up, I saw that the cliff was about 50 feet high and the ground below was a paved parking lot full of vehicles for a used car business. That didn't help at all... now I knew that had I gone over the cliff in my car, I most likely wouldn't have survived.
I sold that Valiant the next week after that incident, and made sure I told the next owner that the brakes definitely had to be fixed.
Posted by Hammer at 02:48 PM | Comments (0)
October 06, 2005
The Day The Magnet Hit The Floor
I'm not a violent person - sure I get mad like anyone does from time to time, but I don't usually blow up. However, there was one time, back in high school that still sticks out in my mind.
----
I think that our city was fortunate to have a high school that was so well-rounded in its offerings. It had classes of such a variety that there really was something for everyone. You could take hard core shop classes like welding, automotive, household electrical or woodworking. On the other end of the spectrum were French and Cree language classes, Drama and Cooking (or was it still Home Ec back then?) In the middle were a mix of Typing, Word Processing, Stage Sound and Lighting, Computer Programming and Electronics.
Since I was already taking everything apart that resembled a radio or other small gadget, and I had numerous home-made electronic projects under my belt, I chose Electronics as an elective class. The class size was about 25 people in grade 11, and of those 25 probably about 2/3 of them actually cared about electronics, the other third were just there for what they thought might be an easy credit. One of the people who sat in front of me, Chris, fell in the "easy credit" crowd.
I remember that I didn't like Chris right from the very first class. I had never been in a class with him before, so it must have been a "bad first impression" kind of feeling. Chris wasn't a stupid person, I could tell that from his work in class, but he didn't care about electronics and wasn't applying himself. His goofing off in class was somewhat annoying, but usually easily tolerated. I certainly wasn't a saint in that regard - I'm sure that I did my fair share of annoying people in other classes (like English) that I didn't particularily care for.
Since I was also enrolled in Computer Programming class, and since the storage medium of that era was 5.25" floppy disks, I routinely carried around a box of disks. I was somewhat paranoid about losing the information on thoses disks since I put a large number of hours into programming (perhaps more than I should have). I had a large emotional investment in the data on those disks.
One day in Electronics class about two months into the term, for whatever reason, Chris had a decently-sized permanent magnet. Just before the start of the lecture, as we were all sitting in our desks, he had turned around and asked me what I would do if he were to wave the magnet over my box of disks lying on the front corner of my desk. I got pissed off and told him in no uncertain terms that I would be quite mad and he shouldn't even joke about that.
The teacher started his lecture and turned to the chalk board to draw a schematic diagram and some notes. Chris took that opportunity to turn around to face me and pretend that he was waving the magnet over my computer disks. Again I warned him, and he just laughed as he turned back. A few minutes later he must have been bored again with the lecture, since he turned around and duplicated the pretending to wave the magnet over the disks - but this time, he went a little closer to them. Again I got mad, and again he laughed and turned back.
I know that the people around us at the time were aware of what was going on. The teacher was completely unaware, but the rest of the class could feel the tension rising, and a few of them were paying more attention to the growing issue than the lecture up front.
The last time that Chris turned around to annoy me, his magnet came way too close to the disks for my comfort. I was mortified about the possibility of losing data, and I completely lost control of myself. I drew my right hand back quickly and then let it fly right at Chris; I hit him squarely and firmly in the jaw. The punch connected so well that Chris flew right out of his chair and ended up falling hard onto the concrete shop floor.
The whole class went dead silent.
The teacher turned around, wondering what had just happened. He looked at me and saw that my face was flushed. His eyes were then drawn to the empty desk in front of me, and finally down to the floor where Chris was just starting to gather himself back up again. The teacher turned back to me, smiled, and then turned back to the board to continue his lecture. He didn't say a word.
For the rest of that year and next, Chris never spoke another word to me, and went out of his way to avoid me. I didn't feel good about hitting him, but neither did I feel guilty. To this day, that incident is still one of only two times that I have ever hit another person in anger.
Posted by Hammer at 02:40 PM | Comments (0)