I sit in my cave, my view of the world tainted by the metallic shades slanted open ever so slightly that the sunlight may make its way in. I wonder how this weekend will go. I don't really want to work today, but I will. I have to completely change the way the organizer works. I hear voices outside my door. I hope they don't interrupt this. I like writing. Courtney makes fun of me all the time because of my spelling and grammer, or lack there of. I like writing. I think it gives me another creative outlet that I had not explored before, not to this extent. I wonder if the way I write is the way I draw or paint. I have always been a big picture person. You know, where I like to see the over all end result instead of worrying over the little details. I like to paint too. I wish I had more time to do so.
Thought number 20. I like the fact that I can listen to music while I work. People think I'm nuts. I don't know why but I can get in a better "groove" if I have some music in the back ground. I think its because of its rythm. The pulsating beats as the words drip over them. I can think in that same beat. 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3. write a line of code with the key strokes following the very pulsating instant gratification of the music. Its soothing. Its calming. I like to lay my head back in my chair. I wish it were colder in here. Its hot.
Thought number 40. I don't know if I am doing this right or not. Back to programming. Its something about the music. I like being alone and programming. People bug me too much. It breaks my flow. In the flow. I should put that on my door. When I get interrupted it takes too much time to get back in the flow. The flow is important to programmers you know? The flow is what good code comes from. Creative code. Ideas that would not manafest themselves other wise. I wish I would have an original thought. Maybe I am too hard on my self. If life like were only like a video game. Where I could get to certain stages... and then hit save. That way, when I screwed up I could just go back and start from the part that I was right on.
Thought number 60. I can't wait to get to the next level of ubiquitous programming. Programming models where stuff just works. I can't wait to the next boom really happens. Its so weird knowing that we are about to hit another revolution and the world seems not to know. I know so many people that are living like its 1999 and I can feel 2020 closing in. I wonder what people will think when we have things like self controled cars that can freely operate on a highway, warn you when issues arrive, or take care of them itself. I wonder what people will think when they can infact talk to their computer that can seemingly make its own judgments about what you ask for. Not just do what you asked for. It's strange thinking of it in those terms though.
Thought number 80. I don't know if it will be right. I mean, if a computer really acted like it had artificial intelegence then it could make the consious decision to act on, or not, what you have requested. Imagine, "Computer, please pull up Google search." Computer, "Not really feeling like doing that right now. Watching the news. Please check back in 10 minutes." ouch. That would be frustrating. There would have to be some rules. Like children. It could be smart, but only like a smart child that was to do everything I ordered it, or it might get grounded. And have the TV taken away. But if stuff just worked, that would be great. I can't wait. People don't know how close we are yet. There is so much user experience revolution going on right now. Computers sucked back in the 90's. Yeah, I said it. Those of us who wrote software, we didn't take the time.
Thought number 100. I can't wait. Cars will soon under go such a revolution. The convergance of computers and cars is taking place right now. I don't know if my friends or family know it or not, but soon they will be able to interact with their cars like no body's business. We will have a complete convergance of Internet communication bringing applications into the cars that are just out of this world. You'll be able to tell your car the restaraunt you want to go to. Your car will confirm, "You mean the one on Lemmon and 32nd?" "Yes" "Ok, sit back and relax and we'll be there in 13 minutes and 45 seconds." This is what I've been waiting for. I'm disappointed that it is taking so long. I wish it would have happened 10 years ago. I can remember when the famous "IT" came out a few years ago. I was soo pumped. I was hoping for a floating transpertation device, or a teletransporter all together. It spawned discussions with Courtney about what we would do if we could get anywhere in the world within seconds. I was sooo jived. But then they came out with the scooter. I was crushed. I had to go back to work.
Last thought. And then I heard how teleporting would actually have to work. Its like this: A computer takes a scan of every atom, and the state of every atom in your body. Then it recreates it somewhere else and ultimately destroys the original. So, effectively it would have to clone you each and every time. That's where our current technology is. But, wait a second. Why? The information that passes through a computer is nothing more than atoms anyway. At least in Quantum computing. So, if that were the case, then why could you not pass the originals down the same transportation mechanism? Wireless, ethernet so on. So, if that happened then you could reach up and snatch a little piece of someone out of the air!!!! Strange.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The Red Cross
"What the" Maxwell exhaled. His most prized possession was no more. He grated his teeth as he glared in the now cavernous container that once held the Royal Scepter with the Red Cross. He had risked his life for it, and not to turn it over to another admirer, but to keep it as his own. It might have brought him millions on the black market, but this was, excuse the pun, his crown jewel.
But who could have pulled this off? There was only one person in this world that knew Maxwell even had the scepter for sure. That was Mortimer Franks, but Maxwell couldn't imagine Mortimer having taken it. One key attribute you need as a career thief is the ability to read people. You have to know who to trust and who to bring into your inner circle.
Another thief. It had to be. But that would mean that Mortimer had leaked some information to someone. He had been visiting his local pub quite often lately. I wonder if he had become too drunk one evening and relinquished a few too many secrets. Maxwell would have to ask at dinner tonight.
"Maxwell, how are you?" Mortimer asked as he strutted across the grand dining room floor to clasp the hand of his most precious friend.
"Just fine, Mortimer. And yourself?" Maxwell responded as he intensely studied Mortimer for any sign of a weakness. Maxwell could tell if someone was being untruthful if they continuously looked down and to the left. Also, a bead of sweat might dissolve his cover.
"Fine, fine! I have some new information for you, on that diamond exhibition in New York next week. The India Blue will be on display there. And we already have bidders lined up for it. I say, this could be a big one. I have it on good word that the diamond is over 100 carets!" Mortimers eyes glistened with excitement.
"Oh yes, one more thing dear friend. I received the strangest call this afternoon. Someone named Julia. She said she needs to speak to you, an utmost urgency she said. I am afraid I do not recall anyone named Julia. A new acquaintance perhaps?" asked Mortimer.
A steel look eclipsed Maxwell's face. "Julia" he thought. He hasn't heard from her in years.
"Mortimer, how long have we known each other?" Maxwell asked.
"Going on ten years now, Sir."
"Have I ever told you about Julia?" asked Maxwell.
"No Sir."
Maxwell and Mortimer sat at the dinner table as Maxwell excused the wait staff.
"She's my daughter. You see, Mortimer, I was married when I was very young. I divorced my first wife when I decided to do what I now do on a more permanent basis. It's not the kind of thing you want to do while having a family, you know."
"Wait a minute," Maxwell thought. He probed his vast memory for any inkling of ever showing Julia where he stored his bounty. "Stop." Maxwell reprimanded himself. "Its your daughter. How can you think of such a thing?"
"Sir?" Mortimer queried his long time friend.
Maxwell snapped back into reality, "Oh yes, sorry. Anyway, her mother moved them to Paris. I haven't seen or heard anything from the two since Julia was twelve. Did she say what she wanted?"
"No sir, but she did seem somewhat frantic, despondent. I have her number written down on your desk pad in the study."
"I must speak to her now. I hope all is well." Maxwell said as he rose from his untouched meal and proceeded to the study.
"Hello?" The voice on the other line sounded weak and weary.
"Julia, it's Father. Is everything alright?" Maxwell responded.
"Yes, well, uhm. No, actually. Mother has passed. I'm sorry I did not call you sooner, but she has been dealing with cancer for the last six months. She had been diagnosed in September and it went badly for her. She died last night. I'm sorry I haven't called, but it was her wish that you did not know." July had begun to weep.
"Julia, darling. I'm very sorry. Please come to London and visit. Are you still receiving the payments I send?" Maxwell asked.
"Yes Father. We do so appreciate them. I'm sorry I haven't contacted you myself. I've been seeing a therapist and trying to work through my issues with you. But I thought you should now about Mother."
Maxwell could feel the lump in his throat rise. "Julia, please do come and stay with me. You can stay in your old room."
"Yes Father."
Two days later Maxwell was in London eating at an outside eatery with his female companion of two years, Beth Holland. Maxwell had Beth's background checked and doublechecked. She was a school teacher from West London and was every bit as innocent and sweet as she looked.
"More tea darling?" asked Maxwell.
"Yes dear." replied Beth as she bit off the end of another cookie. She was, as usual, buried in her books. She did not know of Maxwell's craft, as well she shouldn't. He learned his lesson the first go around.
Beth finally broke away from the novel her nose had become acquainted with to ask, "about this weekend dear, are you going to be able to make it to the Shires? Remember, they've invited us to their dinner party in the country?"
Maxwell hated being coy, but knew it was best. "Not this weekend dear. I've got an appointment with a new broker in New York. I must meet with him this weekend, otherwise he won't be available until the end of the summer.
Just then an erie feeling came over Maxwell. He knew who was standing over his shoulder by the shadow that his rather large fedora cast.
"Good day Mr. Galloway. And may I ask, who is your lovely friend?" Captain Vince Van Haught slyly asked.
"Good afternoon dear Captain. What a lovely surprise it is to see you. What can I assist you with today?" Maxwell skillfully avoided introducing Beth to the Captain. He always thought it would be better if the two had never met.
"Beth Holland"
"Ugh." Maxwell sighed under his breath.
"How very nice to meet you, madam" the Captain said as he reached to gently kiss the extended hand of Ms. Holland.
"How are things in the yard?" Maxwell asked, trying to regain control of the situation.
"Splendid, splendid indeed. In fact, I am taking an early retirement. Had a relative pass away recently, left me a great deal of money. Much more than the pension from the Yard, I must say."
"That is great news. I will miss your expertise however. We need brains like yours to keep my trade business safe from scallions." Maxwell said again trying to divert.
"Indeed. Indeed. Well, I must be off. Enjoy your tea. Good day madam." The Captain tipped that enormous hat of his as he walked off.
"Nice chap!" Beth said, again burying her nose in her book.
Later that night Maxwell was watching television in the den when news broke.
"This just in. Honored Captain in Scotland Yard has been arrested in possession of an article of the Crown Jewels stolen last summer. According to the Yard spokesperson, he was arrested while trying to sell the item on the black market, to undercover agents! He was caught with a woman thought to be his accomplice. "
Maxwell gasped. He stared at the television in disbelief. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs for his assistant, "Mortimer!"
"Yes Sir?" Mortimer managed to get out, short of breath from the dash to the den.
"Mortimer, do you see this?"
"What the bloody hell?" Mortimer murmured as he slowly made his way to the television.
"That conniving little. Sir, it's Beth!" Mortimer managed to finally get out, still having his eyes glued to the set, watching Beth get out of the car in hand cuffs.
"Mortimer, you'd better tell me what's going on."
"Sir, I am deeply sorry. Beth and I, well Sir, as so I thought, had developed a, well a friendship of sorts. She kept flirting with me, and well Sir, I must say that I enjoyed it."
"Mortimer, please tell me you didn't show her the false wall!" Maxwell said as his face turned bright red.
"Yes Sir, I actually did. But I laughed at her when last week she made a comment about how funny it would be if someone less obvious had stolen from you, one of the greatest thieves of all time."
"She knew?" Maxwell asked, a tear developing in his eyes.
"Yes Sir. I guess I was blind to it Sir. She and the Captain must have been in together on this the entire time."
Maxwell relaxed back into his chair. How bitter sweet it was. Beth, whom he loved but was considering breaking off his relationship with and the Captain, who had been on his heels for five years were now out of his life. For quite a long while. Pitty it all had to happen at the expense of his greatest prize ever captured, the Royal Specter with the Red Cross.
But who could have pulled this off? There was only one person in this world that knew Maxwell even had the scepter for sure. That was Mortimer Franks, but Maxwell couldn't imagine Mortimer having taken it. One key attribute you need as a career thief is the ability to read people. You have to know who to trust and who to bring into your inner circle.
Another thief. It had to be. But that would mean that Mortimer had leaked some information to someone. He had been visiting his local pub quite often lately. I wonder if he had become too drunk one evening and relinquished a few too many secrets. Maxwell would have to ask at dinner tonight.
"Maxwell, how are you?" Mortimer asked as he strutted across the grand dining room floor to clasp the hand of his most precious friend.
"Just fine, Mortimer. And yourself?" Maxwell responded as he intensely studied Mortimer for any sign of a weakness. Maxwell could tell if someone was being untruthful if they continuously looked down and to the left. Also, a bead of sweat might dissolve his cover.
"Fine, fine! I have some new information for you, on that diamond exhibition in New York next week. The India Blue will be on display there. And we already have bidders lined up for it. I say, this could be a big one. I have it on good word that the diamond is over 100 carets!" Mortimers eyes glistened with excitement.
"Oh yes, one more thing dear friend. I received the strangest call this afternoon. Someone named Julia. She said she needs to speak to you, an utmost urgency she said. I am afraid I do not recall anyone named Julia. A new acquaintance perhaps?" asked Mortimer.
A steel look eclipsed Maxwell's face. "Julia" he thought. He hasn't heard from her in years.
"Mortimer, how long have we known each other?" Maxwell asked.
"Going on ten years now, Sir."
"Have I ever told you about Julia?" asked Maxwell.
"No Sir."
Maxwell and Mortimer sat at the dinner table as Maxwell excused the wait staff.
"She's my daughter. You see, Mortimer, I was married when I was very young. I divorced my first wife when I decided to do what I now do on a more permanent basis. It's not the kind of thing you want to do while having a family, you know."
"Wait a minute," Maxwell thought. He probed his vast memory for any inkling of ever showing Julia where he stored his bounty. "Stop." Maxwell reprimanded himself. "Its your daughter. How can you think of such a thing?"
"Sir?" Mortimer queried his long time friend.
Maxwell snapped back into reality, "Oh yes, sorry. Anyway, her mother moved them to Paris. I haven't seen or heard anything from the two since Julia was twelve. Did she say what she wanted?"
"No sir, but she did seem somewhat frantic, despondent. I have her number written down on your desk pad in the study."
"I must speak to her now. I hope all is well." Maxwell said as he rose from his untouched meal and proceeded to the study.
"Hello?" The voice on the other line sounded weak and weary.
"Julia, it's Father. Is everything alright?" Maxwell responded.
"Yes, well, uhm. No, actually. Mother has passed. I'm sorry I did not call you sooner, but she has been dealing with cancer for the last six months. She had been diagnosed in September and it went badly for her. She died last night. I'm sorry I haven't called, but it was her wish that you did not know." July had begun to weep.
"Julia, darling. I'm very sorry. Please come to London and visit. Are you still receiving the payments I send?" Maxwell asked.
"Yes Father. We do so appreciate them. I'm sorry I haven't contacted you myself. I've been seeing a therapist and trying to work through my issues with you. But I thought you should now about Mother."
Maxwell could feel the lump in his throat rise. "Julia, please do come and stay with me. You can stay in your old room."
"Yes Father."
Two days later Maxwell was in London eating at an outside eatery with his female companion of two years, Beth Holland. Maxwell had Beth's background checked and doublechecked. She was a school teacher from West London and was every bit as innocent and sweet as she looked.
"More tea darling?" asked Maxwell.
"Yes dear." replied Beth as she bit off the end of another cookie. She was, as usual, buried in her books. She did not know of Maxwell's craft, as well she shouldn't. He learned his lesson the first go around.
Beth finally broke away from the novel her nose had become acquainted with to ask, "about this weekend dear, are you going to be able to make it to the Shires? Remember, they've invited us to their dinner party in the country?"
Maxwell hated being coy, but knew it was best. "Not this weekend dear. I've got an appointment with a new broker in New York. I must meet with him this weekend, otherwise he won't be available until the end of the summer.
Just then an erie feeling came over Maxwell. He knew who was standing over his shoulder by the shadow that his rather large fedora cast.
"Good day Mr. Galloway. And may I ask, who is your lovely friend?" Captain Vince Van Haught slyly asked.
"Good afternoon dear Captain. What a lovely surprise it is to see you. What can I assist you with today?" Maxwell skillfully avoided introducing Beth to the Captain. He always thought it would be better if the two had never met.
"Beth Holland"
"Ugh." Maxwell sighed under his breath.
"How very nice to meet you, madam" the Captain said as he reached to gently kiss the extended hand of Ms. Holland.
"How are things in the yard?" Maxwell asked, trying to regain control of the situation.
"Splendid, splendid indeed. In fact, I am taking an early retirement. Had a relative pass away recently, left me a great deal of money. Much more than the pension from the Yard, I must say."
"That is great news. I will miss your expertise however. We need brains like yours to keep my trade business safe from scallions." Maxwell said again trying to divert.
"Indeed. Indeed. Well, I must be off. Enjoy your tea. Good day madam." The Captain tipped that enormous hat of his as he walked off.
"Nice chap!" Beth said, again burying her nose in her book.
Later that night Maxwell was watching television in the den when news broke.
"This just in. Honored Captain in Scotland Yard has been arrested in possession of an article of the Crown Jewels stolen last summer. According to the Yard spokesperson, he was arrested while trying to sell the item on the black market, to undercover agents! He was caught with a woman thought to be his accomplice. "
Maxwell gasped. He stared at the television in disbelief. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs for his assistant, "Mortimer!"
"Yes Sir?" Mortimer managed to get out, short of breath from the dash to the den.
"Mortimer, do you see this?"
"What the bloody hell?" Mortimer murmured as he slowly made his way to the television.
"That conniving little. Sir, it's Beth!" Mortimer managed to finally get out, still having his eyes glued to the set, watching Beth get out of the car in hand cuffs.
"Mortimer, you'd better tell me what's going on."
"Sir, I am deeply sorry. Beth and I, well Sir, as so I thought, had developed a, well a friendship of sorts. She kept flirting with me, and well Sir, I must say that I enjoyed it."
"Mortimer, please tell me you didn't show her the false wall!" Maxwell said as his face turned bright red.
"Yes Sir, I actually did. But I laughed at her when last week she made a comment about how funny it would be if someone less obvious had stolen from you, one of the greatest thieves of all time."
"She knew?" Maxwell asked, a tear developing in his eyes.
"Yes Sir. I guess I was blind to it Sir. She and the Captain must have been in together on this the entire time."
Maxwell relaxed back into his chair. How bitter sweet it was. Beth, whom he loved but was considering breaking off his relationship with and the Captain, who had been on his heels for five years were now out of his life. For quite a long while. Pitty it all had to happen at the expense of his greatest prize ever captured, the Royal Specter with the Red Cross.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Premise: View As The Thief
You must write your story this week about Maxwell Galloway, a notorious jewelry thief in England. You have stolen several prized items; the most prized being the Royal Scepter with the Red Cross, one of the five scepters in the Crown Jewel collection. You story must pick up when Maxwell discovers the scepter has been stolen from him. The story takes place in modern day England.
Cast of characters:
Julia Galloway - Maxwell's estranged daughter, 23, lives in Paris.
Mortimer Franks - Maxwell's assistant and confidant, 55, lives with Maxwell.
Captain Vincent Van Haught - A captain in Scotland Yard, 57, trying to catch Maxwell.
Beth Holland - Maxwell's love interest, 49, lives in London.
Maxwell Galloway - Career thief, 54, lives just outside of London.
Cast of characters:
Julia Galloway - Maxwell's estranged daughter, 23, lives in Paris.
Mortimer Franks - Maxwell's assistant and confidant, 55, lives with Maxwell.
Captain Vincent Van Haught - A captain in Scotland Yard, 57, trying to catch Maxwell.
Beth Holland - Maxwell's love interest, 49, lives in London.
Maxwell Galloway - Career thief, 54, lives just outside of London.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Hunting Grounds
This is my disclaimer: I made up this story. The characters really existed, but the tale itself never happened...at least not to my knowledge.
The morning was grey as the sun slowly crept over the mountain tops. Sergeant Hathcock and Lance Corporal Burke had been in their hide since about 4 a.m. the previous morning. The Gunnery Sergeant with the shaved head and handlebar mustache from the intelligence division had given them a tip that Colonel Ba was reportedly coming to an area near Hill 55. Colonel Ba was commander of the sniper platoon that had been hunting Hathcock and his Captain over the past few months. After seeing nothing yesterday, the two snipers had felt discouraged, but Carlos was working a hunch. He had found an area above a creek where there was evidence that someone had slid down from a low place above where the grass had been flattened indicating that someone had been laying there. It was possible that the guerilla sniper had only been there once, but after scoping Hill 55 from the hide, Carlos found that it gave the right angles for many of the shots that had been fired at the hill in the last few months. Carlos felt that the sniper would come back to his favorite hide eventually and would then lead him to the commander of his platoon.
Colonel Ba had sent a messenger to alert the snipers that he would be coming to rendevous with them and to be ready to report any new information about "White Feather". Now as he stepped off of the NV truck ten kilometers north of his rendevous point, he found himself daydreaming about one of his snipers confirming the kill of the ruthless killer that had caused so much commotion for the North Vietnamese in the last seven months. He was not looking forward to his long walk, but these thoughts made the time pass faster. Finally, three kilometers out, the Colonel put all of his daydreams aside. Knowing that he was well within the hunting ground of the American, he would begin the slow deliberate trek to his snipers' cave. The final three kilometers would take the Officer almost twelve hours, in which time he would not stop moving for a moment.
Carlos nudged his partner's heal with his own. Burke looked at Carlos and then trained his M14 to the same point that he saw the sergeant's Winchester model 70. "That hamburger has no idea we are here. We been watchin' him for at least three hours now; lookin' round, moving in cover from the hill. He still hasn't spotted us. Now he is getting in his favorite hide to spend the day picking off Marines." The thought angered Carlos, but not as much as the other reality of the situation. "John, we don't touch him unless he spots us. I hate to leave those Marines to his marksmanship, but if we are to have any chance at Colonel Ba, we have to follow old Victor Charlie here to the rendevous." Carlos' voice was so low that Burke more read his lips than heard what he said. With a slow almost imperceptible nod, Burke agreed.
At the end of another day, Carlos was relieved that no shots had been fired. Normally a day this quiet would make the Sergeant uneasy, but since he had watched the sniper scope on his fellow Marines, Carlos was happy that he had not found a target suitable for shooting today. Once the sniper left his blind, Hathcock watched as long as he could see Charlie to get an idea of the direction he was going. Carlos knew better than to try to follow behind the sniper, but he hoped that the slightest trail would be left and the two Marines could pick it up the next day.
"There!" Burke said in a low confident voice. "See that broken stick? He came this way."
"How did you spot that?" The stick was at least three hundred yards away, and the Marines were on the move. Burke hadn't even used his scope. He just "saw" it.
The two Marines found the trail to be easier to follow the further it got from Hill 55. "This hotdog is good, but I told you we were smarter than these gooners. We would never use the
same blind twice, nor would we ever leave a trail like this. If anything, I try to hide my trail more the closer I get to home." The two snipers stopped to take a break among the downed tree trunks that littered the jungle. They had been low crawling for almost 4 hours now. While stopped, Hathcock took out his 20 power spotting scope and checked all around them. Slowly he let his foot slip to the left where it met Burke's. Surprised, Burke slowly brought his canteen down and looked at his Sergeant.
"They are this close to 55?" Both men were sure that they had two to four more hours of crawling through the brush ahead of them. From this distance, a patrol from Hill 55 could accidentally run across them coming or going.
"Smart Charlie. Set up camp right in the last place we would expect." Carlos always respected a good hunter, and Charlie was known for that. From this point, the snipers could remain hidden while keeping an eye on the traffic on and off of Hill 55. The cave was 3,000 yards from where the Marine snipers slept, and had a great view of the compound. They were too far away for even a wild shot at the encampment, but still close enough to have a good idea of what movement occurred day to day. "We don't have much of a shot from here. Lets skirt that ridge to the west and see if we can't find high ground on them."
At 3 o'clock that same afternoon, as the snipers settled into their new blind atop the ridge, Colonel Ba poked his head from behind a bush and looked over the cave. One of his snipers stepped out of the cave and stretched. At this sight, Ba came out and announced himself.
As the Colonel walked toward the cave, Carlos readied his rifle. He slid his hand up tight against the end of the shoulder strap, pulled the stock tight into his shoulder and rested the crosshairs of the scope on the Colonel's chest. He breathed slow and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he reopened his eyes to find the crosshairs in the exact same position. He began applying pressure to the trigger. This was Carlos' favorite shooting position. He could shoot very well from all positions, but this one was his best. It fit him. It was comfortable...like an old leather glove.
The morning was grey as the sun slowly crept over the mountain tops. Sergeant Hathcock and Lance Corporal Burke had been in their hide since about 4 a.m. the previous morning. The Gunnery Sergeant with the shaved head and handlebar mustache from the intelligence division had given them a tip that Colonel Ba was reportedly coming to an area near Hill 55. Colonel Ba was commander of the sniper platoon that had been hunting Hathcock and his Captain over the past few months. After seeing nothing yesterday, the two snipers had felt discouraged, but Carlos was working a hunch. He had found an area above a creek where there was evidence that someone had slid down from a low place above where the grass had been flattened indicating that someone had been laying there. It was possible that the guerilla sniper had only been there once, but after scoping Hill 55 from the hide, Carlos found that it gave the right angles for many of the shots that had been fired at the hill in the last few months. Carlos felt that the sniper would come back to his favorite hide eventually and would then lead him to the commander of his platoon.
Colonel Ba had sent a messenger to alert the snipers that he would be coming to rendevous with them and to be ready to report any new information about "White Feather". Now as he stepped off of the NV truck ten kilometers north of his rendevous point, he found himself daydreaming about one of his snipers confirming the kill of the ruthless killer that had caused so much commotion for the North Vietnamese in the last seven months. He was not looking forward to his long walk, but these thoughts made the time pass faster. Finally, three kilometers out, the Colonel put all of his daydreams aside. Knowing that he was well within the hunting ground of the American, he would begin the slow deliberate trek to his snipers' cave. The final three kilometers would take the Officer almost twelve hours, in which time he would not stop moving for a moment.
Carlos nudged his partner's heal with his own. Burke looked at Carlos and then trained his M14 to the same point that he saw the sergeant's Winchester model 70. "That hamburger has no idea we are here. We been watchin' him for at least three hours now; lookin' round, moving in cover from the hill. He still hasn't spotted us. Now he is getting in his favorite hide to spend the day picking off Marines." The thought angered Carlos, but not as much as the other reality of the situation. "John, we don't touch him unless he spots us. I hate to leave those Marines to his marksmanship, but if we are to have any chance at Colonel Ba, we have to follow old Victor Charlie here to the rendevous." Carlos' voice was so low that Burke more read his lips than heard what he said. With a slow almost imperceptible nod, Burke agreed.
At the end of another day, Carlos was relieved that no shots had been fired. Normally a day this quiet would make the Sergeant uneasy, but since he had watched the sniper scope on his fellow Marines, Carlos was happy that he had not found a target suitable for shooting today. Once the sniper left his blind, Hathcock watched as long as he could see Charlie to get an idea of the direction he was going. Carlos knew better than to try to follow behind the sniper, but he hoped that the slightest trail would be left and the two Marines could pick it up the next day.
"There!" Burke said in a low confident voice. "See that broken stick? He came this way."
"How did you spot that?" The stick was at least three hundred yards away, and the Marines were on the move. Burke hadn't even used his scope. He just "saw" it.
The two Marines found the trail to be easier to follow the further it got from Hill 55. "This hotdog is good, but I told you we were smarter than these gooners. We would never use the
same blind twice, nor would we ever leave a trail like this. If anything, I try to hide my trail more the closer I get to home." The two snipers stopped to take a break among the downed tree trunks that littered the jungle. They had been low crawling for almost 4 hours now. While stopped, Hathcock took out his 20 power spotting scope and checked all around them. Slowly he let his foot slip to the left where it met Burke's. Surprised, Burke slowly brought his canteen down and looked at his Sergeant.
"They are this close to 55?" Both men were sure that they had two to four more hours of crawling through the brush ahead of them. From this distance, a patrol from Hill 55 could accidentally run across them coming or going.
"Smart Charlie. Set up camp right in the last place we would expect." Carlos always respected a good hunter, and Charlie was known for that. From this point, the snipers could remain hidden while keeping an eye on the traffic on and off of Hill 55. The cave was 3,000 yards from where the Marine snipers slept, and had a great view of the compound. They were too far away for even a wild shot at the encampment, but still close enough to have a good idea of what movement occurred day to day. "We don't have much of a shot from here. Lets skirt that ridge to the west and see if we can't find high ground on them."
At 3 o'clock that same afternoon, as the snipers settled into their new blind atop the ridge, Colonel Ba poked his head from behind a bush and looked over the cave. One of his snipers stepped out of the cave and stretched. At this sight, Ba came out and announced himself.
As the Colonel walked toward the cave, Carlos readied his rifle. He slid his hand up tight against the end of the shoulder strap, pulled the stock tight into his shoulder and rested the crosshairs of the scope on the Colonel's chest. He breathed slow and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he reopened his eyes to find the crosshairs in the exact same position. He began applying pressure to the trigger. This was Carlos' favorite shooting position. He could shoot very well from all positions, but this one was his best. It fit him. It was comfortable...like an old leather glove.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
My Friend
Sit there staring across from me,
blissful in your ignorance.
I sit over here as I see
what will be your downfall is your arrogance.
Listen to me, dear old friend,
as I sit across from you.
I'll describe to you your end,
as I see it from my point of view.
You have stolen from me
what is most precious.
You have taken from me
what you considered delicious.
Go ahead, stare dead into my eyes
as I plot and scheme.
Go ahead and try to compromise
how and what I dream.
'How would you know?'
I imagine you'll ask.
'By that old leather glove
that you left at your task'
Ah yes, that glove as evidence,
so warn and gray.
A glove that is missing it's co-currence,
the side that has gone astray.
So where is it, dear obsession,
that glove of yours?
It's in my possession
locked away behind my doors.
Should I reach across the table
and steal the life away from you?
Be aware that I am able
but is it what I should do?
That act would mimic
what you did to my bride.
Put her in a panic
as you tightened what you had tied.
But at some point you removed the glove,
probably to adore her beauty.
You have taken what I love
and now I will do my duty.
But alas, my dreams are shattered,
as the cops put you in chains.
I'll keep the glove so tattered,
in memory of my pain.
blissful in your ignorance.
I sit over here as I see
what will be your downfall is your arrogance.
Listen to me, dear old friend,
as I sit across from you.
I'll describe to you your end,
as I see it from my point of view.
You have stolen from me
what is most precious.
You have taken from me
what you considered delicious.
Go ahead, stare dead into my eyes
as I plot and scheme.
Go ahead and try to compromise
how and what I dream.
'How would you know?'
I imagine you'll ask.
'By that old leather glove
that you left at your task'
Ah yes, that glove as evidence,
so warn and gray.
A glove that is missing it's co-currence,
the side that has gone astray.
So where is it, dear obsession,
that glove of yours?
It's in my possession
locked away behind my doors.
Should I reach across the table
and steal the life away from you?
Be aware that I am able
but is it what I should do?
That act would mimic
what you did to my bride.
Put her in a panic
as you tightened what you had tied.
But at some point you removed the glove,
probably to adore her beauty.
You have taken what I love
and now I will do my duty.
But alas, my dreams are shattered,
as the cops put you in chains.
I'll keep the glove so tattered,
in memory of my pain.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Lil' Logan
It was hot in this new place. Logan had just turned twelve years old, and was about to start Junior High School when his father, a native Texan, had retired from the Army and moved Logan away from his home in Scotland back to the small town in Texas where he himself had grown up. Logan felt lonely, and wished he was still in a big city like the one he lived in before, but not only had he left all of his friends behind, he also had to move to the country. Logan knew nothing of the country except that there were wild animals. He knew that he would eventually have to deal with the likes of rattlesnakes and wild pigs, maybe even bears. The thought kept him awake at night. Why would his father be so careless with his safety?
Things between Logan and his father were different without his mother there. Logan felt that he let his father down with every effort to impress him. That is why he had not complained when they moved to this dreadful place. His father wanted to go back to his home and raise Logan the way he thought was right. Logan understood, at his tender young age, how his father felt. He was afraid that if he had said that he didn’t want to go that his father would be hurt or angry. After all, with that many years in the military, he wouldn’t want to hear any response other than, “Yes Master Sargent! Right away Master Sargent!” Logan was afraid of his father, Master Sargent Thomas Mitchell, because he had never seen him smile while he wore his uniform, and he had heard the stories about how hard he was on his men. The man had been in war once, then volunteered to go back. He had been in the Army more than twice as long as Logan had been alive.
Another reason that Logan was afraid of disappointing his father was that when they moved back to this place, they moved into his grandmother’s house. In his father’s old room there were trophies everywhere. All State Football, All State Wrestling, Junior Football Championships. Logan had loved football for years, but now he began to feel that his father would never have reason to be proud of him unless he were to join the football team. That prospect would be a challenge though, because at twelve years old, Logan stood only five foot three inches tall and was lucky to tip the scales at one hundred and fifteen pounds. All the other boys were three to six inches taller than Logan, and out weighed him by fifteen to thirty pounds. A full contact sport seemed very dangerous to such a boy.
One day in June, Logan was walking around the small pond on his father’s property that was home to his best friend Spike. Logan had never given thought to it before, but Spike was an unusual pet, especially in Texas. Spike was a platypus. He was about eighteen inches long, and couldn’t have weighed more than two or three pounds. While Logan talked to Spike, the boy next door made his way to the fence separating the two properties. His name was Buck, and he was quite a disagreeable person. He was also twelve years old though you would not be able to tell from looking at him. He stood almost six feet tall and had to weigh one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He looked more like a fifteen or sixteen year old than twelve.
“Hey squirt! What are you doing out here alone?” Buck had warned Logan that if he were to be caught alone Buck would beat him up just because he could. “Now I’m gonna pound your face flat while my dog does the same to that little flat faced rat.”
“You leave him alone!” Logan screamed as Buck and the dog crossed the fence. Logan scooped up Spike and began running as fast as he could from Buck.
“Get them Killer!” Buck unleashed his German Shepard to catch their prey, but it didn’t work. Logan ran the two hundred yards to the house in less than twenty seconds. Even Killer looked surprised when he was unable to catch the boy. Logan immediately called the cell phone number that his father had written on the notepad by the phone, but when he answered, Logan decided not to tell him what had happened. Logan was sure that his father would be ashamed that he could not defend himself. Instead, Logan simply asked, “How are the fish biting Dad?”
“Not doing too bad Son, we have already caught our limit. We are just doing some catch and release now to use up our worms. I thought about bringing them home and saving them, but you remember how bad it smelled the last time that I put them in the fridge and forgot about them.” Thomas paused for a second then asked, “You sound out of breath Son, is everything okay?”
“I was just out playing in the yard. I wore myself out and needed some water and decided to call you while I was inside.” The lie came easily for the boy who, until a few months ago, couldn’t imagine being dishonest to his own father.
Thomas Mitchell put the phone back in his pocket and wondered to himself why his son would be lying to him about the bully next door. He knew, from working so closely with people and in the situations that he did, when someone was lying to him. He could hear it in their voice. It upset him that his son was being dishonest, but he didn’t want to confront him just yet. Thomas was curious how his son would deal with the bully. When he first figured out that Logan had a bully, it was everything that he could do not to march right over to the neighbors’ house and give them a Drill Sargent routine that would leave them quaking in their own home, but after consideration, he decided to be polite and invite them to a barbeque instead. He thought that getting both families together would either give the boys a chance to become friends, or allow Buck’s parents to see that he was a bully. Thomas thought that the former had happened, but it was becoming more and more evident that he was wrong. Buck was smarter than Thomas had given him credit for.
Wanting to help his son, Thomas thought of everything he could. I can teach him to fight - but Logan always shied away from Thomas when the topic was brought up. I can tell Buck’s parents - but Thomas was afraid that it would embarrass Logan, or worse would just make the situation harder. I could move him to another town - but Thomas knew that there would be other bullies. Buck was not the only big kid with that idea. I could send him away to Military School - but Thomas wanted Logan to choose the military himself, not be placed there like he had been.
Thomas really didn’t know how to best help his son. He just wished that Logan would come to him and tell him the problem. Then he could ask Logan how he could help. Thomas felt that Logan didn’t trust him for some reason. He didn’t know why.
In August, school started. Logan had made a plan. “This year I am going to make Dad proud.” He would try-out for the football team and the wrestling team. No matter how bad he got hurt, he was determined to make it on one or both of them. He would stop running from bullies and find ways to make them leave him alone.
Thomas was also making a plan. “I won’t pressure Logan this year. Not a word about sports. I won’t bother him about school.” He called the coaches and asked them not to try to recruit Logan. He asked the teachers to watch out for Logan because he thought he had a bully. He was determined to protect Logan without letting him know he was involved.
On the first day of school, Logan walked tall into his home-room class. He was nervous, but determined not to let this turn out like the other school years. He would not be quietly bullied while trying to avoid physical activity. This year he left elementary school and began his trek towards High School! It would be different.
The first day was going very well. Logan was headed to his sixth and final class for the day without a single sign of a bully. He had gone to the football and wrestling coaches and set-up a try-out; there was something strange about their reluctance to talk to him, but he had accomplished his mission. His head was in the clouds. Then there was Buck. He walked into the classroom just ahead of Logan. What would Logan do? Could he just skip this class? Maybe today, but not for the rest of the year. He didn’t want to go. Suddenly Logan thought to himself, “Yeah lad, run again. You’re good at it. Let them make fun of your size, or how you talk. Make your military father proud and run away one more time!” Then Logan threw his shoulders back and expanded his little chest just as big as it would get. He walked into that class ready for anything...except an immediate direct punch to the chest. It knocked the breath right out of Logan, and he collapsed to the floor. Just then the teacher walked in and sent Logan to the nurse. He spent his last class period in the nurses office refusing to say anything about what happened, then he moped out to the bus to go home.
Thomas met Logan at the bus stop and immediately knew something was wrong. “How was your day little man? Something bad happen?”
Logan just grunted with his head hung low staring into his lap. He knew right then that his whole plan for the year was out the window. The ride home was only a few miles, but it seemed to take forever to get there. Both rode in silence the entire way. Father trying to figure out how to make his son trust him. Son trying to figure out how to make his father proud. Neither daring to ask the other for help.
“Spike, you are the only one that I can tell. I know you will keep my secret. I got beat up at school today. I didn’t even stand up for myself. It was Buck, but I didn’t tell the teachers. I should have. But that would make it worse. I don’t know what to do Spike. I wish you could tell me.” Logan was holding his little friend feeding him dog biscuits. Logan was feeling smaller than the platypus by now.
“You need to stop beating yourself up or you will never gain the respect of anyone else!” Logan slowly looked down at the animal who was staring directly in his eyes. “Trust me, I am a platypus I’ve been through it!”
Logan shoved Spike out of his lap and backed across the bed he was sitting on with almost cartoonish speed. “Get hold of yourself Logan! No way a platypus just spoke to me. Did I hit my head when I fell today?”
“Why couldn’t I speak to you? Because I have chosen not to so far? Why can’t you trust me, you did up until you found out that I could talk back.” Spike was angry and hurt by his best friend’s reaction. “Fine, I won’t help you!” Then Spike just went back to making the little squeaks he had always made before.
“No, I am sorry Spike, but you have to admit that it is strange. Everybody talks to their pets, but how many talk back?” Logan was still not sure that this was real, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting his friend’s feelings. “When did you know that you could speak?”
“All platypuses can learn and speak human languages, it is just that we are so rarely involved with humans no one knows that. But please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want the attention. I only let you know so that I could help you because you are my best friend.”
“Okay, so how do I stop ‘beating myself up?’”
“You always attack situations from the angle that you can’t do it or that it would be a miracle if you did.” Spike began to make sense, “You would be so much more successful if you would tell yourself that not only can you do it, but that there is no way you will fail. If you will believe in yourself, you can accomplish anything. Look at me. I am an animal that can speak to a human. Do you think that I would be able to do that if I didn’t believe first?”
The two talked for the next few hours until bed time. Logan found himself looking forward to going back to school the next day. He was confident even knowing that he had a football tryout during his fourth period gym class. This was the beginning of Logan’s “Year of Change”.
12:45. Time to tryout for the team. Logan really didn’t know where he could possibly fit on a football team, but he knew that he could impress the coaches. Finally his name was called.
“Have you ever played before son?”
“No coach, but you tell me what you want, and I will give it to you!” The coaches looked him up and down and every one of them held a face of disappointment. But they decided to let him tryout.
“Just let him try a couple of things. It would mean a lot to his father. It will give the other kids a chance to rest too.” None of the coaches really expected to see anything useful from the child but when they called Thomas to tell him that Logan wanted to try out, he asked them to be open minded. They started with tackling. “Here kid, I want you to hit this dummy as hard as you can.” Logan had watched the other kids hitting the bag. They just put their shoulder into it and the front end would leap into the air. Looked pretty easy he had thought. So Logan lowered his shoulder and ran as hard as he could. He hit the bag so hard that he saw stars. He fell on his bottom, but the bag never budged. He heard a couple of the kids laughing, he assumed at him. “Okay son, why don’t we move on. Can you catch?”
“Don’t know Coach. I sure will try though!” He didn’t fair any better here. The ball was too big for his twelve year old hands. It never settled into them, just hit and fell off, or worse bent them backwards to the point that he thought they would break.
“Okay, we’re not done just yet. Pick that ball up and throw it back over here kid. Lets see what kind of arm you got.” Logan threw the ball, and immediately the term “Lame Duck” came into his mind. The pass fell about ten yards short of the coach who was standing about fifteen yards away. Logan began to feel embarrassed and ashamed. He knew that there was little chance that he would find a place on the team with this performance. “Well kid, there is just one more thing to find out. Come over here and stand by me.” Logan stood where he was told. “See that Coach down field there?” Logan nodded. “When I say go, you get to him as fast as you can. You understand?”
“Yes Coach. I will do my absolute best!” The word came, and Logan ran so hard that he thought his legs were on fire. It seemed to take forever, but Logan finally made it to the other coach. But Logan was sure that he had taken too long to get there. He never thought of himself as fast. Logan slowly turned to look at the coach with the stopwatch, and found that his jaw was dropped open.
Suddenly the other coaches gathered around and there was a buzz among the other kids. “He ran forty yards in four point two seconds. Most professionals can’t do that and he isn’t even wearing cleats!”
“Is there a problem Coach? Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all son. Here do something else. I want you to join a play with the practice squad as the running back. Just carry the ball as far as you can without getting tackled or fumbling. Understand?” Logan did. He took the hand off and ran around the outside. Suddenly there was a player coming toward him. Logan ducked under him and never slowed. Then someone got a hand on his arm, but Logan switched direction and left the kid in the grass. Five yards, ten yards, fifteen yards...then there was Buck. Buck was a linebacker. He caught Logan from the right side and knocked him to the ground so hard that Logan lost consciousness.
When he came too he found himself surrounded by coaches and players alike. “Can I have that son?” A coach was trying to take the ball out of Logan’s hands. Even unconscious Logan would not give up the ball.
“How did I do?” Logan asked still cloudy from the hit.
“Better than I ever did in a single carry.” The voice was familiar. Logan scrambled to his feet and came to attention in a snap. Thomas looked at him disapprovingly but with a certain pride that he could not cover. “Walk with me.” Once away from the others Thomas asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were trying out for the team?”
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me if I failed. I know that I have disappointed you so many times before.” Logan wasn’t sure how his father was going to react to his statement.
Thomas stopped and knelt in front of his son, “You listen to me Logan. You cannot disappoint me. You don’t have to play football to make me proud. All you have to do is be you and come to me for help. You are small, that is not a shameful thing. In many ways you will grow up to be better at some things because you have to challenge yourself more to accomplish the same mission. I will always be proud to call you son. Now why don’t you let the coaches know that you appreciate the tryout but you don’t really want to play.”
“To tell the truth, Dad, I am scared to play football, but it felt really good to be out there running. I finally got to feel special. I never knew before that I was fast. Now I can give my gift to the rest of the team and we can all accomplish our mission together.”
“Listen, I am sorry about how I treated you before. Lets be friends from now on.” Buck held his hand out to Logan who took it and shook it solidly.
The team went on to win the district championship that year. Logan’s trophy was placed, rightfully, next to his father’s trophies in what was now Logan’s room.
The End
Things between Logan and his father were different without his mother there. Logan felt that he let his father down with every effort to impress him. That is why he had not complained when they moved to this dreadful place. His father wanted to go back to his home and raise Logan the way he thought was right. Logan understood, at his tender young age, how his father felt. He was afraid that if he had said that he didn’t want to go that his father would be hurt or angry. After all, with that many years in the military, he wouldn’t want to hear any response other than, “Yes Master Sargent! Right away Master Sargent!” Logan was afraid of his father, Master Sargent Thomas Mitchell, because he had never seen him smile while he wore his uniform, and he had heard the stories about how hard he was on his men. The man had been in war once, then volunteered to go back. He had been in the Army more than twice as long as Logan had been alive.
Another reason that Logan was afraid of disappointing his father was that when they moved back to this place, they moved into his grandmother’s house. In his father’s old room there were trophies everywhere. All State Football, All State Wrestling, Junior Football Championships. Logan had loved football for years, but now he began to feel that his father would never have reason to be proud of him unless he were to join the football team. That prospect would be a challenge though, because at twelve years old, Logan stood only five foot three inches tall and was lucky to tip the scales at one hundred and fifteen pounds. All the other boys were three to six inches taller than Logan, and out weighed him by fifteen to thirty pounds. A full contact sport seemed very dangerous to such a boy.
One day in June, Logan was walking around the small pond on his father’s property that was home to his best friend Spike. Logan had never given thought to it before, but Spike was an unusual pet, especially in Texas. Spike was a platypus. He was about eighteen inches long, and couldn’t have weighed more than two or three pounds. While Logan talked to Spike, the boy next door made his way to the fence separating the two properties. His name was Buck, and he was quite a disagreeable person. He was also twelve years old though you would not be able to tell from looking at him. He stood almost six feet tall and had to weigh one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He looked more like a fifteen or sixteen year old than twelve.
“Hey squirt! What are you doing out here alone?” Buck had warned Logan that if he were to be caught alone Buck would beat him up just because he could. “Now I’m gonna pound your face flat while my dog does the same to that little flat faced rat.”
“You leave him alone!” Logan screamed as Buck and the dog crossed the fence. Logan scooped up Spike and began running as fast as he could from Buck.
“Get them Killer!” Buck unleashed his German Shepard to catch their prey, but it didn’t work. Logan ran the two hundred yards to the house in less than twenty seconds. Even Killer looked surprised when he was unable to catch the boy. Logan immediately called the cell phone number that his father had written on the notepad by the phone, but when he answered, Logan decided not to tell him what had happened. Logan was sure that his father would be ashamed that he could not defend himself. Instead, Logan simply asked, “How are the fish biting Dad?”
“Not doing too bad Son, we have already caught our limit. We are just doing some catch and release now to use up our worms. I thought about bringing them home and saving them, but you remember how bad it smelled the last time that I put them in the fridge and forgot about them.” Thomas paused for a second then asked, “You sound out of breath Son, is everything okay?”
“I was just out playing in the yard. I wore myself out and needed some water and decided to call you while I was inside.” The lie came easily for the boy who, until a few months ago, couldn’t imagine being dishonest to his own father.
Thomas Mitchell put the phone back in his pocket and wondered to himself why his son would be lying to him about the bully next door. He knew, from working so closely with people and in the situations that he did, when someone was lying to him. He could hear it in their voice. It upset him that his son was being dishonest, but he didn’t want to confront him just yet. Thomas was curious how his son would deal with the bully. When he first figured out that Logan had a bully, it was everything that he could do not to march right over to the neighbors’ house and give them a Drill Sargent routine that would leave them quaking in their own home, but after consideration, he decided to be polite and invite them to a barbeque instead. He thought that getting both families together would either give the boys a chance to become friends, or allow Buck’s parents to see that he was a bully. Thomas thought that the former had happened, but it was becoming more and more evident that he was wrong. Buck was smarter than Thomas had given him credit for.
Wanting to help his son, Thomas thought of everything he could. I can teach him to fight - but Logan always shied away from Thomas when the topic was brought up. I can tell Buck’s parents - but Thomas was afraid that it would embarrass Logan, or worse would just make the situation harder. I could move him to another town - but Thomas knew that there would be other bullies. Buck was not the only big kid with that idea. I could send him away to Military School - but Thomas wanted Logan to choose the military himself, not be placed there like he had been.
Thomas really didn’t know how to best help his son. He just wished that Logan would come to him and tell him the problem. Then he could ask Logan how he could help. Thomas felt that Logan didn’t trust him for some reason. He didn’t know why.
In August, school started. Logan had made a plan. “This year I am going to make Dad proud.” He would try-out for the football team and the wrestling team. No matter how bad he got hurt, he was determined to make it on one or both of them. He would stop running from bullies and find ways to make them leave him alone.
Thomas was also making a plan. “I won’t pressure Logan this year. Not a word about sports. I won’t bother him about school.” He called the coaches and asked them not to try to recruit Logan. He asked the teachers to watch out for Logan because he thought he had a bully. He was determined to protect Logan without letting him know he was involved.
On the first day of school, Logan walked tall into his home-room class. He was nervous, but determined not to let this turn out like the other school years. He would not be quietly bullied while trying to avoid physical activity. This year he left elementary school and began his trek towards High School! It would be different.
The first day was going very well. Logan was headed to his sixth and final class for the day without a single sign of a bully. He had gone to the football and wrestling coaches and set-up a try-out; there was something strange about their reluctance to talk to him, but he had accomplished his mission. His head was in the clouds. Then there was Buck. He walked into the classroom just ahead of Logan. What would Logan do? Could he just skip this class? Maybe today, but not for the rest of the year. He didn’t want to go. Suddenly Logan thought to himself, “Yeah lad, run again. You’re good at it. Let them make fun of your size, or how you talk. Make your military father proud and run away one more time!” Then Logan threw his shoulders back and expanded his little chest just as big as it would get. He walked into that class ready for anything...except an immediate direct punch to the chest. It knocked the breath right out of Logan, and he collapsed to the floor. Just then the teacher walked in and sent Logan to the nurse. He spent his last class period in the nurses office refusing to say anything about what happened, then he moped out to the bus to go home.
Thomas met Logan at the bus stop and immediately knew something was wrong. “How was your day little man? Something bad happen?”
Logan just grunted with his head hung low staring into his lap. He knew right then that his whole plan for the year was out the window. The ride home was only a few miles, but it seemed to take forever to get there. Both rode in silence the entire way. Father trying to figure out how to make his son trust him. Son trying to figure out how to make his father proud. Neither daring to ask the other for help.
“Spike, you are the only one that I can tell. I know you will keep my secret. I got beat up at school today. I didn’t even stand up for myself. It was Buck, but I didn’t tell the teachers. I should have. But that would make it worse. I don’t know what to do Spike. I wish you could tell me.” Logan was holding his little friend feeding him dog biscuits. Logan was feeling smaller than the platypus by now.
“You need to stop beating yourself up or you will never gain the respect of anyone else!” Logan slowly looked down at the animal who was staring directly in his eyes. “Trust me, I am a platypus I’ve been through it!”
Logan shoved Spike out of his lap and backed across the bed he was sitting on with almost cartoonish speed. “Get hold of yourself Logan! No way a platypus just spoke to me. Did I hit my head when I fell today?”
“Why couldn’t I speak to you? Because I have chosen not to so far? Why can’t you trust me, you did up until you found out that I could talk back.” Spike was angry and hurt by his best friend’s reaction. “Fine, I won’t help you!” Then Spike just went back to making the little squeaks he had always made before.
“No, I am sorry Spike, but you have to admit that it is strange. Everybody talks to their pets, but how many talk back?” Logan was still not sure that this was real, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting his friend’s feelings. “When did you know that you could speak?”
“All platypuses can learn and speak human languages, it is just that we are so rarely involved with humans no one knows that. But please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want the attention. I only let you know so that I could help you because you are my best friend.”
“Okay, so how do I stop ‘beating myself up?’”
“You always attack situations from the angle that you can’t do it or that it would be a miracle if you did.” Spike began to make sense, “You would be so much more successful if you would tell yourself that not only can you do it, but that there is no way you will fail. If you will believe in yourself, you can accomplish anything. Look at me. I am an animal that can speak to a human. Do you think that I would be able to do that if I didn’t believe first?”
The two talked for the next few hours until bed time. Logan found himself looking forward to going back to school the next day. He was confident even knowing that he had a football tryout during his fourth period gym class. This was the beginning of Logan’s “Year of Change”.
12:45. Time to tryout for the team. Logan really didn’t know where he could possibly fit on a football team, but he knew that he could impress the coaches. Finally his name was called.
“Have you ever played before son?”
“No coach, but you tell me what you want, and I will give it to you!” The coaches looked him up and down and every one of them held a face of disappointment. But they decided to let him tryout.
“Just let him try a couple of things. It would mean a lot to his father. It will give the other kids a chance to rest too.” None of the coaches really expected to see anything useful from the child but when they called Thomas to tell him that Logan wanted to try out, he asked them to be open minded. They started with tackling. “Here kid, I want you to hit this dummy as hard as you can.” Logan had watched the other kids hitting the bag. They just put their shoulder into it and the front end would leap into the air. Looked pretty easy he had thought. So Logan lowered his shoulder and ran as hard as he could. He hit the bag so hard that he saw stars. He fell on his bottom, but the bag never budged. He heard a couple of the kids laughing, he assumed at him. “Okay son, why don’t we move on. Can you catch?”
“Don’t know Coach. I sure will try though!” He didn’t fair any better here. The ball was too big for his twelve year old hands. It never settled into them, just hit and fell off, or worse bent them backwards to the point that he thought they would break.
“Okay, we’re not done just yet. Pick that ball up and throw it back over here kid. Lets see what kind of arm you got.” Logan threw the ball, and immediately the term “Lame Duck” came into his mind. The pass fell about ten yards short of the coach who was standing about fifteen yards away. Logan began to feel embarrassed and ashamed. He knew that there was little chance that he would find a place on the team with this performance. “Well kid, there is just one more thing to find out. Come over here and stand by me.” Logan stood where he was told. “See that Coach down field there?” Logan nodded. “When I say go, you get to him as fast as you can. You understand?”
“Yes Coach. I will do my absolute best!” The word came, and Logan ran so hard that he thought his legs were on fire. It seemed to take forever, but Logan finally made it to the other coach. But Logan was sure that he had taken too long to get there. He never thought of himself as fast. Logan slowly turned to look at the coach with the stopwatch, and found that his jaw was dropped open.
Suddenly the other coaches gathered around and there was a buzz among the other kids. “He ran forty yards in four point two seconds. Most professionals can’t do that and he isn’t even wearing cleats!”
“Is there a problem Coach? Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all son. Here do something else. I want you to join a play with the practice squad as the running back. Just carry the ball as far as you can without getting tackled or fumbling. Understand?” Logan did. He took the hand off and ran around the outside. Suddenly there was a player coming toward him. Logan ducked under him and never slowed. Then someone got a hand on his arm, but Logan switched direction and left the kid in the grass. Five yards, ten yards, fifteen yards...then there was Buck. Buck was a linebacker. He caught Logan from the right side and knocked him to the ground so hard that Logan lost consciousness.
When he came too he found himself surrounded by coaches and players alike. “Can I have that son?” A coach was trying to take the ball out of Logan’s hands. Even unconscious Logan would not give up the ball.
“How did I do?” Logan asked still cloudy from the hit.
“Better than I ever did in a single carry.” The voice was familiar. Logan scrambled to his feet and came to attention in a snap. Thomas looked at him disapprovingly but with a certain pride that he could not cover. “Walk with me.” Once away from the others Thomas asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were trying out for the team?”
“I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me if I failed. I know that I have disappointed you so many times before.” Logan wasn’t sure how his father was going to react to his statement.
Thomas stopped and knelt in front of his son, “You listen to me Logan. You cannot disappoint me. You don’t have to play football to make me proud. All you have to do is be you and come to me for help. You are small, that is not a shameful thing. In many ways you will grow up to be better at some things because you have to challenge yourself more to accomplish the same mission. I will always be proud to call you son. Now why don’t you let the coaches know that you appreciate the tryout but you don’t really want to play.”
“To tell the truth, Dad, I am scared to play football, but it felt really good to be out there running. I finally got to feel special. I never knew before that I was fast. Now I can give my gift to the rest of the team and we can all accomplish our mission together.”
“Listen, I am sorry about how I treated you before. Lets be friends from now on.” Buck held his hand out to Logan who took it and shook it solidly.
The team went on to win the district championship that year. Logan’s trophy was placed, rightfully, next to his father’s trophies in what was now Logan’s room.
The End
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