The Story Of My Life: My Professional Soccer Career

The title is misleading, but as an 11 year old kid finally getting to play a team sport, I felt like I was a professional. As mentioned in the previous chapter, I had received a birthday present which signed me up for an intramural soccer league. Before this point, I had never played any sport with a coach, an organized team, uniforms, and all that jazz. But now I was going to experience the thrill of sport in its full glory.

Springtime had sprung and the 2002 intramural soccer season had begun. Each night of the week (including Sunday) had a coach and a practice assigned to it. Whichever night our parents put us in was how we ended up with a team. Mine picked Thursday. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was dumb luck. But I ended up with an awesome coach and on a team where I made a really close new friend.

My coach's name was Dave. I did not know this before, but he owned the farm down the street from my grandparent's house as well as the storage locker business in the heart of town. He was an older gentleman who rocked a mean salt and pepper mustache. His passion was that kids would learn and fall in love with the game of soccer. While winning was nice, the only thing that mattered to him was if you had fun. Even though we were an intramural league with no playoffs, we were still given uniforms. Each team got a set of shirts with a specific color and ours was maroon. We then had to pick a team name. One kid suggested stewed prunes to be funny. That kid would be the one who became a close friend. After a number of names were suggested, they were put to a vote and by majority, we became the Timberwolves.

"Who were the Timberwolves?" is a question you may have asked yourself a sentence ago. Well let me introduce you. We had two tall kids who I affectionally called the Bash Brothers (a mighty duck reference) called Alan and Chris. They were biological brothers and the oldest kids on our squad. There was Garrett who played as if he was going to make soccer a career one day. Emily had a big smile and sweet complexion, but was always in position to make a play on the field. Cassie was a player who gave her all and could occasionally catch an opponent off guard. Ashley was a soccer player with a rugby build. She was fairly aggressive and it wasn't uncommon to see some smaller boys get out of her way. Jennifer was the gentle giant. Extremely tall for her age and had a look that would make you think twice, but in reality, she wouldn't harm a fly. Cody was what I would call a constant burst of energy. A short-fused rocket that could unleash his fury in a moment's notice. Jason was a hustler who was always making someone laugh and a thrill to be around. And last of the full time players was Jordan a.k.a. "Stewed prunes" kid. Like Jason, he had a great sense of humor and was a dedicated athlete. There were a few other kids who on the team who didn't make every game or practice, but they too contributed to the team when they were around.

I'm not really sure why I out of all the kids I knew that it was Jordan and I who became close friends. Maybe it was his personality, maybe his humor, or maybe it was because we shared similar interests and were close in age. Whatever was the cause, I'm glad I met him. He was always my go-to guy when I needed to dump the ball. We were true soccer bros.

As stated previously, the league was intramural. This, in short, means every game is played on the same location on the same field. There were no standings, no playoffs, not ultimate trophy, but rather a fun league where kids enjoyed playing actual games with each other. Now even with those statutes, kids were still very competitive. We wanted to win, losing could be rough, and since we played some teams multiple times, we created "friendly" rivalries. 

My first experience with a fresh rivalry was from my very first game. Remember how I said the reason I was in soccer was because of a birthday present from my buddy Joe? Well we played his team in week one. Another friend of his that I knew was also on that team. His name was also Josh. Josh's mom was that team's coach. She was very intense, enthusiastic, and pushed her kids as far as they were willing to go. They were a really good team. We were a competitive team ourselves so naturally we wanted to win and win big. And this game was a doozy.

The sun was bright and warm for a mid spring day. The atmosphere was electric as the season was just beginning. We took the field filled with excitement as all the parents and younger siblings cheered us on. Coach Dave assigned me to the striker position as my first assignment. As we waited for the ref to blow his whistle, I was giddy with anticipation of an opportunity to score in my first game. A shrill blast was heard an off we went. We gained an early possession but couldn't break the defense. Then came an opening. I made a move and tore off down the field. I was open enough to receive a beautiful pass and began charging towards the goal. As I made a cut that was a bit on the sloppy side, an opponent's leg swung hard for the ball and missed and I suddenly felt like clothes in a dryer. I popped back up immediately and before I could find the ball, the ref let out a blast of his whistle. He awarded me a penalty kick! And the foul occurred inside the goalie box. It was me versus the goalie and I was as close as I could get to a sure thing. I stood a few feet off the ball, staring the goalie down, waiting for the ref's signal. I heard Josh's mom shouting above the noise encouraging her goalie that she could handle this. I saw the nervousness on the poor girl's face. But I was determined to sink that ball in the back of the net. TWEEEEEET! I charged. The goalie barely flinched. I swung my foot with all my might and connected with the ball. The ball weakly rolled to the right and the goalie made the easiest save of her life. My inexperience and overconfidence led to too much power, no aim, and weak contact. Dang. My moment of glory was gone just like that. I had to tuck my head and bolt the other direction as the goalie launched the ball downfield. I can't recall the final score of the game that day, but I remember that they beat us by 3-4 goals. They were better than advertised and with that, a rivalry was born. 

Our team slogged through ups and downs that season. We lost more than we won, including some disappointing draws. But I was having fun and realized I had missed out by not joining a team sport sooner. Even with defeat, we were still having fun with each other. A bunch of kids who were mostly strangers before the season began, were now a great group of friends. 

Every game came with excitement, some a bit more than others. One game we played in the pouring rain. Kids were sliding, mud was flying, and the ball zoomed around like a greased pig. I drew the unfortunate luck of having to play goalie that game, a position which I was not fond of because I wanted to be involved in most of the action and not be confined to one space. Little did I know that I was going to make the play of my life. In the second half, the rain came down harder. We were deadlocked with neither side giving in. At one point I got bored and looked down. When I looked up, I saw a mob a of kids and a ball coming at me. I thought I was in position to cut the ball off, but was completely out of position instead. My opponent blew by me and had an open net. Oh snap! I was a dead turkey. Instead of admitting defeat, I turned and charged back towards the goal. My legs were burning but I had to do something. My opponent waited until the last second to take the shot. As the ball began skidding across the grass towards an empty net, I gave one last burst, went airborne, arched my body towards the ball, and swung my outstretched arm at its mass. My finger tips connected and the ball careened harmlessly out-of-bounds while my head nearly missed clocking the goal post. I did not realize I had made the save until i got to my feet and heard the cheers of the impressed parents. That moment slightly made up for my blown goal at the beginning of the season...slightly. Another strange thing that happened was that we actually stopped play in the middle of another game because a deer made its way out of the woods and very close to the field. Us kids didn't know what to do, the ref was just as confused, and there were some concerned parents that it would charge. Eventually the ref resumed play and our assistant coach went out and chased it off. There was never a dull moment playing this game. 

There is one game from my first season that I'll never forget. It was a rematch against our rivals from week 1. The Saturday it was scheduled for was rudely interrupted by Mother Nature as she sent forth strikes of lightning. Too dangerous to play, the game was rescheduled for a Wednesday evening. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted so badly for a second shot. To make up for my whiffed goal. Wednesday came and the sky was filled with the setting sun. But the atmosphere was different. The Saturday crowd was absent. The only fans were the few parents who made it out for an odd mid-week game. From opening kick-off, the game was intense. Nobody was giving an inch. Both sides were playing as if a championship was on the line. Then we broke through first with a brilliant goal. The celebration was short lived as they answered with a goal of their own. It wasn't long before they put another ball in the back of the net. Their side had a larger support system so the louder cheers made things a bit tougher to handle. But we kept fighting and managed to score to bring the game back to a draw. There were a few more close calls, but we managed to stay even. Then, by a stroke of luck, we scored to take the lead. Our spirits soared as we though we were going to finally get the monkey off our backs. But yet again, our joy was short lived as they answered right away to tie the game at 3-3. The clock was winding down and we knew it. Neither side wanted a draw, but it was going to be more devastating for us to not be able to beat them. But we weren't done until that whistle blew. An errant pass from them sailed out of bounds in their half of the field. We earned a throw-in. The ball came my way and I looked upfield and saw Chris on a break. I quickly sent him the ball. He trapped it, made a move, cut further up field, and took the shot. That beauty of a ball sliced the air for a harmonious sounding swish of the net. I couldn't believe it. The roar heard from our side of the field broke sound barriers. I looked and saw my mom with her arms in the air, excited for us. That moment was glorious. The ref set the ball and gave the go ahead with his whistle. The other team put the ball in play and 30 seconds later, the ref blew his whistle to end the match. We had done it. We beat the best team in the league and it felt like we had one the World Cup. I didn't score a goal, but that didn't matter. We played as a team, we fought as a team, and we won as a team. No hard feelings were felt between the two sides as we gave walked by high-fiving and saying "good game". My buddy Joe smacked my hand pretty hard to let me know that wasn't easy. This is what "for the love of the game felt like." And it was magical.

The Story of My Life: 2001-The Year of Life-Shattering Moments

I am warning you now. This chapter is going to have both highs and lows, but the lows are going to be rough and will not be easy to read at times. Some of them I have never talked about much in detail or at all because they're painful. When I planned on telling my story, I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to only portray the comely and exciting parts of my life. The raw and emotional experiences have to have a place. To give a better picture of my past which shaped me into who I am today. This is going to be a long and tough chapter, so please bear with me.

The year started out with high spirits and expectations from what 2000 brought. Hitting double digits in age was very exciting and it meant I was that much closer to being a teenager. I had gained an interest in professional sports, latching onto football and basketball the most. The area I lived in had an NFL fan base that was split between AFC North rivals the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Baltimore Ravens. However, you could find the occasional Philadelphia Eagles fan and that was what I gravitated to. Why? Because a handful of my friends and church friends were Eagles fans and the eagle was one of my favorite animals. 2001 was also the year quarterback Donavan McNabb broke out for the Eagles since being drafted in 1999. I watched them go to 4 straight NFC championship games and even one Super Bowl, making me a lifelong fan. In terms of basketball, I simply jumped on the Kobe Bryant & Shaquille O'Neal L.A. Laker bandwagon. They were fun to watch and paired with guys like Derek Fisher, Robert Horry, and Rick Fox, they were winning championships and I loved it. 

Getting hooked on sports was also perfect timing for me as I followed the NFL playoffs all the way to the Super Bowl and watched my very first one the whole way through. Anyone who followed football at that time will never forget its significance. A no-name back-up quarterback by the name of Tom Brady led the New England Patriots to an unlikely upset over Kurt Warner's Rams and the Greatest Show on Turf. I was in my parent's bedroom, watching this game on a tiny, portable TV that had static interference now and then, but I was witnessing a legend being born. And as my love for sports grew, I added a third to my interests, but this one comes with a scary tale.

In recent years, my parents and some others who attended the Sunday meetings would go to a special Saturday night church meeting located in Gratz, PA. It was located an hour away so they would all carpool and find a babysitter for us. In February, the date of the meeting was Saturday the 17th. My parents asked Sue to come watch us. They would be back by the time we were in bed. It was their turn to drive and they took our early 90s Chevrolet Lumina minivan. My anxiety being what it was, I wasn't totally comfortable with them going that far even though they'd done it before with no problems, but I had known Sue almost my whole life and that made things easier. My parents told us to be good, said goodbye, and headed off as they had done before. 

Sue kept us kids entertained until it was finally time to go to bed. I fell asleep knowing I'd wake up to my parents making breakfast and then we'd get to go to Al and Sue's for church. Sometime during the night, I woke in fright from a bad dream. I have no recollection of what the dream was, but I do remember flying out of my bed, running into my parents dark bedroom, and softly calling out to them. No response. In a panic I flipped on the bedroom lights. There was a neatly made bed and no parents. I turned off the light and ran into the living room. There was Sue half-asleep in a chair. I asked her where mom and dad were. She responded with a sleepy "I don't know." At this point, I thought it still may be the bad dream but wasn't 100% convinced. The only logical option was to go back to bed and hope to "wake up" from the dream. That's what I did. 

The sun arose and I woke up to our house filled with a lot of people. Just as I was walking into the kitchen, Alice came through the door exclaiming that the lost had been found! I still didn't have the slightest clue what was going on, why was everyone here, and where my parents were. Finally, someone felt it was time to fill me in. On the way back from Gratz, that old van broke down on the side of the road. No one in the van had cellphones as they weren't a big deal yet. My parents tried to flag cars down all night but no one stopped. Remember, this was February so it was very cold out. With the van not working, they couldn't run the heat. As morning approached, someone finally stopped and gave them the assistance they needed to get in contact with family and friends and get home. It was a bit of saving grace that I didn't know those details until they were found otherwise my irrational fears would've been out of control. Upon arriving home, after a cold and sleepless night, my grandparents offered to take us for the day so Dad and Mom could get some sleep. Little did I know that doing so would add another major aspect to my life.

Upon arrival at my grandparent's house, I asked if we could watch TV. Normally this would mean putting in a VHS tape and watching cartoons that ranged from Bugs Bunny to Ronald McDonald to even some older classics like Betty Boop and Mighty Mouse. But not today. I had asked specifically if we could watch the NASCAR race. The Daytona 500. Up until this point, I really had no interest in NASCAR. They didn't broadcast most races on public television yet and I never had the desire to follow it. That all changed when a Saturday morning cartoon that became one of my favorites first aired. It was called NASCAR Racers. I found it cool because they drove crazy cars on insane and unrealistic tracks. They had jet boosters on their cars and could do all these crazy stunts. They were also allowed to crash each other and had rescue racers built into their cars which acted like ejection seats on fighter jets. The cartoon had been out for a couple years, but I was hooked. That Saturday morning before my parents left for Gratz, my mom saw me watching it and happened to mention that NASCAR's big race was tomorrow. That had peaked my interest enough to want to see what the fuss was about. So that's what Grandpa and I did. We sat in his TV den and watched the 2001 Daytona 500.

To me it was incredible. Colorful cars with cool paint schemes flying around a track at over 100mph, bumping, trading paint, and coming close to wrecking so many times had me on the edge. Then a large crash happened and the #20 Home Depot car driven by Tony Stewart went airborne. Never in my life had I seen a 2.5 ton car get tossed like a rag doll. The crash was big, but thankfully everyone walked away. Before the race was over, I had officially become a Jeff Gordon fan. I loved his rainbow colored paint scheme, his charisma, and he had made quite a name for himself in the NASCAR world. Unfortunately he wasn't in contention to win by the end, but another legend was. A man by the name of Dale Earnhardt. He was known as the Intimidator and he drove a black #3 Chevy. Tied for the most championship wins in NASCAR history, at 49 years old he was still racing with the best of them. He was sitting in the top 5 on the last lap, trying to hold off the competition while the drivers of cars he owned, Michael Waltrip and Dale Earnhardt Jr (his son), were leading their way towards the checkered flag. On the 4th and final turn, Dale Sr's car spun and plowed straight into the concrete wall, eventually coming to rest on the infield. Coverage went back and forth showing the race winners and showing the wrecked cars. Ambulances flew to the infield and eventually coverage solely focused on the drivers who finished the race. Coverage of the race concluded without word on the status of Dale Earnhardt. It wasn't until the next morning when I saw the newspaper that I found out Dale was killed in that crash. I was stunned. I saw a car go airborne, land on top of another car and both drivers walked away. Dale's crash didn't look as bad, but he didn't walk away. The sport I was falling in love with took a dark turn. It was my very first race and it happened on the last lap. To this day I wish I would've had the chance to see Dale race the entire season. Even with the dark cloud that hovered over the NASCAR world, I had found a new passion.

Winter gave way to Spring and then spring into Summer. The drag of the school year had faded and at 10 years old, the summer sun was more welcoming than ever. The calendar turned to July and the 4th rolled through with its traditional bang. But July had another life changing event in store. My mom was expecting child number 6. Another boy. When it was time for him to be born, my parents packed us all a days worth of clothes and dropped us off at Al and Sue's while my dad took my mom to the hospital. That was a treat for us to be able to sleep over at Al and Sue's house for a night. When it came time for bed, Sue tucked me in and I drifted off to sleep in expectation of going to the hospital the next day. 

"Hey bud, you have to wake up," a voice said as I was gently being shaken. I slowly came out of my slumber, but something was off. It was still pitch black outside and I'm pretty sure it was my dad who woke me. My brain didn't feel rested and I was so groggy I couldn't see straight. "What's going on?" I mumbled. "Come downstairs," a sober voice said. I stumbled down the stairs to find the rest of my siblings assembled on the couch. All the lights were still off except a single lamp providing a soft glow. My dad looked like a mess. Thankfully it was too dark for me to see the actual condition he was in, but the words he spoke next were ones no 10 year old should never have to hear. "You're little brother...he didn't make it." My mind went into shock. It couldn't comprehend anything else my dad was trying to say and I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or not. I wasn't. We were immediately packed into the car a headed for the hospital. I don't remember the ride as I think I tried to fall asleep as it was well past midnight and my mind was numb. We all arrived at the hospital, made our way through the maze that it was, and finally reached my mother's room. We all filed in to find her awake in the bed, the baby in her arms, and a lot of nurses. Those nurses held it together incredibly well, but I could tell it was just as hard on them as it was on us. Seeing five young, sleep deprived children who had to come say goodbye to a sibling they never had the chance to meet in the dead of night had to have taken a heavy toll.

I had to sit down in a chair because my tired legs and already emotionally exhausted brain couldn't handle anything at the moment. Then my sister lost it. I put my head between my knees. I didn't want to look at anyone. I couldn't bear to see the sadness in their faces nor did I want to show mine. I also hated hospitals. I didn't like the waiting rooms, the commotion, the smells, and what being in one usually meant. And at 10 years old, I emotionally couldn't handle it. 

There was a large chair in the corner of the room. We each sat in it and were given an opportunity to hold him. Truthfully, I didn't want to. I was in a place were death absolutely terrified me and I was concerned I was going to react in a bad way. But a small part of me willed myself to do it for my parent's sake and to avoid creating a huge regret later in life. As he was placed into my arms, my poor brain was trying to keep my body together. I wished for one second he would open his eyes or even let out a loud cry, but neither of those things were going to happen. After what seemed like a small eternity, the nurses took him to let my other siblings hold him. Then they took him again and made a mold of his foot prints to have something to remember him by. Someone must've noticed my sleep deprivation was about to do me in, so we were told to say our goodbyes and then we were taken back to Al and Sue's to go back to sleep.

The next morning I felt strange. My life was supposed to change, but my brain was telling me nothing was going to be different now. My heart felt like it had spent all its grief the night before and didn't want to endure any more sorrow. It was as if my inner child wanted to hit the super speedway back to normalcy. But that wasn't the case. We had a funeral and it was the first one I had memory of attending. I didn't comprehend what exactly was going on and ended up wandering around to people I thought may be exceptionally sad and tried to comfort them. Over the coming days, weeks, and months, my unintentional suppression of grief would only cause random breakdowns that didn't occur when I got the news, nor at the funeral. Eventually, time took care of the grief, but there'll always be a small part that knows something is missing. At the time of this writing, he would've been 20 years old. His name was Samuel Peter.

2001 wasn't done delivering blows. To the American people, one of the biggest was coming. It was a beautiful, sunny day in southern, PA on September 11, 2001. I was preparing for that day's home school lessons when I found my mom staring at the TV. She was just staring as if she had seen a ghost. I asked her what was wrong. She said Alice had called and told her to turn on the TV. She said the World Trade Center towers in New York had been struck by planes. Images of the burning towers flashed on the screen. The replays of the planes flying into the towers. It was like a reoccurring bad dream. Eventually the truth came out. Terrorists had attacked America unlike they ever had before. The WTC wasn't the only target. The Pentagon was hit. A fourth plane crashed in a Pennsylvania field destined most likely for the White House. I remember seeing the horrifying images throughout the day. I hadn't seen news coverage like this since Princess Diana's death. What I didn't realize then was that a striking terror had covered the USA. Since I was homeschooled, I did not witness millions of parents leaving work and pulling their kids out of class for fear that schools would be targeted. Every plane in the US was grounded. The entire government went into lockdown. The attacks exposed an ugly truth. Until this point, I thought suicide attacks of this multitude could only happen in countries in the Middle East and Africa. My view of the world was shattered. 

My anxiety wouldn't let me shake those images. As the news covered the event, all I saw was death. The front pages of newspapers showed the burning buildings, bloodied people in the streets of NYC, people jumping out of the towers to avoid the flames. It was terrifying to a 10 year old. And it was the first time in my life that I feared evil people from other parts of the world. My love of airplanes was ravaged. It was a scary time to be a kid in America. And the worst part was the TV stations covered it immensely for weeks, especially when the US announced retaliation and eventually war. I remember staring at the screen and seeing nothing but the pitch black dessert of Afghanistan suddenly filled with green flashes as the night vision camera caught the bombing of supposed terrorist locations. It was the first time in my life that I truly realized what evil in the world could do.

One thing from those days that is burned into my mind is how Americans came together to help each other out. First responders ran into those towers to save others and some never made it out. The passengers of Flight 93 found out what was going on, knew they were doomed and decided to go out fighting by taking control of the plane and crashing it into an empty field instead of its intended target. People treated each other more like neighbors instead of strangers. To say patriotism swelled would be an understatement. 

There are two sides to the coin and there was a bad side here too. A fear and hatred for Muslims and people of Arabic heritage arose. I can't put into words what they were put through even though they had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks. Many of them American citizens themselves. All these years later it's still heartbreaking to hear their stories of the pain and suffering they went through. And like 9/11, that too should not be forgotten.

My grandparents lived through the Great Depression and World War 2. My parents experienced the Vietnam War, Korean War, and the Cold War. The September 11th terrorist attacks and the wars that followed were my first experiences of a major tragic event in human history. And they came when I was 10 years old, changing not only my views, but also how the world operated. To this very day, the effects of September 11th, 2001 can still be felt in this country.

Thankfully 2001 didn't end on another gut punch, but rather with a pleasant surprise that was going to affect my life for the next year an a half. My 11th birthday was one of my most memorable childhood birthdays. On the day of, I spent the day with my mom. We ate at Wendy's for lunch and then she took me to a place called Hickory Falls Fun Center. It was a newer place that was similar to Falloon's as mentioned in previous chapters. Since it was mid-day, there weren't that many people around and I could practically play any arcade game I wanted. I gravitated towards my nemesis...Cyclone. It flashed a jackpot of 200+ tickets, almost as if it was taunting me. One by one, I fed my tokens into the machine. After a few misses, I had that light down to a science. I shoved another token into the machine and listened as it clanked and rattled its way in. Then the light reversed course, ready to be stopped. I bent low and stared at the jackpot bulb. I counted each time the light passed. One. Two. Three. I held my breath and on the fourth count, I smashed the button. I nearly fell backward as alarms started going off. The machine was going berserk. The jackpot number started flashing like I'd never seen before. Suddenly, tickets came spewing out of the machine faster than a cheetah at full speed. I had finally done it. I conquered the Cyclone! My reward was the biggest ticket payout I'd ever hit in my life. The euphoria I felt in that moment was indescribable. The lady working there that day said that was the biggest payout she'd ever seen. Man it felt good to be alive. 

The birthday party was a fun one with a house filled with family and friends, games, and lots of cake. Al & Sue were there and they brought my best pal Joe with them. He had a card for me. When I opened it a colorful, hand-made certificate with a note came out. It read something along the lines of, this certificate certifies for Joshua Watkins to play soccer this upcoming spring. I didn't make sense of it at first, but it was explained to me that I had been signed up for the intramural soccer league that Joe was part of. Being homeschooled, I wasn't involved with organized sports, so this was a pleasant surprise. Little did I know then, but that little card was going to impact my life for the next year and a half more than I ever knew. Also, a few weeks after my birthday, Jeff Gordon won his fourth NASCAR championship, making me a very very happy kid.

In a year that dealt many dark blows, it also provided light through the clouds. Butterfly effect moments that ultimately changed who I was and what I would experience as my life continued on. In the years of my life that made a huge mark, 2001 surely was one of them. The scars we carry tell stories. Stories of who we are and how we came out stronger. 2001 became a stepping stone along my journey; another page in my book. And now we turn that page. 

The Story of My Life: Kids Club

Throughout my childhood, there was a consistent summertime staple that was created by our moms as a way to get us all together on a weekly basis. They called it Kid's Club. My mom, Alice, Sue, and eventually Missy would organize and drive it each week. The location always varied as it usually rotated around each of their houses. And at minimum, there were 13 kids involved. This number would sometimes grow as friends were brought every now and then. It may not seem like much at first glance, but it was the summertime outlet I needed.

So what was Kid's Club? The main purpose was for all us kids to do things together. The bare bones structure was that everyone would go to one of the houses mentioned previously and spend the afternoon doing activities together. Sometimes that would involve arts and crafts, outdoor sports, or recreational activities we hadn't played before. The cool thing was that once the scheduled activities ended, the day had not. We would spend hours coming up with our own adventures and having about thirteen friends made for some good times.

Kid's Club was more than a way to get together. It provided so many opportunities and experiences I probably wouldn't of otherwise had. We went on a lot of "field trips" with this group. Some experiences were split up into smaller groups, and some were altogether. These were some of those adventures.

There was a local potato chip factory in town called Martin's. They make some of the best kettle cooked chips in my opinion. They offered tours of the factory while in operation. So Kid's Club took a trip to see it. I remember having been immersed in the whole experience. We had to put on the goofy hairnets so as not to get hair in the potatoes. The tour began seeing the large semi trucks empty tons of potatoes onto a conveyor belt. The potatoes were then washed and peeled. We moved behind glass watching as machines sliced them. Workers would check for bad ones as they came through. We were given the chance to taste a raw, ripple cut, potato slice. It obviously didn't taste very good, but the texture was still fascinating. Then we watched as they moved through cooking ovens and came out on the other side as crispy chips. They still needed to go through a few more processes before they were bagged and ready to sell. At the end of the tour, they gave us free lunch box sized bags of chips and popcorn. It was a fascinating experience.

I wasn't always on board with what was planned and a fine example is when one of our field trips was to a greenhouse. I had no desire in gardening nor plants, but a trip to a massive greenhouse with all my other friends swayed my perspective. It was like wandering through a warm, lush, jungle of many plants I knew all too well and others I did not. We spent a good amount of time there exploring all the plants before we had to move on to the second portion planned for the day. We had a larger group of kids, including my cousins because the next part was spent at Al and Sue's where my grandfather was going to teach us about his carving. I loved watching the kids faces light up as he showed them some of the many birds he had brought forth from a block of wood. The coolest part, however, was that we each were given a bar of soap. Then some charcoal paper to trace an animal design on the soap and an exacto knife to "carve" our creation. I chose a rhinoceros design and managed to get a decent rhino out of that bar of soap; another memento I've hung onto all these years.

We visited many other exciting places over the years that included a few nature centers, movie days at the library, a picnic and fishing at Codorus State Park, a children's science museum, Kid's Kingdom playground, a pottery factory, and many more interesting and fun places. However, field trips were not the only things we did. One summer we had a water day at Alice's. The cast of characters involved were me and my siblings, Maggie and Katherine, Melinda and Joanna, my buddy Joe and his brother Danny, and a few smaller kids that Alice would babysit. It started out with some normal water games like water balloon toss and hose tag, but some newer ones were instituted as well. One of those was a large blanket with water balloons. Every kid grabbed an edge of the blanket and the goal was to 1) use the blanket to toss the water balloons into the air without breaking them and 2) try to break them on someone else if you could. This lead to a lot of chaos and squealing, but a lot of great fun. The day was capped off with swimming in a big above ground pool. Lots of splashing, lots of sharks and minnows, and lots of whirlpool making. That was a fun day.

Not everything always worked out the way it was supposed to. Sometimes rogue weather forced a change of plans or events got cancelled last second for unclear reasons. But the biggest thing for Kid's Club that never came to fruition was a play. All the moms came up with an idea to have all the kids perform a play for all the other parents. The theme was the Oregon Trail and we were a wagon train headed way out west. All of us kids were on board with the idea. We spent a few weeks planning and actually got as far as beginning to write a script. But sometimes, trying a huge project with a lot of young children doesn't always pan out. There were some who didn't want to do it from the start and only agreed to participate if they had a very minor role. Then some decided it was too much work and simply weren't going to do it anymore. Because of this, the story had to change and it caused some tension among other participants. Eventually it became too much and with not that many kids willing to do it anymore, the moms decided to let it go and try other things. Overall it was a good idea and would've been fun if we could've pulled it off, but some things just weren't meant to be. 

The thing I cherished most about all the moms putting this together and keeping it running for so long was that gave us kids an excuse to be and do things together more often. What I didn't mention clearly in previous chapters was that even though we were a tight-knit group, we all went to different schools so it wasn't like we interacted with each other as often as we did with our school friends. Kids Club let us build stronger childhood bonds, go on adventures together, and even provided us with summers that weren't boring. I will add that not every session was sunshine and roses, but that's part of life and happens with anything we do. Kid's Club will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Author's note: The next chapter is going to touch on a very dark and emotional part of my life. I did not want to start off the new year with that being the first entry so I saved it for next month. I did promise when I started this project that I would not only detail the good parts, but I would also share the rough parts as they also shaped who I am. I am warning you now that it will be long, won't be an easy read, and may pull at the heartstrings. We are also coming to a point in my life where there were three very rough years from 2001-2005. I wanted to make you all aware so you know what you are getting into in the coming chapters.

The Story of My Life: Christmas Magic

I love the holidays, especially Christmas. It's essentially a month long holiday from the day after Thanksgiving to the big finale on December 25th. The classic Christmas songs hit the airwaves. TV stations constantly broadcasting Christmas classics. Cities and their grayish gloom from winter's dull touch become adorned with wreathes, ribbons, bows, and trees. Friends and family hold and attend numerous holiday themed events all month long. And every year when it rolls around, I feel as if there's a touch of magic in the air.

Every year, Christmas came in threes for me. Always starting things off was Christmas eve at my grandparents house on my dad's side with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. Then Christmas morning was gifts from my parents and finally a return to my grandparents around lunch time for more Christmas fun, but this time my great aunt and second cousin joined us. Next is a breakdown of what those three events looked like through my eyes.

Christmas Eve put my excitement level at an all time high. Weeks of buildup, helping Grandpa and Grandma Watkins decorate their house including the Christmas tree that would soon have wonderfully wrapped presents beneath them, led to sheer joy overload when the 24th of December made its appearance. My parents would dress up me and my siblings in nice clothes and after dinner, it was off to Grandma's house we went. The lights were twinkling, the table was covered in goodies, and there at the foot of the basement stairs was the tree and it's gifts. We raced down the stairs to find Grandpa either starting or stoking the fire. Once everyone was downstairs and settled, my cousins, some of my siblings, and I would hand out the gifts. Then began the destruction of the wrapping paper, followed by the fun of playing with the shredded paper. To finish off the evening, we'd head back upstairs for cake, cookies, candy, pop, and all the sugar our hearts desired.

Christmas Day usually started with us kids wanting to play with our new treasures from the night before, but we had to add to them with gifts from Mom and Dad. Santa wasn't a big deal for us and we were fine with that, but we tried to do our best not to spoil him for the other kids. As lunchtime approached, and depending on the year, we'd either go back to my grandparent's house or head out to my great aunt's house. There we would enjoy a Christmas lunch followed by another round of gifts. Us kids would spend the rest of the day playing with the new goodies or outside in the snow (if there was any). 

One of our favorite pre-Christmas activities was when our parents bundled us all up after dinner, packed us in the old station wagon, and drove us all over town to see all the different ways the neighbors adorned their houses with twinkling Christmas lights. Some houses went all out with every edge and eave covered in lights, their front yard protected by inflatable snowmen, and good ol' Saint Nick and his reindeer smiling from their roof. Other houses simply had one tree dressed in a rainbow of lights, which may not seem like much, but it was more than we did and it was awesome. As I got older I did come to learn that this was an inexpensive form of entertainment and a good way to have us pass out around bedtime. I still, as a man in my 30s sometimes slowdown by twinkling houses when this time of year rolls around.

With Christmas came traditions. Especially when it came to cookies. We'd joyfully retrieve the Christmas themed cookie cutters as my mom prepared all the baking supplies. Once everything was in place, we'd grab our personal aprons off the hook and get to work. There'd be mixing and stirring and rolling and dough sampling and spoon licking. Our faces would be covered in batter and our hands in flour. Then, as the dough was complete, we would bring forth the Christmas shapes hidden inside it. Snowmen with top hats appeared, as did Christmas trees, candy canes, and of course, the face of Santa Claus. Before the finishing touches could be applied, we had to wait out the baking. We'd know exactly when they were done because back then, we had a little wind-up timer that let out a buzz or ring so loud you could hear it anywhere in the house. It didn't matter if we were watching TV or playing intently, that timer's song was enough to make us drop everything and run to the kitchen. Once the cookies cooled, we began icing them (and eating some of it in the process) with the homemade icing that was made for them. Some were lucky enough to be covered in sprinkles or sugar coating. They wouldn't last long in our house, but when they ran out, simply making more was the way to go.

I don't think that last paragraph was enough to truly portray how serious my family took Christmas cookie making. Every Christmas, without fail, Grandma Watkins would makes many batches of many different arrays of cookies. Any days we spent at her house during December, we'd be tasked with helping, which we didn't mind. Grandpa would help too, but his help consisted of eating the finished products before they could be packaged up. Grandma would scold him and let him know that the more he ate, the less there'd be at Christmas time. But why did she make so many? Because they made the perfect gift to give to many people. The table in the breezeway would be covered in tins filled with cookies until they were delivered to their recipients. To this day, my family still practices the art of cookie making and it's become a staple Christmas tradition for us.

No two Christmases were ever the same, but the magic that came with them was always there. It came in different forms, shapes and sizes, but it always reminded me why I love this season so much. Here are some of those magical moments.

Let's kick things off with the Christmas of 2000. Every year Grandma Watkins wanted a list from us. She didn't care how long it was, just as long as nothing on the list was more than $20. So every year, I went through the Christmas Lego Catalog and made a list of every set I knew my parents would be okay with me having that fell under $20. If I wanted a particular set more than the rest, I put it near the top of the list. However, it was very rare that I received any set close to the $20 value because Grandma and Grandpa like getting us multiple gifts rather than one bigger one. Well in the summer of 2000, Curtis was over at my house and he brought his new Lego set that had just come out out that year. It was part of the new Adventurers line which was my favorite. The set was a large airplane called the Island Hopper. It was the biggest one I had seen and had a lot of bells and whistles. I was in awe of the two large propellers on the front, the secret compartment in the back, and it even came with a Lego Pterodactyl. I think I talked my mom's ear off about it that summer, but didn't think I had a chance at getting it because it cost exactly $20. I spent the rest of the year looking at it in the Lego catalogs and dreaming about how I'd play with it if I owned it. December eventually arrived and Grandma asked for a list. I put together probably one of the longest lists I had ever made. My memory isn't 100% here, but I'm pretty sure I did not put the Island Hopper on the list because I thought I wouldn't get it. Christmas Eve came as it normally did and once at Grandpa and Grandma's, I was excited to hand out the gifts. I zoomed back and forth from the tree to the person whose name was on the To/From tag. Even though I had handled most of the gifts with my name on them, none stood out to me. I decided to open the smaller ones first to build up to the "better" gifts. After a few oohs and aahs, I grabbed what I deemed to be a medium sized present. I tore into it wondering what it could be. The first tear was enough to freeze me in my seat. I couldn't believe what I was staring at. I let out a shout of joy and tore off the rest of the paper. There in my hands was the Island Hopper. It took me totally by surprise and hit me with a blast of sheer joy. I ran around the room showing my mom, dad, uncle, aunt, and grandparents. They all knew as they were in on it. That big, beautiful plane was mine and would be fully assembled by the end of Christmas Day. This was most certainly one of those Christmases where the one single, thoughtful gift made Christmas a memorable one. The Island Hopper is still proudly displayed in my room to this very day.

The year eludes me, but sometime in the mid 90s, one Christmas in particular was memorable not because of the gifts alone, but because of all the events leading up to it. The first occurred on a chilly night. My parents dressed me up in a nice vest, dress shirt, and dress pants. We then went to a holiday party where My Uncle Randy, Aunt Tina, and cousin Dave also were. It may have been a company party or special church party, but that didn't matter to me. There was a large, decorated tree in the corner that lit up that section of the room. Next to it was a device that was meant to return golf balls putted into it. I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be left out as no clubs nor balls were in sight. Dave and I discovered it after the dinner. Since we didn't have golf balls, we used pieces of corn left over from our plates and set them in the return machine. We then put pressure on the plate to trick the device into thinking a ball was inside. The device would then flip it's flipper and send our corn kernels flying much to our delight. Christmas music played throughout the night and at one point, a man dressed as Santa Claus showed up. All the kids in attendance were lined up in front of him. I some how ended up in the front of the line. I was scared and didn't want to go first so I ran to the back of the line. As I watched the other kids go, I saw nothing to fear. As soon as they set me on his lap, he asked me what I wanted and I didn't know how to say the name of the hot wheels car track I wanted, so I told him that I wanted super zooming cars that went on a crazy tracked and zoomed everywhere. He nodded his head, said Ho Ho Ho and Merry Christmas. Spoiler alert, I didn't get it because I'm pretty sure it was the most expensive hot wheels track that year and I don't think I told my parents. That night may have been the last time I ever sat on a strange man's lap who was dressed as Santa. It was also the earliest Christmas party I can recall attending and as a child, made me appreciate this season much more. 

Later that month, a large package showed up on our doorstep. It was early Christmas presents from my Uncle Bob and Aunt Cici in Wisconsin. It was filled to the brim with stuffed animals. One was a bear with overalls that I thought was strange but awesome at the same time. I named him PJ. PJ didn't supplant Bernie Bear, but he was part of many childhood adventures. As Christmas drew closer, my parents took us to a retail store known as Hills to do some Christmas shopping. Normally this meant we would get to see all the Christmas decorations the store had for sale and to ogle the toys in the toy aisles. Some toys had holes in the plastic with a "try me" button to give you a taste of what the toy could do without opening it. I didn't care that we weren't spending money, I always had a blast. This time was a little different. We had been given some Christmas money and could get one thing. As we wandered the aisles, there was a stack of boxes with the toy that was inside them displayed on top. I knew immediately that was what I wanted. I didn't even need to look at the other toys in the store. On top of that massive pile sat a black monster truck called "Buffalo". The magic about it was that it was remote controlled. In the 90s, the remote controlled cars made by Tyger Toys were all the rage. And I was going home with one. You better believe I ran that thing until the batteries died and needed replaced. Since it had big tires with rubber spikes, I could drive it across grassy terrain. So of course I did. Never did I imagine that simple trip to a retail store would be a wonderful Christmas memory burned into my mind for ages to come.

Christmas Eve and Day that year seemed like the best Christmas I ever had simply to everything that led up to it. One thing I haven't mentioned about my grandparent's house is that every year my grandma would put out a plastic dish tree on the table. Each little dish would hold a hershey kiss or reese's peanutbutter cup as the "decorations". Grandma would let us fill that tree and the rule was that if you ate a decoration, you had to replace it. It was simple, yet an important part of each and every Christmas. 

I have other Christmas memories I am going to share, but those I was to save for as we move along in the timeline because they were instrumental to those years of my life. I hope you have a wonderful holiday season and goodwill and blessing to you all. 

Vaya Con Dios Enrique

A little over 10 years ago an older friend, Jose, called and told me he had met a young person not far from where he lived and that young person would be joining our youth group for our Fall Harvest Day. That young person was Enrique. Only in 7th grade at the time, he was a well spoken, bright young man whose presence could be sensed from a mile away. Normally for the Fall Harvest event, we would go to a large farm-like property and spend the afternoon there doing all sorts of activities and eating all kinds of delicious food. This year was a little different as we decided to do a little gospel sharing first. In this case we went door knocking. I was unsure of how Enrique would handle being with a bunch of strangers knocking on the doors of strangers. As we went out, he had fliers in his hands and placed them on doors when no one answered. Eventually we asked him if he'd be willing to talk to the next person who opened a door. I was expecting him to say no, but he jumped right in and executed his greeting flawlessly. To say I was impressed would be an understatement,

Thankfully his introduction to us didn't scare him off. In fact he kept coming back and became an integral part of our youth group throughout his remaining Jr. high and high school years. He and my brother Stephen became pretty fast friends so I saw him more often than most. Through my interactions, I found out that he loved football and like me was a Philadelphia Eagles fan. We'd invite him to watch games and we would talk Eagles football for hours. 

In the summer of 2014, we took our youth to an Indians baseball game and Enrique came along. It was a day game, it was hot, and our seats were in the sun. There was almost no offense as both teams only scored 1 run each all game. After nine innings of play, the teams were still tied and headed into extra innings. The opposing team quickly took the lead and the small crowd that remained thought it was over. In the bottom of the 10th, the Indians managed to load the bases, but had two outs and Nick Swisher had two strikes. Then the opposing pitcher threw a meatball and Swisher didn't miss. I jumped in jubilation as I got to see my first grand slam sail over the fence in person. I then hear Enrique groan "Finally!" I looked at him funny and said "Don't you realize what you just saw?" He gave me a dead stare and said "We won and now we can go home. It's hot and I'm tired." All I could do was laugh because there was no reasoning with him.

Speaking of meatballs, Enrique loved those too. So much so in fact, that for a period of time, it became his most commonly used word. I would ask him how he was doing and he'd respond in a funny accent "Meatball". If I asked him what he was eating, sometimes he would say "meatball" even if it wasn't. And then there were times I'd try to get a longer response about something and would only get "Meatball." Thanks to Enrique, every time I eat a meatball, I can't help but think about him.

Sometimes we'd butt heads in disagreement and Enrique had a unique way of going about it. If things got to a boiling point, instead of raging or going into wrestling mode, Enrique would start shouting at me in Spanish knowing darn well I couldn't understand or properly respond to anything he was saying . Some of those arguments ended with me laughing and him still refusing to speak English until we were on better terms.

After high school, Enrique took a different path and I didn't see him much anymore. I still thought about him often and tried to reach out every now and then, but it was hard to keep in touch. Then, a little over two years ago, he reached out to me directly. I can't tell you how much joy I felt to hear from him. Shortly after, he showed up to help drive some of our kids out to an event in Willoughby. When I saw him walk through those meeting hall doors, I didn't say hi. I walked straight up to him and gave him a big hug. I rode in his truck to Willoughby that night and we talked the whole way catching up on all the lost years. I learned about his HVAC work and of course we talked a lot about the Philadelphia Eagles. Being able to spend time with him again was a breath of fresh air and I'm so glad I treasured that because I did not know it then, but that night would be the last time I saw him.

I received a call this past Sunday morning that Enrique had unexpectedly passed away. It came without warning and I couldn't believe it. Processing it was hard as I was tasked with breaking the news to others around me that knew him. Losing anyone is hard, but even more so before the age of 30.  

One of the things I loved most about Enrique was his heart. From a young age, he was always willing to help and cared a lot about the people around him. As he matured into a young man, he was definitely a people first, me second kind of guy. When we needed someone to run the sound equipment for Sunday services, he jumped onboard. It was rare to ask him to help move stuff or clean-up because he was already involved before you could. 

The other major aspect of Enrique that was so special was that he had become a man after God's heart. I was there when we baptized him and it was special. When I read through the facebook posts and listened to people talking about him at his visitation hours, they talked about his passion for God and love of Christ. Being one who has served youth all these years, nothing gives me more joy than seeing a young person commit their life to Christ. 

Enrique's time on this earth was really short and provides another reminder that tomorrow is never given and life is truly a blessing. Vaya con Dios Enrique, until we meet again my dear friend.

The Story of My Life: The New Millennium Has Arrived

If you were to ask me which year had the most spectacular new year's celebration worldwide, it was hands down when 1999 gave way to the year 2000. To say you were alive at the birth of a new Millennium is not a mundane feat. And spoiler alert, the dreaded computer crash never happened. Being 9 years old meant no extravagant parties for me, but watching the world celebrate on TV was thrilling. NYC was more hyped than ever with even larger crowds, the best and brightest in the entertainment industry putting on performances of a lifetime, and the glitz and glamor was on overload. London was ablaze with with a brilliant fireworks display over Big Ben. Sydney, Australia one-upped them with their own legendary fireworks display, so much so that you could see the Opera House clear as day. Many more extravagant parties were happening all over the globe as 2000 was welcomed and we sadly said goodbye to the 90s.

The summer of 2000 was another special one for me as two major things happened. First, the summer Olympics returned and they were in Sydney, Australia. This was the first year I gained an interest in them and fell in love with everything that they were. The swimming was unreal that year with legendary Aussie swimmer Ian Thorpe (The Thorpedo) flat out dominating in the pool. But little did he know that a new legend was making his first appearance and would challenge him for years to come. That man was Michael Phelps. Sydney put on an exciting Olympic games that would be memorable for years to come.

The second memorable moment was that for the first time in four years, my family returned to Wisconsin. Instead of one week, we stayed for three. And those three weeks were a huge up and down roller coaster that would give me life experience for years to come. As a child, spending three weeks on a farm out in the country and away from home was both a blessing and a struggle. Being able to play with so many pets, explore big open land, go fishing and boating more times than I could count, and spending a lot of time with family I don't get to see often added to my growth. But because I also was dealing with anxiety issues and the fact my dad couldn't stay the whole three weeks made some days harder than others as I dealt with my struggles and homesickness. With all that in mind, let's dive into the memories of these three weeks.

Farm cats are always in plentiful supply and this year was no exception. There were three generations of calico cats. The third was a kitten that stole the show. It was white with orange fluff spots. At the time of our arrival, I don't think it had a name. But my aunt Cici picked him up one night when he managed to sneak into the house and I swore I heard her say "Come here you little melon." From that point on, I called the kitten Melon and the name stuck. Thankfully Melon was slightly understanding of children because every time we returned from an outing, as soon as we saw him, the first one to him got the rights to hold him. With five children all wanting a turn, that poor kitten was passed around like dishes on thanksgiving. But he was a tough cookie and graciously put up with us.

What would three weeks in the country be without fishing and swimming right? Lucky for us, my Great Uncle Wally and Great Aunt Lorena had a cabin by the lake. They had it well stocked with pool toys and a nice dock that were were able to run and cannonball off of until our hearts were content. The fishing off the dock was pretty good too. One afternoon, after I decided I had done enough swimming for the day, me and my brothers took out the fishing poles and tried our luck. Baiting the hooks with earthworms that we had dug up on the farm, we casted those lines towards the lily pads. The sunfish must've been mighty hungry as they were gobbling up our worms faster than we could bait them. We caught a decent lot of them and were placing them in a large Styrofoam cooler that had water inside of it. By the time we were done, we probably had 10-15 fish inside. We left it on on the shore near the edge of the water by the dock. Later, when I came to get them to take home, I found the lid half off and only one dead fish inside. I was flabbergasted and wondered how so many fish could disappear. The truth was never fully known, but apparently my mom thought they weren't getting enough air and opened the lid partially. Then, since the cooler was so close to the shore, the waves rocked it enough that maybe gave the fish a chance to jump out. That's the theory anyway because no one could explain the complete disappearance of that many fish. 

I loved collecting things. Hot Wheels cars and Legos being the two most desired during those days. I managed to start three new collections while living on the farm. The first was pop cans. The room I was staying in had this nice wall shelf at the foot of the bed. It was a perfect place for storing empty pop cans. And since my mom's side of the family loved that fizzy drink more than anyone I knew, I was able to fill that shelf with many colorful cans. The second thing I began collecting was stamps. I had no intention of doing so at first, but when my aunt Cici gave me a small baggie filled with them, lets just say I went on a stamp collecting craze. Any piece of mail that came with a stamp I didn't have, I claimed the discarded envelope, tore off the corner with the stamp, floated it off in warm water, and added it to my collection. While they aren't worth anything due to being used, there's a lot of history tied to them. I stopped adding to my collection years ago, but that collection reminds me of bygone eras and the fun I had acquiring them. The third and final thing is something you probably wouldn't suspect. Newspaper clippings of Snoopy statues. I loved the comics as a kid, especially the ones that came in the paper. My grandfather was also a big fan and would always show me the ones that he liked the best. Peanuts was one of them and was one of the most famous comic strips. Snoopy was my favorite character in that strip. In the year 2000, Charles Schulz, the cartoonist who created Peanuts, passed away. As a tribute to him, the state of Minnesota erected a lot of Snoopy statues around St. Paul. Because of the area my mom's family lived in, they received a local newspaper that reflected things of Minnesota. Each daily paper had a picture on the front of a different Snoopy statue. I thought they were the coolest things ever and cut each new one out, hoping to one day see them. Cutting these out and looking at them also helped with my bouts of homesickness I would be subdued by during our trip. I still have all those clippings in a box in my parent's attic to this day.

My cousins at this time were living just down the road. The youngest, Aaron, would come over to the farm almost daily to play with us. We were always coming up with different things to do. Some days he'd want to go clay pigeon hunting. There was a big marshy field at the bottom of a large hill where my uncles and other friends would shoot clay pigeons over. Not all of them would be shot, nor break when they hit the ground, so Aaron took this as an opportunity to collect them. Now the vegetation out there was extremely tall and Aaron was concerned with getting lost. So he'd have me sit on top of the hill and every once in awhile, he'd toss a broken piece of clay pigeon in the air and ask if I could see it. If I did, he knew he was still in range of the edge, if I couldn't, he had gone too far. Sometimes I wouldn't respond as I'd get distracted by the the occasional bird or pesky bug. Aaron wouldn't be to pleased, but what did you expect from a 9 year old?

Life can throw curveballs sometimes and I experienced two of them during this trip. One was a learning experience, and one was a scary experience. As much as I loved to fish, I had not yet learned (nor did I want to) how to take a fish off the hook. One day we were at my great Aunt May's and I was fishing off the dock. I began hauling in tiny panfish left and right. After I caught one, I would run back down the dock and up to one of the adults seated up by the house. I would as them to take it off, then I'd run back down to the dock with both the pole and fish in my hands, trying my best not to drop either, and then giving the fish a heave-ho into the lake. This process was repeating itself frequently enough that Aunt Cici finally had enough. The next fish I brought her she refused to take off. She sternly told me "I showed you how to do it and now you have to do it yourself. If you want to catch fish, you have to learn how to let them go as well." I began throwing a fit. The tears came flowing as I was afraid the fish was going to die. Aunt Cici still refused to help. If I wanted to save that poor tiny fish, I had to do it myself. I sat down on the dock and carefully wiggled the hook. In a matter of seconds, it was no longer in the fish's mouth. The fish sensed this, gave two kicks of its tail and flopped towards freedom, back into the lake. The terror that enveloped me turned into relief and satisfaction. I was now a true fisherman. From that point forward, I had no problems releasing my own fish...well except for the ones that swallowed the hook. 

The scary experience happened one evening after dinner. My grandfather, some of my uncles, and a few other family friends were all out talking by the feed barn. I was bored and went over to see what they were doing. There was two-wheel boat trailer propped up against the barn. I went and stood by it as that was the best spot to hear what they were saying. Eventually I got tired of standing still and leaned up against the feed barn, or so I thought. I was suddenly being forced to the ground at an alarming speed. I knew I was pinned and I heard a bunch of wild shouting all around me. Then I felt the weight that was on me disappear and a pair of strong arms stand me up. It took me a moment to realize I had leaned against the boat trailer, caused it to fall forward, and pin me to the ground. Thankfully, I managed to avoid all the extended parts and the slow fall only caused a small bump on the back of my head where the trailer initially caught me. I was also grateful there were a lot of strong arms nearby to get it off me quickly or who knows how badly that could've turned out. 

On one of my down days, Uncle Bob took me in his pick-up truck to go up into the fields and check the gopher traps. Apparently, the gophers were digging holes and were damaging the crops. That truck bounced and jostled all over the place as we climbed our way up the narrow and slightly eroded trail. Eventually the truck came to a stop and as I climbed out, I could already see the holes in the ground. My uncle went over and pulled two traps out of two holes. Each one had successfully caught a gopher. I asked him what he was going to do with them and he said "Give them to the cats." I was feeling a bit nauseous and didn't want to ride in the truck the whole way back, so I picked the two gophers up by the tails and walked all the way back down the trail to the barn where the cats were. As soon as I called for them, they came running out knowing a treat was waiting for them. I didn't want to see the cats actually eat the gophers, so I set them down quickly and ran off. Later when I returned, there was not a gopher remnant to be found. 

One last memory I want to share is the day my Uncle Duane, Aunt Linda, and Aaron went to the county fair. It was probably the first one I had been to. The day was overcast and drizzled on and off, but that didn't quell the fun Aaron and I had. We saw many animals, rode some crazy rides, and sampled the delicious fair food. At one point, Duane gave us a few bucks to play some carnival games. Aaron and I gravitated to the cork-gun game where you had to shoot pop cans to try and win a prize. I believe I hit 3 out of my four shots and watched as those cans plunked off their shelves. I ended up with a couple of colorful feather clips and a basketball made from teddy-bear material. That was a great day.

We had many more adventures during that trip which included many campfires, s'more making, more lakes that we swam and fished in, lots of exploring, food, and family. Eventually it was time to head back to Pennsylvania with 20ish hours of driving ahead of us. It would be another four years before we returned, but what an incredible 3 weeks I had.

There were many other small moments that helped usher in the hope that came with the new millennium, but the return to Wisconsin was by far the biggest impact in my life that year. Stay tuned dear reader because next month I will be sharing my favorite pre-2000 Christmas memories with you all. 

The Story of My Life: Labor Day Shenanigans

Labor Day never had the allure that July 4th, Thanksgiving, and Christmas did. But I looked forward to it every year because that weekend was a mini vacation for me. A lot of the church groups that came together at Camp Wabanna twice a year also held a weekend church conference in the Washington D.C. area every Labor Day weekend. There was no giant lodge for everyone to stay in. Instead, many of the locals in the D.C. area opened their homes to those coming from out of town. I loved it because it meant eating food I normally didn't get to eat, playing with toys I didn't own, getting slightly spoiled by our host family, and making new friends. It was the moments I spent in these homes that I remember the most.

The first host family I recall staying with were the Kings (yes that was their real surname). They had two daughters who were much older than I, named Jennifer and Joanna. In the down times between meetings and in the evenings after they meetings, they would play with us, but they were more like older sisters than baby sitters. I spent a lot of time in their basement because that's where all the toys were. There was a door down there that led to a storage room. On the front of it where very bold warning signs that read "Beware of Vampires!" Do Not Enter...poisonous snakes!" "Angry Sleeping Bears". There were at least six of those and I asked my dad if they were real. He sighed and said they were meant to be a joke. 

That basement was also part of one of the most legendary moments in Watkins kids history. During one of the evening meetings, my Dad decided to stay back at the house with us. My dad, my siblings, and I were all playing in the basement when we all noticed Nathaniel had suddenly disappeared. For perspective, he was a toddler. Upon noticing that he was missing, we turned around and found him at the bottom of the stairs. We all stared in disbelief. His face and hands were completely covered in blue icing, with cake fragments oozing between his little fingers. Then out of his mouth came his two most famous words..."Got cake." I ran over and saw that the beige carpeted stairs had a trail of blue icing all the way up to the top. My dad and I followed the trail up to the kitchen the find that the leftover birthday cake that had been left out on the counter displayed evidence that toddler hands had been in it. My poor dad had to spend the next hour or so cleaning all the rich blue icing out of the carpet and off Nathaniel. When everyone finally came back for the night, my dad explained what happened and the Kings were very understanding especially since the cake was leftover. To this day it's one of our favorite stories to tell as it was quite epic.

The King's generous hospitality kept on giving. One night after a long day, Jennifer and Joanna got all of us kids into the living room, sat us in these huge, comfy, black chairs and popped in one of my favorite Disney movies of all time. Robin Hood. I called it Robin Hood the Fox to distinguish it from the much older real life movies and literature. To be able to watch that movie on a bigger screen than a tiny tube TV and in those large chairs made me feel as if I was in a movie theater. They also allowed me to play on their computer where I discovered a lot of fun games like Gizmos and Gadgets, Freddie the Fish, and fun little battle tank game. I was in childhood heaven.

After back to back years of staying with the Kings, the third time around was something else. We stayed with a new family known as the Millers. The Millers were like us and had a large family as well. I don't remember exactly how many kids they had, but I think it was at least 6. So imagine a house of four adults and at least 11 kids. It was both pure bliss and chaos. One of their younger boys, Kyle, was about my age. We hit it off really quick and spent a lot of time playing with legos and pokemon cards. One of my favorite memories was actually coming back from a meeting. My parents were driving an 90s Chevrolet Caprice station wagon. It was blue and had a backwards facing bench seat in the trunk. As my Dad put it, that car was a bad investment, but us kids loved it. This time, Kyle and I were sitting on the backwards bench seat. We were cracking jokes at the most ridiculous things as we noticed them. Suddenly, the wind whipped a helpless plastic bag right across the back of our car. Kyle then said something about a wimpy bag and I lost it. I wish I could recall the full context of the joke, but being there at the birth of an inside joke is something truly magical. 

Something else pivotal happened at this conference. Wesley asked why we never stayed at his house during the conferences. I didn't know, but made up some story that the people in charge placed you where they felt best and if you wanted to stay in a specific place, you had to be request it. He asked if we could request them. A lightbulb went off in my brain. I told my dad after the conference that we should request to stay at Wesley's place each year. Actually I begged him. At the time, the situation seemed bleak. But come one year later, as we were preparing to leave, my dad came up to me with a grin. "Guess where we're staying!" he said. "Where?!" I asked excitedly. "Wesley's house!" Like a pinball launched off a flipper, I began bouncing off the walls. And here's the kicker. Every year after that for the Labor Day conference, that's where we stayed. When him and I were together, shenanigans were bound to ensue. 

Wesley was big into anything military related. He had toy soldiers, guns, helmets, and pretty much all the bells and whistles. I guess it makes sense as he eventually joined the Navy when he was old enough. When the weather was good, we'd don the plastic green and sand colored toy helmets and find the perfect spot to set up our base. We'd pretend we were fighting in historic wars and even fictional ones where we were the stone cold generals who led our armies to great victories. Sometimes the enemies would be our unsuspecting siblings who were not even included in our fictional battle. We'd pretend to attack them from afar and they were "eliminated" if they didn't notice our shenanigans. However, our mission would fail if they caught on. His sister Bonnie was our primary target most of the time. Actually some of our games involved messing with her because we were deep into the "boys rule and girls drool" phase. It was never malicious and she sometimes got us back. One time when Wesley and Bonnie were arguing, Bonnie said something that caused Wes to unload a phrase I used throughout the rest of my childhood. He stared her down and like a machine gun unleashed, he fired the words "I am rubber, you are glue, whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you." The dagger had been thrown. All Bonnie could do was stick her tongue out and storm off. Wesley let out an evil cackle as he claimed victory. 

Like the Kings before, Wesley's house was like a kid's paradise. They had an in-ground pool which we utilized extensively. They had a camper trailer that they let us sleep out in one night instead of in the house. And they also had a computer that Wesley had a lot of games on. It was here I was introduced to Roller Coaster Tycoon, Sim City, and the ever classic Ages of Empires. Their mom, Cindy, also pulled out all the stops when it came to breakfast. When Reese's Puffs were released, she made sure to stock up on a few boxes for us. Reese's Puffs are still one of my go-to cereals. 

The children's service meetings were a whole different story. When young children are placed with a large group of their friends, things could go in any direction. Wesley would constantly be challenging others to a battle of wits. Chess matches could get intense. And creating games out of the limited things at our disposal was a common pastime. It was in one of these children service craft times that I taught myself how to fold a paper airplane. Followed promptly by attaching objects to it to make it more like a missile that I could launch at people.

I wish my mind would release other memories it is holding hostage from these days as there were some moments that shaped me. One last highlight was at the end of one of the conferences, before we made the drive back to Pennsylvania, Wesley's family took us to the Potomac River. I remember gazing in awe at the raging river and then promptly begin rock hopping. That short experience was a perfect way to cap off another labor day conference. What a time it was to be alive.