HAVE YOU EVER . . .

National Public Radio has a program not unlike poetry slams of the 1980’s except that people, regular people tell their stories. Winners move on. It’s called “The Moth Radio Hour.” After 10 years or so, the only stories you hear on the air are polished to perfection. Most tellers have some professional background in broadcasting, theatre, stand up comedy and that’s alright. The other day a man, obviously an experienced performer, began his story with the line, “Have you ever. . .” Then he went on to detail a set of circumstance or a situation. After a perfectly timed pause comes the, “Well I have.” Once into the story, at strategic points he reboots; “Have you ever. . . well I have.” As a storyteller myself, I find it interesting that I remember his hook but can’t recall what his story was about.

Have you ever been trapped in a room with more adults than places to sit, too many dogs, upended plastic tubs with their toys strewn, and 5 preschool, toddlers? Well I have. Not that it’s not manageable but it stretches me out of my comfort zone. The simple math of so many little faces at dog level, 5 little mouths, 10 little nostrils, 50 little digits dripping with runny-nose and drool, making little petri dishes of every surface in reach; the simple math explodes the probability of contracting a child borne disease to either, “Most Likely” or “Damn Sure”. 

Have you ever been ushered awake, congested, unable to breathe, with a dull, constant, pressure headache, in the dark, not knowing the time of day or even the day of the week, unable to hold back a cough that makes the whole body pain, realizing you really, really need to pee? Well I have. Toddlers day plus 6 and death wasn’t such a bad option. Plus 7 and I went to the doctor who said something reassuring like, “Yes, you’re sick.” I have to admit I self prescribed some peach brandy to go along with pills from the pharmacy and now it’s plus 11days. 

Have you ever dreamed weird dreams when you were sick? Well I have. I dreamt I was with Frodo and Gandolf at the grocery store, shopping for Gatorade and chicken soup. We had to kill a few Orcs in the deli and when I saw a lady with her toddler in tow, I wanted to kill it too but Gandolf zapped me with a short bolt of lightning and I straightened up. On my way out to the parking lot I felt myself shuffling, mumbling something about my precious. Being old and well is tough enough; kid cooties are cruel and unusual punishment. Where did I go wrong?