Need Washing?

A friend forwarded me this story while I was in the midst of a painful day. The flawless timing of the email shook me a bit. I accidentally erased the email so I am retelling the story based on memory. Please forgive me if I altered it a bit.

A little girl had been shopping with her Mom in Target. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful red haired, freckle faced image of innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. A small crowd had formed under the awning and just outside the door of the Target. We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature had messed up their harried day.

I am always mesmerized by rainfall and got lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing barefoot so carefree as a child came pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day. The little voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance I was caught in...

"Mom let’s run through the rain," the little red-headed girl said.

"What?" Mom asked.
"Lets run through the rain!" She repeated.
"No, honey. We’ll wait until it slows down a bit,’ Mom replied.
This young child waited about another minute and repeated, "Mom, let’s run through the rain."
"We’ll get soaked if we do," Mom said.
"No, we won’t, Mom. That’s not what you said this morning," the young girl tugged at her mom’s arm.
"This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet"?

"Don’t you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said , If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!"
The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn’t hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mom paused and thought for a few moments about what she would say.

Now, some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life. A time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith. Mom handled it well.

"Honey, you are absolutely right. Let’s run through the rain. If GOD let’s us get wet, well maybe we just needed washing," Mom said.

Then off they ran. We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. Then, amazingly, others followed. Adults running, screaming and laughing like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing.

Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories.

I HOPE YOU TAKE THE TIME TO RUN THROUGH THE RAIN.

Al, the Travel Valet

Bitten by the Bug

Many people have asked me when I had been bit by the travel bug. My patented answer has always been "before I can remember". As lame as that answer is, it's the truth. One of my two earliest memories includes a snapshot quick vacation. I remember standing inside the gates of Disneyland in the summer of 1969 attempting to line up a picture of Cinderella's castle with my Brownie camera. The summer was abuzz with astronaut excitement. Neil Armstrong and Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin were a week away from walking on the moon. My father, a photographer, decided to take his young family to California for a short vacation before a Life Magazine assignment in Cocoa Beach, Florida. I was 4 years old.

Even though, I don't recall exactly when I had been bit, I do remember the moment I realized I had been infected by the bug's powerful toxin. Early June 1974. In the early days following the graduation of third grade, I had been called home by the "neighborhood alert system". We middle-aged folks raised in the 60's and 70's understand the the powers of the NAS. It was how your parents called you home, before cell phones. They would stand out on the front porch and yell. Even if you were out of earshot, someone would hear the call and pass it along if they knew the direction the neighborhood children had run. All children knew not to ignore the NAS.

I was in the creek behind the Fire House catching crayfish with my best friend. I never understood why we captured these pinching mudbugs. We always released them after one of the prehistoric-looking monsters brought blood to our waterlogged fingers...it was probably a rite of manhood. I'll have to ponder that a while.

Anyway, the NAS found me quickly and I knew to run. It wasn't anywhere near dinnertime and I had not been issued any edicts, which only meant one thing, something was wrong. Though muddy water and trepidation weighted down my legs, I knew not to dally. My dad, who spent as many as 280 days a year on the road, was home. And he despised childish loitering.

I walked headlong into a buzzsaw and, as long as I live, I will never forget the next few hours. It went down like this.......

"Where have you been?" My dad asked the question as he examined my sodden legs and bloody fingertips. It was easy to sense something bad had happened. My stomach was churning bile. I suddenly felt very ill and my father noticed the immediate change in my demeanor. I could see a familiar glare in his eyes. I was guilty of...something.

"In the creek by the Fire Station. The firemen feed scraps to the crawdads. Some of them get this big." I held out my fingers four inches apart.

"How long have you boys been in the creek?" My father was interrogating, but I was sure I had already been convicted. I knew the routine all too well. My heart sank.

"Uh," I looked at my fingertips trying to judge the pruning against my many hours in the pool. "Maybe two hours or, Uhhh, a little less." I wasn't sure. It could have been 45 minutes or 4 hours.

"Well, I have my doubts about 2 hours." His eyes bore into me.

"I'm not exactly sure about the time." Faltering before even before the accusation.

"Don't you have something to tell me?"

"Uh, Uh, Uh...no?" The stuttering answer came out like a question. My son must be lying my father reasoned or he wouldn't be so apprehensive to answer. He asked me several more times and my responses became less and less convincing. I was crying and begging forgiveness in less than five minutes. I still didn't know my crime. Admittedly, I was no angel as a child and could be a headstrong handful. Everyone else, my brothers, mother and the nosey neighborhood waited out by the gallows hoping to see a hanging.

In an effort to shorten the story, I was accused and convicted of throwing a baseball through a window across the street. I denied the crime vehemently which caused the bigger problem for me. In the opinion of the neighborhood, I was lying. And in my household, this was a crime punishable by death. I wore that "Scarlet Letter" for the duration of my adolescence.

You may ask, what does this have to do with the travel bug? Well, while the crime didn't turn out to be earth "shattering." The punishment was. My dad forbade me to travel with him that summer. That was the moment I knew had the disease. The punishment crushed me.

He was a freelance photo journalist about to leave on a photo shoot for National Geographic. Walter Cronkite of CBS had stirred up renewed interest in the UNICEF mission and their struggle with poverty-stricken children in eastern Africa. He was going to take me along. I had traveled with him the year before to some harsh, wind-blown ports of the North Sea. He photo documented some grotesque whaling practices. For three weeks, I couldn't breathe. Horrified, terrified and loving every second. Being the eldest son and in Texan parlance, I had just been denied a birth right.

It took a year to figure out that Roger, a younger kid who lived around the corner, broke the window. My family never understood how much the accusation, conviction and punishment affected me. I became a different person...cynical, suspicious and addicted to travel.

Have a great day!

Al, the Travel Valet

College Football? Why Don't You Get It?

Sorry I've been gone sooo long. Sometimes LIFE gets in the way.

I was talking to a New Yorker the other day. He was coming out of his pants excited about the upcoming football season. Growin' up in Texas where football is a seven day a week religion not just a Sunday morning commitment, I understood his excitement. Trying to be cordial I asked him which team he rooted for and he barked, "The ___ New York ___ Giants, of course..." He added the typical east coast linguistic flavor to his response which I chose to edit out. He rambled on, but I quit listening (seems the Giants have built a new stadium). He didn't ask me anything about my football preferences and I'm glad he didn't. He just wouldn't understand. I know these things only cuz I've been down that road before and it is a long, bumpy road filled with Volkswagen-sized potholes. Not good traveling.

The brief conversation got me thinking.

I know New Yorkers think their five boroughs make up the center of the universe. And to some degree, their arguments are understandable. Gotham boasts world class culture, cuisine and diversity. But one is remiss to think New York is the cat's pajamas when it comes to sports. Yes, they have the Yankees who have won something like 35 out of the 105 or so World Series. They also have the Mets, Knicks, Nets, Jets and the ___ New York ___ Giants. They also have one leg of horse racing's Triple Crown in the Belmont as well as the world's largest tennis tournament in the US Open. One may think I have presented a great argument for Gotham City. Well, you are wrong.

Did you know...the 11 largest stadiums in the country were built specifically for college football and account for 11 of the world's largest 18 stadiums. Did you know every Saturday from September through December these eleven behemoths are filled to the rafters with rabid college football fans.

Did you know...approximately 975,000 fans attend NFL games each week while more than 2,100,000 witness college football firsthand every single weekend. That's 2.1 million folks; 2.5 times the NFL.

Have you ever been to a Texas/Oklahoma game in Dallas during the State Fair? Or the Army/Navy game? Or the Michigan/Ohio State game at the end of the season? I have. I have also been to a Cowboy/Redskin game and a Cowboy/Giant game when the teams were great and guess what...there is no comparison. Not even close. Compare the Kentucky Derby with a three furlong quarter horse race and you'll begin to see what I'm talking about. The energy, fan participation and pageantry of a college football game rivals the NFL playoffs every single weekend. It's not even close.

New York will never understand.

Enjoy the football season.

Al, the Travel Valet