Not-So Secret Service:

     An incident the other day made me think of my time in Florida as a stagehand.
Dave and I were walking a new (to us) mall. I was there because it was getting to be my usual Christmas Shopping Time, (2 weeks before the day) and, while I had a somewhat limited budget, I really wanted to get something cool and unusual for Suzi,(phrenology bank, Galileo thermometer, et.al) as this was our first Christmas together. As far as Dude was concerned this was just another opportunity to ride the elevators and scout a new GameStop location. Don't get me wrong, he really likes Suzi, but c'mon! 'It's the new elevators at the mall!' (that's a direct quote) He also seemed to be very concerned that the outlets in the Food Court had waaaay too much product laying around and we should, as concerned citizens, you know... help them out.
     To make his point more clearly, Dave was walking slightly ahead, but turned back toward me, so that he was walking 3/4 backwards and not paying any attention to where he was going, or which of the lucky citizens he would wipe out while he tried to make his point. So... we're in one of the larger malls in the KC Metro area, two weeks before Christmas and my none-to coordinated son is walking backwards with even less of a care for public safety than his usual 'none at all'. Nope. No chance of disaster there. So, as many of you might already have figured out, in the midst of trying to convince me of our desperate need for fast food David was inches away from 4-wheeling right over a young lady and her son. Her tiny, pink, 6 month old, cute as a button son. Baby stroller and all. I desperately grabbed the front of Dude's jacket and manually hauled him out of the way. The young lady, froze for a second and then went on about her way with a huge sigh of relief. Completely oblivious to the fact that he almost wiped out 2/3 of a family, Dave paused briefly in irritation and then continued with 'He has to get the pizza at the Food Court.' 'The Food Court is open, remember?' I was very slightly shaken with the implications of the near miss and started in on Dave, 'Dude you have to watch.... forget it.' Because, seriously, this sort of thing happens about every 34 seconds whenever we're out and there's no way he'd understand why mowing down an infant would be any worse than bouncing off the wall. I'm exaggerating a bit, but you get my point.
     While I was thinking about this incident, I realized that my Dude-training had actually been going on longer than I thought.
     When I lived in Florida I worked for a Stagehand labor company. We supplied willing crazy people ( I was pretty mild for that group. Which should tell you something) to the Entertainment industry for all sorts of events; Indoor and Outdoor Concerts, Arena conversions, general stage-equipment set up and removal, conventions of all types and once, cleaning up after Warner Brothers Cartoon Characters on a cruise ship. (I'm not kidding) One of the events we handled was The Herbalife, I Have More Money Than You Do, Pyramid Scheme Millionaire's Convention. (Okay... I was the one that called it that) I don't know how many of you have participated in a Convention before, but they're fairly predictable. Lot's of snoozable Corporate rah-rah, some stirring speeches by the most famous people your company could afford, followed by the best music they could afford with whatever was left over from the Motivational Speakers. Despite being called 'Amway Nazis' by someone that will remain beyond prosecution (probably just who you're thinking) had, at the time, quite a bankroll and quite the need to prop their image up just as high as it could go. Their Entertainment was Ray Charles, and 2 of their 3 Motivational Speakers were (Stormin) Norman  Schwarzkopf, and Barbara Bush.
    The thing about working Entertainment is that, despite their profligate use of money, if you're not actually working the show, they aren't going to feed you so much as a PB&J sammich. So if you've been up since, say 6am and it's now 6pm and you're feeling a mite peckish you are entirely on your own. My friend Tim (Flash) (Don't ask) and I, coincidentally enough, had experienced that very dilemma and were just returning to the Convention Center at the rear of the building from obtaining the necessary grease, carbs and carbonated caffeine to sustain our will to live. Tim was, rather excitedly telling me about... something, to the point that he was walking backwards in front of me to maintain eye contact. So I was the one who noticed that Barbara Bush and her Secret Service escort of 5 walk out of the doors and toward us on the very same walkway. Three things you need to know, 1: Secret Service guys are bad-asses who would die for their charges, but would rather you did instead. 2: They are bad-asses that carry guns that you'd never even know where there until they want you to. And 3: The primary accessory for any well-dressed Stagehand is a backpack of indeterminate origins. Strikingly similar to the standard-issue backpack for, oh... say your average, everyday suicide bomber. Needless to say we had 5 pairs of identical Ray-Ban sunglasses pointed in our direction.

Tim, we hardly knew ya.

     As the two groups drew closer to each other on parallel paths, I kept trying to gain Tim's attention to warn him of the Brooks Brothers-clad danger, but he was not about to be diverted. The Secret Service detail was in 'standard diamond formation' which is, directly in front, behind and off either shoulder of their charge, with the 5th guy behind and to the side, (He's the one with the Uzi) where he has the best view and can see the rest (or, in front and to the side where he can lead the group). As our groups converged the formation began to tighten a bit and the right hands all seemed to settle on their jacket buttons in a synchronized fashion. I'm sure the panicked look rising on my face was interpreted in the worst possible way by the Armed Federal Agents (I can't emphasize that armed part enough) because now the button-hands were, ever so slightly, under the lapels of the suit jackets they all wore. Tim continued on, oblivious to my ever more frantic attempts to warn him of his (and my) growing peril. For a brief second I frantically imagined that Tim was actually part of a plot to kill the former First Lady and I was his unwitting, soon to be tragically dead, unwitting dupe. (I had been reading a lot of Ian Fleming at the time) Naturally, Tim chose the time when the two groups were about to intersect to veer toward 'Babs' and Company. The Secret Service agents didn't like that. No sir, they didn't like that one bit. Hands completely disappeared under jacket flaps, and the 'rover' had his wrist up to his mouth in perfect 'TV FBI guy' fashion. That would be his left wrist, as his right hand was reaching for his Uzi. That's how I know he had one. Not good. As a matter of fact, we were about 3 seconds away from being part of an After Action Report at the local Field Office.
     Luckily for all of us I avoided all that paperwork by grabbing Tim by his backpack strap and physically throwing him about 6 feet to the side, away from the itchy trigger fingers. I quickly spread my arms, hands open, and said, 'Sorry! He's not an assassin! He's just an idiot!' Mrs. Bush actually smiled at that. The Secret Service guys didn't. They evidently practiced not-smiling a lot, because they were very good at it. Their little group never broke stride and they were soon far enough away for me to start breathing again. Tim the Oblivious had missed the whole thing, and had no idea that I'd just saved him from becoming Lead-lined Swiss Cheese and concentrated on the fact that in my adrenaline-fueled panic I'd nearly thrown him completely off the loading dock. (Hey Rocky! Sometimes I don't know my own strength) So, instead of thanking me for not letting him be just another Domestic Terrorist statistic he started after me about his impromptu flight. And naturally, he didn't believe me when I told him that I'd just saved his life and, depending on which Cultural Model we were using, I either owned him, was responsible for anything he did in the future, he had to follow me around until he saved my life or we were now married and I was really hoping that I got to pick which one. Luckily neither of us actually belonged to any of those Cultures and a truck driver walked up and said that Tim should be thanking me for saving his life and I should probably cut down on the Wheaties if I were going to continue saving smaller people's lives by throwing them.
     So, evidently I've been training for this Dude-guard position for longer than I thought. I've always said, kind of flippantly, that he's a Rockstar. Perhaps that wasn't the big joke I always thought it was. Actually, it probably was. And, as usual around Dude when a joke is involved, the joke is on me.
     That's okay, I'm pretty used to that. The only question that remains is: Am I protecting Dude from Everyone Else, or Everyone Else from Dude? If it's the latter, I really need to talk to y'all about a raise. Seriously. I put my life on the line for you guys every day. I think that's worth a little something extra in the pay envelope. Or even just something in a pay envelope. Or any envelope, box, package, or dump truck you care to send to the house...
     Well... it was worth a shot.

Halfway to Vegas:

      There have been many upheavals in the Dudeverse in recent months, I'll probably recount specific stories later, but this is kind of an overview of the whole deal, now that I've finally  used a crowbar on my wallet and gotten internet again.
    For reasons that have nothing to do with Dude, Raine and I decided (several months before the move) that our relationship had come to an end. It was amicable enough that when Jill Mosura (Henceforth called the Evil One) plucked at the sappy, nougatty center of my conscience, and told me I just had to let Dave sing at the opening of the graduation ceremony (unknowingly delaying my departure by at least a month), things were cool enough that I could, in fact, delay my departure.
     But depart, we did, two Dudes and a Psycho Biscuit (Dexter), we temporarily stayed with my oldest son, Tim, his wife Abby, and 3 dogs, Yuki (a Siberian Husky), Skylar (a Malamute), and Sweetness (some sort of 3-legged Terrier), and the Cat.... uh.... Psycho-cookie.   (okay, I'm the only one that called her that) Her real name is Mila. They were very nice about our staying. It gave me time to get to know Abby, and it gave Dave and Tim time to get to know one another as they've mostly lived in different parts of the country for Dude's entire life. It also gave Dude time to get acquainted with Abby's iPad.  Abby, if your iPad is ever missing, I swear I would never take Dude to your house without your knowing about it. And even then, never without a thorough pat-down before we left.
     Dave and I spent several weeks driving into Kansas City to find someplace to live with more bedrooms and fewer dogs (sorry guys), so we would jump on the bike and head the 40+ miles to the far side of KC. Dave used to love riding the bike. We'd jump on it and tool around town, or around the lake and take in the sights, and everything was cool.  It seems Dude's butt is a bit more sensitive than he previously imagined, because every time a ride lasted for longer than 20 minutes I started hearing about it. Do you know that Bikers call the pillion (passenger) seat on a motorcycle the 'bitch seat'? They have their own reasons, which I won't go into here, but I did start hearing a lot of 'bitching' from the backseat after the first 20 minutes of every ride. Also every time thereafter when we had to get back on the bike to continue our day, or even to go back to Tim's house. (and Abby's iPad) It got to the point that whenever we'd leave Tim's house he'd call out, 'Time to get in the Tim's truck!' Even though neither Tim, nor his truck, where anywhere within 10 miles of the house. Somehow his butt remembered the bike. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Smart-Ass'
     I've stated before (endlessly) how much David likes new houses, new doors, and new elevators. But, since most rental homes do not come equipped with elevators, and I have a strict aversion to apartment buildings, the very best he was going to do was 2 out of 3. This didn't deter his enthusiasm for the search one bit (once butt and bike had parted ways). Every house we looked at, and not a few we merely passed by were 'My new house!'. I kept trying to tell him 'We're just looking' and 'Maybe', but he was having none of it. 'We got to get the new house, for the systems!' As a matter of fact, somehow in his mind it became that our new house would come complete with systems and  wifi and it would just be a matter of time before the elevators were installed. I'm not sure how that all came about but more than a few of the nice people who were showing us the properties would be accosted with, 'Does it have the systems?' and 'We get the new house with the Wii and the Playstation 4!!' and 'It's just the Wifi in the new house.' Which only embarrassed me a tiny bit, but confused the hell out of them.
     Every house was 'The New House', and I think he was starting to wonder why his stuff wasn't already there. Even though we were looking at 3-4 houses a day at one point. We were finally looking at a duplex in Southern KCMO (That's Kansas City Missouri, for the non-Midwestern), we had gone through the place, and it wasn't too bad, although the bathroom arrangement was a little odd, when the woman off-handedly mentioned that the 'unit' next door had just recently become available, but hadn't been listed yet. My instincts, honed by years of garage sales, twitched a bit at this, and when she asked if we'd like to see it my response of 'Well, hell yeah.' might have taken her back a bit. But hey, I'd spent the last several weeks roaming hither and yon, and the prospect of seeing another property, A: Without having to scour the interwebs. and 2: Being able to walk to it in under 32 seconds, appealed to me mightily.
    We toured the house, which had slightly larger bedrooms, a huge basement, and a slightly more beneficial arrangement of toilet facilities. I liked it pretty well, and we were talking about rent and deposits and possible move-in dates when I looked around and said, 'Where's David?' Yes, the Least Stealthy Being in the Universe had giving me the slip... again. (that could get embarrassing) Since we were standing by one door and the other was locked, I was reasonably sure that he hadn't taken to wandering the neighborhood to 'board someone else's vessel' like a system stealing game-pirate. After a quick search of the place netted us no Dude, I even checked to make sure all the windows were locked. I wandered the 3 rooms upstairs because that's where I'd seen him heading last,  when I heard scuffling sounds in one of the closets.

My score in the new house debate.

    The closets in this place seemed to come equipped with vague mumbles. Either that, or impatient ghosts that just couldn't wait for us to sign the contract and move in. I tried to open the doors, but Dave had nearly barricaded himself into the closet, he had pushed himself up against the bifold doors so I couldn't open them and he was refusing to come out. I tried calling him out a couple of times but all I got back was, 'It's his new house' and 'Gotta get the systems in the new bedroom'. I guess I was supposed to just get our stuff and he'd wait right there. This put me in a bad position, bargaining-wise. I mean, it's hard to pretend indifference to whether or not you get a house if your youngest offspring won't leave it. The agent is bound to know something is working in her favor if someone is yelling 'It's the new bedroom, with the systems!' from one of the closets upstairs... or anywhere for that matter. As I walked back downstairs toward the, now slightly smug-looking, Rental Agent, I muttered, 'Found him.' and continued our interrupted 'negotiations'. At least he didn't yell, 'Attica! Attica!'. That would have been awkward.
     I finally negotiated the release of the Hostage in the Closet for a minimal fee (steakburgers and fries) and tried to explain to him that you need to have supplies with you before you Occupy in protest. Unless, of course you happen to be in Oregon. I also have to state, for the record, that David did not get the bedroom he so ardently desired. Mostly because that room is now our office and computer room. His bedroom is on the other side of the stairs, next to the bathroom. I do not accede to the demands of terrorists. ... Much
   So, two months after our Interstate Adventure began we had a place to keep our stuff. The problem was that our stuff was in a storage facility 50+ miles away in Topeka. Luckily by this time Tim and Abby wanted us out of the house bad enough to actually help us move. My nephew Brendan's motivations are somewhat more obscure, although it may be cynical to point out that I was in possession of his mother's SUV at the time. There may have been urgent messages flying from the Lone Star State to regain possession of the vehicle, although I have no direct knowledge of them. It is possible, however, that he was just being kind to his only Maternal uncle, which would just be... weird. At any rate, we were deeply grateful for all the help on what turned out to be the hottest day of the year. Although, once his games were loaded into the truck, Dude lost all interest in the whole middle part of the moving process, and sat in the cab of the truck with his 3DS until we were ready to actually go to the house. And once there, lost all interest in it again, once his systems and games were in his new room. Naturally.
     Along with his new digs, Dude has a new co-conspirator in the endless struggle against All That is Dad. Her name is Suzi.  Suzi and I were friends in High School. That doesn't quite cover it (duh), Suzi and I were instantly friends in HS. We never dated each other, we were best friends.  Although the nuns did warn her about the evils of 'corrupting' someone soooo much younger. (She was a Senior, I was a Freshman) They didn't understand. Nothing like that was going on, we were just the only two 'green monkeys' in a world full of brown monkeys. Then, after a short stint at the local college, she had to move on... to Chicago.  We had no further contact until many, many moons later, but during the interregnum between the break-up and the new digs she decided that living with 2 Dudes might not be such a bad idea. (I still have no idea why anyone would volunteer for that).

The Evil Organist Effect on Dexter

     Now they're thick as thieves, sharing 'iPad time' while I'm at work, when Dave's not practicing for the Las Vegas Talent Show on his new keyboard.(I didn't even know there was a Las Vegas Talent Show) He's really good with it. He'll listen to songs and then play the chords on the keyboard until he has it right, then he'll shut off the song and replay the chords and sing it himself. It's really kind of amazing. Of course, sometimes he just plays the scary sounding chords he's learned from some of the classical music he has recorded... and laughs like a villain in a Black and White movie. When this happens, Suzi and I just chuckle nervously and keep doing our thing downstairs... in the living room... away from the mad keyboardist, as the cats head for our bedroom to hide.

The Union Station 'Waiting Hall'

Dave's already found his favorite place to go in KC. It's the Union Station Depot. Which was restored about the time I first moved to Florida, and let me tell you, they did an absolutely wonderful job of it. The ceilings were lovingly repaired and restored and the whole thing shines of old wood, granite floors, mellow brass and early 19th century lighting and hardware. Dave couldn't care less. He's completely indifferent to it all. It doesn't matter to him that the building is over 100 years old (102 this year). He doesn't care about the 95 foot tall Main Hall with its three 3500 pound chandeliers. It doesn't make a damn bit of difference to him that it was the 2nd largest train station in the world when it was built. What matters to most civilized people (him) is that, by my count it has 6 elevators that we've found so far. All completely open to the public (him) to use whenever they damn well please. And that doesn't even count the Link. An elevated, climate-controlled walkway, connected to the side of the station that crosses a busy street, goes down the block, around the corner and crosses yet another street between Union Station and Crown Center that sits catty-corner to it . Not only does it do all this action a serene 15, or so, feet above the sidewalk, it has 4 or 5 access points and all but one of these have elevators. Add to this the 3 story elevator that lifts people from the old Freight House up to an open walkway that connects to the rear of the Station and you have a positive Dude-fest of elevator happiness. Not to mention that the walkway crosses over about 10 tracks, so there's a good chance for a bit of train-spotting while you're up there.

Watching the trains

       So if you ever hear Dude volunteer to go 'take pictures in the city' with the Dude-Dad, let me translate that for you. It actually means, 'Dad needs to take me to Union Station so that we can ride up and down all the elevators in the building, take another elevator to the Link level, walk along the Link, down the first elevator, walk down to the end of the block, take another one back up to the Link walk back to the first elevator, down to street level, across a bridge to the Freight House area, up another elevator, across the open walkway back into Union Station to try to start the entire process over again.' Dude-speak is sometimes a rather compact language.
     So, Midwest America, the Dude-versian Aliens have landed. We've already begun recruiting Dude Robot Slaves (pat. pend) and encouraging your citizens to immigrate (at least temporarily, and at their own expense) to Las Vegas Nevada. Your elevators will be slowly, but irrevocably conquered for the Greater Dude Empire. And your cheese is, of course, immediately forfeit to his greater Mac and Cheese glory. We want you to understand that we come in Peace (but not quiet) and mean you no harm. This is but a stop on the way to the eventual conquering of Las Vegas to be used as the new Capitol in the Greater Dude Empire, but does not reflect negatively on our regard for your lovely, if somewhat parochial, Homeland. After all, you're only halfway to Vegas, it's not your fault.

Do You Want to Go to Vegas?:

 

 It's no secret that David wants to go to Vegas. I'm pretty sure everyone in the Free World, or at least all of Southwestern Pa knows about it. It's a common theme that every 6 minutes there has to be a Sin City reference or the world will come to an end... Or at least the Dudeworld will. Mostly the constant Vegas references are a grind. Every other time his mouth opens: 'It's only Vegas!', 'It's only the Casinos!', 'We have to make it to the elevators in the Casinos.' or: 'You ready for the Slot machines in the Vegas, buddy?' (that's the newest one) I haven't gone a day in the last two or three years without hearing some reference to our proposed Sin City Vacation Destination.
     I actually made a mistake a couple of months ago by telling him he couldn't go into a casino until after he was 21. Now he's convinced we're leaving for Vegas the day after his birthday. I'm pretty sure I said nothing of the sort, and I'm not exactly sure how he worked that out, but his schedule goes something like; Special Olympics Beaver, State Special Olympics, Birthday, Kansas City, Vegas. The rest of his year is kind of fuzzy, but he's very clear on that part. I'm pretty much doomed.
     This sometimes comes out in some strange ways. Anyone who's been anywhere around Dude will know that he incessantly quotes movies, games and sometimes even songs. The other day we were coming out of Target or Wal-Mart, or somewhere, when he started quoting The Lion King. Nothing unusual about that, he recently found his talking storybook CD-ROM collection and that's one of them. I was half listening to the quote when I noticed a certain edit of Muphasa's lines. The quote is supposed to run, 'Simba, let me tell you something my father told me. Look at the stars, the great kings of the past are up there, watching over us.' What I got was;'Simba, let me tell you something my father told me. Look at the stars, the great Kings of Vegas are up there, watching over us.' I was shocked for a second, and then I completely lost it. Laughing so hard I'm sure I was making the people in the parking lot nervous. Then Dave almost started a panic with his, much louder raucous laughing. 

     So there we were, two hysterical Dudes walking across the parking lot, laughing our fool heads off heading into Wal-Mart... nothing unusual there. Hey... I've seen some things at 3am in Wal-Mart

that would curl your nose hairs. If that's the weirdest thing they had happen there that day, they need to give us a medal. And a cheeseburger. Each.

     Dave's fairly magnanimous about going to Vegas, he even has the airline picked out. It's Southwest, by the way, and now every time we go by Pittsburgh International Airport (it's 10 miles south of us) and we see a plane, He points to it and says, 'You know what that is?' The first few times I fell for this I answered, 'It's a plane.' (Oh, foolish Dude-Dad) He immediately jumped on top of that, saying, 'It's the Southwest Airlines.' I peered at the plane and couldn't tell. 'We get on the Southwest Airlines and it takes us to Vegas.' 'Oh lord.' I mumbled and realized too late that a face-palm maneuver probably isn't a good idea at 70 mph. 
     That better be a big frickin plane too, because Dude doesn't think that anyone should, or would want to be, left out of his trip to Vegas. 'Are you ready to go to the Vegas?' is his normal form of greeting if 'Hi buddy, how's it going?' doesn't seem to fit the situation. 'See you in the Vegas.' is what he uses where most people would put, 'goodbye' in a conversation. The whole thing also seems to be becoming more pervasive. Even dinner has been 'Vegas-ed'. 'We have to get the pizza at the Vegas.' or 'They have the Mac&Cheese at the Vegas.' To which I inevitably reply, 'Why don't we just worry about the pizza/Mac&Cheese/cheeseburger in Aliquippa for now?' He always says, 'Yeah', but I don't think his heart is really in it, because the next thing that hits the table, 'Does the Vegas have the ketchup?' I immediately have to assure him of the certainty of his favorite condiment's inclusion in the Haute Cuisine of Sin City, and then I go someplace quiet for a while and lie down.
     Of course Dude, being Dude, isn't satisfied with just one trip to one place. He'll also bring up... other things. Like his, now yearly, trip to State Special Olympics. 'Time to get ready to go to the Penn State! The City Bus is almost here!' The school charters a bus every year to take them to State College. 'He has to go to the Penn State to take the 3DS to record the elevators!' He doesn't ever talk about the events, or the medals, just, 'It's only the Penn State!' or 'It's just the elevators at the Penn State, he has to record with the 3DS!'  And then there's always, 'We have to get to the Western Beaver High School for the Special Olympics!' I usually just put my head down at that point and stay quiet until he goes away. (He never does)

Would you like to go to Vegas, Mr. Bond?

    He's getting a bit more diabolical and intricate in his 'Vegas' campaign. The other day we went to buy him shoes. We have to do this quite often as the way he walks wears down the inside of the heel quite rapidly. When we picked his new shoes, he asked, 'How fast are the shoes?' I, unthinkingly replied, 'As fast as your little feet can make them.' He paused for a minute and then asked, 'Are these the super fast shoes?' Realizing that I had unwittingly found myself in some sort of shoeware cusp moment I replied more firmly, 'Dude, those are turbo booster shoes.' 'YES!!', he shouted, (in the middle of a crowded Wal-Mart that we suddenly had a lot of room in) 'He takes the turbo shoes to the Western Beaver, to run in the Special Olympics and goes really fast!' What could I do? I said, intensely, 'Yes!' and we went about the rest of our business. Dave wouldn't let the 'Turbo Shoes' out of his grasp and almost snatched them from the checkout girl before she could ring them up.
     When we got home, I told Raine, 'Ask him about his shoes.' She did, and he was off... 'He has the super fast Turbo Shoes! And he wears them in the race at the Beaver Valley High School and he goes really fast!!' She looked at me in confusion and I just shrugged and said, 'They're Turbo Shoes.' and shrugged, as if that explained everything. I was wrong. 'Turbo Shoes' explained many things, but I was to learn what 'everything' really was.
     During the course of the day Dave would often repeat his new 'Turbo Shoes' mantra. But by the time I was tying them on his feet to get them ready for school, I learned that Penn State was also to be conquered by the mighty Turbo Shoes. As this was not only a natural progression, it was also completely expected. It didn't startle me at all when I heard, during his shower, 'He uses the Turbo Shoes to go fast in the raced, and win the medals at the Penn State.' As a matter of fact I portentously intoned, 'It will be so.' Then the bomb dropped, 'And then after Penn State we take the Turbo Shoes to Vegas and the Casinos.' Dude-Dad, ever on top of this sort of thing, said, 'Huh?' He leaned in, ingratiatingly, with that Used-Car salesman look on his face, and said, 'It's only the slot machines at the Vegas.' I cocked an eyebrow at him sternly. 'He takes the Turbo Shoes to the Vegas?' He said, with a smile. Obviously falling back I said, 'Why don't we worry about the shower in Aliquippa first?' He laughed and said, 'Yeah.' And we went back to shower things. 
     Why not? He could afford to be magnanimous. In the holding-action that is our Vegas War, he had obviously won this skirmish, hands down. I did the only thing I could do, as a defeated Dad/General. I rallied my troops and sent the opposing forces to bed. I may not have won the battle, but at least I was holding the field at the end of it.... Or at least the towel. Either that, or I'm just the towel boy at the Dude-spa.... yeah.... that's probably it. I wonder what kind of job I can get with that on my resume'? 

  

Are You Sick?:

 In all the annals of history there has never been an epic tale of such magnitude. Never has one man, so incredibly intelligent, been bamboozled so thoroughly.  Read on if you dare.

     In the normal course of events Dave doesn't tell me that he's not feeling well very often. I have to pick up on the clues. Falling asleep early, doesn't finish his dinner (big clue), a lack of energy, or he doesn't want to go anywhere. If he ever doesn't want to play his games, I'm just going to build a box and dig a hole. Now once I've noticed one of the 'unhealthy indicators' it's my job at that point to ask the question, 'Are you okay?' Now I can't always trust the answer he gives, which varies from 'Yeah, I fine' to 'We have to go to the hospital building'. I have to listen to the tone and the energy in his response to judge his relative health. And once I've done that, there's the definitive test. Time hallowed and used by generations of professional parents throughout the world. I put my palm on his forehead and then the back of my hand on his neck below the ear. It's a nearly foolproof system, depending on the fool who's using it, especially when that fool's battery powered thermometer's batteries have ceased to function and he can't find his mercury thermometer.
     So, one Sunday, when I went to get David for dinner, he was rubbing his eyes and looking as if he'd just woken up and then, when he didn't finish his corn-dog nuggets and cheese Pizza Rolls (Both on the list of Ranch-dipping favorites) I started to get concerned. I immediately administered the Palm Test and there was a bit of extra warmth there. I asked him if he was okay, and he said, 'He has to go to the Doctor, and can't go to school tomorrow.' I just said, 'We'll see.' and sent him off to his room. The weather was kind of dicey that night, so I figured on a 2-hour delay in the morning to give me a little extra time to make up my mind.
     Such was not to be, however. The promised snow and freezing temperatures didn't happen until well after school started the next morning. So, with a brain fueled on 5 hours of sleep (there was a really good late movie) I took a bleary look at my Kindle at 6 am, flicked it to the local news station site, and, when I noticed there was to be no delay, with my un-caffeinated brain I decided that I would, indeed take Dude to the doctor. I remembered to text my boss and tell him I would be late, and why, but forgot to tell either Raine or Dude that I was sticking around or the reason. So when I once again opened my bleary eyes it was nearly the time the bus would already be there and I hadn't called to tell them what I was doing either so I didn't even have time to check Dude again before they showed up. The upside was, that still gave me plenty of time to get Dave and I dressed and to his doctor's walk-in clinic shortly after it opened.
     Dave was suspiciously energetic when we got to the doctor's office, but mostly that could be due to his general excitement about going to the doctor. It's kind of twisted, but in his mind, the Doctor's office is the first step to going to the Hospital, and that's where the Hospital Elevators are. And since we no longer have any reason to go visit anyone at a hospital I think he figures that's his only route to get to them. It's one of those things you almost have to be a Dude to understand. At any rate we were seen fairly quickly, and when the doctor started asking me questions it hit me that we were there on very slim evidence. I shot a look over at David sitting merrily on the exam table, kicking his feet and babbling about something, and then turned to the doc with an embarrassed look on my face. Trained

by hordes of no doubt hysterical parents Dr. Dan (I think), through a series of questions and responses to my answers, seemed to be pushing the idea that there was little he could do. As the interrogation went on, I assured Dr. Dan that I understood that there was, indeed, little to be diagnosed from a patient with no symptoms.
     You see, it had just occurred to me that I'd been had. Completely and totally had. Which makes twice in the last month that I'd fallen for one of his schemes. Much more of this and I'd have to turn in my All-Knowing-Dude-Dad card. He'd engineered the whole thing, starting the night before. He'd come down stairs to dinner, rubbing his eyes as if he were suffering from a lack of sleep. He had then strategically left 3, count them 3 pizza rolls on his plate and said he was done. I hadn't taken any special note of the fact that he had cleaned out his little dip-bowl of ranch dressing. As to the warmth I felt when I checked his temperature, that was completely my own fault. I had been holding my Kindle, reading a book before I checked him and my hands must have been a little cold when I'd done it. So, I had come late to the Smart-Party, but I was catching up fast.
     We left the doctor's office and walked to the car, with the Mini-Anarchist cheerily babbling away. Certain in his belief that we were headed home, he even asked if we were going to stop at McDonalds on the way! Shadows started to cloud his cheery day three blocks later when we made the right turn to go up the hill to school. As we got closer and closer to the school the passenger seat of the car got quieter and quieter for some strange reason. Another thing the little chiseler hadn't counted on was that when the doctor sees us in good time we actually get to school before they start letting the buses unload. So, not only didn't he get to stay home, he actually got to school before any of his bus-mates. I guess Poetic Justice isn't just a band name any more.

     When it came time to put down his system and get out of the car all I heard was 'NOOOOOOOOOOO!'  Actually, the lady directing the buses at the other end of the parking lot probably heard it. Then when we were walking in the (open) door, he grabbed the edge of the door firmly and shook as if some invisible force were trying to propel him into the Jaws of Doom. Which was a pretty apt description if Dad's authority was the invisible force and the Jaws of Doom was the school. That's what I thought when I was a student anyway. When we went to the office he further declared his reluctance to go to class; When the secretary asked, 'Are you signing him in?' Dave said, 'No! He's going home with the games and the McDonalds' Everyone laughed. Except me. I knew he was dead serious and didn't want anything to do with that school. He had followed all the steps and had been cheated out of his sick day, and he was pissed. I signed him in and then peeled him off the door frame and walked him to his class.
     When we finally made it to his classroom I walked a couple of steps inside the door, but Dave was having none of it. He walked straight for the edge of the outward opening door and held on to both sides as if he were expecting a tornado to whisk down the hallway and propel him into the room. He was getting fairly agitated at this point, talking loudly and hanging on to the door for dear life. Then a HUGE dramatic scene ensued. All about bank vaults (?) and police being called and going to jail. I think there was even something in there about a ship sinking. I can't really be sure. But he was for certain he didn't want anything to do with the aftermath of his plan falling apart. I can't really blame him. After all, I kind of cheated, at least in his eyes. I hadn't brought along, or even gone back for, his school backpack. Without the backpack school does not exist. We finally got him talked down and in class, though Ms. Yarosz, who wasn't there at the time, e-mailed me later to tell me that it took some time for him to calm down enough to actually participate in the class.
     So who cares that the Villain (me) won out this time over the intrepid hero? We all know how this

turns out in the end. We've all seen enough James Bond or Jackie Chan movies to write the script. The Evil Overlord (me again) sits chuckling in his Mountain Lair (suburban house), pets his Evil Cat (Dexter), chuckling at his victory over Our Hero (Dude) after sending him to his Doom (school). Just when he thinks victory is in his evil clutches, Our Hero (Dude) breaks away and gets free with all the cheese. Or something like that. I wonder if we could get a movie deal?

Double Naught Spy:

    All week David bugged me about what he wanted to do with his 'Game-Points'. Even on Monday he was already planning to get 5 good notes and already knew exactly what he wanted to do with them. (More on that later) He wanted me to 'Take him to CD Warehouse in Boardman to get the Paper Mario for the Nintendo Game Cube.' ..... Uh huh.
    Okay. Three different 'hiccups' present themselves here. Firstly:
     Pre-planning: I have a bit of a problem with the fact that he already knows that he was going to get 5 good notes. Which, to me, indicates some premeditated control over his actions when he wants to. It's the premeditated planning I have a problem with. It pretty much tells me that he could be good whenever he wanted to be and therefore implies a certain decision about being bad all those times he didn't get good notes. It's worthy of noting, however, that decision also keeps me from becoming completely destitute from buying metric tons of games every year. So I'm really torn about complaining too much about that one.
     CD Warehouse:  CD Warehouse is a company that buys used movies and games and then resells them at a modest mark-up. I love this idea. As a matter of fact, almost half of my extensive movie collection came from CD Warehouse or like businesses. The problem? That particular store is no longer a CD Warehouse. In fact, CD Warehouse no longer has a store in Boardman Ohio, or anywhere else in Ohio for that matter. My son, who can tell you how to get to any GameStop in the Tri-State Area hasn't adjusted to the fact that BuyBacks is the name that particular store has had for the last 4 years. 4 or so times a year we've gone into that building, and every time I've got to tell him that it's BuyBacks, not CD Warehouse. He can take correction on a mispronounced game title in a heartbeat, but Stores are forever. I really think that may just be a 'growing up in Pittsburgh' thing. I'm only now getting to the point that I know where 'stuff used to be' enough that I can take driving directions from the natives.
     Specific Game: This is a two-parter. Firstly I'm almost dead certain that Paper Mario didn't come out until well after the Game Cube was no longer a viable gaming system. I'm willing to admit my specific ignorance on the matter, but it seems to me that PM is a fairly recent game, mostly for the 3DS system and was never written for the Game Cube platform. Secondly, it's been a couple of months since the last time we were there. How the hell would he know that specific game is there at all? Was there a disturbance in the Mario Force? What sort of Game Jedi-mind-powers is my son actually employing? Does his brain get Game-Alerts the same way I get Penguins updates on my phone? Is there actually an App for that?
     Despite my misgivings and the 50 mile distance, when Saturday came away Dude and I went. Since it seems to be traditional, David was telling Raine that she should 'remain here' and 'You can find us at the CD Warehouse in Boardman' when she'd already said goodbye and closed the front door to go back to the couch.

     I have to admit that I left a part out when I told Dude of our trip. The part where we stopped on the way so that I could take some pictures of the completely frozen Buttermilk Falls. I had been up there the week before taking pictures when it was only mostly frozen, and I was curious about how it looked a week later. Dave is monumentally indifferent to Nature in all it's Wonder and Glory, and he's less than pleased whenever I come up with anything that gets in the way of his game conquest that doesn't involve cheese or Ranch dressing. He especially doesn't like when the camera gets involved, because he knows that whatever we're doing it's not only going to involve walking and probably nature, it's going to take quite some time. I'm pretty sure he's hidden my camera a couple of times. He was pretty good about it, at least at the beginning. We got out in the parking lot, with Dave only inviting one family to Vegas this summer, and made our way to the falls, stopping 3 times along the fairly short path to take pictures.

    Dave is kind of funny about some things. He's fairly good at picking out motivations, but absolutely terrible about understanding when I want him to bring me my sneaks. He'll bring me his boots, the wrong shoes or just stand there looking at our shoe rack and just not understand which ones my tennis shoes are. He can however, without anyone actually telling him, grasp the objective of just

about any trip, and pick up on just when we've reached that juncture. That's just when he inserts his own agenda. Now, if he would wait until the activity were complete, he would be golden, but such is not ever to be with Dude. Just as soon as we'd reached the falls, which were entirely encased in ice, he started pushing his own agenda, 'Now we can go to the GameStop in the Boardman and then get the lunch.' I just gave him the 'Dad Stare' (pat pend) That dead-eyed, one brow raised, 'you're kidding me' look that your mother gave you when you asked for desert before dinner was started. Again.
   Needless to say, the objections of the minor-partner in this endeavor were summarily ignored. Ice falls were pictured and Dude-photos were snapped as well. Of course, once I was done the only thing that kept him from galloping back to the car like a gazelle chased by a cheetah was the fact that the path was entirely covered in snow and ice. With several 'Woah! Careful! It's slippery here's and a couple of actual Ice-Capades moments we made it safely back to the car and were on our way.
     I've said it before, but Dave is actually a fairly good car-companion. He generally plugs himself in to his system and tunes out the world, but even when he doesn't he's pretty good in a car. So, half and hour and a sing-along 'Bad to the Bone' moment later and we were opening the doors of 'CDWarehouse'. (BuyBacks) This is where my son's Game-Jedi mind skills would be put to the test. He failed that test miserably. Not even close. Not only didn't BuyBacks have the game he was looking for, but neither BB or the GameStop next door had the game he wanted. As a matter of fact, neither place had any Game Cube games. None. Not one. I was beginning to doubt my son's Game-Jedi powers.

We wandered both places looking for a substitute game. Because there was no way I was going to drive that far and have to listen to Dude whining all the way home about not getting a game. Once we'd purchased the non-Paper Mario game, however the true nature of our trip became readily apparent. As soon as we'd started walking toward the door of the GameStop I heard, 'Now we can have luch at that Golden Corral and get the buffet and the Macaroni and Cheese.' Mystery solved. The fact that I didn't even know there was a mystery is only a tribute to the Puppet Master cunning of my opponent. I was played so well, I couldn't even complain that there were closer buffets to my house than the one in the neighboring state. He left me no where to go. He's just that good.
     Dave's obsession with all things cheesy is known far and wide throughout the land. A big part of this lactic OCD takes place in buffet style restaurants where the Mac and Cheese is, well... endless. He often asks/tells me to take him to a particular buffet, which I generally ignore because they're nowhere near where we are going. So my son, fueled no doubt by 007 villain's nefarious schemes, had completely and totally played me with the 'Paper Mario' scam. It was all just a ploy to get to the Golden Corral buffet's Mac and Cheesy goodness. And he got me, I admit it. I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Like any unwitting hero in an adventure-comedy I stumbled through, unwitting and unknowing and ended up right where the Supervillain wanted me to be. In line to pay for 2 buffet lunches half a hundred miles away from home.

   One thing about taking David to a buffet. You're going to get your money's worth. He ate two generously loaded plates and then about a third of each of my, not quite so full, plates, given to him to keep him busy while I replenished his supplies. He also killed a pretty good sized helping of cottage cheese and ranch. Okay. Foodies, food-purists and those with squeamish stomachs should skip this part. I got Dave started on something he's decided he loves very much. For years I've been putting salad dressing on cottage cheese, so Dude started eating cottage cheese with dressing. Dave likes it because it tastes just like you're eating a big bowl of Ranch dressing. Which he approves of.
    So, we drove the 50 miles back home with the 'wrong' game. But I have the feeling that Dude got the thing he actually wanted on that trip.

Are you Here?:

     After more than a year and a half, my niece, Alexis is leaving us. I think the noise that is Dude

finally just ran her out. Not really, but whenever possible I try to blame stuff on Dude. He doesn't care, and who knows? Some of it could actually be his fault.... No, probably not.
   Anyway, Alex is leaving, a situation that Dude has no real concept of. To illustrate: Alexis is often leaving about the same time that Dave is waiting for, or Raine is putting him on the bus. This happens several times every week. Since she works quite some distance from the house, and she sometimes works a bit later than strictly necessary she often gets home well after the time Dude has already eaten and has lost himself in GameLand. He acts shocked almost every time he finally sees her. Often gushing over the fact that she's managed to find the house yet again, and hugging her like he only makes the reunions once every 20 years or so. I know she's not from here, but after the first time, I pretty much figured she had it down. Dave takes nothing for granted though, and is surprised every time.
     One of the few times we were out of the house when Alex got home, we walked in and by the time I got in the house Dave was already hugging her. Hanging all over her neck and saying, 'Alex! It's been so long since we've seen you!' She smiled. 'You made it! It's so good to see you again!' Alexis laughed and looked at me. I shrugged, 'It's almost like he didn't just see you 12 hours ago.' She laughed again, 'I know, right?' Of course, once it had been established that this was indeed his cousin and that she hadn't somehow been substituted by Pod People from the Planet Mars, or at least one of his other cousins, (pretty much the same thing) he completely ignored her for the rest of the night.

You see, Dave sometimes condenses his affection and worry and then gets it all out at once in a waterfall of emotion, and once it's used up... that's it. You're done. Next!
     Other times, it's as if he can't be bothered to check with his senses what's actually going on right at that moment. Most of the time when we leave the house it's just he and I, and he'll stop at the door, shoot out an open palm toward Raine, 'You stay here! We'll be right back.' Not that he's trying to confine her to the house... No one has to do that, she could be under house arrest and never know the difference. He forges ahead anyway, 'You can find us at the Game Store!'  She stares back at him in sweat pants, slippers and sleep shirt, obviously (to anyone but a Dude) not planning on going anywhere. She just raises an eyebrow and flatly states, 'Okay then... I'll just stay right here.' Of course by this time David's trying to shove his slow father into the car, so I'm not even sure if he hears her.
     And then there are times when he is exactly on point. When he's even more observant and in the moment than anyone around him. I'm not exactly setting any standards for observational awareness, but I can't count the times David has brought me up short. Once we went to a department store called Boscoff's at the mall. Now we've been to the mall and that store any number of times. I've been upstairs and downstairs and to every corner of both floors. It's a pretty good sized, but I was pretty

sure I'd been to every corner of the place at one time or another. I was not correct. As we were walking toward the store, Dude said, 'We'll go into the Boscoff's and take the elevator to the second floor!' 'Escalator' I said, automatically. 'He takes the Elevator.' He stated emphatically. 'Dave,' I explained patiently, 'There's no elevator in Boscoff's. We're taking the Escalator.' He looked at me earnestly and almost pleaded, 'It's only the elevators, around the corner... in the (something) Department.' 'Dave,' I said, flatly, concentrating on whatever silly crap I was there to pick up, 'we're taking the escalators and that's it.' Me? Stubborn? Nah!
      And so we went in and used the escalator. Damn it! Although he did seem to be a bit reluctant to follow me when we first entered the store, but we went upstairs and fruitlessly searched for whatever it was that I wanted, listening to him bitch about the elevator the whole time. 'It's just the elevators.' and, 'He uses the elevators for the Field Trip for the Beaver Valley Mall!' I looked at him darkly, still secure in my knowledge that there were no elevators in Boscoff's! We then wandered around the store for a minute or two and then when it was time to leave, and after 15 minutes or so of deranged rambling, I finally said, 'Okay, time to go. Lead us then to these elevators of which you speak so well.' (yes... I actually do speak like that occasionally. Dave's not the only Drama Dude) Dave shot through the length of the store, dragging his large parent with him, directly to the little 4 person elevator underneath a discrete, but quite large, lit up neon sign which read elevator Elevator in 1 foot high, bright blue letters. I mean, what were they trying to do? Hide it? If they wanted anyone to find it, why did they hide it under all that glowing neon? I mean, c'mon! What do they think we are? Bloodhounds? 
     Two weeks before Christmas Alexis moved to live with some friends in Cali. It's a week after Christmas and Dave still mentions that 'He has to wait for the Alex before he locks the door.' or 'When Alex gets home..... ' It's sometimes (always) hard to tell what he will and will not pay attention to... unless it has cheese on it. He always pays attention to cheese. Or Ranch Dressing... that'll get his attention. So I guess all I have to do is... no. That's just too silly to contemplate. There's no way I'm going to carry Ranch and Cheese wherever I go just to get his attention.

It's Just a Christmas Show:

 
    About 3 weeks before it actually happened, on the second to the last day of Dude's Thanksgiving vacation, I was sitting at my computer not paying much attention to anything when Dave came downstairs and stood behind me. I thought he was there to exchange the movie he'd been watching for a new one. Boy was I wrong. When he'd been standing behind me for a few moments I turned slightly, looked up and said, 'What's up, buddy?' He sort of looked at me and said, 'It's just the Christmas Talent Show, on December 18th! The school is open so all of the parents will be there. Parents are authorized to be at the New Horizon for the Talent show.' He put his hand on my shoulder and spoke softly. 'Are we going to be at the Talent Show at the school on December 18th?' He waited a beat, but I was laughing too hard to answer. 'I love you, Dad' He said in that soft butter-up voice he uses sometimes. 'I love you too, Dude' I managed to choke out. He was persistent, I'll give him that, 'Are we going to be at the Talent Show?' (Translation: Are you going to be at the talent show? Dave has a problem with pronouns). I shook my head, still laughing as I hugged his waist (I was still sitting down), 'Yes, David. We'll be going to the talent show.' 'Okay! Meet you at the Empire State Building on the 86th floor!'
     This is his latest Big Trip Ploy. Someone at school introduced him to a pamphlet about the Empire State Building. He was very excited when he brought it home and made a special effort to point out that the elevators went up to the 86th floor observatory. And that we should, at our (his) earliest convenience make our way to this paragon of tourist activity. Yeah... good luck with that, kid.
      Of course along with The Christmas Show, and plans of Empire State observatories, 'tis the season of Christmas Points. Something I had not considered is that decorating is the inaugural event of the Christmas season. Specifically the tree. Dave isn't concerned with the religious aspects of the holiday, the symbolism of the tree, or the ornaments. The twinkling lights are cool-ish and green is an okay color, but that doesn't enter into the equation either. The main and sole purpose of the tree is to provide a space and a center for the most important, or actually only reason for the holiday. Because

until that manufactured representation of a blue spruce pine is erected there is no place for presents. It is the visible representation of what he's accumulating all those (millions of) Christmas Points for.
     And once again, those Points are accumulating at an astonishing rate. One Monday (the first Christmas Points day of the week) Dave informed me that he had somehow managed to obtain 500 Christmas Points in that one day. I refrained from asking if the Christmas Points Police were going to be knocking at the door. Well we didn't get a visit from the CPP, but Dave decided how he wanted to cash in on the seething horde of Points he had... He wanted a new PS4. It's the same thing when he brings yet another $4.00 check for 2 weeks at BCRC and he decides he has enough to afford a PS4. I love my son... I really do, but plonking down nearly a week's pay for the 5th gaming system on his floor is something I have a bit of a problem with. Mostly because that just makes one more different system I'd have to buy games for...
    Two weeks before the show he gets a (mostly) random call from his mother. I've never been able or interested enough to determine how she schedules these calls. We talked briefly and then I handed the phone to Dude. After a very short exchange he asks, 'Are you ready to go to Vegas?' Which is pretty much standard fare with him. She replied with something, and I guess it must have been the wrong thing because he quickly said, 'Only Dad's can go to Vegas.' and while she was replying he hung up on her! I stood there stunned and automatically held my hand out for my phone as he handed it back. I looked at him for a second and said, 'Yeah. 'Cause Dad's are cool like that.' As I turned to head out of his room he asked me, 'Is Dad ready to go to Vegas?' (Okay Dad, how cool are you? Really. I looked my youngest son in the eye (I'm about the only one he'll make eye contact with) and said, 'We'll see.'  'Yes!' He crowed, 'He gets to go to the Vegas with the new games and the Christmas Points!' Uh.... yeah... Not sure you can trade them in for that.
    Slooooooowly we edged ever closer to the Show. One thing I didn't quite realize when I'd agreed to the whole thing is that the show would be during school hours. Yeah.... missed that when he said that, too. 'Parents are authorized to be at the New Horizons for the Talent Show'. I didn't initially understand that he meant that literally. Like most schools, to gain entry to NH you have to be authorized by someone in the office to enter. So parents would have to be authorized to enter to watch the show. And parents who weren't bright enough to pick up on the am start time would have to scramble to get permission from their employer to be at the show..... Yes... that would be me. Luckily for me my bosses are pretty indulgent when it comes to Dudestuff. They'd better be, because there's a lot of Dudestuff...
   The night before the Big Show, Dave lurked a bit more than usual. Actually, most of the time he leaves a vapor trail upstairs once dinner is done, but he waited and waited for me to notice that he was hovering. I may have made mention, at one time or another, that Dude is the Least Stealthy Being in the Universe. Going right along with that is his complete lack of unobtrusiveness. He could obtrusive for Gold at the Olympics and take the Bronze for Obvious. So, it wasn't his Ninja like skills (he doesn't have any) that kept me from acknowledging his skulking somewhat closer to me than the shirt that I was wearing. It was just pure Dude-Dad meanness. He finally edged so close to me we were practically in the same chair and said, 'Is he going to the New Horizons and the Talent Show?'
He twitched a half-step closer, which should have been physically impossible, 'Is he going to be there at 9:30, to watch the Talent Show? Parents are authorized to be at the school.' I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. 'It's only the Talent Show.' he said somewhat defensively. 'All parents are authorized to be at the school at 9:30 to watch the Christmas Show.'

    You can't tell the players without a program. Dave was actually trying to make sure that I was going to be at the Show. I put his fears to rest. 'Yes, David, I'll be going to the New Horizons to watch the Christmas Show.' (I've got to watch that. I'm starting to talk like him.) 'YES!!' He crowed. 'And after the Christmas show, we can go to the EMPIRE STATE BUILDING, and ride the elevators to the 86th floor observatory! With the Christmas Points!' My mind takes sudden left turns occasionally, which comes in handy when dealing with Dude. 'Just how many Christmas Points do you have?' He looked at me with a steady eye and in a firm voice said, 'FIVE BILLION Christmas Points!' That's 'Billion' with a 'B'. I was a bit stunned, to say the least. How could this dramatic escalation of Christmas Points have taken place without my noticing it? Dave did not wait for official validation of the Points, he just turned and went upstairs.
     I know my son is actually a Rock Star and I'm his chief Roadie, but I didn't understand that I was also his limo driver. Okay... I know I'm his limo driver, I just didn't realize fully what that meant. The morning of the Christmas show I woke David up to get ready for school. He was really excited. So excited that he was downstairs in record time. I wondered about that for a moment, looking at him sitting there in his coat, with his shoes and socks on. Then I looked a little closer and realized that he was still in his sleeping clothes! I sent him directly back to his room to change, and... once again when he came back down in his jeans but the wrong shirt. Once he was actually dressed for school he grabbed his 3DS and headphones and sat on the end of the couch. Just as if we were getting ready for a road trip. 'What are you doing?' I asked him, 'You can't take the System on the bus.' 'No bus today!' he returned firmly. 'Uh... what?' I reviewed my spotty knowledge of the notes that were sent home. There was no mention of me chauffeuring the 'Superstar' to his gig. 'You put that away, you're taking the bus to school!' I said firmly. He reluctantly put his game away, but by the time he'd turned he decided to take a different tack. 'Dad can drive him to the Christmas Show and as when it's over, to the Empire State Building and the elevators to the 86th floor!'
     So... let me get this straight. I'm supposed to let Dave hang around the house an extra hour, ditching school, and then limo him to the gig, and then once the show is over, pile him and his stuff into the car and drive 300+ miles to my least favorite city in the country and then take him up an elevator 86 floors just so he can record it? Yeah... Pretty sure that ain't happening... like, ever. He went to school on the bus. I'm sure he was very disappointed, but I'm the only Roadie he knows, so he's stuck with me.
   NH, as in most schools I've been to recently has a buzzer system to gain entry to the school itself. When I get to the school, there's a nice lady (whom I don't know) by the automatic doors letting people in and directing them to the office to sign in and get name tags. As Alexis and I walked toward the office a very frazzled looking Ashley came darting down the hall. 'Oh good, oh good, oh good, oh good, you're here!' I didn't know what was going on, but it was evidently.... good. 'I wasn't sure you'd be able to come.' When she'd first seen me at the Talent Show, she was paranoid about whether or not I'd remembered my camera, so I slid my camera sling around so that she could see that I had it without her having to ask. 'Oh good! You brought it!' Then she grinned like the pixie she resembled and started off while saying gleefully, 'You're gonna love this, he's gonna be soooo good!' As I watched her leave, I thought that at least it wasn't the 'You're gonna be so proud!' thing I got from everyone at the Talent Show.
     Alexis and I waiting in line in the office to sign in and get our name tags, and I told her that Dude had already made me such a known man in that school, that I didn't need a name tag. She thought I was just joking until we had reached the front of the line, and the secretary already had my name on a sticker and was trying to hand it to me before I'd even signed the book. She, on the other hand, had to tell her her name twice and wait for the known person behind her to get his before she got her sticker. To further prove my point, 3 more people stopped me in the hallway, calling me by name (I had almost no idea who they were) to tell me 'He's going to be soooo good!' Do they get together to choose 'The Phrase of the Dudes' every morning, or what? The five or so other people that I stopped and talked to before the show all said the exact same thing, including the guy I'd startled the crap out of at the Talent show by yelling at David, was seated in front of us again, and once again he'd parroted the 'He's going to be soooo good!' line of the day. These people know their lines. I'm starting to have 'Truman' moments, you know, where I look for the cameras hidden wherever I go.
     Once again we were waiting in the cafeteria spaces for the show to start, and again, we were

trudging through cute kids doing cute things waiting for the Star of the Show to make his appearance. Only this time the show wasn't quite as polished, and we didn't have any programs. But, like I said, the kids were cute, so we didn't mind waiting all that much. As the show went on I suspected more and more that Jill Mosura, a big fan of the Dudeness, had put David in the final act of the show. So in Roadie parlance he was the 'Headliner' or main act of the show. I shook my head and told Alexis my suspicions, adding, 'He's going to be impossible to live with now.' Which was a lie... he's always been impossible to live with.
     Sure enough, the very last act of the show saw my youngest child walk downstage center, with a spotlight and a mic of his very own just like the Rock Star that he is and a chorus of about 20 behind him. The music started and he began singing 'So This is Christmas' and everyone went 'Awwwww!'. And I agreed, it was soooo good, just like everyone told me it was. Now at the end of that particular

John Lennon song, the refrain is repeated several times with a pause between each one. During that first pause Dave yelled into the microphone, 'Okay! Now everybody sing it!' and went on to repeat the refrain. I think that thing repeats 5 or 6 times and between each one Dude tried to encourage the audience to sing along, waving his arms and shouting, 'Okay now, one more time!' Which was cute... even after he'd done it for the third time. I was laughing so much I couldn't even take pictures of his wild gestures to the crowd. Once again he made his triumphal march down the center aisle (I'm not sure if this one was planned) accepting his accolades and high-fiving the crowd as he went. Throughout the entire show Dave had tracked me and my camera as we roamed the crowd shooting pictures. So he made a beeline toward me as soon as he shook off his fans. We hugged (which he very rarely volunteers to do) and I was telling him what a good job he'd done when he said, 'Yes! It's after the Christmas Show, is he ready to go to the Empire State and the elevators to the 86th floor and the Observatory?' So he wasn't hugging his Dad, just his chauffeur/roadie.
     After he moved on to his dressing room (you know, the one with the big star on it) I made my way through the edge of the crowd to see Jill and tell her what a great job she'd done. On the way I was

stopped 3 or 5 times by aides and teachers so they could express their delight in David's performance. I may have muttered 'hambone' a few more times than was strictly necessary, but I made sure they knew I appreciated their appreciation. Before I'd made it to Jill, Ashley stopped me and started (at high speed) telling me how wonderful she thought Dave had done, and how great it was that she finally got to work with him again in a classroom. She was using up so much of the available oxygen all I could do was smile and nod. She stopped suddenly after she'd said, 'I can't believe this is his last year....' She looked up at me, mournfully, and said 'This is his last year!.... what am I going to do next year?' She repeated several variations of this, and her eyes started to well up as she stared off into space. Honestly, I was a bit unnerved. I hurriedly, if flippantly told her that I'd randomly waylay a bus and send him to school occasionally. She smiled and chuckled, and then we moved apart.
    I finally made it to Jill and gave her a big hug, thanking her and telling her what a wonderful job so much! I don't know what I'm going to do without him.' I was flattered for his sake, really flabbergasted. I've been hearing variations on this all year.

she had done. She hugged back and thanked me for showing up and almost crowed about how wonderful Dave was. I couldn't argue with her... he had been wonderful. She was concerned about the lack of polish in the show. I was quick to reassure her that the show was for the kids and the adults would just have to take what they could get. Besides, I told her, it was a cute show! Jill also took this time to confess something. It seems she had recently made a trip to New York and had given Dude the pamphlet for the Empire State building!  She was the reason Dave had been bugging me for weeks about going to the 86th floor Observatory! I was almost too stunned to speak. She then immediately wanted to talk about David singing during the Graduation ceremony. She mentioned several songs she was considering and I noticed they all had one thing in common... They were Beatles songs. I'm not sure what it means that Jill seems to always want Dude to sing Beatles tunes, but I have noticed it. Jill then got a conspiratorial look in her eye and leaned in and said, 'I know I'm not supposed to do this, but in 14 years of teaching David is, hands down, my favorite kid' That was not the first time she'd said something similar, but coming right after was, 'I'm going to miss him very much!' I immediately shelved whatever complaint I might have about the New York Plan.
     I want to put this right out in front: I love my son! I really do. But he's a tremendous pain in the butt. He really is. I think about all the thousands of kids that have been through that school in the last 12 years, the hundreds that each of these professional teachers have had to deal with, all the problems and trials and tribulations, the notes and meetings and genuine trouble that my son has been and still these women are genuinely

going to be sad when he's gone. To the point of catching breath and watering eyes. While parental pride would have me certain that my son is indeed special (and he is) these people feel bad about every one of  'their kids' that leaves. Seriously. If they could keep them all, I know they would.
     I know for a certain fact that a large percentage of them have offered to take home/steal/adopt David at every opportunity. It's given Alexis and I an idea that we worked on as we headed back out to the car. We'll rent Dave out over the next year or so to build up interest and accentuate the DudeCraving and then we'll take him off the Market for several weeks to build up the Craving, and then we're going to auction him off to the highest bidder. We figure we'll make a bundle and eventually they'll bring him back and possibly even pay us to take him back! We'll make a killing!
     Okay.... calm down. We all know better than that. Anyone who's been around here knows that I don't know what to do with myself when Dave's gone... I guess I'll just keep him and we'll go visit every once in a while.