Sidewalk Politics

Politics is dirty business. It's little more than street fighting in a three piece suit. Only the strong survive. Alliances and adversaries change with the wind. One hand washes the other. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours.

Campaign contributions buy hidden agendas and payback is the beast of burden. The more successful at politics you become, the more of your soul you must surrender. It comes with the territory. You play by the rules or you don't play at all.

It would come as no surprise to me if we eventually elected a president who was born and raised in Everett. Mastering the art of politicking begins out on the sidewalk when you're a little kid. Not even the "Fletcher School of Law & Diplomacy" can hone your political prowess the way growing up in Everett does.

Sidewalk diplomacy is an art in itself. It's 50% instinct and 50% tenacity. All of the political campaigns you learn about in history class at school are directly related to the things we did as kids to survive on the sidewalks of our neighborhoods.

Kids know how to achieve hidden agendas far more effectively than any politician can ever hope to. They form alliances at the blink of an eye. They can and will diminish their opponent's credibility with a cold and calculated attack that is totally devoid of any mercy. And once they've decimate their opponent's influence, they go in for the kill.

The degree of cruelty inflicted during such rivalries is in direct correlation to what's at stake. Who's the toughest, who's the most popular, and what game should we play are all legitimate stakes worthy of such deep-rooted political hostilities.

With the first day of school no more than a week away, what we do with the remaining days of our summer vacation become of paramount importance. We all have our preferences, but sometimes we need to bow to majority rule unless we want to just go off by ourselves. Getting the other kids in the neighborhood to do what it is you want to do lays the foundation for your hidden agenda.

Just like grown-up politics, the influential art of sidewalk persuasion has rules. Break them, and you'll lose all the support you've worked so hard to muster. Lose that, and you've lost the campaign altogether. There are times we must lead, times we must follow, and times we need to get out of the way. Knowing when to distinguish one from the other is of the utmost importance.

Strength, wealth, and popularity are all influential factors in the game. I'm inclined to say that sidewalk politics is a microscopic version of our political world at large. The truth is - world politics is the mighty oak that grew from that seed we call, "sidewalk politics." Understand the adolescent art of sidewalk politicking and you'll better understand the adult world around you.

To illustrate my point, let's take another trip back on the Everett Time Machine. I'd like to go back to one of those last remaining days of summer vacation when we were little kids. And since I'm the one with my finger on the button, my agenda holds precedence. So that's where we're going.

See? That's what I mean by sidewalk politics. It's my Time Machine so if you want to come along with the rest of us you gotta go where I want to go. It's that simple. You're either with us or against us. Divide and conquer - it works every time.

Here goes. "B-z-z-z-zap!"

It's the summer of 1961. I'm nine years-old. Surrounded by a handful of my childhood friends, I'm sitting on the curb at the edge of the sidewalk in front of my house on Arlington Street. We're deciding what we want to do today.

Our options seem plentiful, but are they really? As each kid offers a suggestion they expose their true feelings. Exposing their true feelings leaves them vulnerable. It becomes an easier task to achieve your hidden agenda once you've berated all the other suggestions. If you truly want to get your way, keep your preferences to yourself until you seem to be running out of options.

Let's listen in as the scenario unfolds.

Stevie: "Who wants to play tag?"

Joey: "Nah, that gets boring after awhile."

Stevie: "So then we'll do something else afterwards."

Joey: "Let's not and say we did. "

Stevie: "What's wrong with tag?"

Me: "Joey's right. That gets boring too fast."

Stevie: "Well somebody else come up with something then. That was my suggestion. Joey's not gonna like anything anyone else comes up with anyway."

Here it comes. This is the first of the rivalries yet to unfold. Stevie's been shot down and he's already accepted that. Because Joey was the one who shot him down, Stevie wants revenge. Since I merely threw my two cents in to back up Joey, Stevie views me as nothing more than a second opinion. It's Joey he wants a crack at. Not only do I get off scot-free, but I have achieved the first phase of my hidden agenda, which is to eliminate the competition.

Joey: "That's not true. Don't be sore because you came up with a stupid suggestion."

Stevie: "There was nothing stupid about it. It was just a suggestion."

Joey: "Yeah, but it was a stupid one."

Stevie: "Okay Einstein, let's see what you can come up with then."

No matter what Joey comes up with, Stevie's gonna jump all over him. You can see it coming.

Joey: "Why don't we have a game of "Off-the-Wall?"

Stevie: "With six kids? Are you serious?"

Joey: How many kids do you need to play "Off-the-Wall?

Stevie: "Oh, I can see it now. One kid bouncing the ball off the wall and five kids banging their heads together in the middle of the street trying to catch the ball. And you called my idea stupid? Man, they oughtta put your picture next to the word "stupid" in the dictionary."

Joey: "You think you're funny but your face beat you to it."

Stevie: "That's so funny I forgot to laugh."

Joey: "Take a look in the mirror. You'll laugh."

Stevie: "You look in the mirror. You're not only ugly, but your mother dresses you funny."

David: "Come on, you two, get over it. You're wasting time."

Stevie: "Joey started it."

Joey: "I did not, you did. You got mad at me and started calling me stupid."

Stevie: "That's because you said I was funny looking."

Joey: "You are funny looking. Everybody knows that. All the girls up the street say you're funny looking."

Stevie: "They do not!"

Joey" "They do too!"

Stevie: "You're a liar!"

Joey: "I am not. It's the truth. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye," he says crossing his heart and holding his right hand up to God. That's the kid equivalent to swearing an oath on the Bible. After all, who in their right mind would knowingly submit themselves to the pains of mutilation and death for bearing false witness against thy neighbor?

Stevie: "Liar, liar, pants on fire, hanging on a telephone wire!"

David: "Okay, that's the end of it. The next one who opens their mouth gets fifty-two nugees."

That's the end of it right there. David is physically superior to both Stevie and Joey. He outranks them in the fist fight arena. Putting his foot down is the equivalent to the United States stepping in between two smaller countries and saying, "If you two don't stop, I'll spank you both."

David's in no position to start slapping anybody around. He ranks third in the bunch in physical superiority. Should he actually start whacking people, it could touch off a major brawl in which the hunter could easily become the hunted. In this situation, however, David is politically correct in flexing his muscle to stop this nonsensical bickering.

For one thing, David is probably the most popular kid in the group. He stands his ground when outsiders come into the neighborhood looking for trouble, but rarely squabbles amongst his own. In all honesty, he's more of a peacemaker than he is a warrior.

Stevie and Joey both know all that. They also know that nobody's gonna lift a finger to stop him if they wind up getting fifty-two nugees after they've been warned to stop bickering. From their perspective, the highest of priorities now becomes patronizing David so they don't get fifty-two nugees.

Joey: "So what do you want to do, David?"

David: "What's wrong with having a game of hide-and-go-seek?"

Okay, now the official name is generally accepted as "hide-and-seek," but we've never called it that. To us, it was always "Hide-and-go-seek."

Stevie: "That's a good idea. What do you guys think?"

Jacky: "Hide-and-go-seek is for sissies."

David shakes his head and laughs. Jacky way outranks David in the fist fight arena. This is not a political rivalry unfolding here for two reasons. One is because David really didn't care if we played "hide-and-go-seek" or not. He was merely making a suggestion. And secondly because nobody would ever bully David because they like him too much. Jacky only said it like that to reinforce his rank amongst the group. Only one other person in the whole group dares to challenge his superiority.

David: "Okay Jacky, so what do you wanna do?"

Jacky: "I wanna play stick ball."

Timmy: "That a great idea. Let's play stick ball."

Timmy's a sidewalk politician if there ever was one. He keeps his mouth shut until he finds out what everyone else thinks. Then he jumps on the bandwagon. Timmy can't fight his way out of a paper bag. There's no way he's ever going to throw any weight around.

David: "Okay, let's play stick ball then."

If I intend to win my hidden agenda, it's time to flex my political influence within the group. I now have only one obstacle to defeat. There's several ways to approach this thing.

From a military standpoint, Jacky and I stand on somewhat equal footing in the hierarchy of physical superiority amongst this group. We are both one-year older than everyone else. At this age, one year makes a big difference.

We both come from families with three boys and one girl. He is the oldest of his siblings, and I am the youngest of mine. I'm more experienced in rough housing with boys who are bigger and stronger than me. In a sense, you could say that I'm war-hardened by that.

Only once have Jacky and I ever come to blows. I won, but it was almost too close to call. He claims I won because I'm a dirty fighter. "Dirty fighter" is what we call the winner to justify having lost a fight that was almost too close call. Aside from that, the closeness of that bout alone is enough of a deterrent to keep us from recklessly stepping on each other's toes.

From a diplomatic standpoint, Jacky and I are good friends. We share the same sense of humor. We are far more inclined to get along than we are to get into a scrap. You catch more flies with sugar than you do with vinegar so to handle the situation from a diplomatic standpoint makes all the sense in the world.

If I play my cards right, I can shoot Jacky's suggestion down without him taking any serious offense. If I play it wrong, we could come to a military standoff. Sounds every bit as intriguing as the cold-war years between Russia and America - doesn't it?

And so it goes ...

Me: "Stick ball's retarded."

Jacky: "You're retarded."

Me: "You talkin' to me?"

Jacky: "You see me lookin' at anybody else?"

Me: "Wake up and smell the coffee, small fry. You're not talking to your mother now. You're talking to a guy who can slap you around."

David: "Come on, don't you two start."

Jacky: "Why? You gonna give us fifty-two nugees?"

That remark alone removes David from the political landscape in terms of military might. He can't hold a match to either one of us when it comes to fighting. In the process, Jacky just aligned himself with me. In that one small comment, he just laid out common ground between us. He has no intention in flexing his might against David. He likes David. What he's doing is paving the way for a peaceful settlement between me and him.

He's determined to find a way to settle the matter without dishonor. There's no way he's going to let me flex my muscle and belittle him in front of his subordinates. He'll stand his ground if he has to. What he's not going to do is just come right out and give in. He can't do that. He's got a reputation to uphold.

That last thing I want to do is put him on the spot. I've got to give him room to maneuver. It's just as much my responsibility to diffuse a potential confrontation as it is his. David being the great peacemaker that he is, takes to the podium and the negotiations begin.

David: "Okay Paul, so what's your suggestion?"

Jacky: "You know what he wants. He wants to play football. He couldn't whack a baseball if his life depended on it."

Me: "So when did you change your name? I didn't hear David ask you for your opinion."

Jacky: "Okay then, so what's your suggestion?"

Me: "I like your suggestion."

Jacky: "Stick ball?"

Me: "No, football."

Jacky: "I never suggested football."

Me: "You just did."

David: "I'll tell you what. Let's have vote. Majority rules. Fair enough?"

Jacky: "Yeah, that's fair enough."

David: "What about you, Paul? Fair enough?"

Me: "Yeah, okay. Let's take a vote."

David: "Okay, raise your hand if you want to play stick ball."

And there it is. Three kids raise their hands, and three kids don't. As it stands right now, I've got a 50 - 50 chance of achieving my hidden agenda. Those odds are better than what I was facing if there were more than two choices to contend with. All I need to do now is swing one vote.

Me: "Let's take another vote. I think Timmy wants to change his mind."

Timmy: "I'll play either game. I like em both."

Stevie: "I've got a better idea. Let's flip a coin."

Me: "Nobody asked you. Besides, didn't David already tell you to keep your trap shut? David, I think this guy's begging for those fifty-two nugees."

Stevie: "Hey, this is a free country. I've got a right to talk."

Stevie's had enough of being pushed around. He's ready to stand up for his rights regardless of the consequences. He knew David didn't mean anything personal with the "fifty-two nugee" threat. He was only using it as a bargaining chip to stop Stevie and Joey from bickering. Now that it's been thrown up in his face, he wants to reassert himself as a man with pride - whatever that's worth.

A coin toss is too risky. I want to settle this thing in a manner in which I might have more control over the outcome. And there's no way Jacky's going to agree to let me flip the coin.

Jacky: "Tell you what. I'll arm wrestle ya for it."

Logical move by Jacky. He knows he can beat me at arm wrestling. I've never beat him yet. What takes him by surprise is how readily I agree.

Me: "Okay, I'll arm wrestle ya for it. One throw takes it. Agreed?'

Jacky: "You got a deal."

We walk over to one of the cars parked along the curb, grab a hold of each other's hand, and line up our elbows.

David: "Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three!"

I suddenly look to the left with a surprised look on my face. Jacky glances over to see what it is I saw, and "BANG" I slam his hand down onto the hood of the car. Dancing in circles and waving my hands up over my head, I start singing "You lost because I won, and I won because you lost" to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne."

Jacky: "No way. That ain't fair. I want a rematch."

Me: "One throw takes it all. You agreed."

Jacky: "You cheated."

He's got a smirk on his face because it's funny and he knows it. I didn't cheat. I tricked him, but I didn't cheat. Even still, I don't let him get a word in edgewise because I'm still spinning in circles singing, "You lost because I won, and I won because you lost."

All of a sudden the whole political landscape unexpectedly changes. We now face an unforeseen development. As they say, "Life is what happens when you're trying to accomplish something else."

By no doing of our own, we're are now smack dab in the middle of a new political environment where neither Jacky nor I have any influence whatsoever. What happened was that all the bigger kids from Arlington Street just came running over to us shouting, "Hey everybody. We're gonna play hot-beans."

They didn't ask. There's no diplomacy involved. They just said it as a matter of fact. We have no alternative other than to lead, follow, or get out of the way. We're so way down on the totem pole now that nobody's gonna follow us. The only real alternatives left are to follow, or get out of the way.

If you don't get out of the way when the kids on Arlington Street play hot-beans, you're gonna get whacked with a belt. All things considered, if you intend to play out on the sidewalk today, you're going to play hot-beans. So in the end, the only logical choice is to follow.

More politicking happened right there on that sidewalk in less than one half-hour this morning than will ever take place at the United Nations within the next two years. Alliances were formed and someone's credibility was challenged. Military might was imposed and tactful diplomacy was engaged. And in the end, the majority ruled. The world's political landscape has nothing over on the kids out on the sidewalk - believe you me.

Everything I needed to learn to survive in the social, business, and political arena of this cold cruel world we live in, I learned as a kid growing up on Arlington Street. When it came time to leave the nest - we were ready because - "We're from Everett!"

Psychic Snapshots

Okay, apparently everyone wants to know how it is that I can remember so much about my childhood growing up in Everett in such vivid detail. Well, you're right. I've got a secret.

When I was a little kid, I used to marvel at the Johnson-Smith ads in the comics books. So much so, that I sent away for their catalogue. They had some of the neatest art supplies you could ever want to buy. Most notably was this opaque projector with which you could project photographs onto a wall. Sadly enough, I could never scrape together the twenty-dollars they were asking for it.

After sitting and drooling over that darn thing for weeks on end, I came across two books that made a dramatic impact on the way that I look at the world around me. My father used to bring home old discarded books from Tufts University. These two books were among them. The first was published back in 1910 and was entitled, "Unconscious Memory," by Samuel Butler. The second was published in 1918 and was entitled. "The Power of Concentration," by Theron Q. Dumont.

Because I was only about twelve years old at the time, I did not fully grasp all of the material covered in these books. I certainly didn't understand most of the bigger words, but that's where my Webster really came in handy. These books did teach me that anything a mirror, a lens, and a light bulb could do, I could do better.

What I was hoping to accomplish was to develop a photographic memory. If I could do that, I could photograph an image with my mind's eye so that I could project it down onto my sketch pad to draw at a later time. At first, I felt like I was just wasting my time on a lot of unfounded hocus pocus. After experimenting with the concept for a little while, I began to realize that maybe these two guys were actually on to something.

Now obviously, because I am both an artist and a musician, I'm a bit unconventional in the first place. You may actually balk at some of my paranormal beliefs, but I'm not even going anywhere near that right now. What I'm going to discuss with you today is how I developed my power of concentration and memory. In the process, you will discover that you also have these abilities. Using that ability, I'm going to show you some images in vivid detail from my childhood while growing up in Everett.

If you play around with your memory bank long enough, you'll find yourself pulling things out of your subconscious archives that you've long forgotten. Getting those images in there is step one in the process. Trying to remember something as a solid chunk of information is ludicrous. However, much like the way we cross link information using computer technology, we can do likewise with the data we log into our mind's eye. Let me explain that.

What I did was look at a person, a place, or a thing that I wanted to mentally photograph. I would widen my eyes as if I was taking a snapshot with my brain. Then, I would review the snapshot in my mind's eye right then and there. It's kind of like how you look at the viewer on the back of your digital camera after you take a picture. When I got home that evening, I sat on the edge of my bed and jotted down a few short notes in my journal to coincide with each of the snapshots I mentally photographed that day.

I reviewed everything that I was trying to retain in my mind's eye at least three times. First, when I took the snapshot. Secondly, when I reviewed the image in my mind's eye. And finally, when I jotted down my notes. In the process, I was writing a journal. Here it is forty years later and those notes trigger detailed images in my mind's eye that are just as sharp and focused as they were on the day that I captured them.

There is no magic, hocus pocus, or psychic phenomenon involved. I rely on nothing more than my God given basic human abilities to achieve that miracle. You can do it too, and I can prove it to you.

I often tell people about the time my niece came to visit. She wanted to call her Aunt who lived in Everett. Her problem was that she had forgotten to bring her address book along with her. Since her aunt's telephone number was unlisted, she could not call information to get that number.

What I did was have her describe for me exactly what the outside of her address book looked like. Then, I asked her to recall any of the distinct scribbles or doodles she may have made throughout that address book. She kept describing every intricate detail about it until she had at last brought the image of her address book sharply into focus within her mind's eye.

That's when I asked her to visualize turning the pages until she came to the page on which her aunt's telephone number was written. Using her photographic memory, she ran her finger down along the side of the page until she reached her aunt's listing. Sure enough, she could see the number written there.

She doubted herself at first. I advised her to write down what she saw first. It is important to trust your instincts before self-doubt gets in the way. She could always question it later. I told her to write down what it is she saw before doubt removed the image. So she wrote it down. She then picked up the telephone and dialed the number. Her instincts were 100 percent accurate.

My journal is nothing elaborate. It's nothing more than one of those zipper portfolio type notebooks jammed with scribbled pages of notebook paper. Many of its entries are scattered random thoughts. Most aren't even dated. Running my finger down along the outside margin of the page while scantly reading over its entries conjures up a wealth of memories.

Take this one for instance. All it says is, -- "I'm sorry that I got angry with you. I know your heart is in the right place. Now if we could only get your brain to catch up to your heart you'll be alright."

My father said those words. You can only imagine how sorry I am that I did not date that entry. I can tell by the penmanship that I was very young at the time - definitely elementary school age. Reading that entry edges my eyes with tears for many reasons. Perhaps the whole concept will come sharply into focus if I tell you the story behind that entry.

My wife often tells me about how when she was very little, she would find a pretty piece of jewelry in her mother's jewelry box and wrap it up as a gift for Mother's Day. When her mother opened it, she acted as surprised as if she had never seen that article of jewelry before. Her mother then thanked her warmly for such a thoughtful gift.

I'm sure we've all done something like that when we were little. I remember once giving my mother a bag full of colorful wet autumn leaves for a gift. She thanked me dearly for them. I wanted to express my devotion, but since I was too little to cross the street I had to rely on whatever was readily available to accomplish that.

It was along that same vein in which my father once uttered those words. As I recall, it was one of those rare summer days when it was raining cats and dogs outside. When the rain came down in buckets like that, I couldn't even go out to play on the back porch. My only other option was to go downstairs and play in the cellar. So that's what I did.

Our cellar was rather dirty - especially because of the three coal burning furnaces that serviced the three separate apartments on our half of the building. A third of the cellar was taken up by three enclosed coal bins. Another third was taken up by a large workbench, tools, wall shelving, and a large anvil mounted on a tree stump.

That cellar had two exits. One doorway was situated in the back hall on the first floor. It led out onto a stairwell that coiled its way around the chimney down to the cellar floor. On the opposite wall to the right, the other exit was a half door at the top of three hand built steps that led out into the backyard.

There wasn't really very much to do down there. One thing I did enjoy doing was grabbing a handful of old nails out of a bucket and hammering them into the tree stump that supported the anvil. That could keep me occupied for hours on end.

On this particular day, I stood there looking around the cellar thinking, "What a shame it is that my Dad doesn't have a more cheerful place to set up his work bench." Just then, a solution caught my eye. On the shelf above the work bench were many old partial cans of white ceiling paint. Wouldn't it be nice to paint the cellar to brighten this dreary looking place up for him? I thought so.

This was something I could do. After all, I had watched my Dad paint so many times before that I knew the procedure by heart. The first thing you gotta do is mix that paint up real good and smooth. According to my Dad, you gotta stir that paint 300 times, changing direction on every fiftieth stroke. As long as you remember to scrape the excess paint off the sides of your brush along the edge of the paint can, you're on your way.

I had the entire work bench painted in less then ten minutes flat. Because it was built out of old untreated lumber, it needed a second coat to really shine it up. The second coat went on faster than the first. At this rate I could paint the whole cellar before my Dad got home from work. What a wonderful gift to surprise him with after a hard day at work. Don't you think?

After taking down all the junk off the shelves up above, I painted them too. The place was really starting to look a bit spiffy if I do say so myself. With three more half cans of paint to work with, I could have this place looking like something out of "Better Homes and Gardens" in no time flat.

When I finished the shelves, I painted the wall behind it. After that, I painted the outsides of the coal bins. It's amazing what a fresh coat of paint can do sometimes. Not wanting to diminish the overall pleasantry of this new look, I painted the outsides of the coal furnaces as well. I was just finishing up on the last one when my Dad's car pulled into the driveway.

I was so preoccupied with completing this project that I didn't even notice that the rain had stopped and the sun had come out from behind the clouds. When the sunlight filtered in through the cellar window, that place glittered like a ball-room dance hall - let me tell ya. I couldn't wait to see the look on my Dad's face when he saw all this.

You should have seen his expression when he got out of the car and turned around to look at me. His jaw dropped open. "What have you done?" he shouted.

"Come and see for yourself," I said pointing towards the cellar door.

"Oh God, don't tell me," he said.

It was while he was running towards the cellar door to see the surprise waiting for him that I realized I had made white foot prints all the way across the back yard. Not only were my shoes covered with wet paint, but it was all over my arms, and legs, and even in my hair as well. I was literally covered with wet paint from head to toe.

He took one look into the cellar door and shouted, "Look at this mess! Do you realize what you've done? I'll have to spend the rest of this week trying to get all that paint off with paint thinner. Oh my God, you even painted the boilers. Oh no, this is worse than I thought."

He then turned to me and shouted, "You gotta be the stupidest kid on the planet. What's wrong with you? Get upstairs out of my sight before I break your neck. Get in the bathtub and wash all that paint off before it dries, you stupid fool."

My heart was broken. I thought I'd make him so happy. Instead, I ruined his day. I cried my heart out in the bathtub. The whole time I was taking my bath he walked back and forth in the kitchen ranting and raving over all the damage I'd done. I never felt more like running away from home than I did that day - let me tell ya.

When I was toweling off after my bath, my mother said, "Tomorrow I'll take you down to the Eagle Barbershop to see if they can't cut some of that paint out of your hair. They'll probably have to give you a whiffle."

My Dad sent me to bed without supper that night. Man, he was really mad. I buried my head in my pillow and cried myself to sleep. A little while later, I woke up because someone was rubbing my back. I turned to see my Dad sitting on the edge of the bed beside me. He then said those words written in my journal. He also said, "I get angry and lose my temper sometimes, but don't ever forget that I will always love you no matter what you do."

I often wondered if he still felt that way during the next several weeks as he struggled to get all that paint off the boilers down in the cellar. He never bothered trying to get the paint off the walls and workbench. I guess he had just accepted the fact that he now had a white workshop. He joked about the incident for years afterwards. It just wasn't so funny at the time.

It's amazing when you think about how much story is embedded into that simple journal entry. Along with the story line are countless images related to it in my mind's eye. Telling you that story brings forth vived images of what the interior of that cellar looked like even though I have not seen it now in over forty years.

Another thing it does is bring forth other memories that took place down in that cellar. Like the time my big brother, Billy, and I were wrestling on an old mattress down there. He picked me up and did a body slam on me that nearly knocked the wind out of me. When I stood up I let out with a barrage of obscenities that would embarrass a truck driver. I didn't realize that my mother was standing right there behind me when I did it. She washed my mouth out with soap for that one.

The memories don't stop there - believe me. There was also the time my Dad brought home a large snapping turtle to amaze us with. We brought it down into the cellar to play with it. This thing was huge.

We were all cheerfully chasing this thing around in circles when my brother, Billy, said, "Hey, guess what everybody?"

"What?"

"Turtles don't bleed."

"Yes they do," Julie taunted. "Everything bleeds."

"Oh yeah? Well turtles don't, smarty pants," he shouted back.

"Prove it," she challenged him.

He picked the turtle up off the floor and set it on its back on top of that tree stump that the anvil was on. He then walked over to the work bench and got a ball peen hammer and a ten penny nail. Centering that spike onto the turtle's belly, he gave one mighty blow and drove that nail all the way through the turtle.

Picking up the turtle, he held it out in front of him to show us that the turtle wasn't bleeding. It wasn't. It was, however, kicking its legs frantically before it finally expired. Now if something like that doesn't traumatize you when you're a little kid, nothing will.

Oddly enough, I have no references made to that incident in my journal. That's just the way memory works. Conjuring up one memory invokes another. My journal triggers the mental images stored in my memory. Every picture tells a story. And every story uncovers yet another one right along with it. Think about that.

Picture what the front steps of your house in Everett looked like when you were a little kid. Doesn't that alone remind you of at least one incident that happened when you were growing up in Everett? All I have to do is picture those front steps of that apartment building on Arlington Street and I could go off on a tangent for days on end.

Every landmark in Everett has a story behind it. There are still hundreds of stories out there that are yet untold. Nobody's going to know them unless we tell them. And we do know them because - "We're From Everett!"

Shopping For School Clothes

It never seems to fail. Every year around this time my mother starts getting itchy about going shopping for school clothes. There's only two weeks left to our summer vacation and the last thing I want to do right now is spoil it all by thinking about school.

It always happens on a Sunday. And this is exactly how the scenario unfolds.

My brother Billy's alarm clock radio turns itself on. That obnoxious religious Sunday morning intro comes over the airwaves. "It's Sunday in Boston. It's time to go to church." Listening to an elaborate church choir bellow out a rendition of "Amazing Grace" over a 3 inch tweeter on a mono AM radio is about as soothing as listening to Willie Whistle scream.

Sitting up on the edge of my bed to rub my eyes open, I come to realize they're not sending me to Sunday school today. That sounds encouraging on the surface, but it's what I can hear going on in the kitchen that takes the excitement out of the whole thing. You can forget about getting a game of "off-the-wall" or "stickball" because it's just not going to happen. Not for me anyway.

My mother and father are sitting at the kitchen table tearing the Boston Sunday Globe apart. Their conversation sounds like this.

Dad: "I see Zayres got boy's shirts on sale for half off. Regular price is seven ninety-nine. Hell, we could get each of the boys three or four new shirts for school.

Mom: "After that I'd like to take a run over to Lechmere Sales. They've got a two for one sale going on for handkerchiefs and socks."

Dad: "Oh sure, we can do that. What's JM Fields got on sale this week?"

Mom: "Well they've got a lot of specials on girl's clothes and Julie really needs a new wardrobe for school this year."

Dad: "What about Grants?"

Mom: Grants and Gorins are closed on Sunday. We can go there during the week. I'd also like to get over to Sparks in Malden Square sometime next week also."

Dad: "Yeah, we can do that."

Mom: "I'd like to take a run over to Almy's since we're going shopping anyway."

Need I say more?

Is there anyone else out there that hates going shopping for school clothes as much as I do? I'd do anything to get out of shopping for school clothes. Now I wish they had sent me off to Sunday school after all. Watching paint dry is far more exciting than shopping for school clothes.

Oh, I'm going shopping. You can make book on it. I'll try anything to get out of it, but it'll be like beating my head against a stone wall. I can tell you that.

The first thing I'll try is to walk out into the kitchen and say,"Gee, I don't feel so good this morning."

"What's seems to be the trouble," my Dad asks.

"I've got an upset stomach."

"Maybe I ought to give you a spoonful of Castor Oil."

Have you ever swallowed a spoonful of Castor Oil? It sounds like something you'd use to lubricate the wheels on your office chair - doesn't it? Well, that what it tastes like. Like I said, I'd do anything to get out of going shopping for school clothes, but I wouldn't do that.

"I'm not that sick," I tell him.

"That's good because we're going shopping for school clothes today."

"Do we have to go today?"

"Yes, we have to go today."

"On TV they said the stores are having big summer end savings all next weekend." I'm lying through my teeth, but I'll try anything at this stage.

"Next weekend is Labor Day," my mother says. "I've got to beat the crowds to the deals. It isn't easy finding good clothes at a decent price for four kids nower days. We're going shopping and I don't want hear any more about it."

It's not so much the traffic and the crowds that gets to me. I can deal with that. It's how long it takes to just pick out one single article of clothing that drives me out of my mind. I wished they'd just give me a shopping cart and let me run up and down the isles. I'd have my school clothes all bought and paid for in less than two minutes flat.

My sister loves shopping for clothes. She takes her time and finds the prettiest things. I'm sorry, but I just can't do that. My brain goes dead if I have to stop and look at a shirt for any more than thirty seconds.

Besides, It's Sunday. Back home the New York Giants are having their first pre-season game against the Packers on TV and I'm standing here in the middle of JM Fields with my mother asking, "What kind of pants do you like?"

"Let me see, hmmm. I'd like pants that have two legs, pockets, a zipper, and some belt loops." I mean really. What more could I ask from a pair of pants?

"How about shirts?" She asks.

"Yes, I like shirts."

"What kind do you like, wise guy?"

"I'd like a shirt that has arms, a collar, buttons and a pocket. Other than that, no designs thank you. I don't want you jumping all over me every morning to make sure everything matches when I get dressed for school. Let's just buy everything the same color so it matches automatically."

"Don't talk so gawd damn foolish," she snaps.

"Here, take these pants into the dressing room and try them on."

The dressing rooms in JM Fields were a joke. They were smaller than a telephone booth. When you bent over to pull the pants up over your legs, you banged your bum against the opposite wall and it knocked you down.

Aside from that, on the inside of the door they had one tiny hook to hang your clothes on. It was so small that nothing would stay hung up on it. As soon as you pulled your hand back your clothes fell to the floor. Trying on a pair of pants in JM Flield's dressing room was a challenge and a half.

The first thing I did was take off my dungarees and hang them up on that little hook. When I turned around to step into my new pair of pants, my dungarees fell to the floor. I set the new pair of pants back down on that shelf and picked my dungarees up off the floor. As soon as I got one leg into that new pair of pants, my dungarees fell off the hook again. And of course, I'd let the new pants fall to my ankles while I picked my dungarees up off the dirty floor again.

"How do those pants fit?" My mother yells from outside.

"I don't know. I haven't got them on yet."

"What have you been doing all this time?"

When I try to explain my dilemma - she says, "Don't bother with that right now."

"So should I just let my dungarees lie on the dirty floor?"

"Of course not, pick them up."

"That's what's taking me so long. They keep falling off the hook."

"Well don't worry about that right now."

Hello? Are we talking the same language here? Is it me? Maybe it is. Does anyone else go through this? Sometimes I feel like I belong in an alternate reality along another time line somewhere.

"Open the door," she says. "I want you to try this on too." Now she's handing me a new shirt to try on to go with these pants. As if I haven't got enough problems already - right?

If that isn't enough to make you scream, you ought to see the shirt she just passed into me. It's one of those Country & Western looking things that Dale Evans gave to Roy Rogers for his birthday. So I hand it back out to her and say, "I wouldn't be caught dead in this."

"What are you talking about? Jimmy Dean wears a shirt just like it."

"Ma really, take a look out the window once in a while. How many kids do you see going off to school in Everett dressed like Jimmy Dean?"

"Well if everyone else jumped off the bridge would you do it too?"

"I would if I was wearing that shirt."

"Here, try this one on then."

I'm still in the same boat. I've got those new pants down around my ankles, my dungarees keep falling on the floor, and now I've got another shirt to contend with. One thing is certain. I'm going nowhere fast.

As they say, "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." I'm determined to start making some headway here. If I don't, I'll be shopping for school clothes for the rest of my natural born life.

As soon as I got that other leg into those new pants, my dungarees fell onto the floor again. I looked up into the heavens in utter frustration and guess what I saw? Just above my head on the rafters was one of those big circular mirrors pointing right down at me. I can see all the shoppers in the surrounding area. These are not one-way mirrors. If I can see them, they can certainly see me.

"Hey Ma," I yelled out.

"What now?"

"Everyone can see me in that big mirror up above." I shouldn't have yelled that out. As soon as I did, everyone looked up into the mirror right at me.

"What difference does that make?" She asks.

It makes a big difference to me. I mean really. It's bad enough that I've got to forfeit a whole summer vacation day trying on school clothes. Having to get undressed in front of every other kid my age from the Greater Boston area makes it even worse. And you know my luck. More than likely there will be at least one girl from my class standing right there shopping for school clothes with her mother as well.

That does it. I'm angry now. I'm taking control of my life. After tying my shirt and dungarees into a knot around that hook, I finally got those school clothes on. When I stepped out of the dressing room my mother said, "You look so handsome. You're definitely going to break all the girl's hearts this year, let me tell you."

I'm hearing this from the very same woman who said that I was such an ugly newborn baby that she asked the doctor if I was going to be all right. Not only that, but if I wasn't a big heart throb before this, then I rather doubt that a new shirt and a pair of pants from JM Flields were gonna do the trick. Maybe she's right. Maybe I should reconsider that Jimmy Dean shirt after all.

"Come over here and let me get a good look at you." Whenever she says that, she grabs a hold of my belt loops and starts jerking me around in front of one of those full length mirrors. I guess this is her version of kicking the tires on a new car.

"How does everything fit? Are you comfortable?"

"This is great. Everything fits perfectly. Can we buy it and go home now?"

"Not just yet. We've got a few more stores to go to. I've still got to get some clothes for the other kids too."

What did I tell ya? This is gonna take forever.

"Here, I've got a few more things I'd like you to try on," she says. She's got clothes piled up in the shopping cart that reach almost all the way up to those "Back To School" banners.

"You gotta be kidding me," I protest.

"Oh no, don't be so silly. I don't expect you to try everything on. Just these and these," she says holding out a half dozen pairs of pants in one arm, and a half dozen shirts in the other.

If you think trying on one pair of pants in that tiny dressing room was a challenge, just wait until your mother sends you in there with a whole wardrobe to try on. You'll be stepping all over those clothes trying to get dressed in there. By the time you do get out of there you'll have foot prints in some of the most unimaginable places.

This is just the tip of the ice berg. We've still got a whole list of stores to go through yet. And I'm only one of four kids. I'll have to sit there like a bump on a log while each one of my other three siblings goes through the same ordeal in every one of the stores we visit.

And just when you think you're beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, my mother blurts out, "We may as well go see if we can find a good deal on some new shoes for school, also."

If that don't beat all. What is it with mothers and school clothes? Why do they have to drag it out for hours on end?

Back in our day, people acted as if the clerks at the shoe store were some kind of scholarly professional. I suppose it's because they carried around that podiatry looking foot measure. Some guy would come over, kneel down in front of you and take off your shoes. He'd start squeezing your foot and say, "Hmmm, he looks like a size 9 E. Let's see what I've got in his size."

Ten minutes later this guy shows up with a half dozen boxes of shoes and my mother wants me to try on every last one. You had to get up and walk up and down the isle while everyone watched attentively. You'd think they were searching for a security breach by the way they were gawking at me.

The shoes felt fine when I was walking in them, but now that they're squeezing my foot and putting me through the third degree, I'm not so sure any more.

"How do those feel?"

"Fine."

"Where is your toe?"

"Where it always is."

"How about the ball of your foot? Is that comfortable?" I'll know that as soon as I figure out what the ball of my foot is and where it's at.

"Is the arch too high?"

"What's an arch?"

"Would you rather have a loafer?"

"A loaf of what?"

Why does it have to be so complicated? Give me a shoe. I'll try it on. If it fits, I'll give you the money and I'm gone. That's all there is to it. Gee whiz, can we go on with our lives already?

Standing idly by while each of the other kids goes through the same ordeal is a lot like being turtored at a POW camp. You just stand there for hours on end doing absolutely nothing. You can't go off to look at anything to help pass the time because your mother will say, "Don't go wandering off. I don't want to have to go looking all over the store for you when it's time to go." As if that's going to happen any time soon.

Shopping for school clothes, and everything associated with it has the uncanny power to ruin my whole day. When we finally do get back home it's too late to go to out and play because the streetlights came on. And the only reason we came home in the first place is because the stores closed early on Sunday nights back in our day.

We've got just enough time left before bed to sit around the TV and enjoy some quality Sunday night viewing. You remember what we had to watch on Sunday nights back then - don't you? In the eyes of a little kid, our Sunday television line up was about as exciting as watching the grass grow.

After Meet the Press, we watched Mutual of Omaha's Wild Animal Kingdom. That's the show where they staged the wild animal events. Still, it was cute. At least after that came the Mousketeers on the Mickey Mouse Club. Now that was fun. They featured cartoons, Zorro, and Annette Funicello - sigh!

It was all down hill after that. We sat through an hour of the Lawrence Welk show before Perry Mason. He was the lawyer that never had a guilty client in his life. That show was so predictable. Even the word "boring" doesn't describe it effectively enough.

Once in a while Ed Sullivan had something entertaining on, but for the most part he had old people singing to the rhythm of a big band that droned on and on endlessly. These people sang songs that were like ten minutes long.

In the meantime, my mother and sister sat at the kitchen table looking through all the new clothes we just bought. Julie would try on some of her new school clothes and sashay around the kitchen. Eventually my mother would call out to us in the living room.

"Hey Paul, you want to come out and try on that new blue shirt?"

"No, thank you."

"Don't you want to see what you're going to look like on your first day of school?"

"No."

"How about you, Carl? Want to try on some of your new clothes?"

"no."

"Billy? How about you?"

"Nope, Alfred Hitchcock's coming on next."

"You people are no fun," she'd say.

Do you believe that? She actually thinks that trying on new clothes is a good time. She wouldn't know a good time if she tripped over one. My mother has never once tried to ride a bike by sitting up on the handle bars backwards. She's never thrown a pair of sneakers up over the telephone wires. And she still hasn't learned how to make a clothespin match stick shooter.

I could certainly teach her a trick or two when it comes to having a good time. I know how to have a good time because, "I'm from Everett!"

A Word From Our Sponsor

I have the power to tug at your heart strings. I can conjure up images in your mind's eye that are almost impossible for you to avoid. I can invoke a sentimental journey that will whisk you away from the outside world. You can try to stop me if you want to, but more than likely, I will succeed.

I will succeed because you want me to. You'll want to see these images in your mind's eye. You won't want to stop me. You'll want to go where I'm taking you to.

I will not lead you into unfamiliar territory. You have all been there before. You know this place. It's imbedded in the very fibers of your consciousness, and yet, it is so very far away from all the things that trouble you today.

We are going to a place that gladdens your heart and soothes your soul. It's a place where your sleep was always restful, your smile was always genuine, and your friends were all around you.

You'll get a great big smile on your face the moment you get there. The images you see will strengthen your character. It's a place where you can live your life to its fullest, love with all your heart, and laugh until your sides ache. It's where you belong.

I'm taking you home. There's no place like home.

You do not have to tap your shoes together three times and say, "There's no place like home" to get there. All you have to do is answer one simple question. That question is ...

"How many cookies did Andrew eat?"

You know that, don't you? It goes like this ...

"How many cookies did Andrew eat?
Call Andrew - eight - eight thousand.

How do you keep your carpets neat?
Call Andrew - eight - eight thousand."

If you grew up in Everett, you heard that jingle so many times that it's lodged in your memory banks until your dying day. They played it repeatedly on every radio station we listened to in the Greater Boston area. You talk about subliminal seduction? That jingle was the ultimate.

It's been over thirty-five years since I've last heard that jingle and I still can't get that song out of my head. Funny thing is, none of us had any idea what they were singing about, but we knew that jingle.

Radio and television ads play a major role in our lives. They constantly bombard us with sights and sounds that imbed their messages into our brains. And it works. Through the process of association, our memory banks retain information that we reassemble in a number of ways. From constantly hearing those jingles, their messages become a natural part of that process. We may never buy their product, but we will almost certainly sing their ads.

I never ate a Peek Frean cookie in my life. I've never even seen one. But I can tell you this. "Peek Freans are a very serious cookie." Now there's a product I've never bought in my life, but I still can't get their jingle out of my head.

Here's an excellent example of what I'm talking about. You remember that commercial for Peter Paul Almond Joy and Mounds candy bars? It goes ...

"Sometimes you feel like a nut. sometimes you don't.
Peter Paul Almond Joys got nuts. Peter Paul Mounds don't.
Because, sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't!"

So tell me, as you read those words to yourself, did you say them or did you sing them? You sang them, didn't you? That jingle not only triggers the image of that delicious candy bar melting in your mouth, but you can actually taste it - can't you? My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

There is really so much more to it than just that. Singing that jingle brings forth from my memory archives a specific time when one of my friends actually sang it. It happened on a beautifully warm early summer day about a week before we got out of school for the summer.

It was lunch period during my tenth grade at Everett High School. My Friend Steve and I were in Mr. Pascouchi's homeroom together. We had just stepped out onto the sidewalk on the Rockwood Auditorium side of the school. That side of the school was always shaded from the bright sun because of both the height of the building and the few maple trees along the sidewalk.

That's the curb where Jimmy (the canteen truck guy) always parked. He had boxes of chips and snacks spread out along the sidewalk so you could just grab what you wanted and pass him the change. Remember Jimmy? He was a little old guy with thick glasses who always wore a baseball cap and a light jacket even when it was too hot to walk barefoot on the sidewalk.

Before heading up Broadway to spark up a smoke in front of that brick apartment building on the corner of Hancock, Stevie decided to grab a snack from Jimmy. Shouldering his way through the crowd, he reached down into one of the boxes, grabbed a candy bar, and handed Jimmy a dollar. Jimmy pulled out a roll of dollar bills that would choke a horse and wrapped the bill around it. He then start flicking the thumb levers on that little coin changer he wore on his belt and handed Stevie his change.

When Stevie made his way back out of the maddening crowd, I asked, "So what did you get, Dude?"

"I got one of these," he said holding up his Peter Paul Almond Joy.

"Why'd ya get that?" I had to ask - right?

"B-e-c-a-u-s-e -- sometimes you feel like a nut. And sometimes you don't," he sang.

That moment should have just flickered through my timeline without so much as a second thought. But because of that jingle, it became a memorable moment. I mean really. When reminiscing about the good old days, how many times have you blurted out with something so trivial as, "I remember the day a friend of mine bought a candy bar for lunch?" Hopefully, not too often. If that happens more than once then you really do need to get out more.

Call it a flaw in my frontal lobe if you will, but when I hear a jingle, it doesn't conjure up an image of the product they're selling. What it does is remind me of a moment in my past when either that commercial was playing in the background or everybody was singing along with it.

Here's another good example of that. This happened in 1970 during the summer before my senior year at Everett High school. Danny borrowed his sister's car. He, Stevie, Freddie, and I were on our way up to Hampton Beach for a wild summer day of frolic and fun. As usual, the traffic jammed at the New Hampshire toll booths on Route 95.

We were surrounded with cars full of Everett kids waiving and yelling back and forth. It just so happened that most of us were tuned into the same FM radio station on our car radios. That happened because whenever you heard a neat song blaring from somebody else's car you'd yell out, "Hey what station is that on?" And they'd yell back, "BCN Dude." Because let's face it. If you weren't tuned into BCN, then you weren't tuned in at all - right?

Traffic was at a standstill so all the kids were hanging around outside of their cars shooting the bull. Some of the girls spread their towels out on the hood of their cars to catch some rays. A game of tag broke out right there in the middle of the street. We grew so impatient over trying to get through the toll booths to get to the beach that we just broke loose right then and there.

All of a sudden this commercial came on the radio and all the Everett kids put on a dance and song routine that rivaled any production ever put on by the Zigfield follies. What commercial was that? It goes like this...

"When you say Bud, you've said a lot of things nobody else can say.
When you say Bud, you say you only want the king of beers.
There is no other one. There's only something less.
Because the king of beers, is leading all the rest.
When you say BUDWEISER, you've said it all."

You can just picture it - can't you? You know how crazy the kids from Everett can get. We were dancing all around our cars, clapping our hands up over our heads, and singing at the top of our lungs. To an outsider it must have looked like a sudden attack of mass hysteria.

That also reminds me of the time during my senior year when we were walking through the hallways heading back to our homerooms after lunch. Somebody in the crowd said they had a bad case of indigestion. Somebody else suggested that they take an Alka Seltzer. That's all we had to hear.

What a mature example we set for the underclassmen that day. We marched through the corridor swinging our arms in tandem and chanting, "Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is." I remember Mr. Brogna stroking his goatee and shaking his head in disbelief as we passed by in single file reciting that jingle repeatedly.

And then there's the time when Gino was standing out on the sidewalk at lunch time chowing down on a sandwich he just bought from Jimmy's canteen. "What in the world are you eating, Dude?" I asked.

"It's a baloney sandwich. Why?"

"Baloney?"

"Hey man, this ain't just some plain old ordinary baloney," he answered. "This baloney has personality."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact," and then he started singing, "My baloney has a first name. It's O-s-c-a-r. My baloney has a second name. It's M-a-y-e-r. Oh I love to eat it every day and if you ask me why I'll say. Oscar Mayer has a way with b-o-l-o-g-n-a."

See what I mean about those jingles having a big impact on your life? We're actually having a good time reminiscing about what my friends ate for lunch at recess. All we're doing is talking about passive every day occurrences. It's not as if we're talking about monumental milestones in our lives or anything.

It reminds me of that hot summer afternoon when I was a little kid sitting out on my front steps reading a funny book. The girls were out on the sidewalk playing jump rope. Girls always amazed me. They were useless in a game of tag rush, but they could jump a rope in ways I couldn't possibly pull off no matter how hard I tried.

They had this thing they did where they doubled the rope and had two ropes spinning in opposite directions simultaneously. They'd jump into the middle of all that and do this side to side skip and jump motion without so much as missing a single beat. I could never figure out for the life of me how they did that.

Listening to the sound they made when they did that "double Dutch" jump rope technique was so rhythmic. They had the sound of those alternating ropes scratching the sidewalk in time to the beat of their sneaker loafers hitting the pavement. No wonder they sang while they jumped. How could you not?

So anyway, I'm sitting there reading my funny book while tapping my foot to the rhythm of their jump roping. All of a sudden, I picked up on this jingle that fits perfectly in rhyme to their rhythm. It just so happened that one of the girls turned to me all out of breath and said, "Sing something for us, Paul." Picking up on the rhythm, I sang this.

"My dog's better than your dog
My dog's better than yours.
My dog's better cuz he gets Kennelration,
My dog's better than yours."

My dog's bigger than your dog
My dog's smarter than yours.
My dog's better cuz he gets Kennelration,
My dog's better than yours."

It fit perfectly. "Way to go," they laughed.

So there it is. Another insignificant moment in my life made memorable by a commercial jingle. I'm telling ya, there's magic in those jingles. Think about it. Who amongst us has not at least once sung that "Meow-meow-meow-meow" song for that kitty meow mix commercial?

I can remember when I was a really little kid sitting around the living room watching TV with my family. I always wanted my Dad to go out and buy us a Chevy because every week they showed Dinah Shore driving down the highway with the convertible top down singing, "See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet. America is asking you to call. Drive your Chevrolet through the U.S.A. because America's the greatest land of all."

Those of you who lived through the British invasion of Rock N Roll in the early sixties will remember how we substituted the lyrics to the Nestle's commercial to relate to the Beatles when they were all the rage. We used to sing, "B-e-a-t-l-e-s, Beatles make the very best - muuuusic!"

When we were only in Kindergarten, a bunch of us marched up and down the sidewalk banging broken sticks on cardboard boxes tied around our necks staging our very own mock Fourth of July parade. So what patriotic song were we yelling at the top of our lungs? We shouted, "Everybody doesn't like something. But nobody doesn't like Sarah Lee." I kid you not.

Saturday morning television was notorious for bombarding us with commercial jingles. We used to sit around the TV singing everybody's favorite, "It's slinky, it's slinky, a really wonderful toy. It's slinky, it's slinky, it's fun for a girl and a boy."

Then of course there's always "Candy coated popcorn, peanuts, and a prize, that's what you get with Cracker Jacks." And who could ever forget this one. "Charlie says, I love my Good and Plenty. Charlie says, it really rings the bell. Charlie says, I love my Good and Plenty. I don't know any other candy that I love so well."

Just think about some of the jingles you heard either on the radio or TV before school that got lodged in your head for the remainder of the day. You'd walk through the corridor singing to yourself, "All the kids in the neighborhood say Tootsie Roll Pops are triple good. Triple good, you'll love Tootsie Roll Pops."

How many times have you swung on the swings at the playground singing, "I'd love to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. I'd love to buy the world a Coke and keep it company?" Or have you ever stood in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready to go out on a date singing this one?

"Brylcream, a little dab will do ya.
Brylcream, you look so debonair.
Brylcream, a little dab will do ya.
They love to get their fingers in your hair."

I don't know about you, but I couldn't resist knocking twice on the table every time I sang, "Winstons taste good like a (knock-knock) cigarette should." Hey, how about that big band strip-tease music they played while that sexy girl said, "Take it off. Take it all off," on the Noxema commercial, huh? Didn't it make you want to come strutting out of the shower with your towel wrapped around you doing a risqué dance across the living room? Or was I the only one that commercial had that affect on? Okay, never mind. Let's not go there then.

Okay, one last question. "What's the neat new spaghetti you can eat with a spoon?" Go ahead and try to say the answer without singing it. I dare you to.

Just talking about all those commercial jingles brings back memories of a simpler time when we were young and foolish, our worries were far and few between, and we were much too busy having a grand old time for ourselves to worry about tomorrow.

I was right wasn't I? I tugged at your heart strings. I conjured up images in your mind's eye that invoked a sentimental journey that whisked you away from the outside world. And you let me do it - didn't you?

The truth is - you did it yourself. You let go of your inhibitions and allowed yourself to have a good time. You deserve that. Make it a point to turn off the outside world every so often and spend a little time with yourself. Go home and relive those moments that truly made you happy. That's where your heart is. That's the real you. That's the you we know and love.

To help you do that - I've got 2 new MP3 sound files for you to download on the "Growing Up Everett" web site Extra page. Go ahead. Click on that link. You'll find a copy of all those advertisement jingles we just talked about. Well, all except the "Andrew Cookie" and the "Peek Freans" ones. I couldn't find those two.

So, snap on the headphones, sit back, kick up your feet, and relive those happy moments of your youth when you cursed those commercials for playing in over the tail end of your favorite song.

And don't forget. We're here all the time. Come back often and reconnect with your roots. You belong here. We'll leave the light on for ya. After all - "We're from Everett!"

Our Canobie Lake Park Adventure

One thing is certain, our summer days are numbered. School is just around the corner, but who wants to think about that right now? We've still got a little freedom left. So let's make the most of it.

The good news is that my Dad is starting to ask my Mom what she wants to do over the Labor Day weekend. Last year we went down to the Cape for the weekend. As much as I really enjoyed that I hope we don't do that again this year. We got stuck in traffic for over three and a half hours in the blaring heat on our way down. It was just as bad on the way back. That took a lot of the fun out of the whole weekend because we all got so tired and crabby.

The year before that we took a ride down to Newport to see the Vanderbilt mansions. For as long as I live I will never forget visiting the Breakers. It's hard to imagine that castle was once somebody's summer home. The balcony overlooking the ocean is larger than any house I've ever lived in - let me tell ya.

If it was up to me, I'd choose a weekend along the Kangamangus Highway up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. There's a spot where you can pull off the road that borders the Swift River. You know the spot. It's where that raging river washes over those large stones that you can step on to get across to the other side. I could spend the rest of my days right there at that spot alone. Just let me sit up on top of one of those boulders in the middle of that stream on a mild summer's day and I'll write volumes of poetry that will hold you spellbound.

Well anyway, the Labor Day weekend is still a couple of weeks off. More than likely, we'll toss a few different ideas back and forth a few times before we pin anything down for sure. In the meantime, I do have one solemn bit of news. We're nearing the last day for the playground teachers. That always saddened me for some reason.

Having the playground teachers around added a special touch to our summer experience. When the playground teachers leave, the park seems to get a little bit empty somehow. I can't seem to put my finger on exactly why, but it does. Maybe that's because it's another signal that we're edging closer towards the end of summer.

One of the last duties the playground teachers perform is to hand out the notices for the end of summer outing. We're talking a really good time here. Sometime before the Labor Day weekend, the Everett Parks & Recreational Department organized a day-long bus trip for all the kids up to Canobie Lake Park. What a thrill and a half that was. The memories alone bring tears to my eyes.

Please don't tell me you've never gone on one of those trips. Well just in case you hadn't, you're going on one now. Come on, you can come along with all the kids from my neighborhood. We're heading off to Canobie Lake Park for the summer adventure of your lifetime. You ready for this? Well, let's get going then.

On the morning of our Canobie Lake Park adventure, we're up at the crack of dawn. There's so much to do and so little time, especially when there's four of us to get ready all in the same house. You've got to make sure you've got your handkerchief, two bandaids, and an extra dime for an emergency phone call just in case.

Then there's those last minute instructions my mother delivers every year. "You kids stick together. Nobody breaks away from the group under any circumstance. Make sure you always have your emergency dime just in case. Be good and don't get into any trouble."

That's it. Seems simple enough on the surface, but let me tell you, those are more than just words of advice. Coming from my mother, those are commandments. Break just one of them and you'll never go on another day trip for as long as you live.

Walking down to the busses at the Rec across from Glendale Park was much like the pilgrimage we experienced when going to the Park Theatre on Saturday afternoons. As soon as we stepped out the door we walked smack dab into the middle of a crowd of kids from Arlington Street.

You should have seen all the kids from the Horace Mann playground crowded up along the curb on Ferry Street trying to get across to Nichols. There must have been at least two or three dozen kids there alone. Everybody stood there asking everybody else if anybody's pushed the traffic button yet. When those lights changed, we marched across that street with a vengeance.

Down along Nichols Street we met up with another whole slew of kids coming from the Florence Street Park district. Halfway down along Woodlawn Street, all the kids from the Cherry Street Projects joined the march. You're talking a couple of hundred kids by this time. Some kids are singing, some kids are chanting, and there's always at least one in the crowd who likes to bounce along with one foot on the curb and one foot in the gutter.

If you've ever experienced the confusion of trying to find your way through the crowd at Grand Central Station, then you know what it's like when you reach those busses parked behind the Rec. Thankfully, we could see our playground teacher standing out in the crowd waiving us over.

"This is the Horace Mann Playground bus," she shouts. "All the kids from the Horace Mann line up here." That's our cue. The hairs on my forearm are standing up. I'm so excited I've got the chills. Come on, let's get in line. I'm praying for a window seat.

One by one as we board the bus, she collects our permission slips and hands out tags to tie to our shirt buttons that identifies us as traveling with the city of Everett. You're going to have to find a seat yourself because I'm sitting with my big sister, Julie. No matter where we go, we stick together like glue.

Don't worry about anyone picking on you. Nobody's going to give anybody any trouble on this bus for two reasons. The first reason is because we all come from the same playground. We all know each other. We're all friends. And the second reason is because my brother, Billy, and our neighbor, Martha (the toughest girl in Everett), are both riding on this bus. Trust me, if anybody starts anything, they'll finish it. No worries, mate.

And just in case you're worried about some kid from another city picking on you when you get up to Canobie Lake Park, let me calm your worries right here and now. You see that tag you just tied onto your shirt? What's it say? It says "Everett" right? Trust me, nobody's gonna bother you with an Everett sticker clinging to your shirt. Everett kids stick up for each other. You fight one kid from Everett and you'll have to fight them all. Chances are you won't get passed the first one anyway so forget about it.

I've got a window seat because I'm sitting with my big sister, Julie. She's been looking after me ever since I could breath. Right now she's leaning into the isle to talk to her best friend, Martha, across the way. Me? I'm kneeling up to look out the window. I don't want to miss a thing.

Here we go. The busses are starting to roll out of the parking lot. It looks like a wagon train heading out to the Wild West. We're about the fourth or fifth bus in line. You talk about nostalgia? Let me tell you what I can see along the way.

When we get to the exit of the parking lot on Woodlawn Street, the bus bangs a left towards Elm. After the intersection, we turn left onto Elm Street. Okay, there's Glendale Park on our right, and on our left is that big half round Recreational Center. After that is the old Evans elementary school just before the intersection of Elm and Ferry.

Okay, who remembers what the Evans school looked like? Anybody? Come on you guys look out the window. It's right there. It was a brick building - what school wasn't? It had a large front entrance that was recessed into an archway with a wide stone stairway leading up to it. The smaller entrance at the right end of the building was a much smaller archway with just a single stone slab stepping up to it. I remember ducking in there many times to get in out of a summer shower.

After rounding the corner onto Ferry, we're going to pass by the fire station, Mandolesi's bakery (yum - I can smell those pastries even now), Anna's Variety, Ski's ice cream parlor, and White Hill Pharmacy. We'll pass by Manny's, Henry Gray's, the laundromat, Coppin's, and the Flying A gas station within seconds of each other. Then we'll pass by the Eagle Barber shop, Everett Springs Hardware, the Rondevouz, and then Sam's Spa before breaking another left to head south on Chelsea Street.

A few minutes after that we'll pull out onto the intersection of Chelsea and the Revere Beach Parkway. To our left stands the old apartment house where one of my best friends was born. Years later they tore his house down to build a Kentucky Fried Chicken. On our right is the famous Big Burger with that giant statue of a bull balancing an enormous hamburger on top of his horns.

Our bus will now take its very first right turn of the trip onto the Parkway and head north. It will bear to the left and take the exit under the south-bound traffic to cross over onto Route One south. We're on our way towards the Mystic River Bridge. That's the Tobin Bridge to you outsiders.

Traveling up over the Mystic River Bridge on a school bus is an adventure in itself. Looking out over the water in all directions you'll get to see so many historic sights in Boston that it staggers the imagination. From here I can see both Old Ironsides docked at the port and the Bunker Hill Monument from one bus seat. Can you imagine that?

Once the bus heads north on Route 93, there's nothing but the open road and the big blue sky out in front of us. There'll be no more turns until we take exit two in New Hampshire so you may as well sit back, relax, and join in on all the fun. We'll sing songs, tell jokes, and play "my eye spies something that begins with" along the way. And believe me - you will not get bored along this hour or so bus trip, especially because you've got thirty or so wound up excited kids riding along with ya. This is our day.

Just when you start to think we're running out of ideas for things to do, the bus turns off onto exit two in New Hampshire. At the end of the exit, the bus bangs a right, and a few yards down the road, it bangs a left onto North Policy. That's it. Halfway up North Policy is our final destination.

Now we're rolling into the tourists section of the parking lot. The excitement is just too much to handle. That's why the kids are so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. We're all just staring out the windows with our mouths wide open. This is it. The fun starts here.

The first thing we'll do is make a mad dash to the ticket booths and form a mile long line. Don't worry, it doesn't take as long as you might think to get your tickets. Thinking back on it now, my mother worked hard and long to make this dream a reality for us kids. She scrimped and saved all summer long so she could give us this. God Bless my Mom.

Finally, I'm standing here smack dab in the center of Canobie Lake Park next to my big sister with that all-day stamp on the back of my right hand. "Where do you want to go first," she asks. I'd like to start my day on those twirling coffee cups that whip you around so fast that they make you sick. After that, there's those little airplanes that swing you around and take you up into the air.

Oh man, there's so much to do and so little time. They've got a miniature roller coaster for little kids like me. There's nothing scary about it at all. It's just fun. Then there's those little cars you can drive yourself. I love those things. I'm too little to do the bumper cars myself so I'll have to ride with my sister. Then we may as well head on over to that giant swinging pirate ship. It looked fearless enough from the ground, but when that sucker starts swinging you'll swear it's going to dump you out head first. I held on for dear life.

Okay, let's take a break. There's drinking fountains everywhere so you don't have to keep buying bottles of water. We'll get a drink at the fountain and head on over for an ice cream cone, okay? Later on we'll stop for a hot dog, but for now, an ice cream will hold that hunger monster at bay so we can hitch a ride on that giant Ferris wheel.

That Ferris wheel looked innocent enough from the ground because it was only one wheel. Yes, it looked high, but not high enough to scare the daylights out of you. The cars were double seated so two or three of you could sit on each side facing the other. I felt braver with so many of my friends getting on together. My bravery only lasted long enough to reach the top of the Ferris wheel, then I freaked out.

Damn, that was high. My knuckles turned white holding onto the safety bar. You could look right down into the chimney of that little brown house that serves as the administration office next to the Ferris Wheel. It kept stopping at the top to unload the cars below. After a while, it starting spinning so fast I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Don't worry, I didn't cry or scream. I was too scared too breath. Once I got down off that thing I swore I'd never get back on that ever again.

There's nothing like a harmless train ride all around the park to help you regroup your senses. After that, let's go on over for a game of skeeball at the Wooden Nickel Arcade. I love skeeball. Nothing's greater than finding one of those machines that keeps kicking out a long stream of tickets whether you scored high or not. That's a riot.

Has that ever happened to you? You keep rolling that ball up into 10 point circle every time and the machine spits out a hundred tickets. Your best friend beside you keeps hitting the 100 point mark every time and he's lucky if he gets 6 tickets. Here's a tip for ya. Don't boast or brag. Just grab your tickets and cash them in before anyone else finds out that machine's screwed up.

Okay, so now you've got your tickets so let's head on over to the gift counter and cash those suckers in. Oh look, you can get an awesome pair of binoculars for just two hundred thousand tickets. It would cost you about three hundred and fifty dollars worth of skeeball to get any where near that amount of tickets. Look all you want to but I'm telling you right now, if it's anything worth wishing for, you won't have enough tickets for it anyway. Trust me.

After drooling over all the neat stuff under the lights on the shelf in back, it's time to get realistic and start looking at the junk down in the display case. You know what's comes next - right? You finally say to the guy behind the counter, "I've got one hundred and sixty tickets. What can I get?"

And he'll tell you, "You can get anything in the center display case that's below the top shelf, to the right of the trick finger snapping gum, and to the left of the Look-behind-you sunglasses. All that's left are those gummy lizards, hot pepper gum, Chinese finger traps, and caps. It happens every time.

Along the boulevard we can stop and throw our money away on a few games to try to win a stuffed animal. You can take three turns at throwing a ball at the "Whack The Cats" game to try to knock over three of the cats to win a prize. The first two almost always go down even if you don't hit them quite dead center, but that third one is a doosey - let me tell ya. If you plan on knocking that third one down, bring along an AK-47.

The "Long Shot" game where you throw basketballs into those long nets is a lot of fun. I've never won anything playing that either. They've got those water shooting races and the balloon race if you really get tired of getting your money's worth. The one that really makes me laugh is the "Fool-the-Guesser" one. Like you're really gonna throw your money away on having some fool guess your weight. Has anyone ever actually spent any money on that?

Before going back on the rides we may as well stop for a solid bite to eat. My mother gave me enough money for a hot dog and fries, but she ain't here right now so I'm going back for another ice cream cone. Today's my day to live it up a bit.

Hey, you know what we haven't taken a ride on yet? We haven't gone on the Sky Ride. You know the one I'm talking about. It's that ski lift that takes up over the crowd. That thing is totally harmless and a lot of fun to boot. I love that thing.

You know what I absolutely hate? I hate that maze of mirrors. I can't stand being closed in like that. I get frantic when I can't find my way out. You can go on in if you want to. I'll head on over to the dock and hitch a ride on the Lake Cruise. It looks like a barge full of seats. All you gotta do is kick back to enjoy a slow peaceful ride upon the waters of Canobie lake. That's more my speed. I'll catch up to you when you find your way out of that maze.

After pleading with the guy at the ticket booth, my sister convinced him to let me go on the "Yankee Cannonball" roller coaster so long as she sat with me. We got in the second car right behind Martha. And wouldn't you know it? Just as that car went up over that high drop, Martha stood up, waived her hands into the air and shouted, "Your mother loves ya!" Is she a riot or what?

When that sucker took the deep plunge, I swear my heart jumped right out of my mouth. I thought for sure my face froze in that scared to death position forever. No second ride for me, thank you. Once was enough.

By now the afternoon is drawing to a close. Before we go, let's grab a spin or two on the merry-go-round. Why not? There's nothing scary about it and it's a lot of fun. I don't know about you, but every time I go to a theme park, I just gotta grab one ride on the merry-go-round. That's just the kind of guy I am.

There's Billy and Carl waiving us over. I wonder what's up? Oh wouldn't ya know? They're calling us back to the busses already. This day never lasts long enough to quench my thirst for fun and adventure. I can never get enough of this place.

You're probably thinking we're in for a quiet ride home because we're all so tuckered out. Nothing could be further from the truth. We're all wound up, blabbing a mile a minute, sharing our adventures with one another. Just sitting there listening to all the other kids talk about what happened to them today enhances my experience that much more. We've all got great big smiles across our faces - I can tell you that.

It's not only all the fun we had on the bus together, and all the fun we had at the park that makes this day so extra special. It's also when we all get back home and sit around the kitchen table to share all the fun we had with our family that makes it so extraordinary. Put your ear to our back door and hear what we sound like.

"Hey Ma, you should have seen Paul on the big roller coaster. He was scared to death," Julie laughs.

"I was not," I protest.

"You were too."

"Don't tell me they let a little kid like him go on the big roller coaster," my mother asked.

"He was okay. He was sitting with me."

"Hey yeah Ma, and Martha stood up when the roller coaster went down that big drop."

"Oh my Gawd."

"Hey Dad, Carl actually won a stuffed animal," Billy shouts.

"You're kidding me? How'd he do that?"

"The guy didn't guess my weight," Carl answered with pride.

"You actually did that?" I asked surprisingly. "That looked so stupid."

"Well, I won, didn't I?"

"That's awesome, Carl. Good for you!"

"What did you have to eat today?" My mother asks. I knew that was coming.

"Oh, I forget now."

"You do not. What did you eat?"

"I ate two hot dogs and two hamburgers," Billy laughs.

"Where did you get all the money for that?"

"Paul had money left over because he only ate two ice creams." What a tattle tale.

"Two ice creams? That's all you ate?"

"I wasn't hungry."

"Well you better have something nutritious before you go to bed. I'll warm you up some of my home made vegetable soup."

"Oh Billy, you got a big mouth. You know that?"

The scene slowly fades to black. You can hear the sound of four happy kids talking over one another fading off into the setting sun. If you were to look up at our window from outside right now, you'd see our silhouettes against the venetian blind criss-crossing back and forth behind the shadow of the kitchen table. That's the sights and sounds of one happy Everett family bringing another day to a close. Gee, I could really use some background music to roll the credits with - right?

Now that we've got our Canobie Lake Park adventure behind us, the clock is seriously ticking towards the end of summer. It's almost Labor Day weekend. After that it's all over. We go back to school.

Hey, not so fast. We've still got our Labor Day weekend to look forward to, and we still gotta go shopping for school clothes. There's a little time left. Don't go spoiling it all by talking about school just yet.

One thing's for sure. We had a ball during the summer when we were little kids. And that's because - "We're from Everett!"

Kid Logic

When you think back to your childhood days growing up in Everett, do you ever think about all the funny things we used to say to each other? When we were little kids, we had our own set of expressions and clichés that we used amongst ourselves.

Listening to the way kids talk to each other not only illustrates the innocence of their youth, but in so many other ways it shows their desire to openly explore the unknown universe around them. It's such a pity how we lose that adventurous spirit when we grow up. I suppose all the hardships and disappointments we suffer during adulthood knocks that inquisitive spirit right out of us.

As adults, we arrogantly look down upon the innocent wisdom of children thinking how cute it is not to know any better. But the truth of the matter is - at least they've got their innocence to use as an excuse when their logic sometimes leads them astray. Grownups don't have that luxury - now do they?

To illustrate what I'm talking about, let me conjure up the image of my friend Jacky and I sitting out on my back steps down on Arlington Street when we were little kids. I picture us on a warm summer day wearing short pants, tee shirts, and a pair of PF flyers. What I'm trying to capture is a typical conversation between two little kids from Everett. So let's pretend we're divvying up a handful of penny candy - shall we? This is how the conversation might unfold.

Me: "There's one for me and one for you, and one for me and one for you, and one for me and ..."

Jacky: "Wait a minute. You skipped me."

Me: "No sah, it's your turn to get one."

Jacky: "How come you got more than me then?"

Me: "Cuz, I didn't give you one yet"

Jacky: "See? You're a cheetah!"

Me: "Am not"

Jacky: "Are too."

Me: "Am not"

Jacky: "Are too."

Me: "It takes one to know one."

Jacky: "No sah!"

Me: "Yes sah!"

Jacky: "No sah!"

Me: "Yes sah!"

Jacky: "You're a liar!"

Me: "I know you are, but what am I?"

Jacky: "You're a jerk!"

Me: "I know you are, but what am I?"

Jacky: "You're stupid."

Me: "I'm made of rubber and you're made of glue. Whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks back to you."

Jacky: "Oh yeah, well why don't you just shut up?"

Me: "Make me!"

Jacky: "I don't make monkeys."

Me: "See, that's why we all think you're hard to get along with."

Jacky: "Who's we? You got a mouse in your pocket?"

A conversation like this could ramble on indefinitely. What's so adorable about little kids is that they never take anything to heart. Two minutes later they'll be sitting side by side eating penny candy off in another world somewhere.

They won't even remember having squabbled over candy. Instead, they'll be totally immersed in a hypothetical conversation as to whether or not Superman is strong enough to pick up Vargis Diner and throw it all the way over to the Fairfield Whitney.

If that all sounds funny to you then let me tell you something that isn't quite so funny. In all their innocence, kids sometimes act far more mature than the adults do. You think I'm kidding? Consider this.

If their mothers overheard them arguing about the candy, they might be foolish enough to actually get involved and come to the aid of their child. Those two adults will remain mad at each other and carry a grudge for the next ten years. The kids themselves will have forgotten the whole thing by the time they swallow that first mouthful of M&Ms.

One basic difference between adults and children I'd like to point out from the very start is that kids can have more than one best friend. Adults only allow themselves one. An adult with two best friends will feel compelled to play one against the other. Maintaining more than one best friend at a time is a balancing act for an adult. It's no big deal to a little kid.

Another major flaw in adult reasoning is that it relies heavily on the principle that kids don't know any better. They honestly believe that "kids should be seen and not heard" when it comes time to make an important decision. I beg to differ.

Kids don't have to engage in market research, product testing, opinion surveys, or reading countless peer reviewed dissertations to make a decision. They reach crucial decisions with a somewhat higher degree of accuracy than we do by using one of two simple strategies. They use either the "eeny-meeny-miney-mo" principle, or the "one potato - two potato" method. And they work.

Solutions to life's many problems are not hard to come by for a kid. When an adult starts worrying about running low on funds, a kid's natural response is, "Hey, let's just go to the bank and get some more money." Who could possibly argue with that? Makes perfect sense - doesn't it?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "But a kid doesn't realize that once that money in the bank is gone and you've got nothing to replace it with - you're broke." A kid knows that. That line of reasoning is the direct consequence of adult logic right there. Grownups think "problems" and kids think "solutions."

While the adult is drowning their sorrows over a cup of coffee and biting their fingernails, the kids are already out on the sidewalk with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of paper cups. If that doesn't rake in the cash fast enough then it's time for a good old fashioned back yard carnival - isn't it?

Who amongst you has never attended or taken part in a backyard carnival? I can remember drawing such a large crowd to one of our backyard carnivals that it would stagger the imagination of any of those more prestigious advertising PR firms.

Adults also struggle through numerous flawed personal relationships every day of their lives. Broken engagements and dissolved marriages have become the norm rather than the exception. They strive to understand the dilemma by conjuring up countless theories that blame the many differences between men and women.

One that comes to mind is that "Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus" theory. Regardless of all those gender theories they toss at you, we always seem to revert back to the old belief that "you can't live with them and you can't live without them." At least it sounds good on paper anyway.

Think about it. Little boys and girls knew there was going to be trouble years before they ever got involved with each other. They had it all figured out from the start. Each one knew the other one had "cooties." That just about sums it all up right there - doesn't it?

Another point I'd like to make is that self-doubt and insecurity are plaques of adulthood, not childhood. Adults constantly struggle with thinking that they're not good enough, or smart enough, or talented enough to take the initiative to do something that they've never done before. Trying to convince them otherwise takes a lot of ego stroking and pleading. Not so with kids. Kids do struggle with those same inner conflicts, but they quickly overcome them as soon as somebody says, "I double dare ya."

Boredom is another affliction of adulthood that seems to drag grownups down. They often don't know what to do with themselves. When grownups get bored, the men watch TV and the women go shopping. No wonder they're bored.

When kids get bored they can always spin around until they're so dizzy that they'll stumble half way across the room backwards and fall down laughing. And if there's nobody around to talk to they'll just whip up an imaginary friend out of thin air. How come adults aren't smart enough to do that?

Perhaps it all comes down to the fact that the reason kids can live such uncomplicated lives is because they truly do believe in magic. And this belief is not based on blind faith by any means. As they say, "Seeing is believing." I actually saw magic when I was a little kid. My father showed it to me.

You know what my father could do? He could pull his thumb off, make it wiggle while holding it in his other hand, and then snap it back on again. If that isn't magic then I don't know what is.

Another thing I'd like to set the record straight on is how adults often think that kids are so gullible that they are easily mislead. Oh, is that so? Well, just you remember that kids don't keep electing the same do-nothing politicians over and over again after they've reneged on all of their campaign promises.

You want to talk about gullible? Since I was knee high to grasshopper I've been hearing adults tell each other the same three stories over and over again. These fables are getting so old that I've even heard them told after I grew up. I shake my head in disbelief every time I hear one of these stories.

What's is also so amazing about these stories is that the teller always begins them with the infamous, "My friend knows a guy who ..."

As soon as I tell them to you you're going to realize that you've heard them already in one form or another in your life time. These are stories that adults tell each other. Kids never tell them. Only adults do. They go something like this.

Story #1. "My friend knows a guy who got stuck when he and his wife were making love. They had to call an ambulance and rush them to the hospital in that position. It took hours of surgery to separate them."

Story #2. "My friend knows a guy who bought a brand new Chevy Corvette for a dollar because somebody died in it and they couldn't get the smell out of it."

Story #3. "My friend knows a guy who got 500,000 miles on a single engine without ever having to change the oil in his car."

I honestly do not know how many times in my life that somebody's tried to tell me one of those stories. It's been more than once I can tell you that. And every time they do I react the same way. I say, "Wow, that's incredible," so not to insult or embarrass the person telling it. But the truth is - once somebody tries to tell me one of those stories, their credibility is shot to hell forever.

If knowing that an adult would remotely fall for any one of those stories surprises you in any way, then let me tell you this one. One day while doing lunch at a local restaurant in Everett, I was engaged in a conversation with another adult about the strength and stamina of the common ant. My colleague specifically stated that ants can lift more than 100 times their own weight.

To which I responded, "I'm not sure what the exact ratio is, but I do agree that it is several times its own weight."

To which my colleague responded, "I do believe the 100 figure is accurate because I once saw an ant carry a piano in a cartoon."

That conversation actually happened. I have witnesses.

And another thing I find incredible about adults is that should you come up with a fascinating idea, they'll think it's foolish unless you tell them it wasn't your idea originally, but that of a famous person's. Adults only believe testimony given by famous people or people called experts by the mass media. Keep in mind that an expert once told us that "smoking was good for your health."

If you still believe that kid logic seems a bit flawed, then allow me to suggest that it is not kid logic that is flawed but the irrationalities that adult's impose upon it that throws the entire concept off kilter. To illustrate my point, let's talk about some of the things our parents said to us when we were little kids.

Our parents didn't believe in time travel but they constantly threatened us with, "If you don't straighten up and fly right I'll hit you so hard that I'll knock you somewhere into the middle of next week." That sounds like an acknowledgement of the space time contuim to me - does it not?

Another one that always confused me was when my mother said, "I'll slap you so hard you'll be smiling on the other side of your face." What other side? Is she talking about the left, the right, or the inside of my face? I could never figure that one out either.

My mother always told me to "wear clean underwear just in case I had an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital." What has clean underwear got to do with having an accident? Does clean underwear help stop the bleeding or soothe the pain? That's another one I could never make any sense out of.

Here's another one that's an outright ambiguity if I ever heard one. I'd be bawling my eyes out after getting a spanking and my mother would shout, "If you don't stop crying I'll give you something to cry about." I'd say she'd already done that - wouldn't you? I've already got something to cry about. What I need now is something to help me stop.

Adults are always telling us "not to put all of our eggs in one basket." Why don't they ever say that to the Easter Bunny? The way I see it is that if works for the Easter Bunny then it's good enough for me. What's wrong with putting all your eggs in one basket any way? It does seem like an easier way to carry all of your eggs around - doesn't it?

Then again, adults laugh when they hear kids say "Oly-oly-oxen-free" when they want everyone to come out from hiding. Adults have to point a gun and shout, "Come out with your hands up." What that tells me is that kids can accomplish with four little words what adults have to resort to violence to achieve.

Grownups have "bad hair days." That sounds painful. They sometimes feel "caught between a rock and a hard place." As uncomfortable as that may sound it still doesn't sound as embarrassing as getting "caught with your pants down." I suppose it's up to us to "choose between the lesser of the two evils."

My parents knew a guy who was a "dead ringer" for somebody else. I hope I never become one of those - whatever they are. My dad once joked about knowing "a man after my own heart." I'd keep a tight grip on my shirt if I ever knew one of those.

Adults don't really believe us when we tell them we have an imaginary friend, but when they don't want to tell us how they found something out they'll say, "a little birdie told me." They actually think we're going to believe that. That's how little respect they have for our intelligence. And if they honestly believed that "actions speak louder than words," then they shouldn't have to shout at all - should they? They could just play charades when they want to get a point across if that's the case.

And how many times have you heard a grownup say, "there's no such thing as a stupid question?" Okay, so you ask them a question and they say, "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." So I guess even though my question isn't stupid there's no sense in asking it in the first place - is there?

When it comes to distinguishing between winners and losers, kids simply say "Finders keepers losers weepers," and leave it at that. Adults actually think they're saying something of value when they say, "You can't win for losing." Well, no dah! Obviously you can't win if you lose. They also like to say, "Winners never quit." That's a no-brainer also. Why would a winner even consider quitting when they're winning in the first place?

The one that really shows the folly of adult logic is the one that goes, "Cheaters never win." Oh really? So why are they also telling us that "nice guys finish last?" When was the last time the "honest" politician came out on top? As a matter of fact, when was there ever an honest politician?

I've got to be honest with ya. During my entire childhood while growing up in Everett, I never knew anyone who "ate their heart out," was "born with a silver spoon in their mouth," or "poked their eye out while picking their nose." Grownups say those sort of things, but they've never actually happened.

One that really caught my attention was when I overheard my Dad telling my Mom that one of his co-workers was a real "brown noser" who was always looking to score "brownie points." Gee, that really doesn't sound all that bad to me.

What's wrong with collecting brownie points? Sounds like if you collect enough of them you could get a free brownie. As for the "brown nose" part, I'm sure there's a salve you could get to treat that. It can't be all that serious. I've never heard of anyone dying from a brown nose. Have you?

The point is that when we look back on our childhood, we do so with a heart felt admiration for the innocence of our youth. As adults, we even hide behind it sometimes. If we did anything when we were kids that we are ashamed of now, we'll fluff it off by saying, "We were just kids. We didn't know any better." But we really did - didn't we?

Kids are not always as naive as we make them out to be. You can see it in their eyes sometimes - can't you? Try to pull one over on a kid one too many times and they'll see right through you.

So the next time you're arrogantly watching kids at play thinking you're so much smarter than they are because you're a grownup, try to keep in mind that while you're looking from the outside in, they're looking back from the inside out. If they act a little foolish sometimes it's because they're innocent. So what's our excuse? The only one I can think of is - "We're from Everett!"