The Not So Sporting News:

 
 The day after Prom I let David see the letter from Beaver County Special Olympics inviting him to participate in the State Olympic Games in State College. We were kind of getting worried because it was getting pretty close and we hadn't heard anything. 'Yes!' He yelled, 'He goes to the State College and then he goes to Vegas on the Summer Vacation!' 'Well...' I said calmly, 'If you get the good notes you'll go to State College to the Special Olympics.' 'Yes!!' He practically shouted, 'If he gets the good notes he gets to take the System to the State College to record the elevators!' Uh... hang on. I didn't remember saying anything like that. I didn't even remember thinking anything like that, or even anything that might be mistaken for that by drunken, LSD overdosed hippies in a coma ward. I gave him one of my patented (r) non-committal looks and said nothing. I said it very well, and for more than a few moments. Just a German-standoff (we're not Mexican, after all)
    You see, it's my job to remember things. Which is a sad, sad statement on the position. But we've had some problems getting things back from State College. The first year, it was just a belt. No big deal, except that with Dave's proplastic thumb he can't manipulate a regular leather belt all that well, and decent elastic belts are getting pretty hard to find. Last year it was his entire laundry collection. Completely my fault, I didn't know that they had put everyone's laundry into a separate garbage bag and, when I found his suitcase, I just grabbed it, fought my way through the pack and headed for the hills. So sending him 150 miles away with a couple hundred dollars worth of game didn't appeal to me much.
    Dave has a look he gives me. He doesn't use it very often, but he knows when he's hit a wall that won't be moved (me) and even then he only uses it on special occasions. I call it his 'Cocker Spaniel' look. With this look, if a Broadway scout wanted to cast Oliver he'd give it to Dave on the spot. It's the most heartfelt, soulful begging ever carried out without a word being spoken. Strong men have broken under less pressure than this, but all Dude was getting out of me, was, 'We'll see.'
    Over the next two weeks I was repeatedly and randomly bombarded with demands, pleas, significant looks and a long and oft repeated list of my youngest offspring's worthiness as a cross-state elevator-video journalist. If only the proper equipment (3DS) was provided. 'He has to go to the State College and take the videos of the elevators!' And if I didn't pay attention occasionally, 'And then to the elevators at the Vegas!' Uh huh... riiiiiight. Nice try kid. But somehow or another the entire fortnight passed without a bad note from school or the bus ladies or even mostly from home. He had the suck-up thrusters working at Warp Factor 10, greeting Raine and I each evening with an almost formal, 'Hi there, Raine/Dad. How was work today?', holding the door and not even hitting us with it trying to close it. We were almost startled at our new Dude-butler 2.0, but we'd seen this kind of thing before. So other than a few amused glances and replies we let it go.
   Eventually, as it always seems to do, the two weeks passed and it was time for me to pack Dude's suitcase (which he had been calling for, for two days) and in that case (mysteriously) was Dave's 3DS. Okay, I'll admit it... no. Wait. No I won't. It would be silly of my to ruin what is left of my reputation to admit that sometimes I am a complete softie when it comes to David. So I won't do it. Needless to say somehow or another a certain Japanese video game product may have been secreted somewhere in his luggage by person, or persons unknown. I managed to get him to the School and the ungodly hour that they insisted they had to leave, and, once again, Dave majestically allowed all the other athletes to use his bus to get to State College. I, of course, was one of those not worthy to ride in the Royal Coach, and so had to make my own

way to the Olympics with the rest of the serfs.
    Of course most of the rest of the serfs don't ride their Virago... So I do have some perks. I showed up at State College and being an old hand (emphasis on old) I rode directly to the track just in time to hear, 'Last call for the men's 100 meter time trials' and I'm thinking, Hey, I'm getting this timing thing down really good! Oh foolish boy. I was actually standing around for about another hour and a half in black chaps and boots (much to the amusement of one of the female contestants, who kept asking me where my motorcycle was) waiting for David's heat. And when wearing black leather in the summer, 'heat' is the appropriate word. This set the tone for the weekend. Dude was normally one of the first guys in the tent for his event and one of the last 20 or so to compete.
 

But compete he did. It was finally time to line up for the heat and Dave walked out with the rest and lined up. I thought he looked pretty relaxed for having waited in a tent for over an hour. The boys were lined up and David had gone through 3 or 5 different starting poses by the time all the timers were ready to go, then the whistle was blown and they were off! Mostly. Dave started out dead last and got worse from there. I mean those guys were leaving him in the dust! I was about halfway down the run and about 40 feet off the track taking pictures with a puzzled expression on my face. When Dude was about halfway down the track he noticed me taking pictures and started smiling, waving and saying 'Hi Dad!' I was even more confused. This is the kid who always tries to cheat the start, or push his way to the front and here he is almost side-shuffling down the track waving at the crowd and seemingly having the time of his life. I was digging that he was enjoying himself, but was very confused as to his lack of effort. Everyone else crossed the line about 2 1/2 hours before David did. Well... not really but the 8th place kid finished at least 10 yards ahead of him in a 100 yard race. I now have some suspicions, but more on that later.
     You know, people talk all the time about how autistic kids are tied to their routines, but I'm not so sure it's just the kids. Three years I've been going to State Special Olympics and the first time was only time I had to wonder where the group was camped. They set up in exactly the same spot on the stands every year. The same two sisters were wrangling the kids (please don't ask me names... we know how I am with names) and I deposited Dave with the group and found out when his next event was and before I even asked the question, he was sitting down, ignoring me, with his 3DS already playing his game.
     Since his next event wasn't until late in the afternoon, I went to my (now) usual motel after having

breakfast at my (now) usual cafe. Then, for an hour or so, I went exploring the wonderful little town I stay in whenever I'm up there. It's a little Victorian town, but it's wonderful and I'm only there a few hours every year so I've always got new things to see.
    I made it back in plenty of time to watch Dude squirm around in the starting tent for the Running Long Jump. Actually he was being pretty good, but you could tell he was about over the whole 'waiting patiently' thing. Since he's in the 'Over 18' category he has to wait for all the high school aged kids to go first, and that is simply not in Dave's lexicon. But, eventually, the waiting was over (for now) and it was time to line up and head across the field to the jumping pit.
     Dave has had problems in the past in dealing with the fact that there is a Line that Shall Not Be Crossed. (a condition not unknown in my family) When he was doing the Standing LJ he would wiggle his toes across the line at the last moment before his jump and his effort would be disqualified. Last year only one of his jumps counted and the year before, none of them did. And this year he'd be running at that line full speed. I expected problems. They're much less lenient at the State level than they are at the County games. The have no sense of humor about mistakes. And personally... I blame the adults. Not necessarily the ones in charge of, or running the games, but I've got to tell you, 'Little League Moms' aren't all watching baseball games... and they're not all 'moms'. Just sayin.
    There is no segue back from that, so I'll just muster on: When Dude made it over to the pit, there was a ref/judge who was taking the time with each group to explain the rules and show them, with his own foot, what would be accepted as a real jump. He also, during the competition would make sure that each contestant knew if they'd mad a good jump, or what he'd done wrong, again showing them, not just telling them. I thought it was pretty cool... Dave was less impressed. He... sort-of listened to the guy, but kept walking away, trying to get to the starting position. It was like, 'Okay, okay.... run.... jump... land in

sand....not over line.. Got it! Let's go!!'  The guy would patiently wait for the volunteer to bring him back, and he made sure that David actually understood what he was saying. My mercenary ass was sitting behind the camera going, 'There's only two of them in this heat. If he gets one qualified jump he gets a medal!'  I realize at that moment, my son trains me just as much as I train him. After all, he's the one that wants the medals, not me. I never even see the things after he takes them up into his room.
     When it came time for the jumps Dude, in typical Dude fashion, went through a couple of different poses at the beginning of his run. There was this kind of Disco thing with his arm in the air that immediately dropped into fists out front and back that immediately got me thinking, 'He has been watching too much Olympic gymnastics...' because it looked exactly like the start of almost every Women's Vault that I've ever seen. Only sideways. And then I thought, 'Where the hell has he been watching Olympic Gymnastics?' But before that important question could be answered he was off.
     Now this is what I expected watching Dave. Face intent, running down the lane he hit the stripe with his foot and launched himself in the air.... about 3 feet. The grin on his

face after he'd made the landing told me that he knew he'd made a good jump. After the judge told him he had, he started back toward the Waiting for Awards tent and had to be stopped and brought back for his other two jumps. He was like: Why? We all know what's going to happen. I get a medal. So give me the medal and let's get this over with. No such luck. Unfortunately for the volunteer girls they later had to pass directly behind the award stands to get to that tent, once they were done jumping. Because Dave, thinking to save time and cut out the whole tent thing to get back to his Nintendo World headed straight for the podium instead of just passing it by. This completely disrupted a group of  Long Distance walkers trouping up to get their medals. He didn't seem to care about them, he wanted his medal. I'll admit, he was actually a bit less stubborn than usual about heading to the tent. Hardly any argument at all...really....
   I think David was more impressed by the Gunnery Sergeant they had giving out the awards last year. He was still respectful of the Lieutenant that handed out the medals with the 'Milk Maid Princess',(I'm not kidding, she had a sash and everything) but officers don't seem to rate as many 'sirs' as a non-com. But Gunny or Louie, the silver was around the neck (as it should be) and Dude was done for the day. We went back to the stands, and before I could even get there he had already snatched his game, plugged in the 'phones' and was lost in the World of Elevators Past. Not for long though. Just after I got up there he looked at me, 'Uh oh! The batteries are dead! He needs the charger for the game to watch the videos!' With a quick glance I noticed that everyone in the immediate area was looking at me. 'Uh....Okay.' I said hesitantly. I mean, obviously they all expected me to fix it. Dave was not only expecting it, he was nearly demanding it! 'I packed the charger in the suitcase.' I told him. Making sure it was loud enough for everyone to hear. Then I put my foot in it. (and we all know what 'it' is) 'You have to wait until you're back in your room to charge it up. You can't do anything here.' Dave immediately shot up from his seat. I realized my mistake at once. But, of course, too late. 'Yup! He has to get back to the room for the charger for the system!' He started to walk across the bleachers (and a couple of kids) I stopped him about the same time Marta (That's her name, really. I looked it up this time. You can trust it) and I said nearly the exact same thing. ' No! You have to wait for the other kids to be done first.' Just as enthusiastic as if we'd agreed, 'Yes! Then we can go to the rooms and ride the elevators and charge the System!' Marta and I both agreed quickly and David sat back down with his System in his lap, looking prepared to wait patiently and the matter seemed to be settled. But with Dudes you never know.

     Friday is the night of the Big Dance/Appreciation gathering in the evening after dinner. Dude loves to dance. Being way too German, I can't really tell if he's any good at it, but he loves doing it and that's enough. This year I had a big problem keeping track of David. He'd dance his way out of the crowd, stay by me for a little while, then he'd disappear again. I would circle the slowly growing main crowd, but never even catch a glimpse of him until he'd worked his way over to me again. Then he'd repeat the process, leaving me wondering just how the hell he was doing it.
    This year we were going to be joined by my niece Alexis, who moved to Pgh last summer to help with Dave and then decided not to leave. Poor girl. Leaving after work would put her in State College just after the dance started, so she would be able to join in the fun.... If two things hadn't happened. One: She didn't have the Military Grade GPS that is about all that can keep up with how screwed up Pittsburgh streets get. And B: If her scapegrace uncle had known she was going to be late he would have continued to look at his phone while waiting for her text much longer. That way she wouldn't have been circling the campus with absolutely no idea where to go. I admire her restraint. She hardly yelled at me at all.
    The next morning Alexis and I had just enough time to grab some drinks and zip over to the track for Dave's first event. Well, actually we had enough time to harvest our breakfast out of the fields, cook enough for a crew of field hands, take a nature hike, knit a couple of sweaters and then leisurely stroll to the track.... from Altoona. To paraphrase Thomas Paine, 'These are the times that try men's patience'. Man, we did a LOT of waiting that weekend.
    Alex and I, in our foolish quest to get a better view of the shot-put area, trudged around the fence to the other side of the track. Around the outside of the fence, I mean. The SO police were very fierce and frightening. I never did find out what happened to that one couple. But I'm sure it involved years of therapy to recover from the stern talking-to they got when they stepped into the Forbidden Area. Alexis and I were made of sneakier stuff. We skirted our way along the fence, until we came to a hole in the wire. Then we calmly walked through (expecting to hear the howls of the Guard Dogs, and the wail of the sirens.) (It was afternoon, so spotlights just would have been an affectation.) We actually stood there for about half an hour with everybody working on there 'pretending' skills. We pretended we belonged there, and the Olympic Wardens pretended we didn't exist because we didn't enter through one of their gates.
       We had a bit of a problem pretending one of the two coaches that snuck through the same hole, didn't exist. He was out there screaming at one of the kids in the 400 or so meter race. Calling out time differentials as if there was some sort of sponsorship on the line. He was about 50 yards away from us, but we could hear him clearly. I know there's a fine line between challenging the kids to do their best and pushing them for your own ends, but if the kid's crying, and the coach's blood pressure is rising you should recognize that the line has been more than crossed. A whole coaching staff in matching uniforms keeping ledgers of times and distances, crunching numbers and stats, screaming at the kids in a negative fashion probably means the line's been crossed, trampled and about to have the life-support unplugged. This is Special Olympics, folks. Not Beijing. For the kids.... remember? A complete opposite from the Uber Coach was a coach and his daughter that snuck through the fence after us. He looked as uncomfortable with SuperCoach as we did. He explained that he had been a runner, and his daughter loved to run. She ran all the time, and hated it when the weather prevented her daily run. He didn't seem to think that yelling at the kids actually helped anything. He sounded so... sane, that it was difficult to believe that he and Her ZuperCoach had the same job.
    After standing in the sun for more than half an hour I looked through my lens at the closer shot-put area and said, 'Hey, that shot looks pretty big.' I turned to my niece, 'Maybe we're in the wrong place?' For some reason I remembered there were two different sizes of shot, but only seeing one, couldn't tell which it was. Adding to our dilemma was the fact that they were shot-putting in two different 'pits' and you couldn't see them both from the same place. So, while we were stout enough to brave the track guards we chickened out about looking silly by being in the wrong place, and we bailed. Turns out, they don't use two different sizes of shot, and we were in the right place, but it's probably just as well that we caved. It was nearly another hour and a half before Dave competed. So, while we didn't get roasted out in the open field, we really didn't have a very good view of what was going on.
   While we were waiting for the competition we were found by Melissa Neidbala, the head of BC-SOPA (Beaver County Special Olympics, PA) and her heir-apparent... whose name escapes me at the moment... It could have been Carol, it really could have.... I don't think it was Cathy, I really don't. Anyway, they took advantage of  a gate-Nazi's inattention and were standing 10 feet inside the Line-of-Death! So... we joined them, and could actually see the competition area off in the distance. We were all chatting about the two of them photo-bombing Dave's sacred Elevator Videos. I was under the impression that they were incredibly silly about it, but as I'm not on the Privileged List of people allowed to watch the Holy Videos, I can't accurately gauge their silliness. But we had a great (if distant) view of the competition.  This lasted through Dave's first throw, and then Doom descended upon us in the form of a guy in khaki cargo shorts and a bush hat. I really wanted him to have an Australian accent and call us 'mate' when he kicked us out, but was disappointed. But he still kicked us out. Dave threw two more times but we couldn't see because of some silly-assed net that was supposed to protect us from crazed hammer-throwers. So we really didn't know what was going on until about 45 minutes later when Dude and the other kids strolled out to the podium. He won a Silver and
gave his version of the 'Dude-Power' salute while waiting for his medal.
   The day before, David had asked me repeatedly, 'Where's the Alex? Is she going to make it to the State College?' I had assured him over and over that; Yes, Alexis was coming, but had to work and wouldn't be here until the next day. Of course, now that his minion had arrived, and he could ignore her more effectively, that's exactly what he proceeded to do. But once he (was forced to) acknowledge her, he cried out, 'Alex! I was so worried about you! I didn't think you would make it!' Of course, he says some version of this very same thing about every night when she comes home from work. His nod to politeness complete he immediately dropped his head back into NintendoLand and proceeded to completely ignore the both of us. So we ignored him right back and went and had lunch.
   Alexis and I got back just in time... to wait another hour and a half for David to run his race. We strolled up just in time to see Marta walking back to the stands. She told us that she had just taken Dude to the tent for his next and final event; The 100 meter run. We stood at the construction fence that marked the boundary, mostly because Crocodile Dundee was still patrolling that gate, and several times I looked for David in the crowd of guys in the tent, but to no avail. It's pretty bad when you can't find your son because he's being good. I searched and searched for him through my telephoto lens, to no avail. I couldn't find him until there was almost no one left in the tent. Then they almost screwed the whole thing up. When there were only about 10 heats left they tried to organize them in their chairs by heat. The problem was, once they got him up and moved him into another chair... I'm just saying they should have left him there. They should have noted that he was in the wrong place, and just had him wait there for his turn. Instead, they moved him into 3 other chairs and then stood him up next to the List Lady while they got it straightened out. Dave was starting to get irritated and I was thiiiiiis close to walking over there and getting him calmed down, even if I had to walk over the top of Aussie-boy to do it. But luckily for everyone, David was finally put in the proper seat. Even if he did have to wait some more, at least he was doing it in the right place.

  When it came time for his heat, as they were lining up, one of the other runners noticed that Dave's shoe was untied. I watched the whole thing on telephoto, so I knew what was going on, but what it looked like to Alexis was something completely different. It looked as though David was suffering a Victorian fainting spell while being mugged by the Starter and a runner. Dude was hamming it up for all he was worth, one foot in the air, laid almost completely back waving his arms in the air while the Starter tied his shoe and the other kid held him up. That kid's probably sorry he helped with that because, after some pre-race posturing, as soon as the whistle went off, so did Dude. He flashed out to a very quick start, feet pounding the track, face intent, and glancing behind him to either side to check the competition. The Evil Grin started on his face when he was about 1/3 the way down

the track and was comfortably in the lead. My suspicions from the day before were starting to bear fruit. They got fruitier the further he got down the track and the grin got bigger. It was a complete reversal from the day before. He was running his skinny little but off and instead of being behind the field by 10 yards, he was ahead by that margin 3/4 of the way and it was growing as he got further. One kid looked to make a run at him about halfway and when Dude saw him, he just shifted gears and left him in the dust. When he crossed the line, well ahead of everyone, he bent over, clenched
his fists and shouted, 'YESS!!'. Then he did a little victory dance/jog and said, 'I AM THE WINNER!!' Luckily the volunteers got him under control and off toward the tent before a riot ensued. Yes, David can be a riot all by himself.

   After which another round of tent-sitting ensued. While that was going on, the 'adults' where musing over the race itself. We were all very pleased with the outcome of the race. We were also a bit uneasy about... other things. Things that we didn't want to talk about. I got complimented on my (?) decision to allow Dave his 3DS this year. The Coaches were certain it helped keep him calm, even when it wasn't working. I didn't disabuse them of their harmless little fantasy. Besides, it made me look like a 'cool dad'.
    Finally, one of the coaches worriedly asked whether or not Dude might be disqualified because he had too good a race. If his time was too much lower than his qualifying heat they might DQ him. Suspecting (I assumed) that someone coached him to 'duff' the first race. I'm sure they wouldn't believe our total lack of collusion in the Hundred Meter Cheating Scheme. After all, we were the adults, right? Most of the people in the immediate area seemed to be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, citing how fast the heat was that he was in, and how much slower these kids were. I, on the other hand, kept my big fat mouth shut and my opinions firmly behind my teeth. I didn't know how well the judges would remember David. I mean they only see him once a year. I didn't take anything for granted until .
the Procession was finished and the Gold Medal was around his neck. It's only a rumor that I looked behind us twice as we headed back to the stands. I wasn't really all that worried that they'd run us down and take the medal back.... Really I wasn't. Well, the Gold now resides in the DudeRoom and I'd pity the Olympic Committee that tried to get it back now. I am kind of worried about myself a bit though... It's really starting to get entertaining to see how the little sneak is going to cheat his way to another medal each year....

Prom and Circumstance:

     I mentioned in an earlier story that Dude's teacher, Marilyn Yarosz, snuck in a Dude-Prom request when she found out I was weakened by giving Jill permission to put Dave in the Talent Show. I'm pretty sure they worked out their scheme in advance. I'm not paranoid at all... really... School Conspiracies actually exist! We'll pause 10 seconds for this brief psychotic break... and a word from our sponsors.
      Conspiracy or not, I'd already sent in the 40 bucks for the ticket so now we were committed. (that was an appropriate turn of phrase) So the first thing we needed was, evidently, a Prom Uniform. That's Dude-speak for 'suit'.
     I have to explain something. I haven't worn a suit since I quit the local Theater group. I haven't even owned a suit since I was about 22. I have no blue collar prejudice against the things, and I look pretty good wearing them. I just won't own one. I fully blame my mother for this. Just before my own Junior Prom my mother decided (and rightly so) that I needed a suit of my very own. Nothing would do, but we had to go get one, immediately. Mostly because there was no way in hell any of my father's would fit me, since he was 2 inches shorter and 40 pounds lighter. So I was immediately dragged down to a dinky JC Penny store (the only size we had) to gather me some formal wear. The 70's were just a couple years gone and with the time-lag inherent in a small town, a scent of disco must have still been in the air, because Mom went directly to the Haggar rack and picked me out a sky-blue white threadstripe leisure suit and supposedly matching dark tan brush leather shoes and a gold toned Rayon shirt with a navy blue sweater vest. Even with the minuscule amount of sartorial knowledge in my teenage brain I tried to protest. But she had the bit in her teeth and would not be swayed by any thought of mere teenage humiliation or degradation of same. Okay, granted we were just out of the 70's and also, it really doesn't take that much for a teenager to feel humiliated, but still... Okay, I'll admit it... I did like the shoes.

Not my picture... but that's my suit
Revived from the dumpster

Powder blue leisure suit?
    Two weekends before Prom I lassoed my fashion consultant (Raine) to, you know, consult.... Mostly 'cause this ain't my first rodeo, and there's no way in hell I was going to come home with something she wasn't a part of picking. Then I corralled the Prom-meister and we headed off to conquer us a Haberdashery. To stave off buyer's remorse and to keep my wallet from going into immediate spasms we first tried a couple of re-sell stores in case there were any 'gems' at low-low discount prices. No such luck. But, for once, Dave liked shopping. He moved through the stores like he was part bloodhound (we all know he's actually a cheesehound) and when it came time to search the racks he was, of course, right exactly in the way, every time. 'He needs to get the Prom Uniform, to go to the Prom, next weekend!' or, when looking at a suit 3 sizes too big and some strange green/gold color that should only be seen on Black and White TV, 'That's the cool uniform to go to the Prom!'  'Dude', I said for the third time, 'Prom is in two weeks, and there's no way I'm ever going to buy that, even just to burn it. Now get out of the way.' After our nod to fiscal responsibility we ran for the Sacred Halls of Commerce, to better bolster up the global economy. The cool thing about going to an actual store is that even though it costs 4 times as much, they have more of the stuff you want, or might actually pay money for, and some of it is even in the right size!
    Spurning the Arkansas-based chain of Department Stores as unworthy of the Event we went instead to a non-hyphenated chain of vestiary for the 'Prom Uniform'. Immediately we were confused by two things: Firstly, there were more than 3 suits to choose from. And, Secondly, David loved every suit there, so he was no help picking one out. (which wasn't really surprising). I think, that if there was any surprise, the person who was surprised most was Raine. I walked in with very definite ideas about what I wanted to look for in a suit (that isn't the shocking part) and then immediately started setting together what I wanted. (only sort of surprising) The shock came, I think, when the things I set out actually worked well together and looked good (she even loved the tie). Other than a bit of a debate about color (Raine wanted a black suit) the only quandary came when I couldn't find a shirt that was the color I wanted (so I got a black one). I displayed a working

knowledge about style, and fit and even taught her a few things about sizing shirts and jackets. This all would have been ever so much more impressive if I'd actually known my son's measurements before we started. I'm pretty sure Raine didn't trust me though. I had to step out to the car for a moment and she whipped Dude and his new clothes into the nearest dressing room to try it all on. Everything fit, except the shirt that I told her was too big.
    Dude followed me around like he was attached at the hip. As I slithered through the different collections and selections David was right there, always ready to agree to whatever shirt I happened to pick up, move out of the way or even glanced at out of the corner of my eye. 'Yep! That's the one! Now we've got the Prom Uniform to go to the Prom next weekend!' After a while I just stopped contradicting him. We finally finished our purchases and went home. Dude was immediately ready to put on the Prom Uniform and wait, completely dressed, until the time came for the dance... in 12 days. Thankfully, once the suit was put away and it was explained again that prom wasn't for another week and a half or more he finally seemed to put it out of his mind. Or so we thought.
    Finally, Prom Week was upon us. We hadn't heard much from Dude about the Prom except for the occasional, 'Yes! He goes to Prom on the next Friday and then in the Summer he goes to Vegas!' The first part was readily agreed to while the second was quelled as much as possible. I had gotten a note on Friday telling me of the Prom rehearsal to be held on Tuesday. But, other than making sure that David knew about it, (he did... loudly) didn't think any more about it. I left the house at 6am as usual and got home around 3:30, covered the bike, grabbed the mail and opened the front door. I noticed the suit, still in its bag, was laying across the back of the couch as you enter the door. I wondered for a minute why A: Lorraine got the suit out. And then B: Why, once she had gotten it out, she had left it in the front room. After a moment, I shrugged and put it away in David's closet.
    Dude came home, and we talked about the rehearsal, but he didn't mention anything about the suit, so I was left wondering why the hell Raine had gotten it out. I get home before she does, so generally by the time she gets here I'm already cooking dinner. I was deep into... I don't know, some stuff I was making that resembled food (if you didn't look too closely) and she was doing her normal after-work puttering around when she came into the kitchen and asked, 'Was David supposed to wear his suit for rehearsal today?' I stopped slicing when I looked up (always a good idea) and answered, 'As far as I know it wasn't a dress-rehearsal. So, no, he wasn't supposed to take it.' I turned back to my vegetable mutilation when she asked in a puzzled voice, 'Then why did you leave it out?' My eyes widened in surprise and I turned to face her. 'I didn't get it out. Why would I do that?' She looked at me suspiciously, 'I thought you were giving me trouble because I haven't hemmed the pants yet.' My face decided it wasn't done with the surprised look, so it stayed there. 'I haven't given you any crap about that, and there's still plenty of time to hem them. So... no, it wasn't me.' My face decided a stern, thoughtful look was more appropriate now, 'So if you didn't do it. And I most certainly did not do it. That only leaves... DUDE!!!!' I yelled at the ceiling.  Our ceilings are specially reinforced.
     After a certain amount of clomping and clumping about my youngest son graced the Board of Inquiry with his presence. 'David...' I started rather sharply, 'Did you get the suit out this morning?' Without imminent threat of the loss of games or cheese, my child doesn't do 'repentant' 'Yes! We need the Prom Uniform for the rehearsal for the Prom!' He said enthusiastically, totally unconcerned with the fact that rehearsal was 6 hours previous. 'Then he puts on the suit to go to the Prom on the Friday and then the Vegas for Summer Vacation!!'  I dropped my head into my hands, peeked one eye out at Raine, who was manfully (?) suppressing laughter, 'Please remind me again why I don't kill him?' She pretended to ponder this for a moment and answered psuedo-helpfully, 'Well... there is that whole 'Law' thing. They kind of frown on that. They think you're suppose to take care of him, or something.' I broke out with a pompous British accent, 'If that is what The Law supposes, sir, then the Law, sir, is an ass! If that is what the Law supposes, then the law, sir, is a bachelor!' Dropping the accent, 'Or at least childless.' I looked imperiously down at my offspring, 'And if you ask, 'Please, sir, may I have another?' I'm gonna kick your butt.' I shook my head in defeat, 'Go play your games, man.' He retreated, then stuck his head back in the doorway. 'He goes to the Prom on Friday!' I had no more fight left in me. 'Yes, David. But it's only Tuesday, so you'll have to wait.'
    So wait we did. And eventually (a word often used in waiting) Prom Day dawned. I understand there was a bit of a problem keeping Dave from dressing for the prom at 7:00 in the morning, but other than that it started out as a normal day. Since I had to get him to the school between 4 and 5, I was told that I could pick Dude up from school as early as 1:00 so I raced Raine home at lunch, hung around the house for a while, changed clothes, got something to drink, watched some TV, talked with Raine for a bit, had something else to drink, hunted around for my shoes, remembered I hadn't brought any socks downstairs, got my

socks, had to hunt for my shoes again... and picked him up at 2:00.
     In quick succession we got a snack, a shower and dressed and turned immediately around to go back where we just came from. We were among the first there, so we grabbed a program and started wandering around. Mrs. Yarozs found us (how does that woman do that?) and while we were talking she mentioned that she had forgotten to send the permission/information slip for the State Special Olympics home with David that day. It just seemed to be Dude's day. Already two of the things he'd be desperately waiting for (and bugging me about) came together on the same day. Of course, since his Dad is mean, and he hadn't heard his teacher, I decided to wait until the next day to tell him the good news. It would have only distracted him anyway.
   The school had a couple of volunteers (probably conscripted teacher's children) that accompanied the kids without dates for the pictures and the walk. Dave's 'date' was a nice young girl named Laura, or Luana... or something starting with 'L'... probably. Dude walked down the runway like it was an Imperial Progress, waving to the crowd, and knowing him, probably wondering why they weren't cheering.
   With that out of the way, we raced (ish) over to the Country Club where the actual dance was taking place. The only problem was, I had only a vague notion of where it was. I struck upon the clever scheme of just following someone out of the school parking lot. The only problem? The first person I picked was obviously going home, because he turned the wrong direction immediately out of the parking lot. But all was not lost! Because of the nice lady in the white mini-van that was going the right way. And I could only hope that she was going to the same place I was. Hey... it got my Dad out of Southeast Chicago one time with a
van full of family and a pop-up trailer. That's good enough for me. I was so intent on staying with her, I even followed her into the wrong parking lot. We exchanged funny looks as she was headed out and I was headed in. Dave laughed, 'Not the Country Club with the Prom and the Dance!' I gave him the Patented Dad Death-Look, but the warranty must have run out, because it didn't have any effect at all. 'Wrong parking lot! We're going the wrong way.' As always, very helpful. I raised my eyebrow to increase the Death-Look's power, but the batteries hadn't charged, or something, because it still wasn't working.
    After a short talk with the Nice Mini-Van Lady it was determined that she had misinterpreted her brother's directions and we just hadn't gone far enough. So, back out on the road we went and eventually found 7 Springs Country Club and I had to stop Dude from bolting out of the car while it was still moving. 'He has to get to the Dance with the Prom Uniform!' he explained. 'Yeah, I know. But I'm pretty sure they're not holding a dance in the Emergency Room, so you just wait until I park and we'll go in together.' He wasn't a real big fan of this idea until I told him I would be leaving afterwards.
     Jill Mosura was in charge of the music (naturally) and I finally got to meet her husband. Whose name is, I think, Jim. (I found out his name is Dan. It's really pathological, this name thing. I need a telethon, or something.)  He'd been wanting to meet me for a while, and I can only hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment. Jill (Yes, but I've known her for 6 years and her name was on those notes that came home all the time) asked if I were going to stay, but I told her that this was a 1 Dude only event, and I ran out the door. I'm certain I didn't scare too many people as I, Fast and Furious-ed my way out of the parking lot. I'm almost certain that one older lady will recover with the right therapy.
     Several hours later I returned at a slightly more sedate pace and made my way back to the Dance. David
was 8 feet away from the DJ table dancing away. I asked Jill, 'Has he been there all night?' She nodded, 'Except when he had to go over to get his picture frame.' I was relieved. I thought he'd stolen someone's iPad and I'd have to wrest it away from him to give it back. She smiled. 'I was surprised how many songs he knew all the words to.' I said, 'Yeah, he knows a lot of songs. And if he doesn't know the words, he makes them up.' She smiled and changed the subject. Smart woman.
    Well, finally it was time to wrap things up and head home. (Carefully not frightening parking lot ladies) As we headed out to the car I asked Dude if he'd had a good time. 'Yes!' he said, startling people in the next parking lot, 'He went to Prom in the Suit and next week we go to Vegas!' 'Dude,' I said wearily, 'let's just concentrate on getting home, huh?'

Wide-ish World of Sports:

    First of all, I want it stated for the record that David and I actually made it to the Special Olympics this year, on time. I would also like to note that this year Marilyn Yarosz actually witnessed this total break with tradition. Nearly the first time ever we made it early, except for last year, which doesn't count because she wasn't actually there to see it. What didn't break tradition was the weather. In 12 years of attending the SO in Beaver County there has only been one year where the weather actually cooperated with the event. Coincidentally, that was also the year that Marilyn missed, so I've had some very pointed questions to ask her about that. (She says she's been doing this for 3 times as long and can never remember having decent weather) (I rest my case) The day dawned close, gloomy and grey with wind bending the branches of the trees in the backyard. This put the final nail in the 'Dude and Dad Annual SO Bike Ride'. I don't particularly mind the weather, but there was no way I was riding 10 or so miles away in dicey weather with Dude still getting over his cold. Unfortunately this meant I had to wake up an hour and a half early to take Raine to work so we could have the car.
     So, that was my first minor disappointment of the morning. It wasn't to be the last. Dude is like me in several ways. One of them is that we really don't want to wake up to someone else's schedule, but once we do, we want to get on with getting done with whatever it is that woke us up in the first place. After we dropped Raine off at work we took our usual exit back to the house. Dude looked up from his game in momentary confusion. Then when we pulled into the drive he looked up again and said, 'Whaaaat?' Somehow making it sound like one of the Minions from Despicable Me. 'He has to get to the Western Beaver High School, to get to the Games to go to the State College!' This was not a new mantra. 'Later David. First we have to wait. It's way too early to go yet.' I stood up out of the car and started toward the front door. 'Yes! We go later and then, in the summer, he gets to go to the State College, and then we go to the Vegas!' This also was not a new mantra. Not wanting to add fuel to the Vegas fire and since we hadn't received any notice at all that he was going to be invited to State College this year, I just let that one slide by without comment.
   At a loss for anything else to do, and with a case of bed-hair that looked more like a swarm of string aliens had attacked my skull and were viciously opposed by the Warriors of Final Net, I decided that our spare time would be better spent in an Ancient Ritual of Dude Cleansing.... or showers, as they are now called. So we went into battle fairly clean and I looked a whole lot less like a 'before' picture in a hairspray add.
    Dave's teacher, Mrs. Yarosz ( yah-roe-s) had called me the night before to tell me that she had forgotten to send David's event card and maps and 'Find us in the morning and I'll give them to you.' Then there was a pause and I may have even heard a chuckle. 'Actually just wander around looking for us and we'll find you.' It seems that someone has finally caught on to my usual tactics. I mean, it's no secret how I find people at these things, right? I mean, I've written about it several times. And that's exactly what we did, I mean, what else were we going to do? Except our 'random' wandering took us mysteriously close to the snack bar, after I had brilliantly deduced that they had Orams Donuts, a Pittsburgh icon of yeasty sugary things to eat with coffee or milk. People from the area will understand the sarcasm of the 'brilliantly deduced' thing. It's not hard to spot 40 cinnamon rolls the size of your head, and even less difficult to figure out where they came
from.
      And thereby was my second disappointment realized. Not only were they out of cinnamon rolls, but they were also out of change and I'd just hit an ATM and only had a 20. Dude didn't care. Donuts were offered and donuts must be delivered. 'He has to get the donuts to get the medals to go to the State College!' Great. You had to open your big mouth, didn't ya, dad? While I tried to figure out how to get dough and nut together without exact change I heard, 'Good! Glad to see you brought the camera. Hi David!' I whipped my head around only to see the after-image of blond hair, sunglasses and a teal coat quickly disappearing into the crowd. From the coat and the height of the hair I figured it was Ashley, but she was gone too quickly for either one of us to react, or even actually see her. 'Uh... hi?' I said, scaring the hell out of a group of teenage girls I was trying to wildly look over the top of. After being consigned to the realm of the old and weird I bought a couple of bands from the souvenir tent which gave me the change to get the 'nut' some 'dough'. Although I asked for two custard filled, we ended up with two jelly filled, but hey, they were doughnuts... who cares, right?
    Mrs. Yarosz, using her Dude tracking software, found us and gave me Dude's packet, and we were off to the events... unnoticed by me, Dave had a big dot of raspberry filling smeared on his forehead, like a wound in a bad action movie, but since I didn't have a 'blunt object' visible on my person, no one called the cops. Or, at least I think that's why no one called them.... It's entirely possible National Guard units were already on standby because of Dude's presence, so why bother with cops?
    Last year, after 12 years of the Same Thing Every Year, there was a change in Dave's events, the substitution of hurling the Huge Iron Sphere of Death (or at least possible ouchie) from The Soft Ball Toss. This upset my applecart a bit. Hey, I've got to stand in front of this guy to take pictures. This year they changed the rest. Taking out the 50 meter run and Standing Long Jump and replacing them with the 100 meter run and Running Long Jump. I was a bit worried about them upsetting Dude's autistic mojo, but he'd had several weeks to get used to the idea. I was the only one distressed about it, but, since I wasn't the one actually competing, we just trucked our butts over to the Shot Put area to get ready.
  .
    Someone has been showing Dave pictures of classical Greek Olympic games. Either that, or he's been

watching Hercules again, because when it came time for him to throw the shot-put he struck a pose that I've only seen on pictures of Greek amphora: Shot stuck tight against the neck, under the ear and opposite hand thrust out flat, palm down, and pointed at the clouds. He held this 'Olympic Pose' for several seconds, then heaved with all his might with a manly grunt and a look of concentration on his face. Of course that look of concentration was completely destroyed once he noticed he was getting his picture taken. What a hambone, I really don't know where he gets it. (Shut up Raine! And stop laughing!!) Even with his Gong Show antics, Dude got a bronze medal, so maybe being a goof is actually an athletic achievement. If so, he ought to win Gold every time
    Since it was such a nice, sunny day.... oh, sorry. Wrong story. Since it was cold, windy and damp, and since Dave still had a cold, and we had almost an hour til his next event, we snuck back across the school grounds and over the highway to the car... or 'locker room' since we were at an athletic event. Unlike 2 years before I was well prepared for the hiatus, Dave had his 3DS and I had my Kindle so we had it covered. Sort of. As we were walking toward the highway Dude, already over the whole experience, I guess, asked, 'So, he gets the cheeseburgers and the Wendy's to go to State College to video the elevators!?' He looked up at me, with trust in his eyes, (the little manipulator) and continued, 'Then he goes to the Vegas and gets ALL THE ELEVATORS!!!' Caught only momentarily off guard I used the same phrase that's been getting parents out of jams throughout history: 'We'll see.' 'Yes!' He said, as if I'd just announced his winning ticket, 'Yes! He gets the good notes and goes to the Game Stop and gets Pokemon X Version!' Hey, it kind of worked the first time, so I tried it again, 'We'll see.' He stopped me with a hand on my arm, and looked me intensely in the eye, 'I've got the good notes, and Saturday we go to the Game Stop to get the Pokemon X Version!' My brow furrowed a bit, ready to quell the rebellion (Viva La Revolucion!). But at that moment, it was just Dude, with those pleading hazel eyes, working for a reward for being well behaved. (which is sooo against both our natures) and, wishing to maintain the discipline in the ranks, I gave him my best Gen. George S. Patton look and said, 'Boy! I am in command here! You will do as I say, and like it! Now march!'... Okay, I smiled softly and said, 'Yes, we're going to GS tomorrow to get a game.' and left it at that. (I am SUCH a wuss)
   After our electronic Olympic break Dude and I headed back to the field of battle to a brand new-ish event, the 100 meter run. He had battled (or cheated) his way to 2 or 3 straight gold medals in the 50, and also one at the State Olympics so I supposed adding another 50 was someone's way of rewarding that accomplishment. Either that, or the starter for the 50 meter at Beaver County got tired of his cheating butt, and kicked it out. Either way I kept my feelings to myself and just got Dude to race and left it at that.
   The weren't done with the under 18's yet. Oh Dave soooo loves waiting. That's either Dave, by the way. Once it was (finally) time to run the race I found my actual objection to doubling the length of his race. It also doubled the distance I had to race to get down to the finish line to take pictures. But soon we had the race Dude-bracketed and we were both waiting for the starter to give his command. Dave again had to start the event with the 'classic pose'. If by 'classic' you mean Mack Sennett, or Charlie Chaplin. All we needed for lunch sandwiches was some bread and Miracle Whip, we already had the ham.
     Dude has had some problems with his cavalier attitude about the rules of running a race. (although I'm pretty sure he doesn't consider them problems) You know, the starting after the word go, staying in your own lane.... then there's the rule about not arm-barring your closest opponent and pushing off him to win the race. You know... the little rules. Someone had evidently sent him in for a little 'indoctrination' somewhere, because even when the next kid over cut into his lane and made him come in last he never left his lane, never so much as touched the kid, and actually let the kid live once he found out he wasn't getting a medal. I was so shocked I almost stopped taking pictures... almost. But the world was still spinning, the sun was still converting hydrogen into energy and Hell hadn't actually frozen over yet. (as far as I know) So I still took pictures.
     Once again we had to wait a bit for the next event. Somewhere in our wandering around Ashley whizzed

by us, I think twice. Either that, or mosquitoes had taken to wearing blue coats because of the cold, because other than a quick impression of a teal blur and a buzzing sound that might have been her voice, we had no other indication that she had been there at all. While we were waiting Mrs. Yarosz tracked us down again, she's been really great with Dude, and she never misses an opportunity to teach him a little bit more. Despite this, David always seems genuinely glad to see her. My cynical side thinks this is because she's the arbiter of the computer time in school. Most of the time I don't listen to my cynical side, but this time I think it just might have a point. Actually she's pretty wonderful so maybe my cynical side needs to stuff it.
   The Running Long Jump is a completely new event for us. I think I annoyed David after about the 12th time I asked him if he knew how to do it. He said, 'yeah' the first 7 or 9 times I asked, and then on the 10th, just to wind me up, he said, 'No'. I stopped, gave him a bit of the stink-eye and then said, 'Okay, I'll stop asking, then.' When I finally walked to the other side of the pit to take pictures I was a little sad, thinking that one of my favorite things about the Standing version was his goofy Silent Movie Windups (without the silent part), and now, with the running approach I probably wouldn't be seeing any of that action. I completely underestimated my son. Between each run/jump there was a girl who was directing traffic. After the sand rakers raked, and the sweeper swept and the other two student helpers.... shifted around aimlessly,she would say, 'Go!' and the kid would, you know.... go. Dude took advantage of that hiatus to 'warm up'. (The less generous would say that he used that time to 'show off') by going through a series of poses and, well... things that looked kind of like stretches. Then when the girl asked if he was ready he started channeling Duke Kahanamoku, the surfer. Wide sideways stance, knees bent, both hands straight out at the shoulders, palms down. It was a perfect surfer pose. I almost started looking around for Annette Funicello. As soon as the girl said, 'Go!' he ran down the lane with a look of intense concentration and, without crossing the line, (something he can't seem to do in the SLJ) leaped into the air and had a fairly

credible jump. After two more versions of the 'Surfer Start' we walked up to the table and waited for his ribbon. Dude had already started, 'The Wendy's store is open for lunch, remember?' and didn't even seem to mind as much that he'd gotten two ribbons this year instead of the, now usual, 3 medals.
    We'd gotten home, cheeseburgers in hand, and consumed same, then I had just started to relax and settle into the comfort of the couch when the thought hit me between the eyes like a bullet and I sat up straight and exclaimed, 'Oh my GOD!! Next week is Prom!'

Minister of Propaganda:

   

 David has a disturbing tendency to have a minor chest or sinus cold slide right into pneumonia without much advanced warning. So the other day, after 3 days of coughing and sniffles I cancelled his bus ride and took him directly to the clinic at his Dr.'s office. During the exam, he informed the doctor that he was more than healthy enough to go to Las Vegas. The Dr. smiled and said, 'Oh, that's quite a trip!' She then looked at me expectantly. I looked back at her with an indulgent smile on my face and told her to ask him where his money was for the trip. When she did, Dave reached around my hip, pointed directly at the right cheek of my butt and said, 'It's right here in the Dads'es wallet!' she laughed when I said, 'Yup, if three bucks will get us to Vegas, we're all set.' That part never seems to get through Dude's force-field of denial.

       After a precautionary prescription, and since the clinic is close to his school, and despite much vehement protesting, I took him to class. As we walked through the hallways, me with only a vague idea of where we were going, one of the Staff stopped us in the hall to talk about the Talent Show. He asked, 'Did you have any idea that he was that good and talented?' I replied that I did know how well he could sing, but about the xylophone, I had absolutely no clue. We both talked for a few moments about how wonderful the whole thing was (especially Dave's part), and then he pointed the way to Dave's room and we were off again.

      Mrs. Yarosz, as always, seemed delighted but confused to see us (we get that a lot) and soon enough Dude was in his seat (mostly) and Mrs. Y and I had a few moments to talk. With our usual conversation about Dave's attitude and actions (both sometimes borderline) and both of us gushing about how well he didin the Talent Show, she brought the subject up about Dude's upcoming trip to Vegas. Dave heard this, and said, 'Yes! He's going to the Vegas to get ALL the elevators!' For more than a year, David has insisted repeatedly that he's going to Vegas. As this dire need to travel to Sin City is ignored, thwarted, or put-off, he changes who's actually taking him, but it always works out that Dad, or Raine, or Alexis, or mom, grandma, the grocery clerk,   somebody is going to the Nevada Desert with Dude in tow. I assured Mrs. Yarosz that we had no actual plans of heading that far west, and after a few more minutes we said goodbye and I started to leave.

Susan photoshopped this for Dude... I'm never letting him
see it

      As I walked down the hall I was greeted by a rather fit looking younger man who introduce himself as Chris McCabe, Dave's phys-ed teacher, saying, 'You know that son of yours is a real character.' I replied, dryly, 'You'll forgive me if this isn't shocking news.' and then we laughed. Now when I went to school all my phys-ed teachers where either semi-retired nuns, (10 years of Catholic school) or ex-football coaches that looked like Frank Sutton, the Sergeant from Gomer Pyle, or possibly Bulldog Bob Brown, the wrestler from the 60's and 70's. So the concept of a fit phys-ed teacher is always startling to me for some reason. Chris and I don't talk very often, but when we do he always tries to make sure that we're going to the Track and Field event for the Special Olympics. I assured him that we wouldn't miss it for the world. He then brought up how excited Dave was to be going to Vegas over Summer

Plotting..... something.

Vacation. I closed my eyes and shook my head. Once again I had to dash someones hopes for 'the poor homeless waif' that is my son. I put on another (hopefully not fake looking) smile and told him in an amused voice that we were definitely not going to Vegas that summer. His response kind of startled me.
       He immediately called to a teacher across the intersecting hallways and told her in a loud voice, 'David's not going to Vegas!' 'What?' she immediately started toward us, and with no small amount of grief in her voice, 'He's not going to Vegas?' He then yelled (sort of) to Tammy, Dave's Speech Therapist (oh yeah, he can talk. Thanks Tammy!) 'David's not going to Vegas this year!' Soon I was nearly surrounded by about 6 teachers, some of them leading students, all nattering about Dave's cancelled (?) trip plans. And since we were in the intersection of two hallways we soon had a traffic jam going. They all seemed to be very sad that Dude couldn't go, but the startling thing (to me) was that they all believed that he was going in the first place. I was beginning to become alarmed and not a little afraid for my safety if they started blaming me for the lack of slot machines in David's future and became a vicious, torch wielding, pitchfork carrying mob. I tried to play the whole thing off by telling them that he's not even interested in gambling. 'He's just heard somewhere that Vegas has more elevators per capita than any other city in the States. It's kind of like Mecca to a Muslim.' I tried desperately, laughing, 'He prays to Vegas 5 times a day. Bowing to the West.' But they were having none of it. Chris even suggested, mostly facetiously, that they should gather funds somehow and make Vegas into a Field trip for Dude. I had to get out of this Dude-induced haze and back to the merely surreal world I generally live in. I made some awkward goodbyes and stumbled off down the hall.
     Halfway down, and about a third of the way to my desperate escape attempt, I ran into Ashley. When she seemingly only wanted to talk about how wonderful David's performance was in the Talent Show I began to relax. Chiding myself for my Sin City Paranoia I was kind of blindsided when she asked about... you guessed it, David's Vegas Excursion and Grand Elevator Tour!  I laughed (that was getting harder to do) and told her that probably wasn't going to happen. Then Jill, whose room we were standing across the hallway from, walked over and said, 'What? Dave's not going to Vegas?' but she

And now, cult members....

was smiling when she said it, so that was okay. After some more talking about other things, not Vegas-related,(future post) I continued my escape, as the mornings announcements started over the speakers. I honestly and completely believed that the Headline Announcement would be: Dave's not going to Vegas, everyone!  And prepared to sprint down the halls with my finger over my lip, shouting, 'Leper! Outcast! Unclean!' in fine old biblical tradition. Hey. I was getting a bit frantic, I'll admit.
     I finally made it out and to the car without being stoned as a heretic by completely ignoring anyone's attempts at conversation and drove off in a mad dash. Although I may have waved at someone who was actually talking to someone behind me. After I calmed down a bit it hit me that my son was becoming a little Goebbels, Hitler's propaganda guy from WWII. (Hey, we're German and I'm kind of a history nut) He'd somehow convinced everyone in the school that he was going to Las Vegas, and that I was taking him there. I mean, they believed it! It was like a little Cult of Dude-Vegas! I could only see this as an attempt to force my hand, and make me take him to the Mecca of the Elevators, and then to TAKE OVER THE WORLD!!  That's when I realized that I hadn't really calmed down at all. Because, even though we are of German decent, we've never been Nazis, and if we ever did try to take over the world, it'd be more like a Pinkie and the Brain episode.

You make the call which of us is which. It's tougher than you might think.

The Show That Never Ends:

Welcome back my friends

 to the show that never ends.
We're so glad you could attend.
Come inside, come inside...          (Emerson, Lake, and Palmer)
 
Earlier this year I received a note from Jill Mosura, one of Dave's former teachers. I had forgotten, or never knew that she was also the music teacher for the school. I'm sure she has a better title than that, but that's what we called them when I was in school, so that's what I call her. The day before I received the official request from the school her note arrived in Dude's book. She practically begged me to allow David to participate in this years Talent Show. I wondered why she was so intensely seeking my permission, but put it down to trying to break a new idea into my well meaning, but absent-minded head. Thinking that mere insistence would break through the adamantine-like bones of my skull...foolish woman.
    That being said, I didn't have the heart to turn down her request. The next day, when the form arrived I actually filled it out immediately and returned it the day after. They should be impressed. I have official, Fill This Out or We'll Find You and It Won't Be Nice, forms from the Federal Government that sit on my desk for months before I finally get around to filling them out.Or even opening them up... (Why yes, Your Honor, send me to Leavenworth, it's right near my hometown.)
    I didn't think much more about it, other than some formless plan about not scheduling anything on the second Wednesday in April. But, since I don't actually have a schedule, that didn't prove too hard a task. So, having done all I could do at that point, I promptly forgot all about it. Hey, I figured if she was that insistent I'd probably get a note or something, hopefully before the event actually took place. But my willful ignorance was not to last. About 2 weeks before the Big Show I got another note. For some not-explained reason it seems my offspring was going to be fitted for a tuxedo. I tried to imagine my gangly son in a penguin-suit and came up empty. Signing the permission slip, I dropped back into my fog of ignorance. Okay, in my own defense, my motorcycle had recently been consigned to the shop because of a bad replacement part and I was in the midst of trying to make 3 jobs in completely different areas go into 2 cars and at the same time convince my bosses that I was well worth the trouble for showing up over an hour late every day for 4 weeks. So far, they're buying it.
   So, despite the occasional stray thought wondering what the hell Dave was going to do in the talent show in a tuxedo, I had to relegate the Talent Show to the back burner of my brain...that's one crowded burner, let me tell you. As a side note; After agreeing to the Talent Show, Mrs. Yarosz, his current teacher, called me and practically begged me to allow Dude to go to the Prom citing all sorts of spurious reasons. Like how he loves music and is always dancing when he hears it, and how he would love to go too, and how much fun he would have. As if these arguments would sway me... To teach her a lesson about expecting such permissiveness from me on a regular basis, I didn't send in the permission slip until the last possible day. Can't let these teachers push you around.

Jill, setting up the show

 Sometime, about a week before the show, I received another note from the school asking me how many tickets we wanted. After some bad math (I asked for one for Dude... doh!) this also was returned swiftly and the tickets (including Dude's) were forwarded back. I immediately put them somewhere I couldn't forget them. This was nearly a grave mistake. As I've stated before, I have the 'Oh! There it is!' filing system, so finding things I'd put 'where I'd never forget them' is sometimes a hit-or-miss thing. Mostly miss. But for once I had placed it by the coffee maker, so the envelope was seen every damned day. We had our tickets with us when we drove Dude to the Show. And even if nothing else went right, that made our evening right there.
    I dropped David off at the sign in table on time, for a wonder, and Ashley (David's former teacher's aide) almost scowled at me and asked me sharply, 'Where's your camera?' I intelligently responded, 'Uhhh... It's in the car?' We were 45 minutes early, for cripe's sake!  'Good', she said, nodding sharply, 'You're gonna need it.' Okaaaaaay. It's not like it isn't nearly always welded to my hand anyway. She then looked up at me (she's kinda short) and grinned impishly and said, 'You're going to be so proud of him!' and then, before she could explain that, she was gone. I stood for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Ashley has known me for a few years, and I never thought I gave her the impression that I was anything but proud (annoyed, irritated) of my son. I shook that off and went back out to the car to wait with Raine for Alexis and the start of the show.
     In due course they both arrived and the three of us found a seat near the lady guarding the video camera and waited for the show. Now, because Dude is, well... Dude, everyone who works or helps out at the school knows him, and by extension me, who basically has no clue who they are. I used to be embarrassed about my lack of name-memory, but now it's kind of a distinction. Just call me The Lord of the What's His Name. I was stopped on the way to our seats by 2 of the nameless rabble repeating the same strange mantra: 'You're going to be sooooo proud of him.' Either Dude was going to do something spectacular, or I had gained the reputation as a heartless bastard. The outlet polls were mixed. Even the guy sitting in the row behind us with his wife and small child, when he found out who my son was, said, 'They've been working really hard for weeks.' then the inevitable addition, 'You're going to be so proud of him.'
     As we were waiting for the show to start I found myself standing rather awkwardly next to the camera-lady while Raine and Alex were sitting with that nervous boredom that has graced every theater before every show in the history of mankind. I'd swear on a stack of  programs this high that I'd never seen this woman before in my life, but she tapped me on the shoulder as I was taking a picture of the sparkly ribbon decoration on the central light fixture. She said, 'There he is, look!' I looked where she was pointing and between the curtain and the wall, about 30 feet away, was a dim figure in a tux peering out into the audience. Before I could get my camera (and brain) into action someone had hooked him back into the darkness and closed the curtain.
     'You're David's dad, aren't you?' she asked after. I nodded. 'I tried to let you know when I first saw him,

but it was just too quick.' We both chuckled for a moment. She looked earnestly at me, 'You're going to be so proud of him.' Then she smiled at my puzzled expression then turned away to check her equipment. Just about the time I'd shaken off my stupor the lights went down and Dave, carrying something I couldn't see that looked like sticks, came across the floor from the stage left wing and stood in front of something I couldn't see through the crowd, at the end of the center aisle. He looked like the friggin 'Mad Conductor'. He was dressed in a well-fitting classic tux. White shirt, red cummerbund and bow tie, and his neck-length hair was gelled to within an inch of its life. he then raised his arms in a victory 'V' over his head and froze, holding beaters (sticks with wooden balls on the ends) in his hands, waiting for... something.
     An instrumental version of 'Sweet Child of Mine' started in the background and still David waited, arms extended. Then, when I was about ready to crack from the tension, he started playing a xylophone!! And it sounded good! He leaned into the music that he was producing from that simplest of keyboards and played it, not like some kid with a Playschool tin toy with a plastic beater, but double handed, beaters in each making music come out of that collection of old bones. I've been called a fair singer, but other than one noodle on the piano and a

ham-handed version of the main riff of 'Stray Cat Strut' (don't ask) I couldn't play a tune on anything to save my life. I was impressed. After he finished and accepted the accolades of the crowd like a true conquering Caesar, he then started pushing the instrument up the aisle. Only stopping twice on the way up to bow and say, 'Yeah! That's it!' Then taking a left, stopping to hug a teacher-person and me before stopping once again, in front of the curtain obscuring the hallway, to encourage the crowd to praise
him further before performing another sweeping bow. The usher-teacher-lady and I shoved him through the curtain before he could begin his own cult right then and there.
    True to prediction, I felt pretty damn proud of my offspring. I still didn't understand why they'd made such a great big deal out of it, but if I'd been wearing a hat... it would have needed adjustment from the head-swelling. Turns out I didn't know what the hell I was talking about.
    I went back to sit down with Raine and Alexis, we were all chattering softly but excitedly about Dave's performance. I said something to the tune of, 'Well, that was it.' and Raine showed me a familiar name in the last act of the show. Damn . Don't get me wrong, I love being around these kids. They give me a lift I can't quite explain. But... school shows are school shows. If it's not your child on the stage it feels like something that should be banned by the Geneva Convention as cruel and inhuman torture. The rest of the show, other than a student piano solo that was quite good, was just about what I expected it to be. a series of stilted skits narrated by an adult to keep things moving, and prevent us from being dragged down to the 9th circle of theater hell. I mean, the kids were great and really had fun, but there's only so much you can do with 'The Day the Crayons Went on Strike' and the original short story for the song 'Tie a Yellow Ribbon' (and now that song is rushing through my head, Thanks Jill) Really, it was cute and fun and the kids did a wonderful job, I was just impatient for the Rock Star to take the stage again. 
    Finally the final act was getting ready to start. I got excited when I saw Dave come out from the wings
again, but all he did was sit in a seat in the front row. I wondered about that for a second, but the lights went down and the curtain opened to a group of about 20 kids sitting on stools on Choir risers. The opening bars of 'Imagine' by John Lennon started, a version I'd never heard before, sung by a woman. The kids all started to 'sing' the song silently in ASL (American Sign Language). I was pretty impressed, and not a little moved. My own fluency in Sign is restricted to what was taught to me by my 6 year old step-daughter. So, basically, I could tell someone to sit down, and that they're talking too much. These kids were the Rhode's Scholars of Sign Language compared to me.
     Then just before the final verse, it happened. Dave stood up in front of a microphone and started sing with the recording. Dave and I used to sing together all the time. But for a while he's gotten goofy about it, and we don't do it so much anymore. When he does sing it's usually with earbuds in, so he sounds kind of flat and loud. But that night he sounded clear and on pitch. He was varying his tone and inflection, really getting into the song and I was... Well let's just say it's hard to tell if your camera is in focus with tears rolling down your cheeks. Don't know why, it just works out that way. I moved across the back of the first section of seats and tried to get a clearer view. I got a better view, but the crying eye thing kind of negated any clarity. I even sang along softly for a bit, but there seemed to be some sort of amphibian living in my throat.  I may even have gotten yelled at for being in someone else's way, but I didn't even notice, or really care. Dave continued to sing and I continued to be just awestruck listening to that clear, tenor voice.

You may say I'm a dreamer,
But I'm not the only one.
I hope some day you will join us,
And the world will live as one.

    The crowd went nuts. I damned near broke my camera when I started clapping before I remembered it was still in my hand. I was laughing and crying and didn't give a damn. As David once again made his way down the aisle to the hall-curtain I grabbed him in a big hug and said, 'You did GREAT!!' To which he humbly replied, 'Yeah! It was good! Now we've got to go to the Las Vegas!' then we had to hustle him

through the curtain so he could make his way backstage for the curtain-call. I was still standing in the cross-aisle so when it was David's turn to bow I was standing right behind the nice guy and his family, so my bellow of DUUUUUUUUUUDE!!!!! scared the crap out of them, but didn't actually knock any hats off any heads, no matter what the rumors say.
     Alexis and I went 'backstage' (classrooms behind the cafeteria) and retrieved my offspring, and while Alex took Dude to the car I went hunting for Ms Masura to tell her she was awesome and wonderful and that I was willing to be her undying slave, acceding to any and every request for my or David's presence at any school function she would be willing to name...ever. She told me that he originally wasn't going to be in that skit, but he sang so well to the song when they were practicing it, that they had to get him in there somehow. I praised her good judgement.
     Things are pretty much back to normal around here. Dave just playing his games and waiting for his agent to call him with the new booking at some Vegas floor-show. Just typical stuff, really.

The Elevator Blues:

David is dissatisfied with the amount of elevators currently available in the Greater Pittsburgh Metro Area. Or, at the least, he's dissatisfied with his father's unwillingness to take him to every single one of Milo Otis' Pittsburghian brainchildren. So, despite the fact that we still haven't emptied all the boxes from our last move. (sorting the basement is low on the priority list) And despite the fact that the 'new' has yet to rub off of the New House thing, Dude is fully prepared to tell all and sundry that we're moving to Las Vegas, Kansas City, Chicago, and New York City, in no discernible order, and at the first available opportunity.
   Our Easter trip to the Homeland was very dissatisfying in this regard, since we didn't even take a plane, or ride any of the airport's elevators. (He really likes the glass elevator at the Pittsburgh Airport) And my hometown has about 4 buildings (not counting the college) that even have working elevators in them. So he was waaaaay out of luck there. David was very disappointed in his progenitor but still agreed to let him chauffeur him back to his games. 'We have to get back to the Pittsburgh. He has to go to the mall and the elevators!'  So I wasn't too surprised when he regaled Alexis all Summer with tales of moving to Vegas or Chicago. To which we always replied, 'We'll see.' No, the shocker came when I received a note from School asking, 'Is Alexis from Chicago? And is David moving there?' To which I replied: 'Not unless I can

find a box big enough to send him in.'  Okay, I didn't really send that. But it was awfully tempting. I sent them a note back stating that, while we were moving, we would not be leaving the confines of Beaver County, and that Dave would indeed be in the classroom come Monday morning as scheduled. The only upside to this is that since we've moved he's changed bus ladies and hasn't yet invited the new ones to Vegas. And the old ones don't know where we live, so I don't have to worry about transporting 2 extra people on our non-existent journey to Sin City. That's a load off my mind.
    We will not, repeat, NOT be moving to Chicago, Las Vegas, New York, or Timbuktu.... We will not be traveling to far Tibet to ride the Everest Elevator in the Yeti Shopping Mall and Sherpa Funpark. Hell, we wouldn't even be going to the second floor of the local library.
    The other day Dude and I were grocery shopping after a successful GameStop run. It had been a couple of weeks since he had qualified for a Smiley-Face game and he was quite excited about the whole thing, as a matter of fact he had been creeping me out all morning. Our stairway is enclosed from the living room, with a one-step landing at the bottom. David would periodically lurk (there's no other word for it) just off the landing on the first step, exposing only half his body and one eye to the room. I would occasionally catch a shadow of movement out of the corner of my eye and, slightly startled, would turn to see a familiar hazel orb peering around the corner. I'd roll my eyes and say, 'Not yet David.' and the eye would disappear with a grumble sounding suspiciously like, 'Uhhh, This is what a chick must feel like.' as his footsteps faded upstairs.
    We were nearly finished with our resupply when we were stopped by the mother of one of Alayna's friends. We rarely actually meet, but she's a nice, if somewhat absent-minded lady. Mostly she can't remember our names. I usually let that slide, because half the time I'll be damned if I can remember hers. (My lack of name memory is legendary. I once asked a new acquaintance 3 times in an hour what his name was.... Yep, you guessed it, it was Dave.) As I said, she's a nice woman, but really not prepared for the verbal onslaught that ensued as soon as she started trying to talk to Dave. He immediately broke in with our (?) plan to go to Chicagovegasnewkansascitystan and pillage all the elevators there, and then regaled her with a detailed account about how he qualified for a new game and how he was going to parlay his current 'good boy' status into a dazzling array of Christmas Points and basically corner the market on XBox and 3DS games. Through this whole barrage Linda (I learned her name after I got home) got what I call 'The Look'. It's that ubiquitous combination of facial expression and body posture that comes over people when they first enter Dudeworld. Its symptoms follow: A slightly hunched position, with head cocked slightly to one side, as if listening for some small noise, (which is definitely not Dude), a politely puzzled expression and

frequent furrowed-brow glances in my direction. I used to try hard to ignore 'The Look', I found it more than vaguely insulting, now I hardly notice it at all except to supply a random (but mostly helpful) translation occasionally.
     After a time I noticed Linda's glances becoming a bit more brow-furrowed and more frequent as well. I dipped into the stream of non-stop sound that is my youngest son and supplied, 'He's been on a Vegas/Chicago kick for a while. I guess there just aren't enough elevators in Pittsburgh.' Dave, who I sometimes can't get to pay any attention to what I say without risking an aneurysm or vocal cord blow-out, heard my soft-ish statement over the sound of his own voice (no mean feat) and broke in, 'YES! He's going to Chicago to ALL the elevators with the Christmas Points and Super Mario II for the XBox 360!' And while we were trying to puzzle that one out, 'He gets ALL the Christmas Points for the System (3DS) and the Xbox with Kinect games! Then he goes to the Kansas City next summer to the Airport and the Hotels with the elevators!'
     Okay, I've dealt with David for nearly 2 decades and I was having a problem sorting this one out into something coherent. Linda had absolutely no chance at all. I almost felt sorry for her as she stumbled through her farewell and started moving slowly off in the opposite direction she'd been headed when she found us. 'Bye!' Dave said cheerily, taking no notice of the wreck he'd made of this woman's psyche, 'See you next summer at the Kansas City!' I'm pretty sure she wasn't mumbling to herself when she left, but I can't really be  completely certain. Although I am sure that when we went past the next aisle, where she was pretending to look at paper plates, she did a reasonably good imitation of someone who'd never seen either of us before in her life. Nobody, not even me, is that absent-minded. But Dudes don't care about that sort of thing, so we just continued our Imperial Progress to the checkout and then back to the Dudelair.
   A couple of days later I made something I call Cheaters Lasagna or Short-cut Lasagna, it's a quicker way to get really good lasagna before you actually expire from hunger. Considering Dude's pasta/cheese/sauce dependency it's actually his perfect food, and he loves Lasagna in all it's many and varied forms. Also, with lasagna you get garlic bread, which is a big bonus.
    Now, to my family, meals are as much a social occasion as a chance to refuel, so as often as not the actual eating of the food is drawn out by many interruptions for conversation. David doesn't seem to need to pause in his feeding for talking so he can get it done a lot quicker than the family average. For his meals at home David likes to sit in the dining room, and since the rest of us are TV junkies he's usually sitting in there by himself. He's not isolated or anything, there's a huge entryway between the living and dining rooms and he's only sitting in clear view about 15 feet away from me, he just likes to sit at the table. Well on Lasagna Night

we had more than the usual compliment of eaters in the house and virtually every space in the living room was taken up so I took my food to the dining room and set up shop.
     Shortly after I sat down Dude said something that ended with, '...and he needs to know the Password.' To which I immediately replied, with a steamy, cheesy forkful in my hand, 'The password is Lasagna!' Without a pause Dave returned with , 'Lasagna! Password correct.' Then after a slight pause, to check with the Central Database I assume, 'Password accepted. Table access granted.' Which was a huge relief for me, as I had nowhere else to eat my dinner. Thankfully, when eating with David, one need not hold up any part of a conversation, so I could concentrate on the wonderful food I'd prepared (no kidding, it really was) while Dude, without the need to breathe, (I haven't yet found his gills, but I'm sure he has them) carried both sides and the middle of about 4 different conversations at the same time.
 

Moving Day (Week, Month):

Moving 'Day'... Yeah, right. Remember your last move. Now think about it again. Now dredge up those repressed nightmares and think about it one more time. Did it take one day? No, it fucking well didn't. 4 months of looking at listings. 3 months of viewing houses. 6 weeks of scrambling for stuff and waiting on the title company. 4 days of packing and 2, count 'em, 2 days of shuttling all your stuff from one house to another, then 3 more days going back for the crap you forgot or couldn't fit in any of the other trips. And then months getting everything 'just the way you want it'. Ben Franklin once said, 'Two removes equal one fire.' I can relate. I know he was talking about all the stuff you got rid of because you either; A: Decided you didn't need anymore. B: Found that secret stash of broken crap that you thought you might one day fix, but now have decided to throw away. Or C: Didn't know what the hell you were doing with, or couldn't remember buying in the first place. Or D: Couldn't figure out how you got all this stuff into one house and started flinging crap out the windows for the buzzards to pick over. (Okay, Ben may not have meant 'D') What I'm talking about is the bare fact that I was more than ready to spray lighter fluid over the house, flick a match at it, and then start all over in the new place, and not tell any of my old stuff the new address in case there were any survivors.
    The main problem with that is that you always think of an exception. 'Oh, we can't live without...' whatever it is. Motorcycle, cat, car, TV,... youngest child, it doesn't matter. As soon as you allow one exception to the flames it just opens the door for something else, and then something else, until the only things that seem to actually get throw away end up being your own stuff.
     Dude has been excited about the move, and since we've started making exceptions to the bonfire plan I suppose he's coming with us. Of course he's been telling everyone at school and on the bus that we're going to the 'New house in Chicago'. A clever attempt to save the ruins of his 'Trip to Chicago' plan that he's been trying to gain support for all summer. I've been to Chicago, and it's a wonderful place. I have relatives that have lived there all their lives, and they love it. They seem to like me too, but I'm pretty sure they don't like me well enough to invite us to come live with them. They couldn't afford the GameStop bill.
    So we were doing it the oooooold fashioned way. Planning on years of debt just so we could decide whether or not we could poke holes in the walls to put up our Penguins pictures. (The NHL team, not the bird). David was very excited. It's sometimes difficult to tell why exactly he gets excited, or what he's excited about, being as the new house wasn't coming with a GameFly membership, or a lifetime supply of Mac&Cheese. He seemed to be especially interested in us filling boxes and what we were putting in them. When we explained that we were packing all our stuff so that we could take it to the new house, he made some noises of approval and went about his business. We went back to asking each other, 'Where the hell did this come from?' and diligently writing a description on each box. Even though we knew there was no way we'd ever figure out what was in them without ripping them open anyway. After thinking it over for a time David came to the startling (to us) conclusion that when we said that we were boxing up 'our' stuff, and since we didn't immediately start in his room (where all the really important stuff was) that we weren't intending on taking any of his stuff with us.
   He began hovering around the edges of where ever Raine or I were packing. Which was sometimes difficult because we were rarely in the same room. This seriously cut into his game-time, but he persevered and continued to hover at the edges of our packing.
     After we had packed up enough stuff to start cursing at boxes, but still too early to get a truck, I decided to shuttle everything out to the garage one afternoon right after David came home. So he and I started

carrying boxes out to the garage. He was a really big help, and seemed to be all about getting stuff out of the house and pre-staging it in our outbuilding. He didn't seem at all concerned with the fact that Raine soon wouldn't have any room to park. In fact, the more room we used up the more he seemed to like it. Although for the next couple of days he kept heading for the garage to get into the car instead of heading the curb where it was actually parked.
    After about an hour there were no more filled boxes, so I told Dave that was it and headed for the front room to check... important TV stuff. Dude followed me into the living room and as I started to sit down he said, 'He needs to pack the system and the TV!' I tried to tell him that we weren't actually moving anything yet, just getting ready. He really didn't seem satisfied with the answer, but Dad's butt had already made contact with couch and he knew that was the end, so he grumbled his way back upstairs and that was that.  Or so I thought.
   Dude was very enthusiastic about the move for the next couple of days. Very. Enthusiastic. He had his nose in nearly every box that was packed and he'd cruise periodically through the house to make sure he hadn't missed any. It was almost like a kind of reverse-Christmas. By that I mean, we weren't shopping for new stuff, we were taking stuff we already owned and putting them in boxes, taping them up and took them out of the house, instead of the reverse. But that didn't curb Dude's enthusiasm one bit. I was extolling his excitement to Raine one evening when David was walking through the room, so I said, "Dude! You all ready to move?" Dude doesn't do facetious. He immediately grabbed a DVD rack and started heading for the door.
'Whoa, whoa, whoa!!!' I quickly said, holding out a hand to stop him.'It's not time to load yet.' He got his stubborn look on his face, and took another step with the rack. 'The truck's not even going to be here for 2 more days.'
    'He has to get the System and the Games, and the movies on the truck!' He said, not backing down one bit. Sometimes there's no arguing with a Dude (big or little), so I let him take the racks out to the garage and then back to his room and games he went, with a smile on his face. Just one step closer to 'his' new house and room.
    I've moved several times in my career and one thing has always amazed me. How many 'helpful' people suddenly have 'things' come up when the day actually comes to be helpful. If all the people I've helped move suddenly showed up to one of mine the whole thing would take 15 minutes and I wouldn't have to pick up so much as a toothpick. As it stands it was Yours Truly and Raine's son ended up doing all of the heavy lifting on Sunday, (except for the 4 hour 'lunch' his father took him to) and 'Layne's boyfriend helped me on Tuesday (Monday was paper signing day) and we very nearly stuffed a 24 foot truck. Alexis (my niece) was golden. Not only did she take several loads over to the house with her pickup, but she kept Dude interested and busy once he came home.
   FINALLY it was time for Dude to pack up all the stuff in his room and nothing else mattered but getting that stuff out of the house at once. So he and Alexis immediately brought his boxes out into the garage staging area once they were done packing. Dave doesn't do 'staging areas'. He brought the box with some of his games in it (they wouldn't all fit in one box he could carry. I'm not sure they'd all fit in a box I could carry) and immediately walked out into the alley and started up the ramp into the truck.
     Alexis and Robert stopped him before he could make it all the way up the ramp, telling him it wasn't time for that box to go into the truck yet. He stopped on the ramp, looking stubborn (I think I've seen that face before... in the mirror) and said, 'He has to get the games and the systems into the truck. So they can go to the new house... in Vegas!' (He's been pushing a move to Vegas for a couple of months) (Ain't happening) The two 'meanies' told David to bring the box back into the garage until it was time for them to be loaded. He somehow managed to look both stubborn and dejected as he brought the box back down the ramp and into the garage. I was draining a bottle of water and didn't say anything. Dude put the box down in the middle of the floor and hovered over it, hands fluttering, facing the truck, looking pitiful. It was obvious to me that he was going nowhere until that particular box was safely in the truck.
   'Dude.' I said, once I'd finished my water. 'Why don't you put that box in the truck?' My two other 'minions' (Okay, so I've seen Despicable Me too many times) stared at me with betrayed dumbfounded looks on their faces. I shrugged. 'It was time to put the box in the truck.' Dave didn't wait for any explanation, he lifted the box so quickly I thought it was going to end up in the attic, and the garage doesn't even have an attic. He clomped quickly up the ramp and disappeared into the truck. Some soft banging ensued and the truck, all 12,000 pounds of it, rocked gently for a few moments while he put the box, just so... 3 or 4 times by the sound of it. He emerged with a huge grin on his face and bolted back down the ramp so quickly his knees buckled when he got to the bottom. He then sped back into the house, without waiting for Alexis, to go and get more boxes... his boxes. Then we got back to loading the less important stuff in the truck.
   Then came the moment we all (Dude) were waiting for. The ride in the truck. Robert, Dude, and I all climbed up into the cab, Dude babbling the entire time 'He has to get into the truck to go to the new house, in Vegas!' So off to the new house (still not in Vegas) and as the sky darkened we unloaded several decades worth of 'valuables' into the house. This was to take several hours and much back-bending labor. Since David won't have anything to do with any sentence that starts with or contains the word 'labor' in it and since I'm no rookie with moving or Dudes I immediately sent him to his new, if empty room with his 3DS xl and a carry-case full of games. Soon though, he had bed, dresser, clothes, shelves, systems and games delivered to his room (as any potentate in his new castle would) and all was (basically) right with the (his) world.
   I know there are people somewhere that actually buckle down and organize everything just the way it goes almost before the last box is off the truck. I'm not one of those people,  I don't know any of these people, and I really think they're in need of an exorcism or at least some intense therapy... Thorazine therapy. We got the basics all sorted out, clothes and furniture mostly in the proper rooms, crap we weren't so worried about jammed in the basement and the backyard shed.
    Perhaps not so strangely, the kitchen was mostly sorted out and the couch, the big TV and BluRay were set up in the front room in time for the all important Pizza Delivery. But even several weeks later we're still leaving huge mounds of boxes every Thursday for the garbage men, and still haven't put anything up on the walls yet. So it was a couple of weeks in before I could take advantage of the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace to actually retire a couple of DVD racks into Dude's room.
    'Dude,' I stopped him as he was whipping through the front room, 'do you want some shelves for your games?' (Silly dad, any question with 'games', the answer is yes) 'Yes!' he exclaimed (see? I told you) 'He needs some shelves for the games!' He immediately grabbed the small tower shelf out of my hands and started lugging it up the steps. This from the kid who treats lugging the cat litter like being sentenced to the Chain Gang even though they weigh about the same. He made his grunting way up the stairs and then we heard things being slid and transferred around upstairs. I waited a few moments for him to come back down, and when he didn't immediately reappear I yelled up the steps, 'Dude!' 'Who is it?' Came the reply. I rolled my eyes, 'Do you want the shelves that go with that, or what?' I don't know who his Special Effects people are, but they're good. Dude magically appeared in front of me, saying excitedly, 'Yes! He needs the shelves for the games and DVD's!' I tried not to show how impressed I was with his FX people, 'I think you need 4 shelves with that, right?'  'YES! He needs the 4 shelves to hold the games for the system!' I reached into the appropriate box (it was still on the floor in the front room) gave him the shelves and, poof! he disappeared again. I've got to hire those people for my next party.
    I sat back down on the couch while Raine looked at me suspiciously. She quirked an eyebrow at me. 'You know, with those shelves,' she pointed at the wall, 'we really don't need those 4 towers.'
   'I know.' I said blandly.
   'Dude could use those shelves for his games and actually put books on his bookshelves.'
   'Probably could.' I said in the same tone.
   She looked at me with a certain amount of amused disgust, 'You're terrible, you know that?'
   'I know.' I said, using the same bland tone.
   I waited a certain arbitrary amount of time before 'DUDE!' thundered through the house again. (We did have the house structurally inspected before we moved in)
   Whenever anyone interrupts David by calling him out of his room he acts just like one of those grumpy Lab Guys in the movies. You know, the ones that act as if even the end of the world isn't important enough to interrupt their vital research. He grumps and scowls, and complains then opens his door and asks something

like 'What is it?' in a grumpy voice.
    'You want more shelves for your Games?' 'YES!!' The grumpy-ness magically disappeared. 'He needs more shelves for the Games and the Movies!!' Once again he materialized in front of me. 'Now he'll have more room for more movies and games!' He snatched the tower out of my hands and grunted his way up the stairs again, giving himself advice the whole time. 'Be Careful.' 'Don't scrape the walls.' and 'Don't drop the shelves taking them up to your room.' All spoken with barely suppressed excitement, and an almost exact recital of the advice I'd given him on the first trip. I think he set an Olympic Record in the Snatch and Carry in the DVD rack Division. It wasn't very long before he was back down the stairs saying 'He needs the FOUR shelves for the rack so he can hold the movies and games!' He found me at the bottom of the stairs, holding said shelves out for his retrieval. He then, once again, whisked himself up to the second floor, not to be seen until the next morning.
    One new thing with the new house: We're trying a new policy. It's called the Let Dude Organize his own Room Policy. I put a couple of the big things where I want them, but I never touched those towers once I'd handed them to David. This may have been something of a mistake. So far I've seen them in 4 different places in a 10x12 room with a bed, dresser, long low bookshelf and a 3x3x4 foot oak storage box in it. At least he hasn't asked me to move his dresser out into the hallway... yet.