Type Twice, Save a Life

Back in the day, there were these two brothers, Tom & Andy, who I really looked up to – the eldest especially. I remember they lived in my neighborhood, both drove motorcycles, and worked on old cars and motorcycles in their yard, where I got to be the wrench monkey. Tom played keyboard in a band and had that awesome 70’s hair, perfectly parted in the middle with wings. When they fixed up a bike, they would power up and down the street while I would sit under a tree and watch, dreaming I was on the bike.

One glorious day, Andy invited me on. It must have been forbidden by his brother, because he waited until Tom wasn’t home. We went around the block then onto the dirt ball field of the school yard where he told me to hold on. Only I didn’t hear him. So when he popped up on one wheel, I flew off the bike onto my backside. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt much. I was up and dusted off by the time he circled back. I remember distinctly Andy asking me if I was okay, then swearing me to secrecy as we walked back to his house. I’ve not ridden a motorcycle since. I don’t think I’m afraid of them, just never had an opportunity or desire (I haven’t climbed in a shark cage or run with bulls, either). As a driver, I do watch out for motorcycles. I respect the signs and stickers that say, “Save a Life, Look Twice, Motorcyles are Everywhere.”

look-twice-save-a-life-sign

My Lovely Wife has had a tough year leading an organization at our kids’ school. I won’t bore you with details, suffice it to say, the children have been delightful. A few days ago, she received a rather curt text related to her office and read me her reply. I asked her to read it again. When she did, she decided it was a little harsh and we talked about how to change it. Look Twice, Save a Life. Or maybe a relationship – even if it is precariously dangling off the back of a speeding motorcycle.

I’ve gotten pretty good at this over the years, which would come as a shock to some. If you could see my elementary and middle school report cards, the comments would almost all say: “Mark needs to think before he speaks”. It’s like there was a conspiracy between them – or possibly a pattern of behavior.  I’m voting conspiracy. Now that I’ve matured (some), I actually have a pretty good verbal filter. I also often type replies to texts and emails and reread them before I send them. You can type what you really want to say as long as you don’t push send. I have now learned to not put a name in the email header just in case you push send out of routine before deleting the anger. Yeah, I did that once and it was kinda ugly.

Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer each person.

Colossians 4:6

 Computer_keyboard

A modern day application of this is our non-verbal speech: text, email, IM, and others. It is actually easier to saltify than speech since we have the chance to preview before sending. Has your first draft ever needed some grace salted in? Did you send or type twice?

Prospector Dances & Brazilians in Leggings

I am typing this on the last day of our vacation to the place where the mouse takes all your money. We saved, scrimped, used Christmas presents and Visa points…and now its just about gone. But it has been a fantastic trip. So why, you might ask, am I wasting time blogging on our last day?

We have come here a handful of times, and when our children were napping ages, we never went to our room for a break. We just powered through and let them crash at night. It seems the teenagers can’t do that. So during the crowded afternoon hours, we’ve been coming back to the room and napping. Only I don’t nap well – I stare at the ceiling.

They have these things now called, “Extra Magic Hours”! These hours are great for our night-owlish kids because most people leave the park around ten and they stay open until 1 am (or 3 am tonight). But they are deadly for middle-aged men. At about 11 my mind can no longer focus on much and at midnight, I get all swimy-headed, which makes some of the wilder rides more like acid trips complete with delusions like Dumbo’s elephants on parade. But it’s all good. We’re having a wonderful time and I wish it didn’t have to end.

Random observations:

1. I love multicultural experiences. I really do. I love seeing the name tags here and talking to people from around the world. If you have ever come here in winter, you know that it is summer in South America and the parks are filled with Brazilians. They fascinate me because it is hard to tell an American from a Brazilian by quick glance. Sometimes you have to get close enough to hear if they are speaking Portuguese or English. Often, the leggings give it away. The South Americans we have seen have fully embraced leggings and yoga pants, and unfortunately, it isn’t always confined to women. I don’t think that is a particularly good look for me, so I’m hoping that style trend doesn’t cross the gender line north of the equator.image

2. At the end of It’s a Small World, they wish you good-bye in many languages. One of them is Arabic and the word is written:  Ma’assalama. For the immature, it really stands out as a fine way to wish someone well in their journeys. I’ve used it many times to the embarrassment of the girls and confused stares of my fellow park-hoppers.

 

 

3. The prospectors dance is real gold!

In one of the late, swimmy-headed hours, I did this little jig at Thunder Mountain Railroad and my kids decided I had to do it on command for them. I’ve done it pretty much everywhere now. In fact, at Dance Time with the Incredibles, I got Mr. Incredible to join me, but Frozone was too cool for it. Oh well, he was wearing blue leggings anyway.

Back to the real world tomorrow, but I’m about to wake them up for some extra magic. I love these ladies!