Seriously Cereal

To cut into the huge cold cereal market, generic major distributors, through testing various blends of grains and sugars, have tried to come as close to the originals as consumers will accept. Names of the original cereals have been trade marked so the counterfeit cereals need to be called something. I can imagine marketers sitting in sterile boardrooms with bowls of the copy cat cereal sitting in front of them trying to come up with an identity. Looking at the names they came up with I think they surveyed first graders.

So, to test your cereal savvy I’ve created a list of a few of these “off” brands. See if you can identify the real, original cereal that the mock cereal is trying to imitate. Some of the cereal names seem to have drifted into the “public domain” category such as Bran Flakes. I’ve made some of these pretty easy. So, test your skills. The original cereal brand is listed below. I don’t mean to ruin anything but my favorite name is “Apple Dapples.” It’s just fun to say. In fact I’ve been saying it over and over again…apple dapples, apple dapples, apple dapples…. Good luck, yeah good luck getting apple dapples out of your head.

1) Golden Puffs 2) Honey & Nut Blenders

3) Berry Colossal Crunch 4) Blue Berry Muffin Tops

5) Crispy Oat Squares 6) Cocoa Crunchies

7) Frosted Fruit Rings 8) Apple Dapples

9) Golden Corn Nuggets 10) Cini-Mini Crunch

11) Magic Stars 12) Crunchy Rice Squares

13) Crispy Berry Crunch 14) Crisp ‘n Fruity Rice

15) Chipmates 16) Cocoa Roos 17) Honey Crisp Medley

18) Nutty Nuggets 19) Frosted Mini Spooners

20) Crispy Rice 21) Active Lifestyle 22) Shining Stars

23) Alien 24) Hexa Grains 25) Fruit & Toasted O’s

26) Corn Flakes 27) Crispy Rice 28) Wheat Pockets

29) Rice Pockets 30) Oats & More 31) Oat Wise

32) Golden Puffs 33) Berry Crackles 34) Cinnamon Toasters

35) Tootie Fruities 36) Marshmallow Mateys

37) Dino Bytes 38) Honey Nut Scooters

39) Silly Circles 40) Frosted Flakes

41) Marshmallow Magic 42) Honey & Nut

43) Cocoa Nuggets 44) Cinnamon Crunch

1) Honey Smacks/Honey Puffs; 2) Honey Nut Cheerios; 3) Captain Crunchberries;

4) Blue Berry Muffin; 5) Life; 6) Cocoa Krispies; 7) Fruit Loops;

8) Apple Jacks; 9) Corn Pops; 10) Cinnamon Toast Crunch;

11) Lucky Charms; 12) Life; 13) Captain Crunch Crunchberries;

14) Fruity Pebbles; 15) Cookie Crisp; 16) Cocoa Puffs;

17) Honey Bunches of Oats; 18) Grape Nuts;

19) Frosted Mini Wheats; 20) Rice Krispies; 21) Special K;

22) Lucky Charms; 23) Combo of Lucky Charms and Trix;

24) Crispix; 25) Fruit Loops; 26) Corn Flakes, duh;

27) Rice Krispies; 28) Wheat Chex; 29) Rice Chex;

30) Honey Bunches of Oats; 31) Life; 32) Honey Crisp/Honey Smacks;

33) Captain Crunch Crunchberries; 34) Cinnamon Toast Crunch;

35) Fruit Loops; 36) Lucky Charms; 37) Fruity Pebbles

38) Honey Nut Cheerios; 39) Fruit Loops;

40) Frosted Flakes, pretty smart answer; 41) Lucky Charms;

42) Honey Nut Cheerios; 43) Cocoa Pebbles;

44) Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Hornets Nest

It was Saturday morning and I needed to mow the lawns before the summer heat flared. After the grass catcher was taken off I wheeled the mower through the gate into the backyard. As I lifted the lid of the garbage bin to dump the grass out of the catcher hundreds of hornets shot from the inside of the bin and swirled around me like a buzzing yellow tornado. I whirled back through the gate with arms flailing, swatting and slapping at the enraged attackers.

The mail man slammed on his brakes as I ran into the street. Poking his head out the window he asked, “Hey! Are you ok?”

“They’re after me!” I screamed, “Hornets are after me!”

The mail man continued to stare, now with an inquisitive look on his face.

Wild eyed, I stopped and scanned the air.

“There were hundreds after me!”

“Sir, I don’t see anything. I uh..uh better get going on my route.”

I didn’t see any either. My incredible hornet martial arts defense must have taken care of them.

I crept back through the gate, crouching low to make myself a smaller target from the marauding stingers. I’d left the lawnmower next to the bin with the hornet hutch.

I needed to sprint, clutch the handle of the mower and shove it toward the back lawn. Because the path to the back was pot holed and pivoted, great care was usually taken in navigating the mower to the lawn. I would now need to make it fly.

A few hornets landed on the fence, watching me, their wings humming like electric wires.

I froze. The only movement was my eyes shifting from the hornets and back to the mower. Counting to three I leaped to the mower. The wheels pitched and rattled over the pivots as I tried to keep it straight.

The hornets launched from their perch and lunged toward me, bodies curled, stingers exposed.

With adrenaline pulsing I pushed the lawn mower to the trees. The hornets continued their pursuit. My arms slashed the air and wildly smacked my shirt to keep them off.

Even though I’ve been losing weight I keep my larger jeans for working outside. The problem with losing weight too quickly is that the once tight jeans now hung loosely on exposed hip bones, and I wasn’t wearing a belt to cinch the baggy jeans tight.

Leaping and running across the lawn, the loose jeans began to slip. I tried to grab them but it was too late. The pants dropped to my knees, throwing me to the ground like a bull hobbled by an Argentinean bolo. Somersaulting and rolling through the grass I came to a stop beneath the maple tree. I lay motionless, pants now down to my ankles.

Again I searched for signs of the assailants. None on the tree, none in the air, none on the fence, and most importantly, none on me.

I stumbled like a drunk as I tried to pull up my pants and walk toward the house.

Jan poked her head out the back door. “What are you doing?”

“Hornets, hundreds were after me!”

She scanned me up and down as I held my partially pulled up pants, shirt twisted around my body, and fear in my eyes.

She shook her head, rolled her eyes and plainly stated, “Just don’t let the neighbors see you.” Then she shut the door.

“OK!” I shouted back. “Maybe there were only two or three hornets, but they were fierce!”

I decided to leave the mower where it was. The lawn could wait.

Protesting Protesters

As I was working in the conference room at the Mail Tribune the retail manager ran in and gushed: “We have protesters.”

I was crossing the street between the press warehouse and the business building when an unmarked police car drove up. Unmarked police cars are supposed to blend in with all the other vehicles on the road. The giveaway that this is actually a police car are the bars between the back and front seat. This could also be the car of a mother driving through town with 3 rowdy kids in the back seat.

A few minutes later a motorcycle officer pulls up. I was afraid the building was under siege and tried to remember my exit strategies. Then I remembered I was already outside which is the end result of my strategy of fleeing the building if the newspaper came under assault.

Once in the building one of the managers ran up to me and gushed, “did you see the protesters outside?”

“No, I hadn’t. What are they protesting?”

“We ran an editorial from the Oregonian that questioned the value of medical marijuana. They apparently didn’t like it.”

In Oregon it’s legal to possess or grow a small amount of pot if it’s used for medicinal reasons.

As I watched the protesters walk slowly in front of the building carrying their hand scrawled signs I wondered why those who protest an issue always seem to look like what I have in my mind they should look like.

For example, ultra conservative men seem to wear business attire with cowboy hats and drive gargantuan pickup trucks.

The liberal protester has long greasy hair, dresses in holey jeans and drives a VW van.

These pot protesters looked like they had been time warped from the sixties, or from Ashland, southern Oregon’s equivalent of Haight-Ashbury.

They were dressed in tee shirts and shorts that were too small. Body types were either very thin or very large. We watched as some of them had trouble walking a straight line or “marched” with an occasional stumble. But they did look blissful.

I think one of my coworkers put it best:

“I don’t think any of them had to take time off from a job in order to come protest…”

I began to think in marketing terms concerning these protesters. Their marketing was flawed. If they really wanted to have impact they shouldn’t exemplify what everyone sees as the typical pot smoker. If they had dressed in business attire people would relate more with their cause and perhaps pay more attention.

I’m always impressed when a guy who looks like a hippie or is highly tattooed or pierced and supports conservative issues. The same for a liberal in a business suit with a cowboy hat and pick up.

Those who passed by would then read the signs instead of reading the protesters.

Agent Orange

Recently Mark Freeman, an outdoor sports writer ( he does have a desk inside) for the Mail Tribune, reported Oregon’s legislature is considering a law requiring big game hunters to wear what’s referred to as “Hunter Orange.”

The reasons for this are simple; when there are multiple people carrying rifles and shooting bullets in confined areas you do not want to be misidentified as game.
The legislature is considering many areas that could be included in the law, such as; what clothing should be worn that are orange, what percentage needs to be orange, and if orange will be only required for those under 18. The thought for dressing youngsters like creamsicles is explained by Chris Willard, the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife’s education services manager.
“The idea is like that of bicycle helmet and life jacket laws for kids — make hunter-orange part of their early routine and they'll be more likely to carry it through their hunting adulthood.”
Is Mr. Willard a parent? He should know that as soon as an 18 year old doesn’t have to do something he was previously required, the rebellion against continuing that practice begins.
The exact opposite needs to happen. Tell young hunters they’re not allowed to wear orange until their 18. Then it becomes a rite of adulthood when they can ceremoniously don the bright florescent cap and vest. Guaranteed there will be more orange on 18 year olds than seen in a Florida citrus grove.

Studies have determined big game, such as deer and elk, don’t distinguish orange. However this could be misinformation distributed by PETA. What if deer can really only see orange. The legislature is falling into their trap.

The best pro arguments used in enforcing sportsmen to wear orange are to apply the same benefits advocates for children wearing school uniforms detail.

Professional: a hunter in uniform would likely take stalking big game more seriously. The uniform evokes a greater sense of pride and hunters would be more concerned stewards of the forest. They would not only be more sophisticated in their stealthiness but, also look real sharp.
Promotes good discipline: Wearing hunter orange jump suits would diminish discipline problems associated with crawling around the woods spending long hours hiding behind rocks. There’d be fewer lewd jokes told around campfires and profanity would take a back seat to lucid conversation.
Reduces Fighting and Violence:
No more hunters fighting over who actually delivered the kill shot. They’d be more cooperative and use conflict management resolution skills to resolve such issues.
Distractions: Because every hunter would dress alike class boundaries would be nonexistent. All hunters would be fashion equals with no distinctions between poor and rich hunters, good shots and bad. No under privileged hunter would feel self conscious in not being able to keep up with current fashion trends. Most importantly, no hunter would be distracted checking out another hunter’s fashionable attire.
Low Cost: Since these are a one size fits all baggie jump suit Malaysian production lines can whizz these through, lowering the cost per suit.

Finally, the hunter uniform would promote hunter spirit. Since all are equals there’s a sense of belonging to a brotherhood and sisterhood of fellow hunters. Camaraderie would grow, hunter team flags would be created. On the first day of the hunting season fellow hunters will run into the woods, ripping through paper banners with the words scrawled across in bright paint, “Don’t shoot anything orange!”

If I was a deer, and a law is passed by the state legislature requiring the wearing of orange I’d steal me one of those orange vests that road construction workmen wear and strap it tight around my furry hide. After all, no hunter would ever shoot anything in orange, even if it has horns.

Things I learned on our trip to Utah 2

Wow, two “what I learned” entries within one month. Generally I don’t do much, or learn much, so this is a treat for me to report on “”What I learned from our trip to…Utah Part II” (In case you missed it Part I was last year.) I didn’t look this up I’m just assuming there was a part I.
Our purpose in going to Utah was to kidnap (and daughter nap) Brittany and Maeli while Clay was at Air Force Field Training for a month. Sort of sounds like landscaping school but it’s a mini boot camp for Air Force cadets. He’s gone for a month so we offered Brittany the opportunity to come to Oregon for a few weeks.

Here are a few of the things I learned on our visit to the Beehive state:

When the 4th of July falls on a Sunday Utahans aren’t sure when to celebrate the holiday so the founding fathers are honored for three days; Saturday, Sunday and Monday.

Provo’s Freedom Festival is the largest celebration in the state and ranks up with other larger cities.

The main attraction is Stadium of Fire at BYU’s Levell Edwards Stadium. Apparently this year one of the fireworks mortar’s was knocked over and shot a volley toward the crowd. The new name for the event is now “People on Fire.”

Brittany and Clay had bought tickets for the show prior to knowing when he was going to field training. Brittany considered auctioning it off but instead took a good friend of hers, Camille Morris. Carrie Underwood was the main attraction at “SOF”. It would have been nice to see Carrie perform but it would have been way cooler to see the “People on Fire” portion of the program.

Brittany says Carrie sounds in person just like her DVD’s.

Another group in the show was “The Osmonds, Second Generation”. Do you get the feeling that in 200 years we’ll have “ The Osmonds, 20th Generation?”

Another part of the Freedom Festival was a pageant celebrating the beginnings of America. The music was primarily from the patriotic achieves. During the production, as actors swayed back and forth pretending to be on an immigrant ship crossing the Atlantic, they began singing a rousing rendition of Neil Diamond’s “Coming to America.” I thought that was a bit out of place-sort of like singing “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin in the Hill Cumorah pageant.

The fizzer and whizzer store bought fireworks sound like pea shooters compared to the percussion pounding bursting exploding stars shot from the stadium. However, those local bought pyrotechnics pop and crack throughout the night. And in Provo’s instance, all three nights.

Provo has one of the largest Independence Day parades around. So popular the city prevents reserving or camping along the parade route until 5 pm the night before.
People who camp along the parade route the night before are crazy.

The crazy campers had set ups that included tents, overhead tarps strung from trees, flashing Christmas lights and movies and video games shown on white sheets hung from tarp top to floor.
With all the extreme campers one couple simply sat on a blanket, looking out of place. I told them I thought they looked bored. I placed money with Mom that I didn’t think they’d last until morning.

One of my favorite demented parade watch campers was some guy pushing a shopping cart with all his belongings. I think he’d staked his claim along the route weeks ago. I told him he had quite a fancy motor home. Jan informed me she thought he was homeless.

Don’t celebrate in haughty tones toward those who’ve spent the night. It’s inappropriate to mock them because only 30 minutes before the parade starts you’ve been able to toss your blanket in the front row. Then you discover you’re on the sunny side of the street broiling while the campers are shaded and cool. Guess they know what they’re doing.

I learned anyone can be in the parade as long as you do your thing before the parade even starts. There were motorcycles, skaters, a few drill teams that marched down the route prior to the parade starting. Think I’ll do that next time.

Because schools out for the summer, bands are depleted of members. I think the 4th of July parade should be moved to October when all the kids are around.

When jet boat riders on the Rogue River shout, “Spin, spin, spin” at the boat driver it means he reverses the engine and swirls the boat around in an exhilarating maneuver. In the Provo parade when the crowd shouts, “Spin, spin, spin!” they want the holders of the Curious George balloon to run in a circle to spin the balloon around. Not so exhilarating.

Cold milk: $2.50; Two dozen Crispy Cream donuts: $10; seeing those sitting around us drool watching while we eat and drink: you got it-priceless!

No one cheered for the Democrat float entry. Except me, just to be different.

BYU had a float, Utah Valley University had a float. It would be great if the University of Utah had a float. It would probably be right behind the Democrats.

You never know who you will run into while stopped by a flagger due to road construction in the middle of the desert. The couple ahead of us was from Lincoln, Nebraska where Kevin and Nicole live. The four cars waiting behind us were cars I’d passed while I honked the horn and waved good-bye. I avoided making eye contact.

Only in Provo Utah would 12 pedestrians not cross a street against the “Don’t Walk” sign at the traffic signal. There were no vehicles in sight and our group didn’t cross until the “Walk” sign flashed.

BYU’s famous mint brownies are hard to find during the summer.

Eating lasagna and French bread on the 4th of July helps us remember the European immigrants.

Maeli’s already learned to say grandpa on demand. Unfortunately Maeli’s “grandpa” sounds just like her pronunciation of “doggie”.

Things I learned on my trip to Delaware

1) Who vacations in Delaware?

2) Delaware was the first state but is only larger than Rhode Island. I’d think if you’re first you ought to be able to grab as much land as you want. It could have been the founders wanted to be nice and took just a small portion of land to let others have what they needed. I’ve done that with sharing dessert but my objective is deceit. Those who follow usually don’t want to look like pigs so they also take smaller portions. This eventually allows me to have a huge heaping dose of seconds. With Delaware, there apparently were no second helpings.

3) Driving through Delaware you see license plates from multiple states. In fact I think there are more out of state vehicles than actual Delawareans. (That’s their term for themselves, not mine; spell check even corrected my spelling so it must be true)


4) The Delaware license plate is yellow lettering/numbers on a dark blue background. There’s no colorful backdrop that depicts a facet of what Delaware is famous for. Perhaps that’s why there’s so many out of state plates; newcomers delay as long as possible putting those ugly plates on their vehicles. It could drive down resale prices. Again, first state, plainest plates.

5) The mascot for the University of Delaware is the “Blue Hens.” What? The Blue Hens? Now, that is creative. The football team with a feminine name? Why a hen and not a rooster? Makes me wonder…


6) I apologize for dissing on Delaware. After all, the state does have fireflies which delight Jan.

7) Sitting in Jordan and Christina’s (to be referred later as JC) living room, Tia ran down the hall toward her bedroom announcing she was going to “use her imagination.” She used that phrase a lot and she’s not kidding. She and Hayley changed up the story of Cinderella and played the parts of the wicked stepsisters for several days. Tia even occasionally addressed Christina as stepmother. The names of the stepsisters according to Tia were Grizella and Anastasia. I’m not sure if their names were ever mentioned in the original story but she was “using her imagination.” If I were in school I’d use that phrase as a politically correct term for daydreaming.


8) Hayley is a rough and tumble girl that has incredible speed for a six year old. Tia is demure who loves pink and princesses. However, both are sensitive, caring girls who love their Grandpa best.

9) I think we saw every museum in Philadelphia. The most impressive was the “Touch me Museum.” Children’s services could be concerned with that name. However, it was a museum for kids that included a river with running water that meandered while kids floated plastic boats and played with water wheels. There were rooms with large plastic crawl through hearts, science exhibits illustrating flight and electricity and even a kid sized grocery store where children could put as many plastic loafs of bread, fruit and cardboard bakery goods into a shopping cart. There was also a McDonalds where kids served up rubber meat on buns. Oh, I’m sorry. That’s what the Mac serves in their real restaurants.


10) Speaking of electricity…Jordan touched a metal ball at an exhibit explaining static electricity. He reached out his finger and touched Jan on the hand. The shock caused her to jump. However, electricity can use a body as a conductor. Jan was holding Tia’s hand at the time of the shock. It traveled though Jan and jolted poor Tia who was minding her own business. Tia’s little body jerked like it had been de-fibrillated. She thought twice before taking Grandma’s hand again.

11) There was also a room that allowed kids to try various facets of the world of sports. At one exhibit kids could throw a baseball through a pitching net while radar showed the speed of the ball. Of course, Jordan and I wrestled a baseball away from the clinched hands of a child to display our masculine prowess. Jordan’s pitch registered at 51 mph. My speed was 41 miles per hour but the ball took a sharp right shortly after leaving my hand. The kid next in line raised his eyebrows at this errant pitch. I turned to him and bragged, “Wow, I can still throw that curveball.” I also threw out several ligaments, joints and sockets.


12) To sample some of the native foods JC took us to Rita’s. Philadelphia has something they call “water ice” which resembles Hawaiian ice served out west. The only difference is the Philly ice is more “slurpy”. Rita’s adds a different dimension to their water ice they call a “gelati.” I’ve heard of the Italian ice cream named gelato. But this is your flavor of water ice with vanilla or chocolate custard layered at the bottom and top of the ice. I chose orange cream flavored water ice with vanilla custard. That was great and worth every freezer head ache.

13) Perhaps our most adventurous journey was to the place where taxes are born, Washington D.C. Driving through Baltimore we parked outside Washington and rode the subway to the National Mall. With all the tourists walking around with cameras clicking it resembled Disneyland more than the birthplace of the nation.


14) We toured the Smithsonian Natural History and Air and Space Museums. We saw the Hope Diamond, dinosaurs recreated from fossilized bones, and an exhibit on how forensics is used to identify bodies of some of America’s first settlers. That was at the Natural History Museum, not the Air and Space.

15) Jan and I really wanted to see the White House. As we walked down Pennsylvania Avenue we and many other tourists were stopped by security guards from going to the usual viewing point. I noticed a group of people gathered on a field some distance from the White House so we walked over to see if we could get a view. The move worked and we could see the columns on the front of this stately house. We zoomed the lenses to maximum to snap some photos. Soon after we heard the whooshing of helicopter blades slicing through the air. The crowd turned and we saw three marine helicopters flying toward the White House. This is why the streets were closed off. The President was coming home from buying a cappuccino from the nearest Starbucks. (Note for LDS readers: A cappuccino is a coffee drink)


16) Although we were feeling beat we stopped off at the Air and Space Museum. There was the Wright Brother first plane, not a replica, but the actual plane. It still had Orville’s nail marks scratched into the wood when he realized he was flying and didn’t know how to stop the contraption. There were several Gemini space capsules along with the first manned capsule that orbited the earth with John Glenn. Jordan and I couldn’t figure out where Glenn sat. The interior of the capsule was extremely cramped and I wondered what Glenn’s thoughts were as he hurdled through space in a chunk of metal. I think I saw his nail marks scratched into the window glass when he realized the only way to stop the contraption was by falling like a rock thousands of miles to earth.

17) I was sad when one young lady came out of an exhibit showing the aviation heroics of World War I and II pilots and announced to her friends, “Don’t go in, there’s nothing interesting there.” I’m sure thousands of air force pilots shed a tear in their graves.


18) In a past blog Christina wrote about a song by Taylor Swift that the girls would sing along with. When the girls hear the first few notes of “You Belong to Me” they join in, belting out the words along with Taylor. They are Grandma and Grandpa’s American Idols. By the way, Grandma now wants to buy the song.

19) Grandma and I enjoyed playing hide n seek, playing tag while chasing the kids through playground bars and swings, and getting a tour into the lives of the East Coast Smith family.

20) I have to mention we went to a farmers market on Saturday. Although those roaming the aisles didn’t look like some of Delaware’s finest, one of the first things I noticed was a Stoltzfus Bakery booth, just like what we saw at a market outside of Scranton, apparently owned and operated by the same Mennonite family. I wonder if this is a franchise. If so I want in. You know that baked goods created in a Mennonite kitchen are the best you can get.

21) Finally, JC and kids gave Grandpa an early Father’s day gift. It was a gray University of Delaware t-shirt. I’m honored and will wear the shirt with pride. Besides, I have the only University of Delaware t-shirt in Oregon.
Love you guys. Thanks for the adventure!

The Rise and Fall of the Gregory “Rump”ire

“Hey, do you need some help?” I called out to the man who was backing up his stalled older Volvo by pushing against the driver’s side door frame with his right arm and attempting to steer the car with his left.

I was crossing the street between the Mail Tribune’s office building and distribution/press building. Since I don’t often see a man pushing his car backwards in the street I was quick to surmise that he probably needed a hand.

“I can’t get the car started, so if I can get it moving forward I can jump it,” he explained.

That made sense to me since I have seen toy trucks and cars that when revved backwards and then let go, zips across the floor. Same principle--

I walked over, dressed in shirt and tie, and pushed on the front grill. He backed the vehicle up several more yards, “That should be enough!”

Putting into practice my many years of Chinese fire drills, I ran to the back of the car and pushed on the rear door of the wagon while he pushed forward on the door frame.

Once the car started moving forward he jumped in the car and turned his key. Now, I’m not really sure how this works but I think it involves shifting and clutching. I was still pushing from the back when the car clunked and shuddered a few times, then fell silent.

“Hey, can we try it again?”he shouted.

‘Sure!” I answered confidently.

I’m sure he thought we were now best buddies. After all, I learned at a young age that “when you serve someone you add another friend.” (Mr. Brady; The Brady Bunch, episode 34, about half way through)

Again, I ran to the front of the car and helped push it backwards. We backed it up several more yards this time so we could really get it revved up.

He gave me a thumbs up and I ran to the back and again pushed the car forward.

As I pushed, I imagined hundreds of people staring in amazement out the windows of nearby office buildings and a restaurant across the street as they witnessed my magnanimous act of selfless service. Wearing a tie, while pushing a car, upped the sacrificial servitude points by the hundreds. I was thinking: this is such a great way to show the world how a true loving Christian serves the helpless and downtrodden.

I waved and nodded my head in acknowledgment to my fans who were now cheering me on behind the darkened windows of the buildings. I was their hero…their answer to all that is wrong in the world.

Believing I was the focus of everyone’s attention, I leaned even more into the car, digging into the pavement with feet made of steel and rippling muscles bulging through my smartly selected business attire.

My new found friend jumped into the car as it rattled and sputtered.

Like lightning, a thought briefly flashed through my mind: …if this car starts up, and I’m pushing mightily, I’m dea….

The car suddenly jerked to life, leaving me in mid air limbo as it pulled away.

I ran for several steps, leaning forward like a sprinter diving for the finish, arms flailing like windmills, hands grasping for anything solid, eyes closing, lips mouthing unintelligible misgivings. My right knee was first to make contact, then the hip, back and shoulder. I somersaulted, cart wheeled and threw in a few pirouettes through the gutter and onto the sidewalk.

I had hoped my supportive onlookers had turned their heads for a moment as their soldier tumbled. When my body stopped rolling like a hula hoop down a hill, I sprang to my feet and ran to the passenger side of the car. The driver thought I was dead.

“Are you OK?!”he shouted with concern. “Did you hit your head?!”

I started feeling my head to make sure it was still there. Then I grinned, told him I was fine, wasn’t hurt and sent him on his way.

Then…I started to laugh. I laughed loud. Out loud. With great gusto.

I wondered how that must have looked. Either no one was watching or they just didn’t care but no one came running to my aid. I heard no gasps as I went down. No screams of horror in seeing an old man rolling down the street.

I went into the restroom to check for damage. I had no scrapes, no rips, no visible sign of the catastrophe. I started to shake as adrenaline coursed through my body. I was relieved that no one had seen me.

Later, one of the van drivers called me over to his rolled down window.

“Hey, Greg!” he teased. “My van won’t start and I wondered if you could give me a push!”

He tossed his head back in laughter as I walked away, assaulted for a second time that day.