Warts

When I was an adolescent my hands were covered with warts. No exaggeration.
Talk about humiliating. Like teenage acne and gawkiness weren’t bad enough.
I developed them when I was in Junior High. The kids in my class called me “wart-man”… and this was Sunday school.
I did a fair job of hiding my hands as I walked through the halls, but you can’t keep your hands in your pockets while you play the clarinet. I almost quit band because I was so embarrassed. I would have but Dad wouldn’t let me. I’m glad he didn’t.

One day after about 2 year’s of wart pain, Dad saw that I was covering my hands. He told me he too had a serious wart problem when he was a kid. He said:
“I took a ripe apple and cut it in half.
"Then I rubbed the apple all over my hands so the warts were covered with juice from the apple.
"Then I placed the two apple halves in a hiding place, left them there and forgot about them.
"This is a very important part… you have to forget about them.
"Several weeks later, by the time the apples had dried up, the warts were gone.”

I had tried a few other things that didn't work. "Compound-W" and soaking my hands in "Janitor in a Drum" (anyone else remember that stuff?).
I was intrigued by Dad's story. More than that, I was convinced. "It worked for Dad so it will work for me."

It could have been coincidence.
It might have had something to do with the juice from that apple.
It probably had more to do with the faith I had in my Dad.
But it worked… just the way Dad explained it to me.

Free Cat

I like cat humor

Camping with Dad

I shared this story with Sean last night as we visited with Dad.
Perhaps Adam and David remember this event.

Let me tell you about a time when Dad took his three oldest son's on a Fathers/Sons camp out many years ago.
We were living in Bountiful at the time so Adam, David and I were very young. I don't remember a lot about the trip except for bed time. We didn't bring a tent. We had 3 canvas sleeping bags. Dad took one for himself and he zipped the other two together for his three sons to share. It was quite comfortable. We watched the campfire as Dad talked to us. We went to sleep under the stars and all was well in the world...

until...

it started raining in the middle of the night. Hard!
Dad took the three sleeping bags and zipped them back into singles. Then he made a bed for each of his son's on the 3 big bench style car seats inside of the van we brought. There wasn't a 4th car seat or a 4th sleeping bag so Dad stayed out in the rain and curled up next to the fire with an old tarp. Dad tossed and turned and tried to sleep in the rain and on the hard ground. Later, dripping wet, he opened the van's side door, came in out of the rain and tried sleeping on the floor of the van.
Sometime before sunrise Dad decided the camping trip was over. He started up the van and we drove home.
At the time I was disappointed we would miss the pancake breakfast up the canyon. But now, as an adult with two kids of my own, I mostly think about a Dad who sacrificed for his sons.

'Deer' by Carl

do not hit a deer with your car,
unless you must,
like if he's in the way
or being a real jerk.

or if he's one of those suicide deer,
the kind that's into headlight highs
and lingers by
the high-way
at night and gets into fights.

if you spot one of these deer
then veer,
and hit 'em
i say.
but just kind of graze him.
okay.

let him survive.
that crappy deer.