We were at a Chel family gathering and were all sharing news about our families. This one struck us as particularly funny, and so worth sharing.
Chel's nephew, who we'll call Jeremiah, just turned 7. Not long ago, he and a few friends were discussing teeth, and likely got to the subject of teeth falling out, as they do when you're 6 and 7. They got to wondering, it seems, if one could actually push teeth out with a thumb. Jeremiah volunteered to be the thumb. Another boy volunteered his teeth. Jeremiah put his thumb expertly on one of the boy's teeth, and pushed. Sure enough, he pushed the tooth right out!
Not to be less than expert scientists, they decided it would be better if there were actually two results. Maybe the first boy just had weak teeth. So boy number two then volunteered his own teeth. Jeremiah again put his thumb expertly on the other boy's tooth, and pushed. Their experiment was a great success!
We splurged and went out to eat tonight. We will be feeling it in our pocketbooks for quite a while. But we enjoyed ourselves.
On our way out of the restaurant, Sam (now 17) held the door open for some people coming out behind us. As we neared the car, AJ (14) yelled back at Sam, still at the restaurant door, "Sam! Come on!"
I said, "He's holding the door open for those people."
AJ said, "Oh! I thought he was just watching those cute girls."
As I was reaffirming to AJ that Sam was really holding the door, Sam came close enough to hear our conversation. AJ told him that he thought he was just watching the cute girls. To which Sam replied, "Well, they were pretty hot."
I'll just keep believing he was being a gentleman ....
No, this isn't exactly that happy, magical, feel-good kind of Christmas story. Its yet another one, or two, from my dad's life. If you need to refresh stories from my dad's past, click on the Family Stories label below.
Although there isn't a lot of detail in either of these stories, I think they demonstrate yet again that my dad had a legion of guardian angels following him around 24/7. Sometimes these stories just make you go "hmmmm".
My dad was visiting a friend, and this kid's dad was tired of them just goofing around so he put them to work tarring the tool shed. It was a hot day in August, and they were working with mildly hot/warm tar. Using mops they would dip into the tar and then slurry it all over the roof. Well, boys will be boys, and I'm sure you can guess what happened. One bumped the other and things got out of hand from there. They ended up covered head to toe in the stuff.
How does one remove tar off skin. Well short of simply ripping and scrubbing and scraping the tar along with skin, right off, there are very few ways. The method used in this case was a bath - a pure gasoline bath. Sitting in a tub full of it.
I might opt for the scrubbing and scraping method myself.
The second story requires a picture to do it justice which I don't have access to right now. I'll work on that. In the meantime, don't go playing in any tar.
Maybe we've all been in a situation like this. Maybe not. Come to think of it, I don't think I have even been in this type of situation. But it just seems like something that would likely happen more often than not...
I'm not sure if mom and dad were married at this point, but they were at least dating. They decided to take a drive up some mountain canyon. This was before SUV's, so they were in their regular old square family car heading up some narrow dirt road, in some remote canyon, somewhere.
As they drove, the road gradually became steeper and steeper, until at some point my dad was sure his little car couldn't make it any further...and there was no place to turn around. What do you do in this situation? Well, turn around anyway, of course.
So slowly, dad backed up, turned the wheels, pulled forward, turned the wheels. There was only one problem with this. The road was so narrow, that if they had gone a little too far one way or the other, they would have rolled off the side of the road. As it was, they were in danger of rolling the car anyway as they slowly turned around, because it was so steep.
To keep the car from toppling over, they had to open both doors on the up-hill side of the car and shift their weight as much as possible to that side. I don't think I'd like that situation all that much, personally.
Of course, they made the turn around eventually without any mishap. Amazing enough, considering we are talking about my dad here. I wouldn't have been surprised if the story had taken another twist, and the car had rolled. But if it had, it would have amazingly righted itself on its wheels, pointing in the direction they needed to go, with no one injured.
Happy Memorial Day. I have another story about my dad to tell you all.
This story takes place on a lake, once again. We spent a lot of time on lakes, in boats, water skiing. We had been boating when a little storm blew in, so we pulled off onto some random beach to wait it out. Once it had passed, my dad loaded me, my older brother and younger sister back into the boat, and made us sit on the floor rahter than in the seats because the water was still a bit choppy, and he didn't want any of us to fall out. We were pretty young.
So there we were, back out on the lake. My dad looked out over the whole lake, and there wasn't a soul in sight. (Isn't that just a formula for trouble?) Dad hit the throttle, and off we went. I honestly don't remember this story, so I'll have to tell it from my dad's point of view. As he was driving, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye - a boat, pulling a skier, with the driver looking behind him at his skier, heading for a t-bone collision with us.
He saw us just after Dad saw him. Dad cranked the boat a hard right, as this guy cranked his boat a hard left. As we were pulling hard right, this other guys boat engine came up out of the water and passed right over the side of our boat. He was going fast, so it nearly put his boat on its side. Amazingly we didn't collide. The boats missed each other literally by inches. Had my dad not noticed him, or if he had noticed us just a few seconds later, he would have broad-sided us at full speed and ripped our boat in half.
Dad was pretty white and shakey after that. So we just headed for the dock, and pulled our boat in. Apparently it scared this other guy just as bad, because he was pulling his boat out at the same time. They just looked at each other, my dad wiped his brow symbolically, and the other guy just nodded.
My dad has almost used up his 9 lives. And there's still more to come.
We seem to have the most fun when we don't hear each other well enough.
The other night after dinner, I was telling Chel about my plans for the next day. AJ was finishing up his dinner, so was within ear shot. I said, "I need to buy Sarah some pants."
AJ's head shot up from his meal and he said wide-eyed, "Who's in Sarah's pants!?"
Little kids are cute. I had the lovely opportunity yesterday to tend my little 3 year old niece. She reminds me of me when I was her age - learning and saying new "adult" type things.
A few of her favorite phrases that we find ourselves repeating quite frequently are: As an affirmative answer to everything, rather than a simple "yes" or "uh hu" she says: "sure" with emphasis in all the right places to make it sound perfectly cute.
When she sees something that is new or odd to her, its: "What the...." only it's all one word, more like "whada...?"
In talking about her "princesses", as she names them, she squats down, and then jumps up as she says each name ("and I saw Cinderella" ::jump:: "and Bell" ::jump:: "and Snow White" ::jump:: etc). So sometimes I find myself listing things the same way.
Some things are just exciting enough to jump about!
A week or two ago Chelle, her kids and I, all went camping to one of our favorite places. It's about a 3 1/2 hour drive, and by the time we got there, it was after dark. So we began unloading the car, and getting the tent set up, trying to build a fire, and just getting things organized. The kids would grumble and get upset at one another often as they trudged back and forth from the car to the campsite.
Finally, everything was unloaded, the tent was up, the sleeping bags were arranged, and we were ready to go to bed. Prayer is important to us, and we try to always remember to give thanks for those things we have been given. This night wasn't any different, and so we gathered together for our evening prayer. Sarah was asked to offer the prayer, and so she began.
It started out normally, offering thanks for our safe trip and for the opportunity to be there. Then she said, "we're thankful that we could get up set...I mean (through muffled laughter) set up..." None of us could contain our giggles because that was such an appropriate comment for the evenings happenings. She continued her prayer, though we were all trying, unsuccessfully, to stop laughing.
I'm sure the Lord has a lovely sense of humor, and was glad Sarah was so grateful that night.
One beautiful summer day, mom and dad were out boating. They did that quite often. Mom would drive the boat while dad skied. Now, if you remember other stories of my dad, you may recall that he just loved to water ski, and was good at it.
Many times, while they were out skiing, mom would pull in very close to the shore line. Dad would let go of the tow rope, and ski right into shore - make a graceful stop, and just step out of his skis. They did that a lot. I'm not sure how he kept his balance, because whenever I let go of a tow rope, I tumble end over end. I guess I didn't inherit my dad's skill on skis. Anyway, on this particular day, they were out boating at a lake they hadn't been to before. Mom was driving, dad was skiing. And, as was customary with them, mom pulled close to shore, and dad let go, heading into what he imagined would be a nice, soft landing on a sand covered beach. However, much to my dad's dismay, and probably my mom's horror as she watched this all happen, the beach was not sandy; it was quite rocky.
Instead of that graceful landing he was expecting, he hit those rocks and went flying, tumbling end over end, onto shore. Ouch. I don't think he broke anything but I'm sure he had some mighty bruises.
I'm not finished with "My Dad Should Be Dead" series, but I thought I would veer off that path for a minute and add one about my sister, Becca. Actually this story includes my dad as well.
When we were younger, my dad would take us with some of our cousins and go cut fire wood. I can't remember a lot of what happened, but I do remember being out in the woods, wandering around while my dad and uncle worked the chain saws.
They were up on a hill and had just finished cutting a rather large portion off a tree they had recently chopped down. The trailer was at the bottom of the hill, full of wood. Rather than carry the log down, my dad just sent it rolling, end over end, down the hill.
My sister was about, oh I don't know, 5 or 6. And she was just wandering along towards the trailer, probably singing to the music in her head, on a direct collision course with that log barreling down the hill. My dad saw it coming, Becca walking along the base of the hill, the log ripping its way down the hill, crashing through the brush. My dad hollered and hollered at her, but she didn't hear him, and just kept right on walking, intending to pass by the trailer right where the log was about to hit. Can you picture this?
She reached the trailer, walked by it and not two seconds later the log whipped behind her and slammed into it. It hit so hard, the trailer tipped up, full of wood as it was. It missed her by about 18 inches.
That was close. I think my dad had to change his underwear after that.
Ok, so I've done a few stories from my dad's life. There are more, but I think now is a good time to jump in here with one of both my dad and my mom.
Mom didn't get into any real trouble until she met dad. Then she begins to appear in some of his death-defying stories.
If you recall, my dad loved to boat. That didn't change when mom and dad got married. They both went out, often, to the lake. Mom would pull dad while he skied, and then go and hang out on the beach looking sexy. She was a woman of many talents. Still is.
Anyway, one time they were out boating at night. If it were me on a dark lake at night, I think I would pull out the paddles and paddle my little butt back to shore at a very slow speed. But not mom and dad. They were cruising relatively fast. One minute they were boating happily in the romantic quiet of the evening, the next they are flying through the air as their boat full on slams into the beach.
Dad was driving, and when he drives, he usually sits high in the driver's seat to see over the windshield. So when they hit the beach, he went flying over the top of the boat and out onto shore. Mom went flying into the boat, inside the front end.
They didn't die. But mom did hurt her knee as she flew under, and dad hit his teeth on the windshield as he flew over. But amazingly didn't knock any out.
When they got their bearings straight, they were shocked to see where they had beached - directly in between two very large rocks.
My dad and his cousin were, of course, crossing a farmers field (they do that a lot in Idaho, I guess) on their way to somewhere dad couldn't remember. They reached a barbed wire fence they needed to cross. No big deal.
Dad's cousin went under, or between the wires of the fence. My dad, being much taller had to go over. He grabbed the top wire to use it as leverege to jump over the fence, but was immediately electrocuted. The shock was continuous. He could not let go. He tried to jerk his hand off, but it had siezed up from the electricity and would not move.
Most electrical fences run on a pulse, so if something or someone touches it, they just get a quick, sharp zap, and that's it. This fence was not. It was a continual flow of electricity.
His cousin tried getting him off by ramming him from the side. No use. He tried standing on a nearby log to try and break the current. But everything was wet. Electricity was surging through him from his hand up his arm and radiating through his body. The pain was undescribable.
Finally my dad told his cousin if he didn't get off he wasn't going to make it for much longer. So his cousin tore off through the field with the intention of finding the owner to get him to turn the power off to the fence. In the mean time, my dad passed out, still stuck to the fence.
By the time he woke up, he was at someone's house, with basically the entire neighborhood (which were his family) over there. His mom was there, probably crying, as any mother would be. My dad remembers he said something, but doesn't remember what. It did make everyone laugh. I thought he probably apologized to his mom for breaking his glasses again. :) He doesn't remember if they ever took him to the hospital. I imagine they did. He developed a pretty bad stutter for some time after this event. He thinks it had to do with this.
At some point after this all took place, my dad found out what had happened with this fence and the owner.
The owner had been stealing electricity from a power line, running 7000 volts of AC electricity to some kind of converter. It was being converted to DC power and running along the fence line. Initially there was a pulse on the fence. But the voltage was so high it basically forced the mechanism to stay on continuously. As the electricity traveled along the fence, it was shorting out from the grasses along the fence, so by the time it got to where my dad was, he was being hit with about 700 volts of DC electricity. If it had been AC, it would have killed him. If he would have been there much longer, it would have killed him.
The farmer was charged and sent to prison for several years for stealing electircity. If my dad would have died, he would have been charged with manslaughter.
Now, that was a pretty bad experience. But I'm not sure it was as bad as the time my dad peed on an electrical fence...He didn't say much about that. But he did assure us that, yes, water conducts electricity! OUCH!
Because it’s been a while since I have added any "My Dad Should Be Dead" stories, if you'd like to refresh your memory, click on the "Family Stories" link at the bottom of this post for all of the stories in this little series.
This one really wouldn't have killed him, but it still blows my mind.
My dad grew up in a small town with lots of open space, sagebrush and jackrabbits. So of course, when you have lots of open space and jackrabbits, and you are a young man with lots of friends in the same boat, naturally one of your favorite past-times is shooting those jackrabbits. So that's what they did. They had a really good system set up, and they were very strict with some of their rules. In fact one time they kicked one of the guys out of their group for simply injuring a jackrabbit and then tormenting it. They wouldn't stand for that. But other rules included when and in which direction you could shoot. They were all loaded in the back of a pick-up truck, so some would shoot over the cab, some would shoot from the left side, others the right side, etc. They had a good system set up so nobody shot into anyone else’s area, and no one shot over anyone else's head. And although these were boys, and there were a lot of them, no one ever got hurt...
Ok, so why am I telling this story?
Because of what happened one day when it was just my dad and one of his friends out in his friend's field getting ready to go jackrabbit hunting, but had a few chores to do first.
This friend had to go out into a field and move the water. They crossed one field in the process, which was dry. My dad wondered when they would water that field, and the friend said not until next week. Of course they had their guns, on drop down holsters, which anchor to your leg, rather than up at your waist. They thought it was cool to just grab and shoot from down low, like ol' John Wayne (I don't know if John Wayne really had a drop down holster or not, but it sounds good).
Anyway, while they were out in the field, dad just passed the time by shooting at various flocks of birds while his friend moved the water. He saw one particular flock, out a ways, on the ground, feeding and watering themselves. So my dad grabbed his gun from his cool little drop down leg holster, and began shooting from the ground up and out towards the birds - bam, bam, bam, bam - like a hot shot would.
Well, nothing big and eventful came of that. He scared the birds off, the friend finished moving the water, and they both started heading back to the house. As they were passing through the dry field, my dad felt some water in his shoe, so he inquired of his friend:
Dad: "I thought you weren't watering this field until next week."
The friend: "We aren't."
My dad: "So why is my foot getting all wet?"
My dad looked down, and there, with every step he took, was blood - squirting from a hole in the top of his shoe.
My dad had athletes foot, so the burning sensation he felt when he shot his foot was ignored as a little athlete’s foot flair up. And the only reason it did feel like burning athlete’s foot, and not excruciating pain, was because amazingly the bullet went right between the bones of his first two toes. Only passed through skin and muscle and went right out the other side.
My mom grew up in a little town that no longer exists. They lived in the heights, kind of in the foothills of the mountains, so houses and roads were situated in such a way that there was a bench, then down the hill was another bench, and so fourth. When mom was about 6 or 7 years old they lived way up on the foothill, one down from the top.
Down the hill from mom's house, towards the bottom, was the main road. Across the road was the school, and down from that was the church. All the roads and parking lots were, of course, gravel and tar black top. Mom was a great skater. And she had a cool pair of skates, you know, the kind with a key!
She would start at the top of the hill, skate all the way down the hill, from level to level, across the main road, into the school yard, around the back of the school, continue down into the parking lot behind the church - who knows how fast she was going at this point - and when she reached the bottom of the hill, she turned her skates, so her heels were facing each other, and skate in big circles, until she stopped.
She never once fell down...
Until she was 13 years old and went roller skating at a nice, safe, controlled skating rink. She thought she could be a graceful swan, with arms outstretched, skating on one foot, with her other leg stretched out behind her. She couldn't. She fell and broke her arm. Apparently that takes more skill than hurling out of control, down gravely, black top roads, in and out of parking lots, only to come to a stop after circling around and around and around until all momentum is gone.
I heard a song on the radio the other day from 1982. I was just a teenager and we had been living in a double wide mobile home for the last few years. My dad got a transfer half way across the state, so we opted to take the mobile home with us, instead of get another house once we got to our new city.
So we were driving across South Dakota, Mom driving the car I was in, Dad was driving ahead in a U-Haul. Our mobile home was being pulled by a big truck in between us. At one point, the axle to the mobile home broke, leaving the mobile home and truck stuck in the middle of the highway. We pulled up to it, my mom's eyes were wide, and I could see panic coming forward. Suddenly, we realized what was playing on the radio. No kidding.
Our house, in the middle of our street Our house, in the middle of our street Our house, in the middle of our street Our house, in the middle our our ...
Our house, was our castle and our keep Our house, in the middle of our street Our house, that was where we used to sleep Our house, in the middle of our street Our house, in the middle of our street. From "Our House" by Madness.
The panic was still there for my mom, but she actually laughed for a second or two. Me and my older brother laughed for a lot bit longer. So whenever I hear that song, I picture our huge mobile home sitting in the middle of the street. It always makes me smile.
If you’ve been following this little series of posts, you may remember that when my dad was about 16 he worked as a Flagman for crop dusting. Part of his 22 hours-a-day job was hauling gasoline and pesticide from air field to air field.
This particular morning, he was picked up about 3:00am, and he and a co-worker began heading out to a new airfield. As the passenger, rather than staying awake to help keep the driver awake,my dad promptly dozed off. They were on a long, empty stretch of road: dark, quiet – hauling several tons of gasoline in barrels, along with undiluted pesticide.
As you would probably expect, the driver fell asleep at the wheel. They were crossing over a bridge, with a cement barrier between them and the river below…the truck hit the cement head on, full speed.
The cab crushed inward, the windshield was forced back through the cab, over their heads, while at the same time, barrels of gasoline flew through the back of the cab over their heads. My dad was drenched in gasoline. The engine block was forced into the cab as well, and was pinned up again my dad’s left leg – hot, and burning him.
So here he is, covered in gasoline, pinned in the cab, engine block burning his leg, and then his buddy says something about them being in the water. The cab was rocking precariously over the edge, back and forth, nearly touching the water.
Some guys came driving by not too long after all this, and using ropes, they carefully pulled the cab back to safety. Smart to use rope. I think I would have used chains…which no doubt would have sparked causing the whole thing to go up in flames. In fact, any little spark, from any of this little scene would have been the end of the whole thing.
Luckily, and amazingly that didn't happen, and my dad woke up 45 minutes later in a hospital with a severely broken and burned leg (of which he still has the scars today); my grandma was there with him by this point, crying, as would any mother. Just grateful that he was alive. The first words out of my dads mouth were: “Mom, I broke my glasses again.” He was constantly breaking his glasses.
Not too long ago (ok, about 10 years ago) a friend of mine and I were driving to visit another friend for the weekend. It was about a 2 hour drive, and I was getting bored in the passenger seat. So while my friend is driving, I get out of my seat and jump into the back. I felt exhilarated! I had moved more than a few inches in a cooped-up car. Ah, the sudden freedom of that act hit us both and my friend wanted a turn.
So back I climb into my seat and hold the steering wheel while she jumps into the back seat, then I slide over into the driver's spot. Eventually she has had enough freedom in the back seat, and climbs back into the passenger seat.
Soon we near a town my friend is familiar with, so she decides she should drive again. Well, we'd done it before, we could do it again. And without a second thought up I pop out of the driver's seat. But as I turn to head towards the back seat, I bump the steering wheel and send the car shooting off toward the opposite lanes of traffic. My friend grabs the wheel, and overcorrects the other direction.
Mind you, I am still half way between the front seat and the back seat, looking out the back window. I feel the car lurch the other direction, then I hear it - gravel under the tires - we'd gone off the road. Then I feel it, but I can't believe it- the car slowly begins to tip - and I think to myself, "we're not rolling, we're not rolling." But indeed we were and we did. We were both tossed around the car like rag dolls. The car made one complete roll and ended up back on its tires. I was on the floor of the back seat, my friend was somewhere in the front.
I asked if she was ok, and the first thing she said was, "no". So I jumped up quickly, got out of the car and went to help her out of the front seat. She was moving ok. And had decided she was actually ok. We both were out and looking at the damage of the car.
She started complaining about a pain in her neck, so we both sat down and rested trying to decide what to do. A trucker came by, and offered to radio an ambulance. My friend didn't want him to, but luckily he did anyway. Another car had pulled over who apparently had seen the whole thing. We knew we were in big trouble. This guy saw "someone half way over the seat between the front and the back". All I wanted was for this man to drive away! Because you see, we had come up with our own story of what happened, and this guy would just mess that story up totally.
By the time an officer came, this "witness" had, gratefully, left. So we were able to tell our story, including why it was we weren't wearing seat belts:
"You see officer, I was driving, and my friend here needed to get some school books from the back seat. So she took her seat belt off so she could reach back there. When she took her seat belt off, I decided to re-adjust mine as well. As she reached back, she bumped the steering wheel and I over corrected sending us off the side of the road and rolling the car."
Well, it was pretty lame. But I guess he must have felt sorry for us, because he didn't give us a ticket.
But wait, it gets better. An ambulance did come. They checked my friends neck out and decided to be safe, and take her to get an x-ray even though she insisted she was fine. (Mind you, it was hurting her. At one point she laid down on the shoulder of the road, and then couldn't sit up again on her own because it hurt too much. So I helped her up).
After some time, and two hospital visits later, they discovered she had indeed broken her neck. Just mere millimeters, and it would have damaged her spinal cord.
She had surgery to put a metal plate and all kinds of stuff in her neck...
And to this day, both of our parents think the story we told the police was what really happened. Well, I guess my parents might know the truth now. :)
Imagine with me, if you will, a beautiful day on a lake. No one else around but you and your cousin water skiing. It's your turn on the skis, your cousin is pulling you.
After skiing for a while, you decide to take a break, so you let go of the rope and gracefully sink ever so gently into the water. There you wait, skis strapped tightly to your feet while your cousin makes a wide sweep to come back around and pick you up.
Suddenly, out of nowhere you hear the whine of another boat. You look around and to your horror you see a ski boat on a direct collision course with you. The driver doesn't see you. He is looking behind him at his own skier. Your cousin sees it too. Hollars at the other driver, but he doesn't hear. You can't move out of the way fast enough with skis strapped onto your feet, and you don't have time to take them off. The boat is nearly on top of you, so you take a mighty lunge to the right.
The boat catches you right across the left shoulder, and sends you flying to the side, out of breath, dazed, nearly knocked silly. You can tell the driver realized he hit something, but just drove off still pulling his skier.
You can hardly breathe. You can't use your left arm. Your cousin has to pull you into the boat. Your ski vest is ripped to shreds where the boat smashed into you. Off you head to the hospital. Amazingly, nothing is broken. You just end up with a nasty bruise on your left shoulder and down your arm.
Yes. This is a true story. Only it didn't happen to you, obviously. It was my dad, once again.
My dad has always loved air planes. He was in the Civil Air Patrol for quite a while. They do Arial Search and Rescue and teach aerodynamics and aviation to young cadets. I'm sure they do much more than that now, but that was their main duty when my dad was in it. But my dad has had many jobs related to planes, he worked on them, flew a little, hauled gas for them, helped with crop dusting, etc.
When he was about 16 he had a job as a Spotter Flagman for crop dusting. He and another guy would be out in a field with a flag on a long pole to mark out a section to be sprayed. The plane would line up with the flag, and spray along that line. They would have to drop the flag as the plane got close, of course, because they flew pretty low, and would hit the flag. He had a long billed hat (you know, those that are much longer than normal) for shade and to keep some of the pesticide off his face.
They worked long days - out in the field by 6:30 am, work until noon, then come back about 4:oo pm and work till sundown. With refueling and loading the spray, they would work about 22 hour days, go home, take a shower, sleep for about 1 1/2 hrs, then be back out there.
During one point, they were spraying potatoes, and had a heavy customer load - lots of fields to spray, and they were behind. So they were pushing it, and going longer into the afternoon than was normal. My dad had set his pole, and as the plane turned and lined up on it, he could hear the wheels of the plane hitting the potatoes. Now, realize potatoes don't grow that tall so this plane was low. (Oh ya, just as a side note, this was one of those cool old, open cockpit planes.) Any way, my dad could hear the plane heading right for him, low enough to hit the potatoes as it sprayed, so he got down into the crops, like in a little fox hole. As the plane flew over him, he lifted his head just ever so slightly to see where the plane was, and the wheels of the plane caught his hat and pulled it right off his head. Can you say too close for comfort?
He looked for his hat in the field, but couldn't find it. They took a break, the plane went to refuel and reload. As it flew back to the field, my dad heard a loud thump near him. And there, tied to a rock was his hat with a note on it that said, "keep your head down or you'll lose it".
Oh ya, and of course, they weren't wearing any protective clothing, and would be covered, right along with the crops, with what ever it was they were spraying - usually DDT.
I’m sure it started much earlier than this. But this is the earliest story he has revealed at this time.
My dad was in the 8th grade. He and a friend of his were in the same math class. But in my dad’s word, “we didn’t get much math”. Instead they put their wits and wisdom onto paper for a much more practical application.
They designed a home-made scuba rig. This set up included the following: * scuba mask * long garden hose * compressor * lawn mower engine to run the compressor * hot water bottle (for an air reserve)
I’m not good at figuring things like this out, so the best I can gather is somehow they hooked one end of the garden hose to the compressor (powered by the lawn mower engine) and the other end to the scuba mask. Somehow it was also attached to the hot water bottle and I think another end was hooked to the other side of the scuba mask, as the air outlet, or something. (?)
Anyway, it worked. My dad has a picture of himself with his head underwater wearing that thing. A continuous flow of air moved constantly through the mask – in one side and out the other. So they could breathe - normally, relaxed, happily.
There was just one little problem. They weren’t always breathing nice, pure air. If the wind shifted just right, the exhaust from the lawnmower engine was sucked up by the compressor. So instead of a steady flow of air, they were often inhaling a steady flow of carbon monoxide – or what ever the heck comes out of a lawn mower engine.
They discovered this while submerged several feet underwater at nearby lakes while in the process of tickling the feet of unsuspecting girls hanging out at the dock. Suddenly they were feeling a bit queezy, dizzy, and not quite right in head. Out of the water they came, staggering slightly, realizing there was an interesting, not-quite-right smell in their air.
