Hole-in-One . . . Not!

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Pete lines up his tee shot on the 172-yard, Par 3 hole.  He is playing for fun at Lake Hills Golf Club, and the 14th hole offers an opportunity to add a bit more practice to his round of golf.

Since the course is nearly empty, Pete decides to hit a dozen tee shots at the green.  He has brought along his three young sons (Glenn, James, and Gene) to shag balls and allow their mother a respite back home.  She will definitely appreciate a break from the high-energy boys.

As Pete hits each tee shot, his sons’ eyes follow each golf ball.  Each boy calls out different shots, and these will be his to locate in a few minutes.  After all, their father didn’t bring them out to the golf course just to fool around.

While most of the shots miss the green, a few have managed to find the putting surface.  The cup is somewhat hidden by a slight rise at the front of the green.

Eventually, Pete is finished with his extra practice.  He turns the boys loose to locate the wayward shots, with orders to bring back all of the golf balls not on the green.

The three brothers scamper down the short fairway to begin searching and locating the eight balls which never found their intended target.  The experience feels almost like an Easter egg hunt, except the June day offers a mild and sunny, early summer afternoon.

As the boys make their way back to the green, each has located his assigned golf balls.  Pete calls out to the boys, “There appears to be a missing ball.  Did anyone miss one of my bad shots?”

The brothers shake their heads in affirmation that all of the balls have been recovered.  Three golf balls lie on or close to the putting surface.  Gene wonders out loud, “Where is the fourth ball?”

James casually walks over to the cup and takes a peek.  He shouts out, “The ball is in the hole.”

Glenn jumps up and down with excitement, “Hey Dad, you made a hole-in-one!”

The three brothers are charged up and want to tell others about their father’s amazing shot.  He defuses their enthusiasm when he humbly explains, “The shot cannot count as an official hole-in-one.  Remember, I hit a dozen tee shots.”

While Pete’s three sons hold on to this special moment in secrecy, they will never forget when their father hit his “once-in-a-lifetime” shot.  Amazing!

 

Humbling Conversation

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The other day, grandpa had a conversation with his very confident (and all knowing) six-year old grandson.  Let’s drop in on the conversation for a moment or two.

Grandpa states, “Does your television wake up each morning at 6:00 with a color bar display on the screen?”

His grandson replies, “Nope.  Remember Grandpa, I am not as old as you.  Besides, didn’t you only watch shows on black and white TVs?”

Grandpa proudly recalls the American space program and tells his young protégé, “I was there in 1969 watching Neil Armstrong walk on the moon.”

His eager grandson answers back, “I really don’t think you were on the moon with Neil Armstrong because Buzz Aldrin was there instead.  You know, landing on the moon isn’t such a big deal.  I plan to visit Mars.”

Grandpa pauses for a moment, thinking to himself . . . This young fella has an answer for everything!

Grandpa wanders over to his desk and pulls out a miniature plastic card.  He holds up the 3.5-inch floppy disk and tells his grandson, “We used to save our computer data on disks such as this.  Pretty amazing, don’t you think?”

His grandson eagerly says, “Wow Grandpa!  Now we store information on a cloud.”

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His grandson pipes up and asks, “Grandpa, do you have anything else you want to share with me before I go?”

“Why sure!”  Grandpa says with a grin.  “I remember when the Ford Mustang came out in 1964.  It was the hottest and fastest ride.”

“Sounds amazing, but I am looking forward to owning and driving a Corvette when I am a whole lot older.  It leaves the Mustang in the dust.”  His smiling grandson adds with a cute, little smile (with two missing front teeth).

Grandpa scratches his head, and then he laments with a heavy heart, “I’ve been a Cleveland Browns football fan for all of my life.  You should have seen them play back in the 60s.”

His football prognosticator grandson quickly answers back, “Yup, and you’re still waiting for them to play in their first Super Bowl.  Go Steelers!”

“I have an old bicycle sitting in the garage.  Perhaps we can go for a bike ride this weekend.”  Grandpa sighs (he is nearly exhausted).

“Why sure Grandpa.  But, do you think your old three-speed bike can keep up with my brand new 15-speed?”  The first-grader replies, with a wink.

Later in the day, Grandpa is sitting in his reliable, comfortable rocking chair in the living room.  He ponders a thought . . . I don’t know what I am going to do when my grandson becomes a fifth grader.  I’ll never be as smart as a fifth grader!

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A Writer’s Draft

This poem is inspired by the quotes featured in Suzette’s post at Suzette B’s Blog.  Her awesome post features wisdom and humor relating to writers.  Visit her site when you have a chance.

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Changing careers, a couple of years ago

Leaving the classroom, becoming a writer

Let’s just say, a writer’s living ain’t too full

 

Dreaming of my name on a bright marquee

Writing alongside . . . Twain and Hemingway

Let’s hope a dim light, stays positive for me

 

Piling up on my desk, many a “cold” draft

Feeling more like a frosty, Arctic breeze

Who ever said my writing is truly a craft?

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Expecting a bonus for my previous posts

Waiting, but no mail, call, or text as of yet

Most of my prose seems read by a ghost

 

Heading outside to start up the trusty car

Hearing only silence, the battery’s dead

Now must hitch a ride, if it’s not too far

 

Standing along the road, for hours on end

Being ignored has become a part of my life

A writer now a beggar, all alone in the wind

boy facing right side of the road

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Returning to my writing, it’s awfully bad

Writing a few minutes, my pen goes dry

A good thing, my mind’s empty and glad

 

Thinking of returning to my former classroom

Wishing my words would spark a young mind

Then Rebel says, “You came back too soon”

 

Looking at drafts, growing taller on my desk

Realizing now, editing isn’t really my game

Phantom words wait with patience and rest

 

Watching outside, realizing I’m truly blessed

Appreciating you, the reader, for stopping by

Just maybe, my writings meet the final test

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Sometimes, a crafty writer changes his tune

Words filled with sarcasm, fun to work with

Looking to see you another time, real soon

 

 

 

 

 

Start Bailin’

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Milt and I push his small rowboat into the lake’s calm waters on a sunny, early morning.  Fishin’ is absolutely on our minds.

Milt’s boat has stood the test of time, and she definitely looks it.  There are patches here and there, scrapped and worn paint, and even some mismatched planking on the floor.

Rowing the boat far from shore, we arrive at the very best place to fish the lake.  The deep water covers the territory with the biggest fish around.

We both become quite involved with our fishin’ as we cast again and again, hoping to catch the big one.  We fail to notice the threatening skies above.  A mother-of-all thunderstorms appears heading for the lake, and we sit directly in the crosshairs of its vicious aim.

Before we can even think about rowing back to the safety of the shore, Milt and I feel the tiny craft being engulfed by the torrents of rain and the white caps of the charging waves.

Our clothes and fishin’ tackle become soaking wet in a few short minutes, and then the boat begins to list to the starboard side.  She’s taking on water much too quickly.

Looking more anxious by the second, Milt shouts out, “Start bailin’ now!”

Watching my tackle box floating away, I yell back, “With what?”

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Haiku Series #31 (Humor)

Really?

Driving rental car

Flat tire, pulling off the road—

Oops—Where’s the spare tire?

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Ouch!

Hot cup of coffee

Sitting at wobbly table—

Spilling on my lap

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It’s Your Turn

Wedding cake crashes

On the road, flips upside down–

Who will tell the Bride?

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Flying Trash Can, Final Chapter

If you have arrived for the first time, you may want to check out the previous chapters of the story.

What lies ahead at Aaron Burr High School?  Will Pete crumble and fold up his teaching career on the very first day?  

Each of the four classrooms is separated by office-like partitions.  The walls, looking more temporary than permanent, rise about seven feet.  There is ample space between each wall and the ceiling.  Pete doesn’t appreciate the room layout much, but there is little that he can do about it.  He will have to make the best of it for now.

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The school’s mascot is the Ravens.  For Pete’s sake, it is very unfortunate that this blackbird cannot serve as  a lookout for him.  His adventures have only just begun!

Pete again surveys the room, and he feels a bit more comfortable.  Clyde still seems to be enjoying a pre-winter nap.  Traci is applying another color of polish to her perfectly manicured nails, and she wants to be finished before lunch.  The rest of the class is working quietly—at least it seems—on an assignment.

The classroom is only half full on this inaugural day of school at Aaron Burr.  It seems that many students are still on summer vacation—probably until after Labor Day.

Hmm . . . where is Reggie?

Reggie, who is as nutty as a fruit cake, has disappeared from Pete’s sight.  Pete checks out each corner of the half-empty room, but Reggie is nowhere to be seen.

Pete now begins to feel a band of cold sweat dripping down his back, but he truly has no idea what is in store for him.  Past memories take him back to the day that he was stuck in a gigantic snow drift while driving along an abandoned highway last winter.  As he was sweating it out under his heavy, winter parka, he figured that he would never be found.  Fortunately, a helpful truck driver (Pete’s guardian angel) came along and pulled his car back onto the road.

A few minutes pass.

Pete wishes that the clock would move more swiftly so that the bell will ring to end class.  He has a planning period next, and he is seriously thinking of going home.

This teaching stuff just doesn’t sit well with him.  He wonders for a minute or two why he ever changed his major from Accounting to Business Education.  Another of life’s decisions is about ready to provide Pete with another notable experience to write about in his already overflowing journal.

The clock is slowly approaching the time to wrap up the first class of his teaching career.  Pete begins thinking that perhaps the remainder of his day will turn out better.  He is feeling a bit more relaxed and confident.  Didn’t the Titanic’s captain feel confident as the huge iceberg loomed ahead?

The room grows unusually quiet.

Then . . . Suddenly!

Bam!!

A large, heavy, cast-iron trash can hurdles the wall and lands at Pete’s feet.  The airborne projectile narrowly misses Pete’s head by a couple of inches.  The flying trash can strikes terror in Pete’s inner soul, and he feels his heartbeat racing while a torrent of sweat runs free over his entire body.  He pivots around and suddenly realizes that this day really is not going to be an outstanding experience.

Pete, standing all alone in the middle of the room, is visibly shaken and greatly disturbed.  His face has turned a ghastly white color, and his blonde hair is all amiss.  He turns to face the class, and the students are all snickering.  Many are falling out of their seats and roaring with more and more laughter.  Even Clyde wakes up and joins in with the impromptu celebration.  Traci excitedly claps her hands and smudges her still-wet nail polish.

Twisting around, Pete runs quickly out of the room, down a vacant hallway, and out the front door of the school.

Reggie slyly creeps back around the wall to rejoin the class.  His thumbs-up gesture arouses even more of a deafening thunder of applause and shouts for his exploits.  Somehow, the epic sounds have not reached the central office . . . yet!

Clyde joins Reggie at the front of the room, and they both announce their marching orders for the rest of the day—“TAKE OVER THE SCHOOL!”

Without a teacher in the room, the unruly mob leaves the computer lab and launches into a riotous journey down the hallway into the rest of Aaron Burr’s no longer quiet hallways.  Another opening day has turned into a disaster of nearly Biblical proportions.  What happens next will be anyone’s guess; just be on the lookout for Reggie, the new kingpin of the school!

An hour later, the police arrive to take charge of the disorderly student body, which resembles an unruly and disorganized mob.  Meanwhile, the administration has been hiding in their offices, and the teaching staff finds refuge down in the school’s boiler room in the basement.

The bell rings to dismiss school for the day, but Pete is missing permanently.  Thoroughly shaken, he never returns to Aaron Burr.

As the curtain closes on Aaron Burr High School (this will be its final, unforgettable school year), the wrecking ball will finally arrive to turn the property into a parking lot and city park.  Many citizens around the community curiously wonder whatever happened to Pete, the novice teacher who dashed away.

Rumor has it that he is now the Principal at Alexander Hamilton High School in a distant city.  According to an inside source, all classrooms have permanent walls and include lightweight, plastic trash cans.

gray concrete building

Aaron Burr High School bites the dust!

Flying Trash Can, Chapter 3

If you missed either of the first two chapters, here are links to Chapters 1 and 2.

The story continues from Aaron Burr High School.  When we last checked in, the first day of school was off and running (the staff isn’t quite sure where to).

Aaron Burr’s student body is dominated by the sub-culture from the streets outside of the school building.  Sadly, the administration can do very little to control the unruly students or maintain any type of discipline.  Pete and the newly arrived staff do not see what’s coming their way—a film, with a disaster theme, would be a more appropriate setting!

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Pete’s first-period class is filled with freshmen and sophomores, with a couple of juniors thrown in because they need another failing grade.  Pete assumes (without much forethought) that his beginning class will prepare the rest of his day for even more success.  Pete looks down and suddenly realizes that his socks do not match—one black and one blue.  He feels a bead of sweat forming around the collar of his shirt.  Perhaps he should loosen up the colorful tie that hangs (too tightly) around his neck.

Reggie is one the juniors, and Pete immediately realizes that this “man-child” will be a handful to cope with.  Reggie stands nearly as tall as Shaquille O’Neill with the maturity of a middle schooler.  He aspires to play in the NBA, but no scouts will ever find his talent (or lack of it) as his GPA is a lowly 0.2.  His only passing grade was during his freshman year in Physical Education. Somehow he squeezed by with a “D-” on his final exam.

Traci and Clyde are sitting next to each other, and school is definitely not on their minds.  Clyde falls asleep at his computer—it seems that he is not quite ready for his summer vacation to end.  His preferred field of study is researching the short story written by American author, Washington Irving, Rip Van Winkle.

Traci pulls a bottle of fingernail polish out from her purse.  She decides that her nails need a touch-up.  Afterall, she wants to look her best on the first day of school.  Traci seems more interested in making a good impression with some of the boys in the classroom.

The rest of Pete’s class appears to be settling down, and most seem fairly well-prepared for their return to the boisterous halls of Aaron Burr.  Pete tries to be as calm as possible, but this first day in the trenches begins to cause him to sweat even more!

Ah!  Before one forgets, Pete’s classroom . . . aka the computer lab (prison to Reggie and many others) . . . doesn’t look like a traditional classroom.  The computer lab is part of an enormous, open classroom area with four large computer labs filling the space.  There are no windows, permanent walls, or classroom doors.

The school designers wanted to set up an office-like atmosphere so that students could better assimilate into the world of work.  One wonders how many of Aaron Burr’s finest and not so fine will actually make it in the real world, much less graduate on time.

Each of the four classrooms is separated by office-like partitions.  The walls, looking more temporary than permanent, rise about seven feet.  There is ample space between each wall and the ceiling.  Pete doesn’t appreciate the room layout much, but there is little that he can do about it.  He will have to make the best of it for now.

Flying Trash Can, Chapter 2

The story continues at Aaron Burr High School with the first day of school.  In case you missed the first chapter, here is a link to it.

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The school district, in its infinite wisdom, has provided a half-day of training on how to be “successful teachers” during the soon-to-start school year.  In reality, this much-anticipated professional development session ends up being pretty much a total waste of time.  Pete remembers a few of his boring and totally inept professors from his university days.

Perhaps Pete and the staff would be better served to use “Welcome Back, Kotter” as an orientation for what is in store for all of them.  They could watch past episodes of this iconic television series.  Learning from the shenanigans and antics of Vinnie Barbarino, Arnold Horshack, and the rest of the Gabe Kotter’s dysfunctional classroom headaches, they would be better served than recalling educational psychology in an aging textbook from their college days.

Last year’s senior class graduated less than half of its students.  Therefore, the entire school has been placed on third-degree probation by the State Education Department.  A “perfect storm” sets up the school year to be an impending disaster for Pete and his very “green” and unproven colleagues.

The opening day of school arrives without much fanfare.  Pete feels both nervous and excited—dearly wanting to jumpstart his teaching career on a positive note.  Hmm, does anyone hear a bulldozer’s engine running behind the school (ready to begin demolishing the ancient building)?  Well, maybe not quite yet!

Aaron Burr’s student body is dominated by the sub-culture from the streets outside of the school building.  Sadly, the administration can do very little to control the unruly students or maintain any type of discipline.  Pete and the newly arrived staff do not see what’s coming their way—a film, with a disaster theme, would be a more appropriate setting!

Flying Trash Can, Chapter 1

This short story was originally published in its entirety in November, 2018.  The story will be reposted in smaller segments over the next several days.  Enjoy a bit of humor and sarcasm in this fictional account, which does have a bit of truth lingering behind the words.

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Pete arrives at Aaron Burr High School eager to kick off his teaching career.  He is a first-year teacher who is feeling more than a tad edgy as he begins teaching high school students.

His preparedness from the university is masked by his nervousness and anxiety.  Sometimes, he feels more like when he was standing in the batter’s box as a 12-year old, and he struck out with the bases loaded to end the game in defeat!  He asks himself over and over again, “Will I really make it as a teacher?”

Why the community named its high school after Aaron Burr is a bit of a mystery.  Afterall, about the only milestone ever noted about him in history is that he prevailed in a duel with Alexander Hamilton many, many years ago.

Nonetheless, Pete sets up his classroom with both apprehension and enthusiasm as he spends two days preparing it for the first day of school, which is arriving soon.  His classroom is a computer lab where he will teach students in the applications of Microsoft Office in their personal and working lives (now that is mouthful of expectations).

He sometimes wonders why he could not have been the entrepreneur behind Microsoft’s enormous success instead of Bill Gates.  Pete remains a big dreamer who hopes one day to make it to the top!

He is unaware of the challenges that are secretly waiting for him, just as a snake waits to spring upon its prey.  Being a “rookie” teacher and a bit naïve, Pete is walking into a miserable swamp instead of an honored school.  Nearly all of the teaching staff is new to Aaron Burr.  As the opening bell awaits, they may remember the maiden and ill-fated voyage of the ocean liner Titanic.

Thank you for reading.  Over the next several days, be looking for more details about the first day of school at Aaron Burr High School.

Afternoon Rendezvous

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The pace of work at Bill’s office has recently been too much to bear.  Laboring for countless hours to land a substantial account for his marketing business, he has been working diligently, nearly nonstop, with little time off.

Viewing a beautiful day outside of his office window, Bill checks his calendar.  All looks free for an afternoon rendezvous with one of his favorite places . . . a splendid, quiet 18 holes on the golf course.

As he quietly slips away from the office, Bill instructs his secretary to hold down the fort . . . “Please keep the boss off of my back for three hours.”

About two hours later, Bill’s boss shows up.  He needs to catch up with Bill about this new account.  Let’s eavesdrop on the conversation between the boss and Bill’s ever-protective secretary.

The boss asks the secretary, “Where’s Bill at?  I need to check on his progress with our newest account.”

She dutifully replies, “He’s working on his game.”

“What game?”

“He’s working hard to land this new account that’s better than par.”

“Well, I hope he keeps his eyes focused on the prize, just like an eagle.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s looking for lots of birdies, perhaps an eagle or two.”

As the boss leaves the office, he turns around and smiles, “Bill really is my ‘ace in the hole’ around here.”

Meanwhile at this same moment on the golf course, Bill tees off on the short, par-3, 13th hole.  His ball carries straight and true, lands softly on the green, and meanders right into the hole.

A hole-in-one . . . an ACE!

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