Dodo Eggs

I’m standing beside my kitchen counter late one evening with an ugly pink slip on the counter.  It was the speeding ticket I’d earned a few weeks ago.   Unfortunately, I didn’t have proof of insurance with me so I would need to appear in court.  The coverage was there but the state trooper was unimpressed with my glove compartment full of expired insurance cards.  Waldo only knows what I did with my current card.

Our little boy had been asleep for a while and the only things to be heard was the refrigerator and the slight “shshship” sound of my wife cutting an apple.

“You know what,” I began.  “If I could go back in time and avoid this ticket, do you realize that I wouldn’t do it?  Something as precious as time and I wouldn’t accept getting some of it back because I don’t want to rework all those days.  I don’t want to rework all the problems.  What does that tell you about how much I’m enjoying life?”

“Not much I suppose.”  As my wife cut each portion of apple free, it would rock back and forth on the cutting board.

I turned to the calendar on the fridge behind me.  “I mean look, It’s another two solid weeks before my next break from school and even then I’ll still have to work at the pool so I really don’t get a whole lot of time off.  And after that I’ll be counting down the days until winter break!  I’m standing here wishing my entire life away!”

My wife finished cutting her apple and tossed the core into the sink.  A few seeds came loose and tinked a bit as they bounced off the side of our iron sink.  “It sounds to me like you don’t like your jobs.”

“Yes, but I think there’s more to it.  They say each day is a gift but I really have no excitement at all when I wake up in the morning.  I like going to bed more than getting up!”

Melissa took a bite from her apple and gave me a sultry look.  “Here’s what you need to do.  Surprise me tomorrow without spending a lot of money.  Start thinking of something starting now.  I look forward to finding out what it is.”

“Wait, I was talking about a vacation not putting something else on my plate!”

“Just try it.”

I thought about my assignment the rest of the evening and came up with an idea right before sinking into sleep.  It was an exciting idea.  Already, I was distracted from my muddy thoughts. 

Most of the next day was spent thinking thorough my idea and sketching it down on paper.  By the time I arrived home, it was finished and for the first time in a while I felt excited about something.

I had written a letter to Penthouse regarding the last time Melissa and I spent quality time together.  There was a bit of fictitious flourish and the way I abused adjectives and adverbs was brutal.  The envelope was delivered with a bit too much of her favorite cologne and all the pomp I could muster.  We spent most of the evening laughing over it.

“So how was your day?”  Melissa had finished cutting another apple and was in the spice cabinet pushing a few things aside.

“You know what?  I had a better day.  I suppose I was just excited to get home.”

She pulled out the sugar and sprinkled a little over one of her apple slices.  Without warning, she popped it into my mouth.  The taste was overwhelming.

“Sounds to me like you just needed to sweeten things up a bit.”

The “Dumbknuckle Ideal” is a train of thinking that fails to consider possible flaws in any given idea.  The “Ideal” shines a bright spotlight on a few select positives allowing everything else to fall into shadow.  For example, moving to a different country right before tax day sounds like a good way to avoid taxes and see the world but…

Let’s not forget Murphy’s Law, “If something can go wrong it will.” And the ever-complimentary Teply’s Law, “There’s more that will go wrong than you can believe.”

During my college experience, I was assigned observations and practicum at different public schools.  The placement I remember better than any other was a school that was built following the “Open Space Model.” 

Here’s a brief description from http://education.stateuniversity.com/pages/2302/Open-Classroom-Schools.html.  Anything in parenthesis was added later by the staff at DodoEggs.com. 

This is the type of hoo-ha I had to read to become an educator.  WOW, did I waste my opportunity for a college education.

“In the mid-1960s (don’t trust any “idea” from this decade.  I’m warning you) Americans visited the English infant schools, which promoted self-determination. These elementary schools advocated “informal” (read chaotic) or “open” (they still mean chaotic) education and the “integrated day.”  (Not sure what that means.)  The “integrated day” (ok, here it is) refers to an interdisciplinary approach in which content from various subjects is woven and presented in a hands-on, problem-solving context (Sounds good Mr. Egghead.  Now you try teaching this way.). Educators from several continents adapted and applied these concepts in new open space or open plan facilities.

The open classroom school generally had an architectural configuration of large pods (caveronous enclosed spaces) containing six to twelve classrooms, each with an outside access and no interior walls (You read that right.  NO WALLS!). Children were not assigned individual desks; they sat in cooperative small groups (mobs) at tables. Teachers usually defined their workspace by their arrangements of bookshelves and cabinets (and let’s not forget cubical partitions stolen from their spouce’s office). The lack of hallways meant more space was available for instructional use (Yes, and if we don’t bother to make roads we’d have more land to farm!). The outside accesses and lack of walls allowed for greater accessibility (They left out noice and airborne objects.  A typo I’m sure.). These design changes also resulted in a more efficient use of energy at a time when energy was becoming more costly (??????).

The changes in the internal structure of the pod (sounds kind of sci-fi) accommodated changes in the philosophical approach taken by educators. Without traditional rooms, teachers could redefine the nature of their role (too many jokes here…sarcasm overload…try to control myself). The teacher shifted from the dispenser of knowledge to the facilitator of learning (what was wrong with dispensing knowledge?). Teachers were no longer isolated from each other. They were better able to confer and plan (shout over each other). Learning became an activity that was child centered rather than teacher-oriented. Standard grade-level skill checklists were set aside and the differences in individual needs provided the rationale for the curricula (In other words, teach to each student.  THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE WITH THIRTY KIDS!)   Students’ progress was not based on rankings, which define success in a competitive context (you know, like real life – we would hate to give competive, hardworking kids an edge.); instead, evaluation of progress was reported in terms of the individual’s achievement in relation to growth from previous levels and the individual’s initiative and responsibility as demonstrated in academic and related arts areas (cows tell each other the same thing before taking another bite of grass.)

As the role of the teacher changed, methods of instructional delivery were necessarily challenged. Traditional instruction involved discrete (as in focused and structured, two words the auther doesn’t use) subject areas with generalized class expectations for performance. The open space philosophy altered the format of instruction. Classes were replaced with interest centers, which offered topical activities. Center choices promoted the discovery method, a precedent to constructivism (This sounds wonderful to everyone who has never taught before). Learners were prompted to explore and develop their own connections in order to promote concept development and the scientific method. Students moved among the centers largely by choice and often without specific schedules (Chaos!  Children cannot do this!  And if they could, it would take teachers six hours of planning a day to create five or six interest centers!) 

Class composition was reminiscent of the one-room schoolhouse. Teachers arranged flexible multi-age grouping within the interest centers. Mindful of individual needs, teachers were challenged to maintain fluid group membership (and keep thier magic wands polished and fully loaded with magic glitter). In this manner, they could naturally develop a disposition towards diversity and citizenship (the first draft said math and reading but they were reaplaced by more important goals). In some open classroom schools, homerooms or “family groups” (??????????) were not configured by grade level. A class may have contained five students at each level, kindergarten through fourth grade. Each year, five would enter, and five would graduate. The stability of relationships over a number of years allowed a different social dynamic (math and reading…math and reading…repeat after me…math and reading). The homeroom was designed to reflect the cooperative nature of learning. Over time the teacher could develop a richer knowledge of each student and serve as a long-term counselor and mentor.

The construction of open classroom schools declined by the mid-1970s (the drugs wore off). Concerns about noise and distraction encouraged educators to return to a traditional approach (and utopia dies..sniff, sniff). Although the open classroom movement lost popularity, certain aspects of its philosophy and methods were reshaped and used. Many open-space facilities have been remodeled with the addition of inside walls, or become magnet programs, which have located technology labs and computer stations conveniently in the open spaces (well, we’ve got to do something with these buildings!).  Research has indicated that the open classroom approach may not have significantly improved learning, but it certainly did not impede achievement(then why stop building them?). Additional research suggested that children in open classroom programs did score higher than traditional classroom students in self-concept, attitudes towards school, and creativity (math, reading, science, social studies…all absent from this list).

Synopsis:  Roger Kiser is new to the far cast town of Buffalo Rind, North Dakota.  Evening is approaching and the temperature is dropping quickly.  The town’s largest church is closed for cleaning and the only other possible help is from an old man named Minot and his three conniving dogs, Lucifer, Beelzebub, and Mephistopheles.  The old man has an option for Roger although the young man may not like it.

This is a continuation of the Buffalo Rind story.  To read the beginning of the story, please look in the Buffalo Rind category.  If your looking for the regular DodoEggs.com posts, skip this.
 
A knowing grin spread slowly across Minot’s countenance.  He rose slowly and his cumbersome boots started making strides for the front door.  “Perfect!  Stay here for a second.  I need to grab my flashlight and keys.  Then I’ll show you your new home!”

Less than a minute later, Kiser was being led behind the brick home to a heavy wooden door mounted at a slant against an extension of the foundation. It took Minot a while to release the stubborn lock.  Finally with a heave, both men managed to release the door from the ice that bound it.  Snow slid off the door with muted thumps.  A three-foot post stood an arm’s length from the cellar.  It had a slanted top, which readily accepted the door’s weight.

Roger straightened and investigated the opening that remained. The bare concrete stairwell before him melted into a darkness and shadow.  Many of the stairs were chipped and there were several cracks that meandered like bolts of lightning from the cellar walls to the stairs.  Beyond the steps, Roger could see nothing. 

However, it wasn’t what he saw that most disturbed him.  It was what he heard.  Roger stopped moving to better hear the moans, screams, and other wrenching sounds.

Minot spoke in a surprisingly indifferent tone.  “The cellar has everything you need.   The bathroom is on the north side someplace.”  The old man took off a glove and rubbed his temples.  “There is an old fridge down there and a hooked up rotary phone.  Anything you find in the fridge is old so throw it away.  You’ll be asked to pay for any long distance calls.  At one time, I was going to rent this place and not give it away.”

Roger turned back to the stairwell.  He wasn’t sure at first but now he was quite sure.  There were sounds of torment echoing from the home’s darkened cellar.   Was the old man unaware of this?

“Sir, uh, do you hear…” From behind him, the sound of twelve rapidly advancing paws interrupted Kiser. 

“Stand your ground this time son.”  Minot placed his hand on Roger’s arm.  “They are just trying to frighten you.  Don’t let them.”

Despite this admonition, Roger deftly took one step back from the dog’s direct path.  The Dobermans slowed as they came upon the cellar entrance.  They then took easy flights, each one bounding from just a single step, down the steps into the darkness below.

Still nonchalant as ever, the older man continued, “Well, I haven’t any idea what that was about.”

Both Roger and Minot bent over to try and catch a glimpse of the three dogs.  The light near the street and the old man’s flashlight didn’t help much.  The dogs couldn’t be seen and all that could be heard were the sound of maniacal laughter and gut-wrenching screams.

Minot straightened and continued, “Yea, I’m sorry about the noise and clutter down there.  I don’t hear it in the house most of the time.  The local Charity Cause had its usual haunted house fundraiser here.

Anyway, this year they asked if they could store all the props and scenes down here instead of their self-storage unit.  I said no, but Oswego thought it would be a great way to involve himself with more women.  That’s a whole other story.”  Minot scowled a bit.  “I guess they thought it would be cool to play their stupid soundtrack while filling the cellar full with this junk.  They somehow buried the stereo and loud speakers before turning them off.  I guess it’s set on some sort of repeat because, well, it just never shuts up.  I’ve been so busy this past month and a half that I haven’t been able to fix it myself”

Roger was in a state of shock.  “And what am I supposed to do about it!  It’s freezing, I’m frozen and you’re asking me to stay in a dark basement full of Halloween props!  This isn’t normal!  This makes no sense!”

Minot just shrugged his shoulders.  “That’s fine with me.  All you need to do is go down there, sort through the junk, and unplug the stereo.  I’m sure my old space heater is down there.  It’s still early enough this evening for you to get something done.  Just tell me you’re not scared.”

Seemingly on cue, the dogs burst from the darkness.  Lucifer almost knocked Roger over.  Once above ground they ran in circles yelping as if terrified with their tails between their legs. 

“Ihr ist verruckt!  (You guys are stupid!)  Dumb Hunds!”  The old man didn’t consider their little prank amusing. 

“Geh weg oder essen Sie nicht!  (Go away or you won’t eat!)”

With that last shout, the Dobermans stopped their show and scampered off into a snow-covered hedge. 

Minot turned back to Roger.  “Hey, don’t let those stupid dogs get to you.”

The breach in Kiser’s confidence was now miles wide.  “Minot sir, I don’t think I can do this.  I appreciate your offer but there has to be some other place for me.  All I’m really looking for is a sweet old lady who has a small upstairs room for rent.  Maybe she bakes me cookies, knits doilies, and has too many cats.  I wasn’t planning on dealing with anything like this.”

“Suit yourself.”  Minot shrugged his shoulders and leaned over to pull up the door.  “But it seems to me you have as many options as North Dakota has coastline.  After all, with that stupid Alien Days is in town there aren’t too many rooms left.  I’m sure you can just pop a fifty-dollar bill in some clerk’s pocket and he will locate a room.  Am I right?”  

Roger closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.  “I have no friends, no family, no money.  I’m lost in a frozen no-man’s-land with nothing but a tattered backpack full of garbage.  My only option is the storage shed of the undead guarded by a three-headed canine terror. So I suppose I’ll take it.”

Minot had the door halfway shut before Kiser agreed.  “Great.  Good decision.  You will grow from this experience.  Just push all that junk down there as much to one side as you can.  It won’t hurt anything.”

Once he had set the door back down, he began making his way toward the front of the home.  “Alright look, I was in the middle of something really important.  If you need something, just come to the front door.”  The old man turned the corner and the last thing Roger heard was, “Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning, if you live that long!  Ha!”

Chapter One – The Art of the Drama
Part Two – Installing Love – LAB

In the previous lesson, we explored the ten types of love you find in the typical television drama.  We understand how confusing it can be for the aspiring television executive to properly incorporate these into a successful drama.  Even the professionals have no idea!

Remember our motto, CREATIVITY IS NOT A REQUIREMENT!  An orangutan with a nasty rash can run a television network and you can too!

To add a heightened Love Level to your drama, simply plug the names below into the blanks as you see fit.  You may reuse each character as often as you like.  However, the more love situations you place a single character into the less realistic your drama becomes.  (Note:  Believability has not been scientifically proven to be a factor in viewer’s satisfaction.)

Dartainian (rugged, handsome, with consistently even stubble, has a dark secret)

Julian (wears a plunging evening gown wherever she goes, likes younger men, has ”accidentally” killed four worn out characters by hitting them with her car.)

Raul (foreign ascent, excess hair gel, prominent nose, frightened of wax)

Delilah (mother of three by separate men, bikini model, was raised by traveling clowns)

Bo (cute + naive, compulsively clean shaven, wears only solid colors, knows karate) 

Evangeline (hair in a bun, hates men, ugly duckling syndrome, invites her rivals to dinner parties)

Yurik (Hot tempered and ambitious, abuses alcohol, about to inherit his father’s plunger factory)

Thomasville (characters all call him by this full name which adds sophistication but confuses viewers)

Ursula (vindictive, scheming, and sexy, wears only black, has a secret dungeon in her basement)

Walker (good looks are debatable but all the women want him because of his charisma, this confuses male viewers, claims to worship Zeus and the other gods of Olympus)

Plug these names randomly into the following blank to create the “engine” for your show.

Script Bible for a Brand New Drama! 

____________(male) and ____________(male) are the two love interests for a severely conflicted ____________(female). Confusion breaks lose when ____________(male) catches ____________(female), his girlfriend, kissing ____________(male).   Meanwhile ____________(female) is in love with ____________(male) who doesn’t realize that she loves him.  He is too busy chasing ____________(female) and being jealous of ____________(male) who seems to have her attention.  Randomly insert scenes where ____________(male) and ____________(female) look longingly at each other despite the fact that ____________(female) is still married to ____________(male). A catfight ensues when ____________(female) catches ____________(male), her boyfriend, kissing ____________(female).   Then include coincidental scenes where ____________(male) and ____________(male) seem to be having a little too much fun doing traditional male things while their relationships with ____________(female) and ____________(female) aren’t going so well.  At the same time, ____________(female) is beating ____________(male) at home whenever he comes home late or spends too much time talking with ____________(female).  Unbeknownst to everyone else ____________(female) has plans to take over the world by stealing ____________(male)’s brain and putting it into a giant robot, which she built with parts, she earned by smiling smartly at ____________(male).  The plan breaks down when ____________(male) catches ____________(female), his girlfriend, kissing ____________(male).

After you have completed the form, place it in an envelope and mail it to the network headquarters of your choice.  Congratulations on your new career!

Hello!  Welcome to the next chapter our deeply instructional Guide to Becoming a Television Executive.  With all the know-how you’ll receive in these pages, you’ll be able to make decisions on how millions of human beings will squander what little family time they have (Hey, at least they’re not fighting right?).  You’ll be looked to and admired for warping the perception of reality for an entire generation!  Let’s get started right away!

Chapter One – The Art of the Drama
Part Two – Installing Love

Now that we’ve covered the basics for crafting your nauseating, prefab drama (see Setting Your Drama), you’re ready to add the zest that will bring your viewers back again and again.  What I’m referring to is love in its many varied and fascinating flavors!  This “Love Level” in your drama should be central to any plot arc.  Remember, love comes in so many forms that you can even use two or three at a time. 

Here is a good way to illustrate this point.  People like Love the same way they enjoy soft drinks.  You will satisfy most, but not everyone, with the rich, sugary sweet taste of regular cola.  Some want the will want the tart feel of citrus while another group will yearn for the bombastic, forbidden flare of root beer.  Make sure your drama has the feel of a leaky soda fountain.

Let’s examine the ten different “flavors” you can use to bolster your Love Level.

Healthy Love – This is rating poison!  We cannot stress this enough!  Do not incorporate a fulfilling, happy relationship between a man and a woman. 

Love Triangle – “Who will she choose, the spoiled, wealthy, young man with the manipulative parents or the passionate artist with rough friends and a substance abuse problem?”  This works every time just be sure your main character isn’t smart enough to date people without issues.

One Sided Love – One of the best-worn lines in drama history is some form of, “You never call!” or “I never get to see you!”  Your viewers will feel like sages as they calmly tell their TV screens to “Forget about him.”

Tragic Love – This love is a bit more complicated and not recommended if your drama is less than two years old.  This is the tragic result of some other form of love that didn’t end perfectly.  (And it shouldn’t.  Save all that for the series finale when everyone will find love or die in a plane crash.  Those are basically your two options.)

Biracial / Gay Love - This is the way to go if you intend on winning any awards.  Judges insist on things that challenge cultural norms.  We aren’t kidding.  The first three criteria on the judge’s forms are…1) Does it challenge cultural norms?  2) Does it tackle thorny social issues?  3) Does it take a proper stand on topics that Hollywood approves?  By the way…4) Is it well written?  5) Do normal viewers enjoy watching it?

Bi-Species Affair? An Emmy for sure!

Erotic Love - Are your ratings sagging a bit?  Have your lead actress get her face and chest lifted then show as much of it as possible.  Use half-second shots from these scenes in your promotions and you’ll be on at least an extra year.  Make it extra-marital and earn two seasons. 

Age Differential Love - This generally works best with the older woman – younger man dynamic.  (Otherwise, you create the “dirty old man” reaction with women or “that lucky jerk” reaction with the men.  Neither of these are too helpful.)  Make sure the female character feels beaten up and worn out.  Then have an attractive young man stare at her a bit too long and (Whamo!) you’ve created “He’s just in it for the quick hit / No, he really loves her” debate with everyone watching.
 
Unhealthy Love- Like a serving of vegetables, you need to include at least one helping of this sobering type.  The circumstances may differ according to how your writers do it but if your audience isn’t shouting, “Leave HIM, HER, IT!”  Then you’re not doing it right.

Jealous Love – Stalker…lonely best friend…overfriendly coworker…Jealously is almost synonymous with drama!  If you don’t have at least three characters jealous of someone else, then your playing with fire.   

Impossible Love – POW!  Now this is ratings gold!  An entire segment of the movie industry, the romantic-comedy genre, has persisted by putting love-starved people in situations were their love can never be fulfilled.  Get viewers to start cheering for an outcome.  Once the audience has bought in, you’re set!  This is a must have for any drama!

The political machine can be overwhelming.  It seems that those who wear suits, suit-dresses (a sterile hybrid forced on female candidates designed specifically to keep the candidate off of adult websites…mission accomplished!), ties, and lapel pins in Washington are beyond your voice.  These elected officials seem simply out of touch.  It feels that they have gone beyond being representative of your ideals and have become reprehensive instead.

Fear not!  You can still write your congressman and senator!  Let your pen be the instrument that allows you to script your views onto the agenda of this great nation’s congress.  Write powerfully!  Write often!  Write using false names and addresses to avoid legislative staff recognizing you and throwing your protest into the Potomac! 

Even as a young man, I could not keep from sending my message forth.  Yes, I was young and had yet to outgrow my lisp but I wanted to be heard. 

Matthew Teply
000 DodoEgg Drive
Armpit, ND 58601

Thenator Byron Duggan
203 Cannon Offith Building
Washingthon, D.C. 20515

Dear Thenator Byron Duggan:

Congrathulathons, on your elekthon to the Thenate.  It was a well detherved victory.  I hope that you are thuk-thethful in the next few yearth ath you have been in the patht. 

Ath a contherned thitithen and thudent, I would like to know what your thand on the production of domethic petroleum on national parkth.  It hath been my underthanding that thith particular ithue hath been a highly debatable ithue regarding protecting land and encouraging alternative fuelth.

Could you pleath include a brief ecthplanation of why you are for or againtht thith heated ithue.

         Forthrightly,

         
         Matt Teply 

(Note:  This letter, with small adjustments to the address, was actually sent.  There was no reply.)

Also:  Congratulations America on electing the best candidate instead of the qualified one!

Ok, listen.  The rules are simple.  Below are two delightful stories that deal with every American’s favorite topic after those things that are not considered safe for normal conversation. (Sorry race, religion, and politics.  You guys have your own blogs.)  Of course, I’m referring to football.  One of theses tales is truth right from my playbook.  The other is false snap count designed to catch you off sides.  YOU MAKE THE CALL!

Story Number One-

At my old high school (a small boarding school in South Dakota), the garbage was hauled around campus and to the incinerator by a worn out, cantankerous old pickup truck.  It started only if you rubbed its steering wheel the right way.  There was an appalling lack of cup holders, no radio, and three very stubborn springs on the driver’s side of the single seat. 

I had the opportunity to coax this vehicle into movement on many occasions but not during football season.  During that time, picking up the campus trash and the much more difficult job of starting the pickup, fell to another.

It had been an abnormally wet fall and football season was nearly over.  We had a deep, early snow, a sudden warm up, and finally a day of cold rain.  The practice field grass had already been worn down to dirt or in this case…mud.  There was mud on the field and on everyone’s practice jerseys.

Wes was driving the garbage trunk over to pick up the gym’s garbage.  He parked it then wandered inside without shutting the engine off.  No one paid the rough idling vehicle any attention until it started smoking.

“Hey coach, look I think the garbage truck is on fire!”

Coach blew his whistle and everyone stopped.  Thick smoke was shoving its way out from under the hood.  This lasted only a minute before the spastic tips of flames began peeking from the engine compartment.

With as cold as it was, no one had bothered to bring out a cooler of water.  Several of us just stood around before one of the freshmen ran over and shut off the engine and released the hood.  The fire and smoke persisted.   

“Well, quick grab something”

Most of us wandered over and just shrugged.  We didn’t have any idea how to put out the fire.

Then Shelburne grabbed a handful of mud off his jersey and tossed it into the engine compartment.  There was a hiss followed by another lessening of the fire.  Several others tried.  The mudslinging only lasted a minute or so but it did successfully put out the fire.

We found out later the carburetor had somehow sprung a leak, which threw gasoline on the hot engine block. 

At least this didn’t happen anywhere near Hollywood.  There the vehicle would have exploded and jumped twelve feet into the air.  As usual, the old garbage pickup showed it had no sense of the dramatic.

Story Number 2

The collisions in football make it one of the more dangerous sports in which to participate.  Severe to mild injuries can occur to any part of your body.  After every game, you’ll feel sore and a bit beat up even in places that normally don’t complain.  It’s a little like After Thanksgiving Shopping. 

During my senior year, I was the leading point scorer and tackler for my team.  (This really wasn’t a big deal my school wasn’t big, see my post Enjoying The Sunshine.  In fact, we only played nine-man football.  And yes, you can do that.)  Like any other high school buck, I wore my achievement on the football field like a badge of honor.  Since I didn’t have any hair on my chest, this was a necessary substitution.

My ego and pinky finger became a little bent out of shape during the Homecoming game.  I tried to close my hand after making a tackle but something was wrong.  I looked down to find the middle bone in my end finger had been misplaced and slid a bit onto the bone behind it. 

I screamed like a girl with a knot in her pigtail (spectators confused with my post-tackle primal roar).  A fast as I could, I pulled the bone back into place.  I couldn’t feel anything right away but I knew the pain would come.  It even happened a second time later in the game.

After the game, my pinky swelled up to football size.  I was taken to a medical professional who promptly fitted me with a  “Pinky Harness.”  It was a sturdy aluminum bar that went over my finger and was wrapped in faux leather.

I was going to be out of practice for a while but even worse was the idea of strutting down the hallway with my machismo tied up in a little finger brace.

I looked at the doctor with eyes near tears.  “Do you have anything with spikes?”

Check the comments for the correct aswers to ALL Good Egg & Bad Egg Posts.

Somewhere in the eastern half of South Dakota, planted among the cornfields and open pastures is a collection of modest school buildings, a gym, and a well-worn chapel.  The school’s name is Sunshine Bible Academy.  It boasts of being the oldest, private boarding school in South Dakota, which is like saying you’re the most respected toboggan manufacturer in Florida. 

With the nearest metropolitan area (oops, I mean a gas station) a full thirteen miles to the north; you needed to live there or be sure you had enough gasoline to make it back to town. 

My graduating class was ten.  We enjoyed an experience completely different from what many high schools are forced to provide.  Instead of a factory-like campus churning through students, we were Ezra, Wes, Dustin, Matt, Leon, Anna, Kayln, Kristen, Denise, and Cherri.  Hey, how many people can rattle off everyone in his or her graduating class?

I can’t properly remember our class motto.  It might have been “Where Every Student Is In The Top Ten”, “Our Parents Didn’t Want Us At Home”, or something like “Tampons Fugit.”  I keep forgetting. 

What I do remember was that our graduation ceremony was a perfect example of seeing the trees instead of the forest.  We were not a throbbing mass of black robes and cheap mortarboards.  Each well wisher recognized all of us.  If they didn’t know us personally, then they had listened to stories involving each of us. 

There were difficult parts to living at my school.  It wasn’t easy to intimidate other football teams when your name was Sunshine Bible Academy.  We made the best of a bad situation by cheering “S-B-A!”  Still…when your mascot is the Fighting Sunflower scare tactics are a little out the window.  (I jest.  We were the Crusaders).

I enjoy the shocked expressions that cross people’s faces when I describe the rules that governed the boarding students.  When you’re responsible for a group of sixty high school students who all have parents from different denominations, the rules must cater to the greatest common denominator.  Dates and music needed approval from the administration.  Lights were turned out at 9:45 there were no TVs allowed in anyone’s rooms. 

Each person also had a gratis or “work you do for free.”  There was no paid janitorial staff.  Why, when the administration had all this child labor right at its fingertips?  Not surprisingly, I ended up with pots and pans, campus garbage, and cleaning the boy’s bathroom.

People don’t believe me when I say this but “Sunshine Bible represented four of my best years.”  I wish it could have been fourty.”