Complete the Story 22 of 198

 The Lake was still and shiny as glass, as if he could step on it and walk all the way across. It was one of those nights when it actually seemed possible. He stood there, breathing deep as he imagined himself swimming all the way across. It was all that he could do. It was his only option. The boat would not start and there was no other way off of this small island other than to swim. In normal circumstances they might brave the night & wait till morning. By then be it fishermen, boaters or the occasional sight seeing scenic plane tour guide, sooner or later someone was bound to see them and bring them back to the mainland. These were anything other than normal circumstances. Jeremiah had been bitten by a venomous snake and Cody knew that time was something that he was not given. He had to get to help and he had to get it as soon as possible. 

He was full of emotions, anger and fear. Jeremiah had seen the snake and went over to pick it up. Why couldn't he have just left it alone? The warning they had been taught when they were little had cemented itself in Cody's brain the moment he had first heard it, but Jeremiah always got it turned around. It was red on black, friend of jack. Red on yellow, I'll kill you fellow. Jeremiah had switched it around. He thought it was red on yellow, I'm a friendly fellow. Red on black, I'll kill you jack.  

"It's a scarlet king snake." Jeremiah argued. 

"No, it's a coral snake!" Cody screamed. "And the damn thing just bit you!" 

As the two walked back to the boat Cody couldn't help but feel resentment against Jeremiah. They weren't even supposed to be here to begin with. He had gone over to stay the night at Jeremiah's house, lying to his own parents that Jeremiah's single mother would be home all night. Truth was she worked as a bar tender at a club that was open till 4:00 a.m. and she usually didn't get home until 5:00.  

"We can go out to the island," Jeremiah had suggested to him. "Take the boat and go fishing." 

Cody tried to talk Jeremiah out of it as he suggested watching movies or playing video games but Jeremiah had his mind made up. Ever since his Grandpa had taken them out to the island, it seemed it was always where Jeremiah wanted to be. Cody figured it was because living in the populated area of Florida that they did, it was one of the only places where Jeremiah ever felt at peace. He wasn't a real people person and he enjoyed being alone. It didn't get anymore "alone" than the island. 

"It won't start." Cody kept turning the key but the boat would not start. They tried to start it manually but it wouldn't start that way either. 

"Something's wrong with the engine," Jeremiah said as he starred at the bite marks on his hand. 

Cody knew it was useless as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to dial 911. There was never any reception at the island.  He watched as Jeremiah tried to dial out on his phone as well.  

"Shit!" Jeremiah repeated it over and over again. "Shit! Shit!" 

"Don't panic." Cody said to him. 

"What do you mean don't panic?" Jeremiah was almost in tears. "I just got bit by a f'n coral snake. I'm gonna die out here!" 

"No you're not." Cody said to him. "Please calm down. If you panic your heart will beat faster and your blood will pump faster. That'll pump the venom through you faster and it'll kill you faster. Please calm down. Breath as slowly as possible." 

Cody grabbed a big blanket from the boat as he laid it on the ground.  They had already built a fire as Cody stoked it as much as he could hoping that it would burn through the rest of the night. 

"Lay as still as possible," He told Jeremiah. "Don't move." 

"What are you going to do?" Jeremiah asked. 

"Go get help." 

It was a little less than half a mile to the shore. About 7 football fields. Cody had never swam that far in his life. Conditioning was the least of his worries though.  These waters were known to frequent Gators and although it was rare for them to attack during the fall weather, Cody knew that you could never rule it out completely. The temperature was in the high 60's, just below the 70 degree marker that experts claim is the bare minimum that one should enter the water. While the jaws of an alligator might not clamp down on him, he might very well feel the bite of hypothermia.  Still he knew that while death might come for him in that water, it would come for Jeremiah if he didn't jump in. He took a big breath and before he knew it he was submerged in the lake  heading towards the shore. 

As he swung his arms and kicked his legs in what is known as the American Crawl, he wondered how much time had already passed.  From the snake bite to trying to start the boat to calming Jeremiah down and stoking the fire, all of it had to have taken at least five minutes.  At this point, he was probably up to at least 10. As he starred ahead all he could see throughout the black darkness was a dim light that shined on the porch of the Hansen house. They were a rich family, both doctors with lake side property who often vacationed in the winter. They usually didn't take off until around the end of November, but every once in a while they'd leave earlier.  While everyone else from everywhere else seemed to come to Florida during these times, the Hansen's often left to avoid the tourist. Cody could only hope this wasn't one of those times. If they were home, he could arrive on the shore and be at their house within minutes.  If they were not home, the next house was at least another mile if not more up the road. 

He wondered how Jeremiah was faring. He knew the venom of some snakes worked slow while the venom of other snakes worked fast. He couldn't remember if Coral snake venom was a venom that would kill you in 20 minutes or if it was one that took more time. Of course he hoped for the latter but couldn't help but fight thoughts of the prior. He imagined showing up with help and Jeremiah lying dead on the ground. The thoughts gave him a second wind as he somehow found the strength to throw his arms and kick his legs harder.  

In what seemed like forever, the top of his right foot came down and hit something that felt scaly. His mind went into a panic as his first thought was that it had to be an alligator. He put his foot down again as he realized it was only the rocks buried within the mud.  He was close to the shore.  In a dead sprint he made it to the land as he ran up the hill to the Hansen's house. His only guide, the porch light that they always left on. Reaching the the porch, he beat as hard as he could on the door as he began to here the sound of a dog barking. 

Exhausted he collapsed on the porch in relief and hope. The Hansen's always took their dog with them whenever they left for vacation. They had not taken off yet. Nevertheless it still seemed to take forever before other lights turned on and the door finally opened. 

"Wendy?" Cody was surprised to see it was only the Hansen's 12 year old daughter, who was two grades behind him. 

"Cody?" She said. "What are you doing here? It's 1:00 a.m." 

"Are you parents home?" Cody asked. "This is an emergency. I need to see your mom and Dad." 

"Mom's visiting Aunt Cheryl in Vermont. Dad had to go to the E.R." 

"Can I have your cell phone?" 

"I don't have it."

"You don't have it!?!?!" 

"I had it taken away from me, " Wendy said. "I got in trouble yesterday. What's wrong?" 

"We were out on the island," Cody explained. "Jeremiah got bit by a coral snake." 

Suddenly Wendy matched Cody in his concern.  Cody sucked the wind remembering how he had told Jeremiah about a half hour earlier not to panic.  Did he have enough energy to run to the next house on down the road. Even when he was completely fresh the mile run during P.E. had taken him about seven and a half minutes. How long would it take now that his legs and arms felt like jello from the swim? 

"I'm gonna have to try and make it to the next house," He said. "Do you think they're home?"

"Wait," Wendy said. "We can take our other car." 

Wendy took off and was back within what seemed like only a few seconds. She threw the keys at him. 

He was freshly 14. He had never driven a car before. He knew Wendy had never driven one either.  This wasn't the best of ideas, but it was their best option. 

They ran out to the car as they got inside. Cody had seen his parents as well as many others do this plenty of times before. It couldn't be that hard. Yet when he put the car in reverse and put his foot down on the pedal, the wheels screech as they came within millimeters of hitting the white picket fence that surrounded the yard. 

"Don't hit the gas pedal so hard."  

Cody had figured that out for himself. 

As bumpy as the ride was, they were heading toward the hospital.  Of all the things that had gone wrong, Cody was thankful that the hospital was on the outskirts of town. One of the first buildings you arrived at as you entered the community. 

They pulled up to the Emergency Room entrance as Cody put the car into park and the two of them ran in. He ran up to the woman at the front desk. 

"My friend has been bitten by a coral snake!" He yelled at her. 

Soon Cody and Wendy were in a room as Cody explained the situation to the to a team of medical experts. 

The one grabbed his walkie talkie as he held it up to his mouth. 

"Prep the copter," He said as he looked at Cody.  "You're coming with us." 

Cody had seen the hospital helicopters many times throughout his life. He always wondered what it'd be like to fly in one although he thought he'd never get to.  Now he was following a group of medical staff as they led him outside and into the the front seat of one of them. All in all there besides him there was the pilot and two medics. 

"You are sure it was a coral snake?" The one said to him as the other prepared needles that Cody could only assume were full of antivenin.  

"Yeah," Cody answered. "Red, yellow, black." 

"This is the Island in the middle of May's lake?" 

"Yeah," Cody answered. 

"What side are you guys on? What should we look for?" 

"A white motorboat and a fire. It should still be burning." 

By the time Cody had jumped into the water until he had arrived at the hospital had to have taken at least an hour. Maybe more. The helicopter ride took took all of five minutes.  As they spotted the fire, the pilot landed the helicopter on the shore right next to the water.

"Wait here," The one said to Cody.

It was the longest wait of Cody's life. He feared what they might find when they came up to that fire. Would they find Jeremiah's lifeless body? Would he have succumbed to the venom yet? Would Jeremiah be on his last leg? Vomiting and convulsing?  What would his condition be? Had Cody made it in enough time?  As he sat there waiting he began to shake at the thought of the medics bringing the corpse of his friend back to the helicopter. Would they really do that? If Jeremiah was dead would they really bring his body to the helicopter and bring it back to the hospital? Or would they leave it out there and come back for it later?  He closed his eyes as he began to remember the first time Jeremiah's grandfather had taken them to the Island. 

"Someday I'm sure you'll be big enough to come out here by yourselves," He had said to them. 

"Yeah," Jeremiah had said. "Once I'm big enough, I'll be out here all the time." 

"Promise me one thing," His Grandpa said as he grabbed him by the shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Never come out here alone. Always come together." 

Jeremiah and Cody both promised but there words weren't good enough for Jeremiah's Grandpa. 

"Your hands on it" He insisted.  

He held out his hand and Jeremiah put his on top of it and Cody put his hand on top of his. It was the solid oath of Jeremiah's family. If you gave your hand on something, it was gold. 

"Cody?" 

It was the greatest noise that Cody had ever heard. It was Jeremiah's voice. He opened his eyes. He couldn't believe what he saw.  The medics were lifting Jeremiah into the Helicopter on a padded gurney. Jeremiah didn't look any different than what he had when Cody had left him. His face wasn't pale. His eyes weren't dim. Hell, he didn't even look sick. Spent from the exhaustion of worry but nowhere near the ready to be put six feet under that Cody had expected to see him in. 

"Lay back," The Paramedic said to him. "Be still but keep your eyes open. Look at me. Watch me."

Cody was confused. Happy, but confused. It made no sense to him that Jeremiah was in such good shape. He was glad he was in such good shape, but it made no sense. 

A few moments later they were back at the hospital. Jeremiah was wheeled away as Cody was taken to another area where Wendy was. 

"Is he ok?" Wendy asked. 

"I think so," Cody answered. 

"Was he really sick?" Wendy asked. "Was he able to talk?" 

"Yeah," Cody said. "He was talking. He seemed to be just fine." 

Wendy had the same look of relieved yet confused that Cody did. 

The two sat in the room both with a million thoughts racing through their heads but neither said anything.  

"So how did our car ride?" 

Cody looked up. It was Wendy's father, Dr. Hansen. 

"Yeah," Cody said as he stood up. "I'm sorry about that." 

"No," Dr. Hansen said to him as he reached out and patted him. "There's nothing to be sorry about. It was an emergency. You had to help your friend." 

Cody smiled. "Yeah, how is he?" 

"Just fine," Dr. Hansen smiled. "It was a dry bite." 

"What do you mean a dry bite?" Cody asked. 

"Sometimes Coral snakes as well as other snakes will bite defensively without injecting venom. Their venom is very precious to them. If they don't have to use it they won't." 

"You mean to tell me that Jeremiah wasn't even envenomated?" 

"No." 

Cody hung his head. He felt really stupid. He had bared a lake known to have alligators in what could have very well been hypothermic temperatures over 700 yards to be told that Jeremiah's life hadn't even been in danger. 

"What's wrong?" Dr. Hansen asked. 

"I feel like an idiot," Cody answered. "I feel like a fool." 

"Son," Dr. Hansen grabbed him in a hug. " You are anything but an idiot. You are anything but a fool. You thought your friend was in danger and you risked your own life to save him." 

 

Thank You Vince McMahon

 The timing on this post couldn't be any worse than what it is. In the heat of a sex scandal I suppose I will be accused of honoring a man that committed adultery on his wife while taking advantage of other women. Believe me, I do not condone those acts. I don't overlook them.  What I am doing right now is recognizing in spite of all the wrong that Vince McMahon may have done, all of the right that he did too.  

Wrestling at many levels has been and continues to be a huge part of my life. I run my own collegiate wrestling website & I'm fairly successful with it. I'm not getting rich off of it by any means but I have a decent following & it helps me cover a few bills here and there. None of that would have been possible without Vince McMahon. 

If you go back to the very beginning. The root of my love and passion for wrestling, it all starts with my early interest in the WWE all the way back in 1989. That's when I saw my first WWE professional wrestling match & that's when I fell in love with professional wrestling.  This of course led to getting involved in amateur wrestling.  So yes, as much as amateur wrestling has been a huge part of my life for nearly all of my life, I owe a thank you to Vince McMahon. 

Here's how I'll remember the good that he did....

If I had to pick my very favorite memory of Vince McMahon, this interview with Andre The Giant in 1979 would have to be it. It took place a good 6 years before I was even born, but with syndication and reruns I saw it many times while growing up. I love it both from a fan point of a view and from a worker point of view. It was clear to tell that McMahon had a deep respect and admiration for Andre. Yes, he was a shrewd business man who saw $ signs left and right when looking at Andre, but I also think he appreciated Andre enough to pay him well and treat him fairly.  If there is a darkness and a light within all of us, I think it was this moment when McMahon's light shined brightest. 

I'm probably the only person alive who would say this, but I enjoyed Vince McMahon the most when he took on the role of simply being a play by play color commentator. I remember being so confused during the news of the steroid scandal back in the early 1990's. I remember wondering why in the world Vince McMahon was standing trial? Where was Jack Tunney? Why wasn't he being questioned? Why was all this pressure being put on Vince McMahon who was nothing more than a commentator?  A lot of people act as if they've always known that Vince was the owner/operator of the WWE, but I think quite a few were like me.  I think that back when he played it off as if he were nothing more than a commentator, that most were unaware that he was the head of the WWE. It took my Dad explaining it to me back when I was 7 years old or so, to understand what was going on. 

Looking back now, I think it was brilliant. It's exactly how I would handle such a business, if there be any other business like professional wrestling. Blend in with the rest of the crowd. Create the illusion, feed the mystery. To me it's no different than a writer who takes on a pseudonym. I began watching professional wrestling in 1989 and I followed it like a hawk up until late 1997. Those eight years were a very magical time for me, especially the first four.  I realize that professional wrestling had but no other choice to change, but from a fan perspective I miss those days. 

I was never a huge Attitude Era fan. There were moments I appreciated about the Attitude Era but my love for the WWE will always be the decade most refer to as the Hogan Era. With that said, I understand that times were changing and that the WWE had no choice but to evolve. I admire Vince McMahon's ability to see and recognize that changes needed to be made. He was essentially going through the exact same thing that he had put all of his opposition through 10 years prior. He knew he had to study what they had done and see where they had gone wrong. When he started to take the talent of the AWA for example, he saw how owner Vern Gagne wanted to keep doing everything as he had always done it. Gagne wasn't willing to change with the times & as a result it cost him his livelihood. It cost him his business of 40 years. McMahon knew better than to let that happen. In the mid 1990's, WCW was snatching all of the WWE's top talent. Hulk Hogan, Roddy Piper, Randy Savage & the list goes on. At first McMahon tried to attack his former talent for their age, but that wasn't working. As he was about to lose Bret Hart, that's when he got creative and realized that the WWE needed a whole new overhaul. This is when we started seeing the roots of the Attitude Era. Goldust, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Triple H. It all began to form. I feel sometimes that things went too far. The hypersexual tone, the perverseness, the inappropriate innuendoes. It wasn't for me, but I respect and understand why it came to that level. McMahon not only kept the ship from sinking, he brought it into harbor early.  

It was way past due, but as the saying goes, "better late, than never."  I'm always going to respect that Vince McMahon let Bret Hart get his revenge match. I wish it would have been sooner, when the two could have really executed a beautiful, brilliant match, but nonetheless on principle alone I'm still glad it happened. Justice is rarely served in this world. Most of the time people are wronged and that's usually the end of it. I suppose that's why vengeance is referred to as "so sweet" when it actually does happen. Watching McMahon get put into the sharpshooter was a glorious moment not only for me, but for millions of other fans too. 

As much as one can learn from Vince McMahon's successes, I think there's a lot to be gained from studying his failures too. Sink or swim, McMahon was never afraid to roll the dice. He owned the craps table all night long when he continuously rolled sevens with WRESTLEMANIA. He took a huge risk in completely changing the image of professional wrestling back in the early to mid 1980's & then he did it again in the late 90's. All of those ventures paid off, but he had some other ideas that went straight into the toilet.  I don't know what in the Hell he was thinking with the World Bodybuilding Federation. I think most people appreciate a good physique or at least the amount of hard work it takes to obtain one. It's no joke that even though Bobby Eaton can work circles around The Ultimate Warrior that most fans would rather see the Warrior's physique than they would Eaton's.  Yet to think that people were going to want to sit and watch videos of men and women posing all day was a humorous as it sounds. The XFL was another venture that McMahon got into that at least upon its initial run didn't work out. It just goes to show that sometimes people have their niches. They have certain things that they are good at and certain things that they are not. Professional wrestling was McMahon's specialty. It was his calling. Very few of us ever meet up with what it is that we're supposed to be doing. Even those of us that do, the circumstances and resources available to us don't always match up as they should. They did for Vince McMahon. 

He wasn't always nice about it. He was cutthroat, cutnut, and in many ways absolutely ruthless. He wanted to be number one. Lies, manipulation, trickery, he stopped at nothing to achieve his goals. Are those characteristics admirable? No, but what they are is revealing. It makes one question if it is possible to reach the heights that Vince McMahon did by playing the game fairly. Can you walk out a winner if you're honest, genuine and sincere?  I think McMahon had these qualities as well and that he did display them at times. I question if the darker side of him was inherent or if he realized at a young age it was the only way to get ahead? 

What I do know is that I fell in love with professional wrestling back in 1989 and it had a significant impact on my life. It gave me  a lot of joy for a period of 8 years or so of watching it on Mondays, Saturdays and Sundays. It's how my Dad got me to start reading with various magazines that he would buy me. It was toys. Video rentals. You name it.  Then it became getting involved in amateur wrestling & falling in love with that. Then it became 6 years of actually doing professional wrestling. Now it's me running my own collegiate wrestling website.  So yeah, I owe Vince McMahon a thank you. Indirectly he's been and will continue to be a big part of my life. Thank you Vince McMahon. 

Complete The Story 21 of 198

 I asked her if she was joking. Her frown told me she wasn't. "Every last penny, gone," She said. "And that's not the worst of it." She paused a moment before continuing as she leaned across the table.  

"She got the house, all of his belongings. His entire estate." 

"Explain to me how this happened." I said as held my cup of coffee sinking into the booth. 

"Somehow or another over the least few months she was able to go in and convince Dad that everything should be left to her. She got him to change the will. Sign his name to it and everything." 

 I took a big gulp of my steaming hot coffee hoping that it might warm me up, but it didn't. The news of what Janice was telling me had made me turn stone cold. That coffee could have been 1,000,000 degrees and I still would have sat their frozen. 

I didn't know what to say, so I just sat there starring at the table. How could Kara have done this? How could she be so selfish?  Adding up everything, Dad was worth about $650,000. Take out an inheritance tax and the three of us would have been left with about $165,000 a piece. Plenty for me, plenty for Janice. Obviously not  enough for Kara. She needed the whole amount for herself. 

I thought to myself how Dad would never have stood for this in his right mind. He had always insisted that the three of us would divide everything he had worked for into a third. His mind had to have been completely gone in order for Kara to have been able to pull this off. 

Janice began talking again, but I wasn't listening. I was too busy thinking about other things. I thought of Dad's military valor. The medals he had earned from Vietnam and some of the other things he had brought back from the war. I'm sure some of it was probably worth something, but neither Janice or I had ever concerned ourselves with that. We both knew how important that stuff was to Dad and we both intended on keeping our promise that as long as we were alive, it would be kept safe. Kara would sell it the second she got offered a good price for it.  I thought of Dad's thoroughbred hounds Rusty and Ralph. At his age he had no business buying two puppies the way he did two years ago, but none of us knew how sick he was or how quickly he'd go. Kara didn't care if they went to a pound or to an Asian meat market as long as the price was right.

"I wish we would have done this to her." 

I looked up to make eye contact with Janice. She continued. 

"I'd have been fine with each of us getting half and leaving her out of it." 

It was a fair thought, but something neither one of us could have done. Kara could have screwed us 100 times over before either of us would have ever done the same thing to her. A good conscious will protect anyone and everyone before it'll ever look out for itself. Dad had made it clear to the three of us that he wanted all three of us to benefit from the inheritance. As much as neither Janice or I could stand Kara, both of us would have always made sure she got her third. 

"Is there anyway we can fight this?" I already knew the answer but I asked the question anyway. 

"I don't see how," Janice answered. "He changed it. He signed it." 

"Yeah," I said. "But he wasn't in his right mind. The man was dying of Alzheimer's. She manipulated him and took advantage of him." 

Janice took a deep breath. 

"Maybe," She said. "But I imagine we'd have to get an attorney involved. I don't have the money for that." 

"Neither do I," I said. 

Janice and I starred at one another for a second. I didn't know what she was thinking or feeling, but if I had to guess I would say she was thinking and feeling the same way I was. Both of us looked at the other hoping that one of us would have an answer to all of this. Both of us disappointed in ourselves that neither of us did. I wanted to be there for her. She wanted to be there for me. Yet all we offered one another was the solace of knowing how much this sucked and how unfair it was. 

Janice was in a position to where this money could have really helped her out. Her husband died unexpectedly in an accident two years ago & she's been struggling and scrounging to raise her two boys ever since. $165K would give her a nice little nest egg to stop worrying so much and get back on her feet. I've been struggling my whole life. I'll be 50 in three years and I ain't got shit to my name. I live in an apartment and the only thing I own is a car that is falling apart. Two other guys I work with are thinking of opening up their own mechanic shop. I was gonna take $50,000 of my inheritance and go into business with them. Now I can't. This was finally going to be my opportunity to make something out of myself. Get somewhere in life and finally start building towards my future.  

Kara took that from me and she took it from Janice too. It'd be one thing if she were desperately hurting for money but she isn't. At least if she really needed it, then maybe I could forgive her.  Maybe I could understand what she's done. Kara married a guy for his money years ago and then got the poor bastard for everything he was worth in the divorce settlement. If there be an advertisement for prenuptial agreements, it is my sister Kara. She lives in a nice cottage up in the Hills, already able to sit on her ass doing as she pleases for the rest of her life. She doesn't need $500,000. She doesn't even need $165,000. 

Two hours ago Janice and I sat in Church at the First Reformatory in Glenhauser listening to a sermon from Pastor Smith Jeffries. He spoke of the importance of learning to love our enemy. If that's what I'm supposed to do, then call me defiant. I'm sure that it's probably a sin to even think of Kara as my enemy. I don't love her though. Hell, I don't even like her. I don't want to hate her, but I think if I have to be honest, I do.  

To take it all. To trick our mentally ill father who was dying of Alziehmer's changing his will and having him sign everything over to her. Maybe if it was just her and I, then maybe I could forgive that. But Janice is getting screwed in this ordeal too and I can't look past that. Wrong as it may be, I cannot look past that. I won't look past that. 

"I was going to put away $100,000 of that money for Todd & Tad's college." The hopelessness in Janice's demeaner was contagious.  

"More coffee?" The waitress had returned holding the pot in her hand as she awaited my answer. 

"Yes," I answered. "Thank you." 

She poured the cup to the top. 

"Sugars?" 

"Na," I said, "I take my coffee like I take my life...black." 

My Crush to the Rescue

 Think of the most pathetic person you can in terms of being good with romantic interests.  Thought of the person? Good. Now think if that person were even worse. Then you'd have me. I don't care how bad the someone you know is. I guarantee compared to how I was at one time, they were a modern day Don Juan. 

Although I did have one girlfriend during high school, I didn't start to feel comfortable around women in a sexual/romantic/intimate way until I was well into my mid 20's. Before that point, I think I had an outright phobia of them under those circumstances. While I had female friends & was very comfortable around them, anything beyond that was quite terrifying.  

I had crushes throughout school, and 99% of the time, I did absolutely nothing about them. Most of my crushes never lasted all that long, but one did. There was a girl that moved into Sigourney from Burlington in the 4th grade and the second she flashed those baby blues my way, I was infatuated.  

It took my friend Tim Wehr all of about three seconds of watching me drool over her during lunch to figure out that I had a major crush on Jillian Kleinman. Being the loud mouth that he is, he'd say her name outloud so that others could hear.  It used to embarrass the Hell out of me. I'd turn red and if I thought she heard, I'd hope that the cooks had laced the dried piece of beef they passed as a Hamburger with poison. I just wanted to melt in my chair and die. When I discovered one of Tim's crushes a while later, I made sure to say her name as loud as a I could in epic vengeance. 

Tim and I came to an agreement that I wouldn't say the name of his crush out loud, if he didn't say the name of mine. We came up with codenames. His crush was "007" and Jillian was "R4."  You don't realize the stupidity of being young until you look back on it years later.  

What may not be so hard to believe is that my crush on Jillian lasted from the 4th grade through the 7th grade. It may have lasted even longer, but she moved back to Burlington with her family. What is hard to believe is that during that four year span, Jillian and I only communicated a handful of times.  

I guess when it came to attractive women, my stance was sorta like being a little kid at the store with your mom. You're told and you obey the rule of, "You can look, but you can't touch."  Or maybe better put driving past an expensive car lot full of Corvettes and Camaros. Dream all you want buddy, you ain't ever owning one of these. 

I enjoyed my fantasy. I enjoyed admiring Jillian from a distance. I'd day dream of us being a couple, hand in hand. I'd dream of taking her to dances. Going to movies together. The innocent stuff you think of at that age. Yet any time I got within five feet of her, I'd freeze up and become a blabbering fool.  

I have no idea what Jillian thought of me. I'm sure in four years she had to know that I was fixated with her. There's no way she couldn't have known. I doubt she was too thrilled about it, but I don't think she was horrified by the thought either. If anything, I think she probably get a kick out of it & found it humorous.   

One of the only times we conversed was when she initiated the conversation with me. 

It was 6th grade. Mrs. Wallerich's Reading class.  Now while I became a very good student in junior high, high school and college, in elementary I wasn't very good. I wasn't exactly a failing student with D's & F's. I was more along the lines of mediocre. Do what I have to do, get a few B's & settle for C's kinda guy.  

Only problem was, Mrs. Wallerich posted a question on the board every day about the books we were reading, that we were to journal about.  It was something like 25 questions & each of the answers needed to be at least a paragraph long. To a 6th grader, that's Mission Impossible.   

I can remember Mrs. Wallerich plain as day telling us that Friday afternoon, "Now remember your journal entries are due on Monday. They are 1/3 of your overall grade." 

I panicked.  

I was already struggling in Mrs. Wallerich's class as it was. I was getting a C- and I didn't have a single journal entry complete. I didn't even know what the questions were. I had actually forgotten that we even had a journal. I opened up my desk & searched through the jungle of madness that it was to find my journal near the very bottom. I opened it up and starred at the blank pages. What in the Hell was I going to do?  

Going to Mrs. Wallerich was the absolute worst thing I could do. If I were to go up to her and ask her for a copy of the questions, she would immediately know why I was asking. This would spell out certain doom. She was not a fan of mine to begin with, and me failing her class would probably have made her day.   

All I could do was sit in that chair & think of the horrific fate that awaited me. I thought of how all of my classmates would be going on to junior high, while I had to repeat the 6th grade. I thought that I might not even live to repeat the 6th grade, because once my Dad got wind of what was going on, he'd kill me. I probably looked like an inmate awaiting execution as I sat in that chair praying, hoping, wishing for someway out.  

The bell rang for our next class, as everyone else got up and headed out the door. In my own world, I noticed nothing around me until I heard a loud, "SPLAT!" 

I looked down at my desk. It was a notebook. On the cover in big black permanent marker it read READING JOURNAL MRS. WALLERICH. On the top left hand corner, Jillian K.   

I looked up to see her starring down at me.  In three years of being in lust with this girl, it was the closest we had ever been to one another. I mean that physically.  It was literally the closest we had ever been to one another. 

"Bring that to me first thing on Monday morning," She said. "If you forget it...I'll kill you." 

I slipped her notebook into my bookbag and that weekend I worked on the journal questions. I knew better than to copy what she had written. I didn't do that. I simply used her journal to know what the questions were and to remind myself of certain characters and parts in the books we had read.  

First thing Monday morning, I found her, handed her the notebook and simply told her thank you. She rolled her eyes at me and nodded her head. I handed in my journal and much to my surprise, I got an A on it. It raised my grade to an even C.  I was going to pass Mrs. Wallerich's class & I was headed to the 7th grade with the rest of my classmates. 

I'll never known why Jillian did that for me. Maybe she just felt sorry for me. It may have been an act of pity.  Eric Bates tried convincing me that she did it as a motion to show me that she liked me as much as I liked her. He tried to drill it into my head that she opened up a door for me & I was too stupid to walk through it. All these years later, all I can do is guess and speculate. Regardless of why she did it for me, I will forever be thankful. She kept me from failing a class & potentially from having to repeat the 6th grade.  

I'd like to tell you that I was able to repay the favor one day, but I never did. It's not that I wouldn't have, but the opportunity never came up.  She moved away before the end of 7th grade the next year & I only saw her once more after that. 

I believe it was my sophomore year of high school. She came from Burlington to watch a football game. We had a dance afterwards.  For some reason while most nights I had zero confidence, that night I was full of it. Perhaps I was possessed by someone else. I walked right up to her and started a conversation with her. I hung out with her all night. Then towards the end of the game I told her that there was a dance, and I'd love for her to go with me.  She said yes.  It was the first time in my life I had ever asked a girl to do something with me and she said yes.  Unfortunately she came up to me a while later and said she couldn't go. Originally her and her family weren't going to leave back to Burlington until Saturday, but her mom decided they were going back tonight. She seemed genuinely bummed, and I'd like to think she was.  It was the last time I ever saw her. 

It's been 20 years or more since I last saw Jillian. I've had many girlfriends since her & I'm in a very happy relationship with my current girlfriend of 7 years. I'm sure she's probably married with 10 kids by now. I don't know if I believe all things happen as they should, but I do believe the Universe has some sort of order.  I don't regret that she and I never got together. It obviously wasn't meant to happen. She wasn't my someone and I wasn't her's.  Yet I do regret that I never got to repay the favor. I do wish that I would have gotten to do that. She literally saved my ass that day.  I'll forever be thankful and I'll never forget it. 

The Door

 I was conceived Catholic. My mother had grown up a member of the St Joseph Catholic Church in North English, Iowa & when her and my father first got together, this is the religious path that they took.  When my sister was born in 1982, she was baptized Catholic & a man I don't believe she's ever met, Terry Seip (I've met him twice myself) became her Godfather. I was always curious as a child why Sara had a Godfather and why I didn't. I guess my Dad who grew up going to the Hayesville Church (Which I don't even know if it is there anymore) wasn't too keen on the way that Catholics did things. So sometime before the 22nd of May, 1985 they switched it up & became Methodists. 

Long before I ever had any real conscious idea of what Christianity was or took a deep inner analysis, I was being held in my mother's arms in the pews of the Sigourney Methodist Church. So I guess in some ways it is fair to say that I was born Christian, specifically Methodist. When people inquire when I became agnostic, I usually answer June of 2007.  Consciously that is an accurate answer, but I wonder if sometimes my entire life I was an agnostic, but I just didn't know it. 

I can remember being really little & listening to other people talk about God. I can remember sitting in the pews with my mother at Church & listening to our pastor Danny Lemons speak of all of the great things God had done. Of how someone had a scare with cancer, and now because of God they were ok. How someone else had lost their job, but God helped them find one better. How this guy had gotten in a car accident, but God kept them safe. How this girl had fallen off a boat, but God saved her from drowning. This God sounded like a really cool guy to me. I wanted to meet him. I wanted to shake his hand and give him a hug. 

"God is here with us!" Danny would state it loud and clear as I looked about the room. I looked all over. If he was there with us, then where in the Hell was he? I wanted to see him. I wanted to see what he looked like. Point him out. Have him come up to the front of the room and introduce himself.  

There was a man that used to sit all by himself in the far corner of the room. I'd find out years later the real reason he always sat alone was because he didn't bathe & he stunk to high Heavens. No one wanted to sit next to him or better put, even if they wanted to be friendly, their noses strictly forbid it. At the time though, I thought maybe he was God. I remember asking my mother once. 

"Is that man God?" I asked her

"Be quiet!" Was the answer I received. 

I didn't think he was God. After all he didn't have a beard.  I just couldn't picture God without a beard. God had to have a beard. Besides that he wore glasses. Danny & everyone else kept saying that God was perfect and a perfect man wouldn't wear glasses.  

During our songs, Danny would leave the room. He'd open up this door, close it behind him & then he'd come out once we were done singing. I was 100% positive that it had to be where God was. I figured for one reason or another God was in this room. I pictured Danny going in there and discussing with God what he was going to do next in the service. It made me think of God in the same way as I thought of the principal at my sister's school. He might come out if he absolutely has to, but for the most part he was going to sit in his office and do his work from there. 

I made up my mind one day, that I was going into that room. I knew God was in there and I was going to see him. 

After the service, every Sunday we'd go down into the Church basement.  One one side the adults would get snacks and drinks, as they sat around tables visiting. On the other side, the kids would gather around a TV watching McGee and Me videos, or play with toys. I figured this was my chance to sneak up stairs, go into that room and get a glimpse of God. 

I did a good job of sneaking back upstairs, but when I got up there, I began to shake with fear. What if God didn't want me to see him? What if he was busy and I was disturbing him? I know how angry my Dad could get with me when I bothered him when he didn't want to be bothered.  Was God gonna get mad when I walked in on him? Would he blow up at me the way my Dad sometimes did?  

I walked all around the room & checked places I knew God wasn't. The room had a balcony with some rooms in it & checked them simply to waste time if nothing else. I had exhausted every crook and cranny of that entire space until all that was left was that single door, that I was almost certain God was behind.  

I stood by that door for what felt like an eternity. My heart raced 1,000 beats per second. I shook with fear of the unknown.  I reached out and put my hand on the door handle. 

"Stephen!" 

I turned. It was Dick Coffman, one of the members of the Church. 

"What are you doing up here?" He asked. "We've been looking all over for you. Come on." 

In a way I was relieved. For all I knew maybe Dick saved me from getting in trouble. Yet I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had I opened up the door that day. 

Years would go by, decades. I was no longer a curious 5 year old full of wonder and ponder. I was now a 23 year old adult, who had explored the depths of my curiosity. I was out hanging with my good friend Andrew Nieuwsma, whose mom worked for the Methodist Church. At this point in my life, I hadn't been in the building in years. Probably close to 10 years. 

When I went in with him, I told him that I was gonna go walk around for a minute. The Church was empty other than me, him & his mother. I knew how silly it was, but now that I had the chance, I had to see what was finally behind that door. I had to know.  

Call me crazy and in many ways, I'd have no defense. I suppose it's the true possiblistic agnostic that I am. I believe in the realms of possibility, entertaining all ideas, being allegiant to none. In terms of the unknown, certainty is rare. So is it insane to think that a small part of me still though that God might be behind that door? Of course it is, but a part of me did still think that.  When I reached out for that door handle, I still shook with anticipation. I still hesitated with fear. 

Before I turned the knob, I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. I closed my eyes as it opened, having to summon up the courage to open them again. It was nothing at all like I had imagined.  It was a small, simple room. Hardly big enough for one person, let alone two. Even if God had been there, I don't know how he and Danny would have fit at the same time. It was a small rack for a coat, a desk with some stationary and a chair. A door on the other side that led to a staircase that I had always wondered where in the world it went. For close to twenty years I wondered where this door led, thinking it might be a gateway to Heaven itself, and in reality it was about the size of a broom closet. 

Karma

 Years ago, when I was doing professional wrestling, I witnessed probably the worst beating I've ever seen in my life. It all stemmed from someone taking revenge on another person. 

There was this guy that had zero training, & he was absolutely careless and reckless in the ring. He had zero concern for the health or safety of his fellow workers. I had a run in with him once during a battle royal for APW in Milo, Iowa. He went up behind another worker and legit hit him in the back of the head as hard as he could. The other worker went down grabbing the back of his head, saying, "Dude! This is supposed to be a work." He responded, "I gotta make it look real." Which was contrary to what he was actually doing. You make it look real, you don't actually really do it. Especially hitting someone in a vital area like the back of the head. Anyway I grabbed him, pressed thim up over my head & threw him out of the ring. He said that he wasn't ready to go out yet, but I didn't care. He had already hurt one guy, he didn't need to be hurting anyone else. 

A while later he was put into a match with a trainee, who had a lot of potential. A good kid, with the good attitude that I think could have made it pretty far had he not gotten injured by this idiot. 

During the match, the guy dropped the trainee on his head doing a very risky maneuver that he never should have done. As a result the trainee messed up his neck and his shoulder, as well as his clavicle really bad. It more or less ended his professional wrestling career before it even began. There was no guilt or remorse on the other guy's part at all. He treated it like it was a part of the business of professional wrestling and as if those things just happened. He took no responsibility or accountability at all. 

Fast forward about 2 months later and the trainee's brother and the guy who had hurt the trainee are in a six-man tag team match. 3 on 3. Only when the idiot was tagged in, suddenly it became a five on one match.

It went from being a work to a shoot in a matter of seconds. 

It was like a gang beating. They beat him senseless. We're talking full-fledged punches to the face & picking him up and just tossing him. 

Two of the guys held him, while the trainee's brother took a chair and hit him on the head about three times harder than Stevie Richards hit Bradshaw the night he gave him a receipt for what he had done to the Blue Meanie.  I've never seen someone get hit so hard. 

The idiot never knew what hit him. He was knocked silly. From what I heard, he had some people take him to the emergency room. He never came back to any of the shows that I was ever a part of. I never heard or saw from him again. 

Nobody felt sorry for him and no one was mad at the other guys for what they did. He was a reckless, careless and above anything else he didn't care about what he had done to the trainee. So everyone's response to situation is that he got what he deserved. 

My Stance On Transgender Athletes

 My philosophy on life has always been, "as long as you're not hurting someone else, do as you please." 

During my college years and up through my mid twenties, I identified as a liberal. 

Around the age of 26, I realized that I was more of a centrist and I've identified as a moderate ever since. However because I am so passionate about civil and social issues, and on a lot of them I lean left most still think of me as liberal. 

I am a total body sovereignist when it comes to drug usage. That surprises many people because I'm not a drug user. I never have been. I don't smoke and I drink less per year than some people do in  a weekend. 

I've attended two gay weddings in my life, one of them I was even in. I fully support gays adopting. I even once marched in a gay parade.

I've always been supportive of the transgender community as well. Ashley and I knew a guy who had been excommunicated from his family and had no place to go. We gave him a cheap place to stay to help him out. 

6 months later back on the feet with a good job and an ability to get a place. He walked into our home John and she left our home June Serenity. We still associate and support June to this day.

With that said though the current issue of transgender women in female sports has caused me to have any liberal status that was ever given to me completely revoked. 

I cannot support transgender women competing against biological women because it all goes back to the philosophy that I've had from the very beginning. 

"As long as it doesn't hurt someone else." 

Well I believe this is hurting someone else. I believe that women's rights are in jeopardy. When you look at the history of the challenges and tribulations that women have had to go through to even have a right to participate in sports, you realize how difficult the road has been. 

Find women that graduated high school before 1968 in the state of Iowa for example. Ask them if they played sports. They will tell you that they didn't. You want to know why? They weren't allowed to. While all of the boys in their class got to play football, play basketball, wrestle, run track, play golf and play baseball, there were no sports for girls. 

As a Collegiate wrestling historian, I've made it my business to know as much about Title IX as I can. A lot of people don't realize how needed Title IX was at one time.  We take for granted now that we have so many opportunities for women in sports at the high school and college level. It wasn't always like that. The roads had to be paved, and the barriers in those roads were very real. Think of some of your favorite female athletes. I imagine a lot of them are your daughters, your nieces, your friends. A little over 50 years ago, they would not have even been allowed to participate. 

About 20 years ago I did a study comparing male Olympic athletes to female Olympic athletes in the sport of weightlifting. Similar weight classes. Here are the results of what I found making comparisons. Women who finished gold, silver or bronze, would not have medaled against any of the men. Men who finished very low against other men, would have medaled if they had entered the women's division. We're talking men that finished 25th, that would have won a gold medal in the women's division. 

In my own personal life, I was once in a bracket with Liz Sanders of Newton. If you know anything about my wrestling background, calling me a mediocre wrestler is being very kind. Liz had won all sorts of tournaments and awards in women's wrestling. There weren't the tournaments and opportunities back then, like there are today, but she still won some pretty big tournaments including some on a national scale. 

I pinned Liz in 25 seconds. She finished in last place that day. 

I did articles where I spoke with various female wrestlers. Some of them did have success against guys, but there were also a lot of them that were state champions in the girls division, who struggled against the guys. 

So many of the issues in today's society are polarizing topics, that I like to refer to as lose-lose situations. The world wants you to lose friends and gain enemies I guess. 

This is one of those issues. 

Fairness is something that is extremely important to me. I value being fair. It is of the highest priority to me. 

This weighs heavy on my mind because it seems to me no matter where you stand on this issue you're being very unfair to someone. 

If you are all for transgender women competing against biological women, I feel that you are being unfair to biological women & you are a major setback to all of the progress that has been made. 

Then again, I question if it is unfair to transgender women to tell them that they cannot compete against biological women. 

If Society were trying to keep transgender women from competing at all, then I think we would have an issue. If we were trying to prevent their participation completely, then we would have an issue. 

But I don't think it's wrong to say that transgender women shouldn't be allowed to compete against biological women. 

Studies have shown and proven that biological males have significant advantages in strength, stamina, endurance and agility.  This puts a transgendered woman at an advantage over a biological woman. 

I understand and empathize that transgender women may feel hurt by being told that they should be competing against people of equal standing, i.e. biological male athletes. 

Yet again, I asked myself who is hurt more? Who suffers more as a result? Biological women against transgendered women? Or transgendered women against biological males? 

In a perfect world we would have four categories. Biological men, biological women, transgender women and transgender men. Athletics would be set up to be fair and benefit all involved. 

Well, we don't live in a perfect world. We live in a world where tough choices have to be made. We live in a world where not everyone is going to end up happy with the choices that are made. We live in a world where someone's going to leave feeling that they got the short end of the stick. 

There's a good chance because so many of my friends who would read this are staunchly liberal, that you might disagree with me. 

That's fine but in the same token, ask yourself if you feel that any decision would be fully fair to everyone involved. 

This issue really comes down to transgender rights Vs women's rights. 

If you have to stand somewhere, and you have to make a decision, then I have made mine. This is where I stand.